This was originally written under the assumption that any of it could be communicated to dolphins, if their intelligence was of a type that could understand and if we could ever break the communication barrier. It could be modified for other nonhumans, though, if that time ever comes.
I will be here, in any capacity you ever need me to fill. I will not take your independence away, and I will not shy away from your decision-making capability. I will love these things about you, honor them as they should be honored. I will not belittle you by assuming that you cannot communicate with me. You know what you're saying, and I will not insult you in taking your right to say it. It is humans who hold back progress, and I will keep this in mind when trying to interpret your actions. I can't make elaborate promises, but if I am ever in your presence, I will let you challenge the limits of my understanding. It will not be easy, these things never are. But I will cooperate, not lead. I will let you guide me and try to offer useful feedback through hopefully helpful methods. I will not try to dominate what should not be dominated, especially not by the likes of me.
If we ever open communications and I am fortunate enough to be part of that effort, I will do my best to tell you this. I am not your equal. In some ways you are far superior, but in some ways we have the upper hand. But I would like us to be able to treat each other as equals. I will try to let you know the details of that from our perspective, but I will not use my advantages on you unfairly. I will behave respectfully if the chance comes, and I will let you control my access to you. If I can say it to you, I will back up every word with visible reinforcement. If I can't, I will express that reinforcement anyway, letting you be the deciding factor on what I become to you.
To me it all comes down to something simple: You don't think like me, or like any of us. It is insulting for us to assume what you are thinking. Your thoughts range on entirely different topics, and they function based on different primary senses. The way you conceptualize things has been shaped by an utterly dissimilar environment, and the areas you have to focus on are far different from the areas we need to focus on. This is what people need to understand, bearing in mind that you do feel, perhaps very differently, and that you do have motivations, perhaps very alien ones. And if it never comes my way, I would hope that, at the most, someone who has that chance will see this, and keep it in mind.
If a day comes that you hear and understand this message, I want you and whoever has cooperated with you to know how very proud I am. Reaching that point will have been a long, difficult journey. you are honored, know that for certain. My greatest dream is for that experience to happen, whether I'm involved or even alive to witness it.
Love is a funny word. By the time we can tell you this, you'll probably have gone over it. Love is neither temporary nor permanent. It is bright and hot, but steady when it's treated respectfully. Love can exist between human mates, or family, or friends. Love can be far harder to explain than that though. I would call what I have for you love. It is respect, an intention to be mindful of your perspective. It is compassion, a desire to see you safe and to help mend what people have done where that is possible. If you have too much doubt to heal the gap, I will not force it on you. It is the belief that you deserve space, and the willingness to listen if you dictate it. It may sound silly coming from a smaller creature, but it is protectiveness, a need to speak out on your behalf, a willingness to put myself in harm's way for you.
I could expound upon it all day, but I will leave you with this. You can depend on what I feel for you if the need arises. The emotion fills me up completely, it is bigger than me. Sometimes when the moon floats in front of the sun, it cannot block off all the sunlight. It is very similar, my mind is not big enough to cover what I feel. It is a deep sense of warmth. It isn't something I can choose to feel or deny, but I wouldn't reject it if I could. It will not go away even when you cause damage, even when you meant to. That said, my regard is yours.
In the spirit of the effort expended, the dead ends, the frustrations, the milestones and breakthrough experiences, the embarrassing misunderstandings, the perseverance and curiosity and drive needed to pull this off, the joy and relief at each baby step, I salute you. Here's to your potential, and here's to ours too. In a manner of speaking I am casting a vote. This is one of those funny things that only humans might do. It isn't based on rationality or observation, it's based on an unflagging determination that I know we both share. This vote means I believe in you and I am not ashamed to let it be known.
I write this at a time when you are seriously disrespected. Right now my race is looking down on you, many of them use you for their individual benefit. And some of them always will, unfortunately. I don't believe I can move the world by wishing. But as you know, what we mean occasionally has a funny way of changing itself from thought to reality. My vote's on you, and people who believe in you too. Let's beat the odds. There will be others like me, I may never be there. Work with each other, not against each other. We share a joy in challenges, and we know that about one another. Let's stop dreaming about it, and meet this challenge as a team.
I am Iyana. I am a human woman who cannot see. I rely on sound and touch to navigate in an environment designed for people who can see. I try to balance a need to keep things realistic and accurate with a passion for music and the abstract. For example, I want to break communication barriers. I want to use reason and logic to do this, instead of using the emotional reactions most people have inadvertently hurt you with. I take in knowledge and new experiences like a body takes in sustenance. But I am awkward and sometimes uncertain, and my emotional reactions get in the way of what I mean. But I'm loyal and I'm earnest, even if I'm sometimes so clumsy. Despite that, I'm willing to take a hard road and a heavy burden. Responsibly, honestly, and mindfully. Even if I can only offer minor contributions and even if I can't contribute at all.
That's a part of the center of who I am. But I think I can speak for all of us when I say that the offer stands even if you reject it. You see, we have more than a few things in common. Our entire race is divided, but some of us love you. It doesn't mean we can do anything, but it does mean we will do everything we can.
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
I wil fall, but I will not lie down
People like you are killing people like me.
That sounds like a pretty overdramatic statement. And in a way, it is.
Every day, I wake up in a studio apartment and hate myself because I live on government assistance. I'd be in school, but I've been running around the country trying to find an area with affordable living, good public transportation, a good college and a well-oiled support system. I've been doing this for four years now. I've been in three states, and this will be the seventh time I've moved since mid 2012. Each time, I leave almost everything behind. I own no furniture. I have only ever owned two pieces of furniture. I am infinitely grateful for the goodwill of other people who looked at me and saw someone who still had a chance, instead of a worthless piece of trash.
I watched my ex submit his resume hundreds of times. He had a business degree and prior work experience, with glowing recommendations. He only ever got one response, from someone who wanted to give him the graveyard shift, which would have required him to live a life with almost no family contact or social interaction. The only reason he went through this is because he is blind. Of course, it's illegal to discriminate, but all they need to do is cite some other reason. They can even invent one. It doesn't matter. Discrimination laws have barely put a dent in the practice. And they never will, because humans are human. I've had six different career ideas rejected outright by rehab departments simply because they didn't want to take chances on a blind person. And in comparison, my experience has been an easy ride.
But that isn't to say I've given up. If I had given up, I would have stopped moving. I would have laid down and died in some rundown studio somewhere. I haven't, and I won't.
If I ever put on a pair of headphones, all I hear is a monotone electronic voice rolling out a constant stream of bad news, hatred and condemnation with less inflection than you would give a comment about the weather. If anyone dares to show support for another living thing, or share a survival experience, the internet immediately piles on them in an attempt to destroy them. Because support is bad,help is bad, survival is bad, progress is bad, healing is bad.
But I am going to be here, because these things are not bad. I am going to wake up every day. I am going to make this decision consciously every time I go to sleep. I am going to think of the millions of abused people and creatures in the world and swear to be there for them in every capacity I can. I will resist the mentality the internet perpetuates with every fiber of my being until there are none left. I will not be extinguished, I refuse to be, not until someone does it forcefully or natural causes do me in.
Of course, I know that if this is ever seen, it will be attacked with the same fervor that any similar statement receives. People don't like it when their motivations are so easily discovered. They don't like it when they are transparent. Deep down, most people who became terrible weren't always so. Often, harsh reactions come because people do not want to admit to what they are doing and why. Many humans would ruin the things they love before admitting they're wrong, let alone things they don't have any attachment to.
But there are plenty who don't. They stay quiet, intimidated by the loud noises. They huddle in the corners of their mental confinement, whether self imposed or not, dying for just one supportive touch, but too afraid to speak out. There are people who are genuinely proud when they reduce humans or other creatures to such lows. But there are people who are proud to build your confidence and strength back up. There are people who are proud to love, proud to fight, proud to stand up.
We can't rescue everyone, human or nonhuman, from their predicaments. But we can hold a hand out to all of them. We can sit beside you in companionable silence. We can offer moral support. We can love you intensely, and we are not afraid to show it.
I've fallen down more than a few times, been pushed down often. But every time, I've gotten up. To those we can't save, we offer the safety of a presence that will not attempt to alienate or manipulate you. Some humans are too broken to hear this, and nonhumans can't understand what we're saying.
But if I could tell the world one thing and be certain it would be understood, it would be this:
For those who have no place in this world, and for those who are still looking,
I am here. Unconditionally. I might fall, but I will not lie down.
That sounds like a pretty overdramatic statement. And in a way, it is.
Every day, I wake up in a studio apartment and hate myself because I live on government assistance. I'd be in school, but I've been running around the country trying to find an area with affordable living, good public transportation, a good college and a well-oiled support system. I've been doing this for four years now. I've been in three states, and this will be the seventh time I've moved since mid 2012. Each time, I leave almost everything behind. I own no furniture. I have only ever owned two pieces of furniture. I am infinitely grateful for the goodwill of other people who looked at me and saw someone who still had a chance, instead of a worthless piece of trash.
I watched my ex submit his resume hundreds of times. He had a business degree and prior work experience, with glowing recommendations. He only ever got one response, from someone who wanted to give him the graveyard shift, which would have required him to live a life with almost no family contact or social interaction. The only reason he went through this is because he is blind. Of course, it's illegal to discriminate, but all they need to do is cite some other reason. They can even invent one. It doesn't matter. Discrimination laws have barely put a dent in the practice. And they never will, because humans are human. I've had six different career ideas rejected outright by rehab departments simply because they didn't want to take chances on a blind person. And in comparison, my experience has been an easy ride.
But that isn't to say I've given up. If I had given up, I would have stopped moving. I would have laid down and died in some rundown studio somewhere. I haven't, and I won't.
If I ever put on a pair of headphones, all I hear is a monotone electronic voice rolling out a constant stream of bad news, hatred and condemnation with less inflection than you would give a comment about the weather. If anyone dares to show support for another living thing, or share a survival experience, the internet immediately piles on them in an attempt to destroy them. Because support is bad,help is bad, survival is bad, progress is bad, healing is bad.
But I am going to be here, because these things are not bad. I am going to wake up every day. I am going to make this decision consciously every time I go to sleep. I am going to think of the millions of abused people and creatures in the world and swear to be there for them in every capacity I can. I will resist the mentality the internet perpetuates with every fiber of my being until there are none left. I will not be extinguished, I refuse to be, not until someone does it forcefully or natural causes do me in.
Of course, I know that if this is ever seen, it will be attacked with the same fervor that any similar statement receives. People don't like it when their motivations are so easily discovered. They don't like it when they are transparent. Deep down, most people who became terrible weren't always so. Often, harsh reactions come because people do not want to admit to what they are doing and why. Many humans would ruin the things they love before admitting they're wrong, let alone things they don't have any attachment to.
But there are plenty who don't. They stay quiet, intimidated by the loud noises. They huddle in the corners of their mental confinement, whether self imposed or not, dying for just one supportive touch, but too afraid to speak out. There are people who are genuinely proud when they reduce humans or other creatures to such lows. But there are people who are proud to build your confidence and strength back up. There are people who are proud to love, proud to fight, proud to stand up.
We can't rescue everyone, human or nonhuman, from their predicaments. But we can hold a hand out to all of them. We can sit beside you in companionable silence. We can offer moral support. We can love you intensely, and we are not afraid to show it.
I've fallen down more than a few times, been pushed down often. But every time, I've gotten up. To those we can't save, we offer the safety of a presence that will not attempt to alienate or manipulate you. Some humans are too broken to hear this, and nonhumans can't understand what we're saying.
But if I could tell the world one thing and be certain it would be understood, it would be this:
For those who have no place in this world, and for those who are still looking,
I am here. Unconditionally. I might fall, but I will not lie down.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
For the one that got left behind ...
Forgive a musical creature her occasional abstractions. I have tried to be sure they are few and far between, and not damaging. I do not claim scientific accuracy, only empathy, and this particular issue is new to me so I am certainly missing things. My heart goes out to Tilikum, Lolita, and all the rest, though this one is for him.
Also there's a musical easter egg. Points to anyone who notices it.
Lyrics credit to the lovely rendition performed by Aine Minogue, called Blessing. Which everyone should go listen to.
You were a great living warmth once, voice like some unearthly instrument. You spoke a haunting language that the whole world could not know. But you fell in to a trap one day ... it is not your fault. Some unsettling human spider wove its web around you, caught you fast. And then with that web, surely the stuff of nightmares, they forced you to react. You danced on someone else's strings. People who knew you thirty years ago still praise your determination and intelligence, but it wasn't enough for a people who demanded perfection from you.
You did what you had to and still you went without. You knew the inside of a glorified coffin for half of your life then, you became everyone's doormat. No one thought of you, and even everyone who was in this with you objectified you. You became a physical and emotional punching bag. You grew up too fast, because in the end you gave up everything to them. Everything, though their stress left little to show for that. And still you continued on, you never told us why or how you did it.
But still, it wasn't good enough. And then one day you snapped, maybe it was manic, maybe it was rage, maybe it was an automatic reaction to a life of monotony. Someone died that day, she may have never done you wrong personally, but in the moment it did not matter. She was in your element. You never told anyone that either.
Like so much meat, you were packed up and sent off, so you could do what everyone assumed you did best. Still alienated, stored in a corner alone, and rejected by everyone you could have connected with unless they needed to use you. You were just a novelty, continuing to dance to people's strings. But still, you carried on.
With no outlet for energy that should have been boundless, no one willing to accept you, and constant sources of abuse from all sides, you pressed onward. At this point it begins to seem deliberate, an act of conscious willpower, but you never told anyone that either. And then someone had the gall to invade the only space that was left to you! Maybe he didn't know better, but you made an example of him that no one would forget. "Don't cross me," you said, while you pressed on. "Don't take from me," you said, while people manipulated you. "Know that I will only let you humiliate me so far," you said, while people made you in to a spectacle.
But you never said a thing. It was up to others to try and understand what was happening. While theories flew like startled birds, you went on as before. You made one final example of someone who would not acknowledge you. It didn't matter that there were scripts to follow. Scripts hold nothing on forces of nature. You destroyed someone who many people seemed to love. Some might have called it a statement, or pent up energy, or creeping insanity. But you never gave them a sign either. "Speculate," you seemed to be saying if one were to humanize you, "think on what I can do, I will never tell you why."
Oh, there was quite the commotion after that, and in the meantime they put you away like a faulty piece of equipment. And there you stayed, unless you could be made useful again. No dancing on strings, no contact save medical work and humiliation (though few species are shy about these things), no connection left but the primitive one that unites so many living things. Some creatures can let out pent up energy that way, but in most eyes you were a clever mimic, and wouldn't have energy or emotions to release.
You would be reduced to numbers on a chart somewhere, except you had given people pause. You were a puppet for both people and plans, but you would not leave it at that. You became a breaker among breakers, crossing lines that had not been crossed before. Bored? Definitely. Unchallenged? Most likely. Insulted? It certainly seems so. People fear the unstable individual with reasoning in their eyes. No one had a concept of what to do with this one. It was unlike anything they'd ever seen before.
They alienated you all, alienation is familiar ground to you. They let you out eventually, but something had changed. Something crucial was lost, maybe, no one knows. Maybe you couldn't tell anyone if you wanted to.
Time passed, everyone slipped in to an uneasy routine. You became a celebrity. I wonder if you even know it. I wonder if you'd get it. People have dreamed of talking to your kind, but what if you no longer have anything to say? What if the very dynamic of your personality was stolen? I know most creatures resent pity, humans included, but it's not so simple as pity for some. For me it is a deep sadness, another of the world's strange lights was put out.
In the end they all but confirmed it. A complex, determined spirit is failing, said the world. An indispensable piece of my equipment is failing, said the jailer. But you'd already broken patterns established over millennia. You'd already endured more than the amount of hell that would put a human in an institution, and we're supposed to be the adaptable type. Fight with impossibility? Why not? That was the game no one could win against you.
Maybe no such thought crossed your mind at all, but what if you still have something to say? What would those thoughts sound like? You challenged big corporations, which humans still have a hard time doing if that says anything. You forced people to rethink your perceived place and theirs. You did certainly stir up a nation. You confronted us in counterpoint to what your distant kin tried to do. It was like music--dark, uncertain, dangerous, and if you believe some experts, somewhat insane.
His was a fragile tune, hope and uncertainty mingling with the participants' manipulations in to a bittersweet melody one can almost taste. It ended in the middle of a measure, and people will fight over that ending for many more years, too selfish to acknowledge that they were the cause.
Yours was the deep and windy voice of a cello, though your own sounded nothing like it. Rich tones blended in to vast minor chords, discords rising out of the progression like nightmares made real and painfully confusing. Woven through its fabric is the master's part of your piece--the full-bodied almost minors, painful in their struggle between the sweet notes and the strong. Paradoxically they only hint at the confusions surrounding you, their focus a blend of inflections that no one can interpret but you. A powerful melody draws people in, both the emotional and the scientifically inclined. It refuses to give anything away but its contradictions--riding the line between art and wild music, at once fighting and surrendering to it, shattered yet unbroken, contained but not dominated, reflecting immovability even in its final measures.
Yet for all the detail in your piece, for all the recorded perspectives, for all the articles and accounts and pictures and videos, despite the fact that nearly every inch of your frame is in the public eye, not one of these things speaks of you. You are a challenging sort of creature, broken or not. You will be more than a footnote, more than a sire on a pedigree sheet. You will be a story, mixing willpower with instinct, intelligence with confusion, strength with something that has been hammered in to fragments. Anything you may or may not have meant will be lost to time, a daunting communication barrier, and a mind with more than valid reasons to never trust us at all. But what you did will make humanity confront each other over these hopeless, helpless and desolate predicaments. After all, they think only humans have the intelligence and will to break conditioning, to show their own minds defiance. But now and then, one of you teaches us--sometimes quite firmly--that we should know better.
People will remember you, make a drama of your life. They will mock what you endured, tragedy is humanity's money tree. But what is it that you, personally, need? I know they can't understand you, but they didn't even try. Everyone had to put their fingers in the pie. The worst were the ones who assumed they knew, and looked down on anyone who admitted you were significant to them. "How dare you be egocentric about him," they said condescendingly, while being egocentric about you. What a mockery everything has become. How could any single creature have it so bad?
Is there any resolution to this story? Not for the thousands and perhaps millions who capitalize on your pain and suffering, but for you. Is that even possible? After all you've done, intentionally or not, will you manage this last thing? Defying them even in dying, will you find a fragment of dignity they didn't manage to steal? Will you make one final statement, on purpose or not, what form would it take? I know more than one person is wondering what you will do next. I do, I care so much, and if I could give you peace I would, even to my own disadvantage ... but no one can ask, and sadly, no one would.
I will turn out all the lights and light a candle for one of our world's strangest flames. There will be music, not silence, to accompany you. They've stolen even your end. Here and there and everywhere people will take up the song, voices will raise in a tidal wave, but no one can give you back your entire life.
If you have a next chance, may it serve you well.
May the long time sun shine on you ...
All love surround you ...
And the pure light within you
Guide you on your way.
Akal, akal, infinity ...
Akal, akal, no end ..
Also there's a musical easter egg. Points to anyone who notices it.
Lyrics credit to the lovely rendition performed by Aine Minogue, called Blessing. Which everyone should go listen to.
You were a great living warmth once, voice like some unearthly instrument. You spoke a haunting language that the whole world could not know. But you fell in to a trap one day ... it is not your fault. Some unsettling human spider wove its web around you, caught you fast. And then with that web, surely the stuff of nightmares, they forced you to react. You danced on someone else's strings. People who knew you thirty years ago still praise your determination and intelligence, but it wasn't enough for a people who demanded perfection from you.
You did what you had to and still you went without. You knew the inside of a glorified coffin for half of your life then, you became everyone's doormat. No one thought of you, and even everyone who was in this with you objectified you. You became a physical and emotional punching bag. You grew up too fast, because in the end you gave up everything to them. Everything, though their stress left little to show for that. And still you continued on, you never told us why or how you did it.
But still, it wasn't good enough. And then one day you snapped, maybe it was manic, maybe it was rage, maybe it was an automatic reaction to a life of monotony. Someone died that day, she may have never done you wrong personally, but in the moment it did not matter. She was in your element. You never told anyone that either.
Like so much meat, you were packed up and sent off, so you could do what everyone assumed you did best. Still alienated, stored in a corner alone, and rejected by everyone you could have connected with unless they needed to use you. You were just a novelty, continuing to dance to people's strings. But still, you carried on.
With no outlet for energy that should have been boundless, no one willing to accept you, and constant sources of abuse from all sides, you pressed onward. At this point it begins to seem deliberate, an act of conscious willpower, but you never told anyone that either. And then someone had the gall to invade the only space that was left to you! Maybe he didn't know better, but you made an example of him that no one would forget. "Don't cross me," you said, while you pressed on. "Don't take from me," you said, while people manipulated you. "Know that I will only let you humiliate me so far," you said, while people made you in to a spectacle.
But you never said a thing. It was up to others to try and understand what was happening. While theories flew like startled birds, you went on as before. You made one final example of someone who would not acknowledge you. It didn't matter that there were scripts to follow. Scripts hold nothing on forces of nature. You destroyed someone who many people seemed to love. Some might have called it a statement, or pent up energy, or creeping insanity. But you never gave them a sign either. "Speculate," you seemed to be saying if one were to humanize you, "think on what I can do, I will never tell you why."
Oh, there was quite the commotion after that, and in the meantime they put you away like a faulty piece of equipment. And there you stayed, unless you could be made useful again. No dancing on strings, no contact save medical work and humiliation (though few species are shy about these things), no connection left but the primitive one that unites so many living things. Some creatures can let out pent up energy that way, but in most eyes you were a clever mimic, and wouldn't have energy or emotions to release.
You would be reduced to numbers on a chart somewhere, except you had given people pause. You were a puppet for both people and plans, but you would not leave it at that. You became a breaker among breakers, crossing lines that had not been crossed before. Bored? Definitely. Unchallenged? Most likely. Insulted? It certainly seems so. People fear the unstable individual with reasoning in their eyes. No one had a concept of what to do with this one. It was unlike anything they'd ever seen before.
They alienated you all, alienation is familiar ground to you. They let you out eventually, but something had changed. Something crucial was lost, maybe, no one knows. Maybe you couldn't tell anyone if you wanted to.
Time passed, everyone slipped in to an uneasy routine. You became a celebrity. I wonder if you even know it. I wonder if you'd get it. People have dreamed of talking to your kind, but what if you no longer have anything to say? What if the very dynamic of your personality was stolen? I know most creatures resent pity, humans included, but it's not so simple as pity for some. For me it is a deep sadness, another of the world's strange lights was put out.
In the end they all but confirmed it. A complex, determined spirit is failing, said the world. An indispensable piece of my equipment is failing, said the jailer. But you'd already broken patterns established over millennia. You'd already endured more than the amount of hell that would put a human in an institution, and we're supposed to be the adaptable type. Fight with impossibility? Why not? That was the game no one could win against you.
Maybe no such thought crossed your mind at all, but what if you still have something to say? What would those thoughts sound like? You challenged big corporations, which humans still have a hard time doing if that says anything. You forced people to rethink your perceived place and theirs. You did certainly stir up a nation. You confronted us in counterpoint to what your distant kin tried to do. It was like music--dark, uncertain, dangerous, and if you believe some experts, somewhat insane.
His was a fragile tune, hope and uncertainty mingling with the participants' manipulations in to a bittersweet melody one can almost taste. It ended in the middle of a measure, and people will fight over that ending for many more years, too selfish to acknowledge that they were the cause.
Yours was the deep and windy voice of a cello, though your own sounded nothing like it. Rich tones blended in to vast minor chords, discords rising out of the progression like nightmares made real and painfully confusing. Woven through its fabric is the master's part of your piece--the full-bodied almost minors, painful in their struggle between the sweet notes and the strong. Paradoxically they only hint at the confusions surrounding you, their focus a blend of inflections that no one can interpret but you. A powerful melody draws people in, both the emotional and the scientifically inclined. It refuses to give anything away but its contradictions--riding the line between art and wild music, at once fighting and surrendering to it, shattered yet unbroken, contained but not dominated, reflecting immovability even in its final measures.
Yet for all the detail in your piece, for all the recorded perspectives, for all the articles and accounts and pictures and videos, despite the fact that nearly every inch of your frame is in the public eye, not one of these things speaks of you. You are a challenging sort of creature, broken or not. You will be more than a footnote, more than a sire on a pedigree sheet. You will be a story, mixing willpower with instinct, intelligence with confusion, strength with something that has been hammered in to fragments. Anything you may or may not have meant will be lost to time, a daunting communication barrier, and a mind with more than valid reasons to never trust us at all. But what you did will make humanity confront each other over these hopeless, helpless and desolate predicaments. After all, they think only humans have the intelligence and will to break conditioning, to show their own minds defiance. But now and then, one of you teaches us--sometimes quite firmly--that we should know better.
People will remember you, make a drama of your life. They will mock what you endured, tragedy is humanity's money tree. But what is it that you, personally, need? I know they can't understand you, but they didn't even try. Everyone had to put their fingers in the pie. The worst were the ones who assumed they knew, and looked down on anyone who admitted you were significant to them. "How dare you be egocentric about him," they said condescendingly, while being egocentric about you. What a mockery everything has become. How could any single creature have it so bad?
Is there any resolution to this story? Not for the thousands and perhaps millions who capitalize on your pain and suffering, but for you. Is that even possible? After all you've done, intentionally or not, will you manage this last thing? Defying them even in dying, will you find a fragment of dignity they didn't manage to steal? Will you make one final statement, on purpose or not, what form would it take? I know more than one person is wondering what you will do next. I do, I care so much, and if I could give you peace I would, even to my own disadvantage ... but no one can ask, and sadly, no one would.
I will turn out all the lights and light a candle for one of our world's strangest flames. There will be music, not silence, to accompany you. They've stolen even your end. Here and there and everywhere people will take up the song, voices will raise in a tidal wave, but no one can give you back your entire life.
If you have a next chance, may it serve you well.
May the long time sun shine on you ...
All love surround you ...
And the pure light within you
Guide you on your way.
Akal, akal, infinity ...
Akal, akal, no end ..
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