Burn me, I tell the truth.
In the hardwood floor, pine cool green painted wall calm
Of the yoga studios of Seattle
A battle rages.
Some say, “I am having my sound baths. I am going to reiki circle
I will not talk about politics . I am on a FAST from news media.
I am taking care of my mental well being.
I am not letting THAT MAN take another thing from me.”
Some, in the self-same yoga studios, aware of their skin color to the point of pain,
Say, “I am engaging in mutual aid. I am marching on Saturday. I am standing
Between my neighbors and ICE.
We all have a responsibility. First they came for the immigrants
And trans people
And I know how that poem ends so I fucking did something.”
The two sides do not meet. They do not speak. Mostly because the self-care
Sound bath socially reclusive “my mental health” crowd will not speak.
Fingers in ears, loudly chanting La la la la la at need,
They watch the ICE cars go by.
They watch their neighbors lose jobs, and hormones, security, and housing.
But they are secure in their soymilk organic mudbath facepeels and they do not despair.
“My guru tells me self-care is the very best thing I can do for the planet,
So Monday I leave for Sedona,” they say.
While Vanessa travels to the prisons to teach yoga to inmates
And Jack packs sandwiches and handwarmers to hand out to the people in tents under
the freeway
And Martha learns how to advocate for the undocumented and takes a few into her
house, her huge house, and hides them.
Amy does little but express herself to all the people who could lock her up if they so
chose,
For disparaging the regime, for insisting on rights , not just hers but other peoples.
And in the yoga studios of Seattle, the battle rages on.
Mostly in silence
Because they leave, when we tell them that the world around them is their business
And we none of us have this luxury at this time.
These are the days we spoke of, when we asked, “why didn’t the ordinary people of
Germany stop them?”
If you ever wondered what you would have done then,
Ask yourself what you are doing now, and you will have your answer.
Writers, healers, poets, musicians, humans: take care of yourself
But like the buffalo, face into the storm
Running and hiding will not protect you.
Not this time.
We will remember, when it is over, who fought
And who did not.
You might not wish to face that chill reception.
Amy Wolf is an LMT and energy worker who resides in Seattle, WA, and is studying writing.
