Jun 9, 2022
What If You Could Talk To Karma?
What Would You Say? How Would You Frame Your Story, So That Other People Might Actually Want to Listen? How Would Others?
I love this photo because when I see it, I see a little Black girl that could be thinking about anything in the world. Conditionally I am supposed to believe that she is thinking about struggle, challenge, pain, and sorrow, but what if she isn’t?
I think she’s seeing worlds in the cobblestones. I think she’s seeing faeries, angels, demons, Gods, Goddesses, and all the majickal things that we as adults are told don’t really exist. “Except in books and movies.”
Okay well if Captain America and Black Cat exist in a book in OUR world, then that means that they exist right? You can’t deny that, because they either exist or they don’t.
The words “but only…” don’t need to be a part of this conversation.
It doesn’t matter if you can only fathom them existing in books, film, television, or the theatre, that’s not the point. The point is that THEY EXIST.
Period. No explanation is needed.
That’s the whole point behind the theatre, film, and television, it’s to show the world that these majickal superhuman powerful creatures could exist in some format…so if they could exist in the digital world, why couldn’t they exist in our world?
Just because you can’t see Jene Gray flying through the skies like the Pheonix she eventually becomes, doesn’t mean she isn’t there watching over us and protecting us as best she can.
Why couldn’t Wolverine be sitting behind you on your bed reading his own comic book stories while you draw him hoping that one day you’ll get to work for a really cool comic book company?
Why couldn’t Storm be whispering in your ear when you’re angry or sad, reminding you that you are too powerful to release all that anger in a negative way while encouraging you to create something positive with your pain?
Why is that so fucking impossible to believe?
The answer to that is complicated, because if I say what I want to say then I’m the crazy one, then I’m the one whose nuts, because I see things in ways you don’t…because I perceive information differently than you do.
The most seemingly, powerful people in our world are rich and famous. And yet Batman hasn’t shown up to destroy the cities we live in and fight the bad guys, because we leave the crime-fighting to the cops, right?
But what happens when the cops are the bad guys? Who do we call then? Their bosses? Some of whom are very much compliment, and encourage their officers to break the law so they can benefit?
What do we do when the cops, and the politicians are the bad guys? When everyone that WE Vote for is corrupted, or close to being corrupted, how do WE as a society find our equilibrium again?
It’s really difficult to look at what’s happening in the world right now and believe in majick, it’s really difficult to see the beauty and the splendour and the amazing awesomeness of what is possible when we’re constantly bogged down with trauma.
Every day for the last two weeks a new shooting, a child murdered or missing, a woman a man a person dead, because because because, and the reasons are unfathomably difficult to consume because there are so many of them.
So for me, in order to function in this world as someone who has been through so much, I HAVE to believe in majick, because that’s the anchor that keeps me alive.
I learned a long time ago that you can’t hold onto a single person in this world and hope that they are going to save your life when you’re drowning because if you’re not careful you might make them drown with you.
That’s not to say that you shouldn’t ask for help, but at a certain point, you have to start helping yourself. I ask for therapy all the time, almost weekly, and have been for years — as a child, I used to run from therapy — I didn’t need therapy as a kid, I needed adults to keep their hands to their fucking selves.
I needed grown-ups to protect me and take care of me, to cherish the fact that I existed in a way no one else ever had before, but my friends and I, we didn’t get that, and so now I write.
I write because I know a lot of men who were abused — and nearly murdered — trying to keep what happened to us a secret. and because they can’t speak out, or don’t have the words, or don’t believe that they are allowed to write.
A lot of people don’t understand how I can look at someone who was hypnotized before he raped me, and still love him, and yet I do. With every cell in my being, because “I” know, what happened to build the man he became, from the boy that was destroyed.
I know what we went through. I remember being kicked out of being a house naked, after being raped, by grown men who used boys to rape me, and I remember the girl who got me some clothes and helped me get home, but I don’t remember how I got home, or which home I went to. Most of that year is a blank, I remember I was about 14, and I remember the relief I felt when I found out the house had been torn down.
But because the house is no longer there, people believe that it never was, and there will be plenty of people who tell you it never did exist, so if it didn’t exist, what happened to us didn’t happen.
Except that there is proof it existed, most people just don’t know where to look. City Hall is a really good place to start.
Thankfully those who knew where to look did, and they found the house, and witnesses, and now people know that what happened to me actually did happen.
They know that there were many of us, and it’s sad because many people who are powerful don’t actually have the opportunity to work on the front lines of mental health, and trauma and they don’t often get to hear directly from victims, and yet ironically, there are billions of writers around the world sharing their stories of things people swore never happened, but actually did.
So we’re all psychotic? We’re all just crazy? Out of the 7.753 billion people on this planet (as of 2022 from the World Bank,) every single one of us talking about Angels, Vampires, Demons, Gods, Goddesses and Faeries are crazy? But only if we don’t make MONEY talking about these things.
Then we’re brilliant, talented, geniuses who change the world with the words that we create, THEN we’re celebrated, THEN we matter.
If I could talk to Karma I’d tell her to chill the fuck out, to relax a little and stop seeing things so one-sidedly, I’d tell her to take a look at the bigger picture, to step outside of her comfort zone, and to see that the way that I perceive light and strength isn’t the way she does.
I’m not strong because I survived rape, torture, and kidnapping at the hands of white supremacists and cult leaders. I’m strong because, in spite of all of that, I’m still here, hoping, that one-day things will be better not just for me, but for all those who are abused at the hands of the same people who should have fought harder to keep us safe.
Huh.
Something to think about.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall
