Musings of an Amateur Advocate
Divinity is found far and wide. In corners seen and corners not, what some find frivolous, others find pure - the universal experience of difference. It is the individual and identical combined that births the magic of being. Whether anointed as human or other, there is a starkness to life of every facet.
A revelation came form in the grottos and trees and mountain rain I lived this summer.
Smoky Mountain Tennessee.
In all transparency, I'd never known the term grotto until this year. After witnessing firsthand the wonder that is grotto, obviously, I now find my ignorance unacceptable.
For those of you like me, woeful to the mysteries of the other, grotto is defined as such: a small, picturesque cave. As it turns out, small, picturesque caves are right up my alley.
How did I miss it?
Despite its seeming regularity, the earth holds stories the "human" eye has never seen. Though screaming with grandeur beyond comprehension, I've literally spent my life walking over these stories without a second look.
First and foremost, this mindless fault was my doing. I hadn't done my research. I hadn't bothered to pay attention, glazing over grotto.
Leaving the summer with a better trained eye than I entered, I’ve noticed an epidemic of misrepresented storied filtering our air. Starting with the earth.
While becoming an area of mass contention between climate change, its argued validity, and fear of societal downfall – earth has been tossed to the wayside. Fed to the wolves while humanity debates its inherent sanctity.
I am not a scientist. At best, I am an amateur writer; at worst, I am a hopeless advocate of the unseen. A tree hugger, among other things.
What I offer this burning world is my voice – my experience – my ability to listen.
I found stories this summer. I found dirt that held more than particles, it held stories of the millions who walked its heart and the millions that didn’t. I found trees with heads held high despite a waning fate. I found mountains that held the sky without fear of plummeting.
In the simplest way, I found majesty.
What I take from this exposure: a cry for authenticity.
Humanity’s been gifted an unimaginable power. Storytelling, whether vocational, written, or other has the ability to lead, persuade, and represent. Though there is no way to claim honesty among all, I believe there is a responsibility to uphold realities with their granted respect. In every regard, communication – authentic or not – creates the societies of today, an impossible authority.
I don’t have authority – I’m an isolated voice among billions.
I don’t have authority – I have power.
What I take from my exposure is a commitment to those unheard; to tell their stories through a lens of honor rather than agenda. A commitment to rage their stories like the mountaintops, without fear of plummeting. A commitment to wield power as a raving swarm.
A commitment to storytelling.
Starting with the earth.
All the best,