I am COTUS (Citizen of the United States of America)

A bad photoshop attempt at an official portrait!

I have felt guilty for the last four years. I felt guilty for not staying glued to the news of all that is happening in my adopted country’s capital; and all that has been happening since Trump became the President. Initially, I felt there is something wrong with this choice because I have dedicated my life to better understand people and our planet and to seek justice for both. And this makes me wonder-- am I fake? Am I somehow not true in my intent for justice? 

On inspecting this dichotomy closely, I observe how I spend most of the time on projects with the common thread of regenerating humanity-- the slow tilling of the soil of regenerative culture. Besides, these hate narratives -- shades of both red and blue-- feel like injecting Coca-Cola into the bloodstream of my mind-heart. Therefore, it is not about my intent but a full-body rejection.  Amusingly, when listening more to my body, I need to discard this guilt proudly.

Here is a story from the late 1800s that clarifies my intent of staying in the dark about the events popping up around me - is an act of loyal citizenship of this country.

Leonard Woolf loved gardening, so much so that he had to make a pact with his wife, Virginia, who liked to write novels and became known for them too. The pact- to take regular afternoon walks twice a week to set days; otherwise, ‘he would never leave the garden’, Virginia lamented!

Once, when Virginia was listening to Hitler on her Radio, she called him to come inside. Leonard shouted back, “I shan’t come. I’m planting iris and they will be flowering long after he is dead.”

The flower Iris

The wildflower Fireweed!

The loudness of hate whether painted red or blue is not welcome into my mind-body-heart. My liberation is tied to everyone’s and everyone’s to mine. Yes, I stay informed best I can as a citizen should, but when another story asks me to come into hate, like Leonard, I shout back-- I shan’t come.--I am planting fireweed,  and they will be flowering long after hate is dead.

Look around long enough with your heart and you will see countless, nameless ‘COTUSes’ leading without the pomp and flare-- the real secret service working to protect life from violence. They have been at it long before I was born. I am just one of many called to carry on the torch. 

I ask of you my dear friend - What is your iris? What is your fireweed? What are you planting that you shan’t leave when another story of hate tries to steal your valuable attention and time?

Words by polish poet Waslawa Szymborska, Poem Vemeer. Translated by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak. Shared with me by John Tarrants, Doodling’s by Mansi Kakkar,