Borders are artificial, the stuff of nations and cops.
In a sacred world, we’d notice ecosystem shifts, like mountains, tree lines, bodies of water, different flora and fauna, or different birds and other critters. We’d ease gently into those moments when we traverse such “divides”—not markers of private property or regimes of social control, but of interrelationality that we respectfully, continually, and voluntarily cultivate. Meaning that we’d engage in myriad forms of reciprocal hospitality when humbly crossing into other bioregions and communities, human and nonhuman, understanding that we make home together, temporarily or for the long haul.
Instead, with profane power, a border guard determines worthiness, or not, to travel from one state to another.
And soon after that, I know I’m in a different place not by a change in this summer’s climate catastrophe weather—the humidity goes on, unabated, labeled with “heat warning”—or even much change in the types of flowers blooming right now. Instead, I know by the stickers spotted on my travel-tired #FuckThePolice walk this evening in Montreal/Tiohtià:ke/Mooniyang, which bear witness to a colonizer of another tongue, French—though a desire to abolish the police is a relatively universal language, thankfully, as equally witnessed tonight by the English-colonizer-language of #FTP.
#FreedomToMove
#FreedomToReturn
#FreedomToStay
#UntilAllAreFree