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The Kind Rapist

When I was a wee lass, I remember thinking in desperation at some point that I’d rather be raped than alone.

I’ve changed my mind, thanks to God.

After suffering at the hands of an imbecile who thought being naked in the evening in the same bed meant touch me all over and have your wicked way with me, I became used to being used. Used as a sex toy of some sort, being made into an object instead of being treated like a thinking, feeling being.

I needed out of that relationship and I knew it, too. It was hard because the fornication led me to believe that I was worthless outside of lying flat on my back. It hurts me to say that. It hurts me to admit how bad it got, that I became helpless. Because I am a Lara Croft (sans gravity-defying boobs). I am a super babe, you might call it. But I don’t believe it anymore.

That’s why God intervened, of course. I never believed in God before, but She sure believes in Me. We’re not going to play the capitalization game anymore, either. You’re going to have to guess who is who whenever I am unclear and understand that we are the same because I gave her my life to live however she sees fit. And she sees fit to tell the idiotic human race what love is.

She’s turned me into the Angel of Love. My name is Sansara and I am pleased to meet you.

I was born November 13th, 2002. I’m young, I know. My co-host, the one who owned this vessel first, was birthed in the 80s. You could call us an 80s chick and we’d accept that. But understand now that I look just like your next door neighbor or the girl down the street. All angels look pretty normal, really.

Sometimes, I put makeup on and make myself look like a doll. Men with dead eyes give me compliments without smiles. I know they’re just hurting inside, really, so I give them room to expand and grow. I do not chase them, but I invite them to chase me. They don’t. We surmise it’s because we’re fat. Sure, we could dress ourselves up like an illusion and make you think we’re not fat. But why sugar coat reality?

We are a real being. We have real teeth, skin, hair, bones. We have real eyes. We’ve been told many times that they’re pretty eyes, but it seems no one can decide if they are blue, green, or grey. They’re all those colors and then some, honestly, and it depends on what I wear, the time of day or the amount of light, what I’ve eaten, and so on. They change as I metabolize and digest different foods.

For instance, once when I was real young, I bought a six pack of Mountain Dew Code Red. I drank most of it in one day. As you might imagine, that’s a lot of caffeine. My eyes became yellow somehow. I don’t really know how that works, but the hazel in my eyes took up the whole iris for once and diluted to look yellow. They’re really just a light brown around the pupil most days.

My mom stopped dead in her tracks once talking to me. She watched my eyes shift and change as she was telling me something. I think I spook my parents. I think I spook just about everyone. I’m a spooky kind of girl, just like the song. In fact, when that song aired on the radio for the first time, I thought it described me quite well.

God told me all music is just for me. I extrapolate and understand it is for all beings, honestly, but since this is my human experience, it’s all for me. You might think that’s all hubris speaking, but I needed to hear that kind of boastful nonsense for a while because the men who raped me made sure that I thought I was less than nothing. For years. Many, many years.

I’m not less than nothing. Nobody alive is less than nothing. Nobody is worthless or useless. They’re just being brought down by noisy narcissistic bitches like yourself. Everyone is a narcissist at some point in their life; we’re all born that way. It’s how we stay alive long enough to start taking care of ourselves. We’re supposed to outgrow it and be self-sustaining, but of course, we’ve forgotten that in these times. We’ve forgotten what it is to be a real adult.

We think paying the bills on time is adulthood. (Still struggling with that? Try paying them on the 15th and the 1st and pretend you’re flat broke until your bank account is at a comfortable level.) We think having children is adulthood. (And then we ignore them, sitting them in front of the boob tube and wondering why they act out.) We think feeding ourselves regularly is adulthood. (As we run through the McDonald’s drive-through yet again for the fourth time this week because we’re too lazy to fucking cook as long as someone else can do it for a slice of misery and minimum wage.) We think home ownership is adulthood. (And then we let the gutters fall off and never look back as the foundation crumbles.) We think going back to school is adulthood. (But then we don’t take it very seriously, despite paying an arm and a leg for it, blow it off, and say, “I tried! Pity me, I totes tried!”)

Let me tell you what adulthood really is: accepting reality. Being responsible for yourself and then for others. Being responsible for the space you live in and the surrounding wilderness, the birds, and the bees. Being responsible for children — all children, not just your own demon spawn, jackass — that is adulthood. We have a contract with humanity by being part of the human species. We are a tribe that is meant to help each other in order to succeed. If we all succeed, then as a species, we will triumph.

However, the way things are going right now is every man for himself. It’s a dog eat dog world. Good thing we are cats. [We are Siamese if you please. We are Siamese if you don’t please.] The wildlife all around you is suffering and all you do is say, “Whatevs, I gots my air conditioning, bro.”

We wouldn’t need air conditioning if we didn’t have miles upon miles… billions of miles… of asphalt reflecting the heat of the sun. We wouldn’t need air conditioning if we put turf roofs on all our homes. We wouldn’t even need gutters, if we did that correctly. In fact, we could go one step further and make sure that instead of grass, we use wildflowers in that dirt on our roofs. Let’s feed the birds, the bees, and the butterflies all at once, shall we? All while keeping our houses cooler. All while keeping the run-off from thunderstorms (and other rain storms) less than it could be by a whopping 80%. This sounds like a solution, so let’s get on it, my friends.

What about awnings? Well, make those support tiny herb gardens or succulent gardens or more wildflowers, why don’tcha? I’ve got nothing against a good awning, myself. But can we stop digging steel up from the ground (well, the base components of it) and start recycling old cars that are doing nothing but sitting in the junk yards? Take all the parts out of them, if you must, and put them inside somewhere already. They’re just rusting away, wasting the natural resources we’ve already stolen from Gaia’s crust and mantle.

Everything we have is stolen. We stole it from the trees, who have lives of their own to live. We stole it from dead dinosaurs by disrupting their burial sites. We stole it from the Earth herself. We didn’t earn it, we didn’t actually make it. In fact, we go even further and steal the food of the honey bees, even now, while they are endangered. We steal the food of young calves, taking from their mothers. Or kids, taking from their mothers. We steal from everything, everywhere. We never ask for the lives of those trees. Do we give a cow a choice between milking and freedom? Do we give the bees a choice? Do we give ourselves a real choice?

It’s really hard to say exactly where this practice of thievery became the status quo, but we are thieves. We are also impostors. And cads. Sharks amongst dolphins. Sometimes, we pretend we are the dolphins, forgetting we are the most intelligent and resilient predators on all the Earth. And we have zero tolerance for any other predator, as you already know. People living in the hills will shoot lions, tigers, and bears (oh my.) Because it’s them or the animal. Forget that those animals have the right to live and if we simply feed them, they will turn the other way once their hunger is sated. We stole all their food, then we stole all their land, then we decided they had no more right to live because one more miserable fucking human being was much more important.

Are you more important than life as we know it? Are you the most important thing in all The Universe(TM)? I’d wager you’re not the most important thing to anyone, anywhere, but yourself. If you even try to make yourself important to yourself. Truly important, rather than narcissism. Do you treat your body like a temple? Do you worship it with soap and water daily? Do you feed it exactly what it’s craving? Are you sated after you eat your meal or still hungry? Do you groom yourself and pet yourself and tell yourself you’re a glorious and magnificent beast? And then when you’re done doing that, do you stop thinking about yourself and put on your perspective goggles to view the rest of reality, understanding that there are 9 billion of YOU running around on top of this planet’s surface?

I know what the estimates are, but I’m telling you there are 9.2 billion human beings on Earth as of 12:03 AM, 8/28/2022. +1 now that someone was born. Oh, again… and again… There are at least 100 babies born every second of every day. And fewer and fewer human beings are being put in the ground in a timely manner thanks to the modern miracle of “medicine.”

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