slavery - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
No son of the soil can own what he cannot touch or see, and none can see the soul. Whilst you can hold these arms and break this skin, cut until blood runs thick, I am not yours. Do you think the wind only blows for you? That the sun shines only for you? All you are is a bully, a tyrant under the eyes of God and I'd rather be me than you - for you will have to make amends and your sins are many. The bitter irony is that though my body is chained, my mind is more free than yours, less fearful. If I can be noble under these pains I have nought to fear upon death - but you, addicted to comfort and power - you should be afraid.
Were you to come to me as a brother I would give you everything, my heart, my labour, my soul. Instead you wrap me in iron and beat with a stick that which I would have willingly surrendered with a loving heart. In doing so you cripple yourself, come closer to being a human snake with narrowed eyes and forked tongue. In the beginning you beat me with a look of guilt and horror upon your face, now there is only pleasure. In truth you are only a master of a hell on earth, one you forge for your own greed and selfish ways. Under those dusty boots are the bones, blood and tears of your betters. You think it foolish to stand meek, but you are wrong, for it is we that inherit the earth.
They treated us no better than cattle or pigs. They'd encourage us to have children and then rip the family apart, selling the family members to different plantations. Children never saw their parents again. We were fed rations only enough to keep us from starving and it was the same meagre fare every day. If you didn't work hard enough you got whipped, if you made mistakes you got whipped and heaven help you if they caught you trying to run away. They'd whip you until your back was a bloody mass of open flesh in front of everyone else. Sometimes the masters would rape the young girls to 'breed' with them and then sell their babies. Like I said. Worse than cattle. We slept on bare wooden floors with thin blankets and rose at the crack of dawn to work all day.
In slavery my body is a cage for a spirit you cannot touch. You prefer those whose eyes have dimmed, submissive to your abuse and hate those whose eyes burn with the knowledge of your inferiority. A true man is a man of love and integrity, you are neither, an empty shell pretending to be human. Were I to draw your spirit animal from your snarled jaw it would be the serpent, and mine... mine would be a lion not bearing a single mark from your whip.
The sun beat down without mercy and all the while the white man sat behind us on his horse, whip in hand. We picked as fast as we could, anyone not fulfilling their quota would get a whipping. He wore a wide brimmed hat and just watched while children cooked in the sun before him, still hungry from their breakfasts but knowing that if the ate their paltry lunch now they would find it even harder to make it through to their evening meal. Then tall Ben started the singing and as we sung the music was a salve to our troubled souls. Sometimes we sung the song that would help guide us to the north and freedom, but the white man never understood the meaning. It gave us strength, just the idea of hope, the idea of a life away from the whip.
In our western lifestyles we are crippled by a forced dissociation of the mind. We "believe" we stopped slavery but we actually know that we did not, we simply exported it. We are the beneficiaries of slaves in industries from seafood to chocolate plantations and fabrics. Our civilization is built on the bones of angels and I am here to tell you that everyone of those slaves suffering and dying is directly linked to the divine creator and so He is suffering in pain too. How can He not? But the disconnect that makes us "sleep" as the world is destroyed is not limited to slavery.
We know our world is dying but we buy hundreds of products we don't need - encouraged to dismiss alternatives as "crazy" or "hippy nonsense." As we carry on, struggling with dissociated minds, fuelling the wanton global destruction with our purchases, the elites laugh and keep our cash rolling in. They make no wealth, they steal it from us and control us with fear and distraction. If you want to save the planet, if you want to live a truly noble life, get away from mainstream media. As Jesus said, "you cannot worship God and money." You must choose. God is Love. You can Love the world and your fellow humans, fellow creatures, or you can suffer a system of greed in which the most corrupted and debased humans win power over us and make hell on earth.
Change is so simple, so empowering, so beautiful and fulfilling. Only buy products from virtuous cycles - that means ones that benefit people and planet. Buy nothing you don't really need. Buy local. Don't wrap your vegetables and groceries in disposable plastics. Take your money out of a big five and to the most ethical co-op you can. Trade and barter. Buy fair trade. Don't be fooled by companies that "green wash." We need radical changes to our system that only allow virtuous cycles to flourish. We can't just tweak our politics, we need a whole new system and it starts with you and me. The future is amazing, awesome. Come with me. We can heal.
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by .
There could have been a reality where we toiled side by side, where each worked with a heart of love to benefit the other - instead you prefer power with a raised whip. There could have been a way for us to laugh and sing, to exchange the prettiest of our ways and learn from the errors of the other. Instead you show me that you own my soul with nickels and dimes, rate my effort in a ledger written by mortal hand. It means less than the bark of a dog. You have killed children of God, his sons, his daughters - praying will never be enough and there is not a place you can run to.
The years stretched out like a road through sand, the landscape barren, and every step Isha wished was her last. Her skin that had been broken so many times by the whip was a gnarled map of her pain. The sunlight she had loved as a child in her mother's arms was nothing but a curse, for feeling it meant her heart was still beating. She envied the fall leaves curling brown to the earth; surely the Lord would take her away some day soon, someday when the whip sent her blood into the soil.