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Your Blessings Make Me Itch: An Open Letter

You believe you see blessings, I see my privileges and responsibilities in an unjust world created by men. Remember this when you protest, donate and support lives subject to more violence than your own.

Growing up I was always told how blessed I am. Blessed to be safe, blessed to be free, blessed that my stomach never knew the ache of hunger and my heart was always at least half full - I’ve never known true loneliness, I’ve always had someone to love and be loved by. I had toys, school, books, and a bike. I could go on holiday, I was healthy, I was safe.


As I grew older, the sense of all these blessings started to make me itch. Why are some of us blessed with safety and freedom while others are, through no fault of their own, birthed into a cesspit of molestation, war, famine, violence, tears and blood and dirty water. How could I be happy because someone else was scrabbling for their life, covered in the dust of bombed down buildings instead of me. Is that a dimension of happiness, the antithesis of someone else’s suffering? Is that what blessings look like?


You won’t convince me. You will not convince me that God has chosen me to receive over a tortured child in Yemen. You will not convince me that my divine right is greater than anyone else’s. You will not sell me to a God of supremacy.


You believe you see blessings, I see my privileges and responsibilities in an unjust world created by men. Remember this when you protest, donate and support lives subject to more violence than your own - men stripped away their safety, God did not award you yours above theirs. Society feeds us shelter of cognitive dissonance under God to justify our crimes, avoid our responsibilities and muffle our grief.


Do I believe in blessings? I know true blessing are invisible; they are the unconditional, unrelenting offering of connection, and are a universal divine right.


Love, Light and ACTION x!



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