a meditation and prayer for Palestine

This is an episode to breathe and ground yourself and send love to the souls lost in this genocide. This episode is dedicated to recent martyr Aaron Bushnell and the 30,000 +  Palestinian lives brutally taken from this earth since October 7th and the lives lost since 1948 and The Nakba.

Remember we have the power. Love will always prevail. 

Today's Poetry:
Sequoia Ramirez
Poem was called Extinguished
Intro Into Therapy
@sequoiatreeee

Main Art Photo:
@arabicdunya

Today's Music:
Clarissa Bitar
Songs: Nada, Amal, and Taqasim Bayati

Resources:

Follow:
@eye.on.palestine2
@palestinianyouthmovement
@wizard_bisan1
@zayn_khalill_
@jewishvoiceforpeace
@middleeasteye

Support Palestinian Businesses:
@olive.odyssey
@westbankapparel

Boycott:
Starbucks
Mcdonalds
Zara
+ Check out the No Thanks app for all companies that support Isreal and you can boycott 

Tell Congress We Demand a Ceasefire:
Petition
5 Calls app ( call your representatives, there are prompts)

Transcript

Poem by Sequoia Ramirez, Extinguished

[00:00:00] Hi, my name is Sequoia Ramirez and this is my poem, Extinguish. Smoke folds in my palm like peaks in an arid desert, winding with whispers of truism and a cementing that would mean freedom at last. Just not for me, only of me. The patrol dogs bark from alleyways deep beneath the beds of heaven, outstretching its arms to catch all that had been propelled into nothingness.

My stomach rumbles of familiar ache. My feet bleed with glass that has not been removed and blood that is always mixing with that of old, never washed, never noticed. A propensity for violence, serving a sentence that began at birth and won't end after my death or a number of deaths. Not till our bones become level lands to build condos on for new families cut from a different holy cloth.[00:01:00] 

Washing them from their hellish behavior. Centuries told, much later down the family tree, Their descendants will say, Those were the atrocities of my forefathers, But not of me. It's odd living in a world Filled with people who don't know where they've grown Or originally sprouted. Share scars of the same gashes, yet say, It's too complicated.

Stickers from Noah Schnapp read, Zionism is sexy. It comes in satin fabric, draped in a deep red. The red of my neighbor's neck, torn open. The unsettling maroon of the baker who I saw a lifetime ago, when my hair hadn't turned gray. Or the black and burgundy of the rubble of a man I knew spent days chipping through it with a small pick.

Said he was looking for his children. It [00:02:00] had been days. Searching for hay within a needle stack. Tender are the eyes that will find me. Blue in color, if not red with rage. Miracles come in the form of moldy oranges after days walking a trail of tears. Centuries later, begging for the world to call us human instead of deserving of the pain we cannot comprehend.

The apocalypse has become personal, a choice to attend when those in the states get to make their New Year's resolution of Pilates and commercial inns. I'm finding my outs to be a taboo topic whose intensity threatens to ruin the mood at white progressive dinner parties around the holidays. Because a genocide is easier to digest at the dinner table when its weight stands on the shoulders of the past instead of right now, with its blood being washed on hands like a new foam soap in the guest bathroom.

Because if it was right now, then the implications would be that people chose to ignore it if it meant confronting their own complacency within it. [00:03:00] A young girl skips on chalk squares in between tents in Rapa. She laughs the same laugh as Beverly Hills little boys on their way to Montessori preschool.

Just like them, she also misses the embrace of her mother once departed. Just like them, she also dreams a bigger dream. And when she falls as they do, and scrapes her knee. It bleeds. Except their mother comes and hers never will. They are the wonderfully wounded, pure, innocent and in need of tender care, while she is the forever target in her own home, marked an enemy in need of extermination.

She cries out to God. Her tears flow in water streams, from the river to the sea. She dreams of Palestine that's one day free. And not buried beneath ash, brother beneath sister, mother beside father. Simply because in the realm of genocide, the world [00:04:00] agreed to disagree. Thank you.