As I drive past protesters on the streets, standing with signs and screaming out loud what they believe in, what they want to see change to bring about a higher consciousness, I smile with a sense of relief. These people are living what I am thinking, and often what I am writing.
I drive through the crowd, slowly. My eyes are hungry to read their colorful signs, and gaze their brave faces. I beep my horn and lower my window and scream, “thank you!” The marcher’s of change stand together like a beam of light from a night sky of stars that are majestically aligned and ready to combust in synchronicity. I thought to myself in that instant, this is art.
Revolution is art in motion. The best art comes about unexpectedly as a spark of Intel from our higher selves. If we remain open to receive, art will manifest in many forms. Painting, writing, marching and yes, revolutionizing too.
An organic revolution is bound to the present moment and it is profoundly unorganized. The moment a protest or social movement becomes organized you have to follow the same patterns as the society you are going to oppose. With no assigned leader, it is regarded as a an ineffective waste of time. However, that is far from the truth. To rise up against a corrupt system, a revolutionary needs no system to define it’s movement. It is an organization of collective individuals, not an organization of sheep, unconsciously following an appointed leader.
Artistically the best way to stand up to order, is to despise it by not practicing it. I define protesting as abstract art in it’s highest quality. Scattered fragments of colors, cultures, ages and genders splattered among a canvas, falling wherever gravity allows it to land but undoubtedly beautiful.
What I find so beautiful about spontaneous protest is that it is sea of unscheduled, and unconfined freedom of thought and mind together in a collective effort to express in many different ways, one specific thing, and that is humanity. Like a beautiful piece in a museum, the sight of the protesters give’s me hope that the heart of the universe is not dead yet.
She may have been denied, enslaved, manipulated and discriminated against, shot dead, hung from a tree and locked up in prison with an inflated sentence, but she still has a pulse. She is still raging, breathing fire and her meditation is believing. The heart beat of the universe refuses to go into cardiac arrest. She is sustained by her willingness to fight for love, equality and humanity.
When I see protesters, I see the heart of the universe in human demonstration. Despite their courage to just drink the kool-aid and accept the status quo, she is ridiculed labeled criminal, unemployed and misguided. Even a rebel. But you see, the real rebels are the people justifying the actions of a corrupt and outdated system. Refusal to change is the most unrealistic and malignant problem of this day in age. A rebel goes against humanity a spiritual warrior is always for humanity.
The protesters understand a very fundamental law of the universe and that is change is inevitable and to expand human consciousness we must explore better ways to live amongst each other. Science has proven our universe is limitless and vast. The more we discover, the more we find new planets, moons and other galaxies we never knew existed. The same holds true for the human consciousness, the more we are open to change, the more we discover higher ways to live.
Out with the old and in with the new. They haven’t silenced us. This I know by the mere sight of the art of revolution who walks in the streets with her signs refusing to accept the status quo and proving that disruption is a good thing. A rebel she is not, she is more like a solider of love. She is art in motion, unhinged and unbounded, her light will be seen and her voice will be heard.
The art of justice is art in motion. A dance of the souls who are thirsty for the rise of human consciousness, a revolution of the heart. There is no divinity in order. The disorder is in the order. Systems need to be reformed, remade and restructured so that the heart can take it’s rightful place over the perils of the mind.
Thank you, from my heart of hearts to all the brave street artist who paint the street with their souls, and write with their blood in favor of liberation and humanity.
by Janell Hihi