Tattered testimony

Gratitude to the Holy Spirit for reviving my sense of soul and my soul's senses last night, and for reminding me why She first called me to the freedom struggle a decade ago.

She filled me with strength so I could teach with passion and grace today in the face of all the trauma and death that's haunting the community, and the oppression that creates it.

She helped me traverse through my anxiety and nihilism with humility and confidence, finding sober compassion and radical connection along the way.

This process of rebirth has been developing for a while now, and every ounce of my scientific, critical, activist, Marxist, anarchist, and skeptical mind has been ruthlessly testing it, trying to detect self-delusion, ideology, escapism, or pscyopathology. But it's passing the test because this is the lesson everyone and everything around me seems to be teaching me these days, especially my students.

It's a social lesson so powerful I can only do it justice by stating it in frank theological terms: Christ is my ancestor; his tortured spirit echoes through history, in the bodies and actions of oppressed people who struggle for liberation. His memory rises again when we rise up and meet the challenges of our generation like tattered, wobbly saints on a precarious snake march through life.

Even though the future is looking like an unknown mass of death, he taught us how to swarm through it with courage, love, commitment, and gratitude, habits that could become cornerstones of the planetary commune our ancestors have been imagining for us.