I Will Never Call Myself A Goddess

It implies a responsibility that I am not prepared for, not training for, and not interested in. Given the choice I would stay on Earth for as long as possible, preferably to be one of the millions of keepers of records out there who are sharing the stories of what is happening in our timeline so that history never forgets.

That’s what I want to do with my life, what’s do you want to do with your life? I have had a lot of time to think about this and the truth is that I don’t want to be a fucking Goddess, I want to be a human. We’re flawed but beautifully so, we make mistakes, and we cause more damage to this planet than any creature that has ever lived on it, however.

We take care of each other, we teach each other, we train each other, we remind each other that we like our ancestors before us, are fighting for a world when humans can live in peace, and in love, without war and hatred.

The only way that’s going to happen is if people like me and you refuse to give up, the only way that’s going to happen is if those of us who have the platforms to do so effect change wherever we go.

In my head I have this story of the “Pele Seeds,” the mountain volcano of Mount Pele erupted the year I was born in 1983. They say that there was so much ash it potentially crossed across the globe twice before settling on the earth and into the oceans.

This story always fascinated me, it was if the Goddess Pele herself was saying “rise my little warriors, it’s your turn,” it’s as if she was blessing all the children born across the globe in 1983 and the years after, with her guidance, wisdom, knowledge, and understanding of the universe.

I believe this because since 1983 we as a human race have made more technological advances then we ever have before. Scientifically we are further ahead than anyone in our known history, besides the people who worked with Aliens, because who knows what kinda shit those people had access to.

The point is the idea that we were born special mattered to me growing up, it inspired in me this belief that one day I would find all the people around the world that I was meant to find, and we would come to a place of unity and respect regardless of our differences.

The way the world is these days makes it hard to hold onto those childhood beliefs of fantasy and majick, it makes it hard to believe that people are willing to be accountable for their actions when we look to our neighbours to the left. When we stop to acknowledge that there were Canadians at the Capitol riots on Wed. morning.

But I am trying, I am trying to believe that what I am doing here on this website matters to people, I am choosing to believe that the words that I am putting on the record have the power to inspire you to believe that there is a place at this table too.

I am hoping – by choice – that one day someone is going to come to me and say “thanks to you I learned how to do this…” not because I need accolaids but because I do need affirmations, because I need to know that I am not wasting my life here, but the truth is that I probably won’t find out for many years, whether or not the ideals that I have tried to emulate have had a positive or negative effect on the world.

I don’t need to be rich and famous to know that my words are helping people – although that would be nice, I’m not going to lie, I really, REALLY suck at house cleaning. I don’t need the entire world to know my name, that’s not the point of keeping records. We aren’t supposed to be the famous ones, we’re supposed to be telling the stories about the famous ones so that no one ever forgets they lived.

But who keeps our records? Who tells our stories? Do they matter? I think so. Off the top of my head I can’t think of their names, but there were many, many Canadian women who made sure that soldiers got messages in times of wars that prevented hundreds of thousands of lives dying. Whose going to tell their stories?

What about the women the other day who collected the confirmed ballot numbers to ensure the safety of American democracy? Whose going to tell their stories? That’s why we have journalists, that’s why we have writers, and if you’re asking yourself where you fit in, ask yourself first what you want to be when you grow up.

I want to be a writer, I want to be a film producer, I want to inspire other people, I want to open doors to my community, I want to be the best version of myself, I want to teach other people not to give up.

In a very real way we come to this world as children and each and every one of us leaves it a soldier, having spent our lives fighting for the things that matter to us.

We are who we are because that’s who we’re meant to be, whether we like the journey or not is absolutely irrelevant, you don’t have to like your job to get it done, and to do it well. You just have to do the fucking job, and sometimes life is very much like an emotional trainwreck of a job, but it’s a job.

You gotta get up every single day and no matter how you feel or what you’re thinking, no matter how tired you are, you get the work done and you hope you left the world in a better place than when you found it.

You do the best you can to spread kindness and love, to inspire others, and to be there for your friends, but some days it’s just not enough and you get that phone call saying your friend has died, or been murdered, or killed themselves. Other times it’s twitter drama or facebook bullshit, but every day there is always something that threatens to drag you to the dark place and you gotta fucking fight it because if you don’t you may not get another day.

This is the life of a survivor, this is the life of a fighter, it’s hard, scary, alone, terrifying, frightening but you do it because behind you is an army of invisible Brown girls looking up to you to see how you do it so they can do it too.

There are people who will throw you under the bus, cast spells on you, throw negativity at you and do everything they can to derail your journey and your progress, but you gotta stomp past em and remind them that they don’t fucking matter, because if they did they’d be living your story for you, instead of gossiping about you like a jealous little bitch.

When I think to the men and women who came before and have now departed this great earth, I don’t think of them as Gods, I think of them as students of the universe who figured out shit that I haven’t even scratched the surface of learning yet.

Some of them left by choice, others because they were forced out, but each of them left a legacy behind that enforced the idea they knew what they were talking about and had lessons to pass down. From 2Pac Shakur to Biggie Smalls and Nipsey Hustle, Kurt Cobain and Chester Bennington and Heath Ledger.

So many amazing men came before me, and I recognize that each of the people I have named are men and that’s because men specifically did their damndest to fucking tear me apart and destroy me, but each of those men that I named left something behind for me too. They left me the tools to survive and succeed in places they didn’t even consider trying to survive and succeed in.

Each of those men are not God’s, they were humans who lived, Angels who came to visit for a little while and then left when it was their term, but there was always someone there to tell their stories when they were gone.

I want to tell the stories, because stories make the world go around, stories enhance our history and give us the belief that we can be superheros and soldiers. They teach us lessons that get us through the bad times and remind us to celebrate during the succesful times.

That’s who I want to be, who do you want to be?

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall

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