In life, there are the fires that test us, that call us to more—to move.

Our inner voice screams because the world ignores what is and diminishes dissent so that control persists.

I recall the bumper sticker from the early two thousands that stated "if you aren't mad, you are not paying attention."

Anger is exhausting, but rage is the voice of the eternal flame. The idea is not to live within the rage but to harness the horses of your fury and ride them to action, mad as hell and ready to change the status quo.

Use your rage to enact change. Your rage is the voice of your holy spark.

I live in a country that refuses to protect children in school from gun violence. We point at stereotypes, outside forces, and evil to quash, while men kill our children in schools and churches, and America returns to apathy again and again. Liberals wring their hands while conservatives argue for the rights of gun owners.

Profits and grifting swell to the point of bursting at the seams, and yet we sigh and turn off the propaganda tube, drink another glass of wine, or toss back another anxiety pill and hope one day for a better leader, a better way, an external force that might open the door to a possible future we are too lazy to define.

And while we sleep through this nightmare, new shepherds emerge to guide us deeper into darkness, selling passive consumption through strategic manipulation.

Influencers emerge and spend their youthful energy on reinforcing the status quo of millennia, and consumers pivot to buy their new recommendations.

Women on the side of so-called righteousness tell young girls on TikTok to obey the husband they have not yet met and to follow pseudo-religious control schemes devoid of meaning or good, let alone spiritual connection.

The world burns, and we argue for our side even when that side destroys and tortures, if that side is our tribe. Choose creation over sides. While they argue, we build.

We try to explain the pain of living under schemes of oppression to our oppressors, and though they may love us as pretty things, they will never understand. Our fathers, husbands, and brothers seldom take up the mantle and become true allies. This intimate betrayal mirrors and reinforces the ancient institutions that blessed it into being.

From the erasure of women's texts in the biblical canon to the exclusion of women's declarations from our constitutional canon, religious and legal patriarchy have worked in tandem, each lending the other divine and civic authority.

Patriarchy reigns with the blessing of the churches and the states, devoid of women, churches celebrating the erasure of women from the ancient texts to the modern day. This conjoined work serves to oppress and control from the very center of our souls. Under the weight of millennia of control—from our beds to our churches and to the dreams we relinquish to survive—the question erupts from within.

Men have claimed women as property and dismissed our minds from the start, erasing our invisible labor that glues the world together. Our birth-giving and our labors of raising children, cooking, and cleaning, so that men might be the geniuses, the artists, the inventors, the leaders, the heroic voices of reason. The same duties are named differently for women: teacher, crafter, mother, and cook. Our pay is less if we are paid at all, even while we raise the next generation alone, undersupported, and demeaned by the societies in which we toil, love, birth, and die.

Our radical ability to push life from and through our very bodies is used against us at every turn, from the ability to decide when we have children to the man who gets to claim us with his name, our servitude bound in a document of marriage.

The con is sold to girls from infancy, put on your princess dress and be as tiny and meek as you can—a prince will come by and you won't have to think again. The allure to be compliant is strong when the possible futures laid out for you are so few. Compliance is good and anger is bad, for girls and women, we are told.

All the while, women are told we must wait. Patience is a virtue, the line we must swallow as we submit to perpetual systems of control.

In this moment of change, many name technology as the threat, the disruptor, the thing to fear. But technology is not the oppressor—it merely amplifies the intentions of those who wield its potential.

Time is a wheel that moves us imperceptibly. The small life of humans is a minuscule speck in the cosmic continuum, and when our false sense of control feels threatened by big change, we humans have an instinct we return to: fear.

I am more afraid of humans than I am of technology.

Technology is a tool; humans have wrath, vengeance, and small egos they need to prop up by standing on the necks of the people that threaten their little scrap of status, reputation, and dominance.

If you have never had to fight for what you have and what you need, you cannot know the rage and pain of those who have.

We are that fire—passed from mother to daughter, from woman to woman, unextinguished through millennia. The men who love us must be strong enough to hold our fire so they too can grow beyond the tired tropes of masculinity so limiting as to suffocate the full breadth of humanity into a cast shadow of manhood, two-dimensional and disconnected from the world we need to share.

An invitation from complicity to alliance is the door that is always open, even when ignored so long that the hinges rust and the memory of hope fades. Allyship between the forces of change, between the oppressed and those empowered through chromosomes to change the standard is on offer for all who are brave enough to say, as a man, SHE is right, SHE is in charge, hey fellas, let's listen to what SHE has to say. The first step toward alliance is acknowledging where we stand in the machinery of control. If you have the upper hand, but don't know it, ignorance is no longer a refuge for you. Brother, you have been notified.

The tides of change become swelling seas, devouring one way or another what was, in turn for what may come. The space between, when the tide recedes, is the space of emergent possibility.

In the tumult of unrest and unease, when global forces lean predictably into the old, fearful, man-made systems of fascism and authoritarianism, as though an evil father figure will be the saving grace, we have another option, one that is not replayed through millennia, one we have not yet played in any capacity.

Seek the divine that pulses through every living thing. The force that drives seeds through concrete. That turns rage into revolution. That transforms pain into power.

Stop asking permission to exist entirely.

Stop explaining your pain to those who profit from it.

Stop waiting for the right moment—it's now or it's never.

The world will do as it will with or without you. You decide what to do with this little life of yours. One bright spark between two unknowable truths, our life a blip in a continuum of darkness. No man, nor any human being of any race or gender, king, dictator, boss, or pontiff has the authority to control your light.

Brothers:

This isn't about making you smaller. It's about all of us becoming more.

Pass the mic. Step back. When SHE speaks, you amplify.

Use your privilege as a battering ram against closed doors, not a key just for yourself.

Stop talking about being an ally. Be one. In the meeting. At the dinner table. In the voting booth. When it costs you something, when the others don't agree, when your neck is on the line, let HER shine.

Sisters:

You are not broken. You are breaking free. Your rage is not hysteria—it's clarity. Your exhaustion is not weakness—it's evidence of how long you've been fighting. Your refusal to comply is not selfishness—it's salvation.

Don't spend another second of your sweet time in the victim seat. You have earned your right by being born; the life you are living NOW is the proof of your sacred gift. Your youth is a currency the world will waste like dime store candy. Stop waiting for permission that will never come. Stop looking for validation from systems designed to keep you small. The seat at their table? It's poisoned. Build your own table, build your own business, build your own house. Don't waste your time trying to secure a seat by bargaining with chips they give you; build your own bank and become the currency.

Own your light like a flame in the night, and don't fear their wrath, because that is all they have against you. They will shame you as they always have, call us names, and drag our stories through their small-minded fears and narratives. Don't let their fear dull your sword.

You are the light, and they are the past; they are death, and you are creation.

Do whatever you want, dream bigger than you can imagine, and set your course for the life of abundance you must shape, as no one will give you permission.

With fathers who believe in us and husbands who champion us and share the housework, with sacrifice on both sides, just maybe in one lifetime the tide will return to a changed landscape, one that generates before it destroys, one that encourages growth over weak-minded control.

Band together. Not in service to another's vision of order, but in defiance of everything that would compress the infinite into the controllable.

You want to start that impossible business? Start it.

You want to leave that suffocating relationship? Leave.

You want to create art that makes people uncomfortable? Create it.

You want to burn down your respectable life and build something wild? Light the match.

Your dreams aren't too big. They're not big enough. Dream bigger. Dream weirder. Dream in ways that would terrify the people trying to keep you small.

I'm not asking you to hope. Hope is passive.

I'm asking you to rise. To fight. To refuse. To create. To destroy what needs to be destroyed and build what needs to be built.

The world is on fire, and they want us to argue about who started it while everything burns.

We are the fire.

We are the change.

We are the light they cannot dim, the force they cannot stop, the future they cannot prevent.

And we are already burning.

To the women who are done waiting: Your fire cannot be extinguished.

To the men who love us: Your liberation is tied to ours.

To everyone else: Get out of our way.

Be curious. Question your patterns. And be kind to yourself; you are worthy, my friend.

-Sonia a.k.a. SuperSonic

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