There are days I wonder if we’re watching the same movie.
If we’re even living in the same country.
Because what I see is smoke rising—and some people are standing in the fire, calling it freedom.

This morning, a quiet phrase surfaced as I was waking up:
“I can show you, but I can’t see it for you.”

It was a bell inside my chest. Clear. Resonant. Impossible to ignore. 
Because sometimes it feels like I’m speaking across a canyon—little echoes coming back, but not always reaching the hearts I hope it will.
Trying to make sense of how people can witness cruelty, corruption, erosion of checks and balances—and cheer for it.

Or worse, dismiss it.
Like it’s all just politics, or sour grapes, or “fake news.”

But that message reminded me: Seeing is a soul-level choice.
You can show someone the cracks in the foundation.
You can lay out facts, data, lived experiences.
You can offer your heart, your outrage, your story.
But if they’re not ready to see it, none of it will land.

And still—you gotta share it anyway.

Because maybe your truth isn’t for them.
Maybe it’s for someone who’s been following along—even if they never comment, even if they’re just scrolling and taking it in.
Or for your future self, so you know you stayed awake.
Or for the ones coming next, who will ask what we did with our moment.

Sometimes I ask myself: Is there something I’m not seeing on their side? Am I missing a value system that just looks different from mine?

Probably.

We all have our filters. Mine is shaped by a deep belief in justice, equity, community, collective responsibility, and the sacredness of truth—even when it hurts.

I want leadership that reflects those things. I want systems that serve the people, not just the powerful. I want conversations that dig beneath slogans and soundbites.

And I want to believe we’re capable of waking up before it’s too late.

But not everyone values the same things.

Some people want order, not questions.

Power, not nuance.

Comfort, not growth.

They’re allowed to want that.

But I’m also allowed to say:

Not at the cost of our democracy.
Not at the cost of our humanity.

I feel like I’m standing in the tension—trying to show, not force. Trying to stay open without folding.

Because maybe the bridge isn’t built with words.
Maybe it’s built with energy, intention, vibration.
And maybe that’s gotta be enough—for now.