A Personal Revolution

Who was it that said something about being sane in an insane world? Meaning, that anybody in their right mind would be absolutely insane. That is to say that being well-adjusted is no great marker of righteousness. When our ability to adjust to the world is brought to its knees, then we ask for a revolution. A societal revolution. But when we speak of “society” we so often exclude ourselves, as though it were something of a spectacle to gander upon, something outside our own concern, our own ability. But this is an illusion.

I wish to form a revolution on my very own. A personal revolution. In this way, I am talking about a death and a life transfer. That is to say, a rebirth. One can give a new birth to themselves countless times. No matter the situation, I believe we have the power to decide not our own fates, but whether we greet that fate with a smile or scorn, as friend or foe. One could call it a duty, I would think.

I feel as though at times I want very little, but the things I want, I require. I want a beautiful, silent, life––where the sky and all of the various landscapes and even the faces swirl in a bouquet of strange mutations. I have no clue how to get there, but on some days I am close. The modern human in many ways has lost the ability to sit with themselves. We have been duped into believing we must always be doing something, always be striving.

Author and Founder of Wrong Speak Publishing’s 'Black Victim to Black Victor: Second Edition' is now available at Wrong Speak Publishing, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble! Pick up your copy today!

I think striving should come in strides. The modern human needs plenty of time––time to ponder, time to daydream, and time to do absolutely nothing. Specifically, nothing. When a person can sit with themselves and do nothing, they have won the battle against fear. It is the pace of the modern world that scares the daylights out of many of us, although we rarely put it that way. Our mentality, our design, and our desires have been electrocuted, shocked into a berserk tempo of unwavering, unsettling demands.

The ability to sit and do nothing is not just the victory over fear, but over all noise, all violence, all decay, all paranoia, all mistrust. Because, as we have all learned I am sure, tomorrow simply never comes. But this is not just true for days of the week, or hours of the day. The present is a razor, a tight-rope walk. A tight-rope walk where one can rarely afford to look down and never, absolutely never turn around. A personal revolution may include sitting with yourself––committing to breathing exercises.

Humans are said to read less and less, and the capacities at which children can read are in decline. We have lost the ability to read because it is excruciating. In order to read, one must be able to sit and do nothing with their body. We are not shocked into paralysis; we are shocked into the infinite movements of ho-hum minutiae. We are busy bodies for the sake of nothing. We waste hours on trivialities. We are, much of the time, authentically inauthentic. To read and to do nothing is to risk contemplation, to risk rumination, and introspection. In another way, it is to risk boredom. In the age of the Kabuki Theatre, boredom is a sin.

Admittedly, I am ignorant of much. I can’t stand the updates on the progress of wars. I find I cannot think or speak on war without immediately causing offense to myself and to others––I am not going to fight in a war, nor am I near any current wars. I know so little about the geographic and cultural makeup of our current wars that I feel lost in the verbiage, useless in any solution finding. Sometimes I find myself being empathetic to whoever’s side I heard last. Must mean I would make a lousy soldier. I think I am fine with that for now, and this will probably never change.

If anything, I believe I choose isolation and I choose beauty. When there are times of chaos, I recoil––when everyone is shouting in outrage, why add to the noise? America left me exhausted and disillusioned. It has also been said that “patriotism may be the last refuge of a scoundrel”, but expatriating is the last refuge of the desperate.

It was the summer of 2020 that sent my home country and my brain afire. Perhaps the match was lit long ago––my suspicion is that it was. We began to see humans as more like rabid pack animals than your comrades; shouting, hurling atrocities like the day's paper.

The year of 2025 is already mired in chaos. The new American President has promised it. No matter whether your opinion of him is favorable or unfavorable, chaos was always going to ensue, because it is indelibly connected to his objectives. For better or for worse, it is an inevitability.

As I mentioned before––the concept of rebirth. For me, it is to seek a clearer resolve within my own turbulent spirit. That wherever I am, and whatever is going on around me, I can sit still. I have no use in being in a hurry. Time is forever on your side if you can learn to sit still. I am going to worry about nothing and concentrate on breathing.

What I want is a life of my very own, and I am certain that one can, in the most loving way, become born as often as they please. I won’t ever likely adjust to this world, but I embrace the absurdity through strides of striving, personal expression, and looking at my fate, whatever it may be, with a smile.

JSV
2025

Judson Stacy Vereen is the author of American Pleasure, 62 Poems from Judson Vereen, and Like A Bird Knows To Sing. He is also a staff contributor to Wrong Speak, where he publishes a bi-monthly opinion column. His substack page is Dispatches from Bohemian Splendor.

Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author's own.