Things have become confining and also spread out across the world.
A few short decades of this, and suddenly we can’t turn back.
We need technology to be socially acceptable and give away our voices.
We need to connect to the people we love, and the strangers we don’t, and the cute animal videos we can’t seem to stop obsessing over.
The thin digital walls divide and converge.
Wars and pieces tell their stories in bits of dimension.
The message always lost out of context.
The negative side is that the boxes we owe ourselves to can be oppressive, addictive, brain candy; aching our wrists and backs and necks, distracting us from our deepest selves with long working hours.
Weaponizing shame, bullying, and hatred in little digital bubbles of text.
On the plus side, we feel connected to our families by miles
or years or lifetimes of separation. We find our own birth mothers and fathers, or lost children, or reasons to go on living; with hand-drawn signs,
notes, confessions, cartoons, human memes, tears, faces, striving human leaps into the future.
We see the same images and love in the same languages.
We get each other, it’s our human birthright.
We gush and envy over the births of children, and watch one another get sick and leave the earth.
Our bodies laid to rest, while our hard drives live on, smiling and singing in true grade memory.
How did we get so detached from the natural world, and yet so strong in our own digital flowering?
Temporary and permanent structures have a process, and in that process, we need beauty and art and companionship and love and physical movement and music and dancing and food and laughter and all the brightness of being face to face to win our selves out of the context of our digital bodies.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he texts, “the sun is out and the birds are singing.”