Humanifesto

A treatise for our times

I’ve been writing this in my head for several months; today I wrote it down for you - for me, too. For us.

I’m hesitant to send it out, because I am always thinking of new things I can add, but consider this a work-in-progress: my living, breathing, Humanifesto.

When I talk about being “fully engaged in the human experience”, this is as close as I can currently get to saying what that means.

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In the face of a world that asks me to become less and less human, I dissent.

When despair threatens to overtake me, I will go outside and sink my bare feet into grass, or soil, or sand.

I’ll turn off blue lights and sleep, drawn by the memories stored in my bones of mornings that bring new hope, the shedding of fear-stained skins. I’ll turn off blue lights and look toward the sun, watch the clouds roll by overhead, look into the eyes of my lover, my children, my friends.

I will not believe the lie of the Other; I will set my eyes on the face of my neighbour and look for whatever good I can find; I will look for a piece of myself in his eyes.

When presented with two polarising arguments - two opposite ends of a make-believe spectrum - I will lay my hand on my beating heart, be gentle with my panic, then step backward to see the whole picture. I will find the Truth somewhere in the sacred middle.

I will read books and listen to songs and gaze on works of art made by human hands, rejecting the proposition that we can be mimicked - that intelligence is the same as knowing.

I’ll use what serves us - what gives us more time to love and make and thrive - and abandon what makes us less, what pretends but never could be. I’ll know the difference.

I will buy art. I will go to concerts and hold my hands in the air and let tears run down my face and sing until my voice is gone. I’ll smile at strangers. I’ll tell them they are beautiful; I’ll start the conversation.

I’ll breathe. I’ll move. I will run to feel my feet upon the earth, until my breath threatens to leave me. I’ll swim in cool mountain waters, dive into salty waves. I will dance. I will eat around long tables with friends, cook meals I’ve learned from watching my grandmother’s hands; I’ll let flavours dance at the edges of my tongue and remind me where I come from.

I’ll laugh until my stomach hurts, until I am begging with my hands for the end of it because I cannot make my lips say the words. I’ll cry for my own broken heart, and for every other broken heart along the path of my life. I’ll rest a hand on every arm that will have me.

I will not be told what to believe, how to think, who I am. I will trust the wisdom of my body. I’ll listen to the knowing of my soul. I will not be the same tomorrow as I am today. I’ll be different, still, the day after that.

I will not despise the lines at the corners of my eyes, the skin becoming crepey on the backs of my hands. I will not resent the years I have been given - a gift denied to so many. I’ll learn to love the story written on the soft animal of my body. I’ll learn to love. I’ll learn.

I will love until it hurts - because it always hurts; there’s no way around it. I’ll stay open-hearted and thin-skinned. I’ll admit when I’m wrong. I’ll give more than I take, and listen more than I talk. I’ll make: bread, love, stories.

In the face of a world that asks me to become less and less, I’ll become more and more and more:

Human.

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Faith Dwight

Sign the Humanifesto by writing your name in the comments below. <3 What do you resolve to do to become more human?