A woman's dream will save this World

No, it clearly doesn't work.

I mean, this World. It really could be better, much better.

Yet, regrettably, it isn't.

In this moment.

I wonder, from time to time, what a visitor from another Universe might feel, and think, of us. Of the way this "us" is narrated, represented, imagined, and after all of that, accepted.

Then I ponder a little, and tell myself, "Well, maybe it would not be that nice to know..."  Please, dear visitor-from-somewhere-else, don't blame us too much. This planet, after all, is magnificent. And most of this beauty will survive my own species.

Narration. This is quite a point, I suspect.

What our visitor would likely come in contact with, could be words of hatred, or condescend (and maybe, some commercial spot). Words a little minority of men (and some women, to say the whole story) are telling insistently, focusing not on the solution of problems, but on their (needed!) existence. Chasing insistently the next scapegoat.

Of course all this talking does not solve the problems, but, rather, multiplies them. Which is good for the few professional fear-mongers, and a pity (to say the least) to the rest of us.

On the brim of the upcoming March 8, I can say we need an act of subversion. A change of narrative.

A dream.

A woman's dream, maybe.