Every answer carries the next problem inside it, the way a season carries the one that will replace it. We have learned not to be surprised by this.
We were born here, and so we stay. What else is there? The world ends at the television frame, where the evening news flickers and dies each night and we sit in its light a little longer than we need to. Beyond that edge is something we have no name for.
This place made us and we made something of it. We got up before light and we worked and we felt that the ground knew us.
We call it home.
But something is coming. We know it, the way you know a thing before you can say it. Quieter than an army. They have no faces because a face would be beside the point. They are coming because someone ran the numbers and we came up short. The ground under our feet has been measured. It has been found wanting.
Still we are here. We have always been here. Our fathers were here and their fathers before them, and the weight of that is everything. We do not know how to be anywhere else. It is the only strength we have left. What is coming will find us standing.
We will fight.
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This content originally appeared on Dissident Voice and was authored by J.S. O’Keefe.