Body of Light
FICTION, PHYSICALITY“The body of light, sometimes called the astral body or the subtle body, is a quasi material aspect of the human body, being neither solely physical nor solely spiritual…”
FICTION
FICTION: We love fiction perhaps more than other type of writing. Unlike nonfiction, rooted in data, source-driven narratives, and real-life experience, fiction allows us to explore important issues with a certain amount of freedom, creativity, and flare. We can visit worlds where the capitalists have already been defeated. We can reflect on a future where racism, sexism, ageism is no more.
The thing about fiction is that there are no rules. Words can become anything and everything on the page. And there is no telling what might happen next. While the world outside offers plenty to ponder, to rage and fight against, here we are able to disappear, transport ourselves an leave the world behind.
While praxis will always be what leads us to liberation, it is the stories, inspiring, heartbreaking, important, that fill our hearts in the meantime. We are nothing without these stories. This section is dedicated to these stories and the authors who write them.
An Exploration of the Night and Safe Spaces
FICTION, PHYSICALITYThey kicked the family out of the apartment upstairs and I saw them with their things on the side of the street. Everybody is looking for someplace safe.
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The Depths of Finer Things
FICTION, PHYSICALITYThe first time I died, Ima tells me, the sun flared its great, fiery disc and swallowed the whole world in a moment. And everything that had been was then no more.
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The Definition of Hope
FICTION, PHYSICALITYThe day breaks sweaty like the last. Like every day in summer. And especially so in the city where there are no trees to provide shade – only countless blocks of cement baking like the desert, or like the desserts baking in oven pans from the church basement after service. All we can do is hope for rain.
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Not For Sale
FICTION, HUMANITYGogo was raised by her uncle after her mother died and her father left for Argentina. Her father never returned from South America, and whether he was alive or dead she never cared to find out.
To Be So Far Gone
FICTION, TRAVELLove is freedom, Gogo said. Love is flying and falling and falling and catching and getting up again. Love is not what it was before, she said, but what it will be tomorrow.
Our Promised Revolution
FICTION, POLITICSThe café is where the future will end and begin again as talk of uprising – our promised revolution – is loud and most-persistent here. It keeps our hands warm in the winter.
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Bury Me in St. Paul
FICTION, POLITICSIt is a warm and humid night in summer. The sound of dogs barking on the street. The sound of crickets from the brush and cicadas in trees. Fireflies flash like tiny cameras through the grass along rows of dark cars parked along the curb.
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A Thousand Happy Lives
FICTION, HUMANITYHis father lived a thousand lives before he died at the age of 53. He worked as a security guard for Gem Lake Casino by Highway 29, spending his days watching screens linked to cameras placed high above the casino floor. He watched people playing cards, pulling levers, drinking, laughing, shouting below. Drawn to the
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Ageism, Part Three: An Old Man’s Story
FICTIONOne old man tells a story of life lived; the poetry of a world we were all forced to inherit, and that we will all be forced to someday give up as well.
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