On Sovereignty, Water, and the Body

A late-night meditation on flow, sovereignty, and care

It’s 11:33 pm on 31st January, and I have forced myself to face this blank digital page because this month, I have tried many times to write. The words were there in my mind, waiting at my fingertips for me to hammer them out in a percussive rhythm that I didn’t have to think about. But the words are swept away by one thing— US imperialism and attacks on sovereign nations—and then another— ICE raids; histories of bodies and slavery, and more— flooding, more bombs, no aid into Gaza, and yet another extrajudicial killing of humans, and more—a boy in a blue bunny-eared hat—are all our children, each other’s? And the words come and dissolve in the same bathtub of tears I seem to have been swimming in this entire month. 

My period was at the start of this month, and then it returned again, seventeen days later, with a force I was unprepared for during a week of single parenting - dark circles appeared again under my eyes, iron tablets ensuring the oxygen flows through my veins, and I wondered what my body had been trying to tell me all this time.

These words flow like water - the same water I emerged from after crying into my bath - unplugging the drain and saying thank you for carrying these memories and stories. Water is the most ancient being on this planet. Yet, it is being siphoned off into AI because we have become so disconnected from ourselves that we have handed our sovereignty over to billionaires and data centres, who see humans and our sentient status merely as commodities. 

This is why I am making yet another move away from this platform and what I hope will become a permanent garden I can tend to in my own time, on my own terms, with very little overhead and platform interference… so please bear with me while I make this shift.

Tonight, as I was putting my daughter to bed, she asked me if I had changed the recipe for the apple crumble we had for dinner - and I said, not intentionally, love. “What do you mean, mama?” I explained that every time we make a dish - no matter if we've done it 100 times - it will always be different because there are too many variables out of our control, and so it will taste different each time. And how beautiful that is, because you get to taste something new and different every time, yet the same. 

And dear humans, this is it - this is our work - we return to our bodies, the site of so many experiences, and tend to them in the ways we are familiar with. Sometimes, our bodies respond by releasing, relaxing, and letting go; other times, they hold on, writhe in pain, and brace themselves. Then there are moments when our erector pili (the tiny muscles at the base of hair follicles) respond to a finger running down our arm—a loved one's touch—reminding us that these skin cells are loved, and so are we. 

Tend to yourselves, tend to each other, tend to the ground beneath and around you, tend to the people in front of you and nearby. Pour into yourselves and each other because we will make it through - we just, each of us, have to remember that in the end, we will all flow back to the most ancient source of life on this great, living, breathing planet. 

Keep flowing. Keep going.

Love you endlessly.

-Uma

PS: Tending to myself, my people, and the ground beneath me is what gives me hope. I am not an optimistic person, but hope is a practice - always. Because, look! Look at what we are doing, and what we can do:

• Lindsay Curch, a longtime friend and fellow disruptor, is now running for office in IL-4. Check out their campaign and please support!
• Shilpa Jain's reminders and essays - always healing and grounding
• Equinox Initiative for Racial Justice - it's not just ICE in the US - ICE is everywhere - the IDF in Palestine and the West Bank, the MET in the UK, and police across Europe....follow Equinox to understand how racial justice struggles in Europe are linked to broader justice struggles globally.
• Francesca Albanese - the Palestine Effect - the reminder from the indefatigable Francesca Albanese to keep going.
• Conversations with my 90-year-old father, which feel like meeting him for the first time at the base of an old tree - gorgeously heartbreaking and in reverence for this life.
• I am halfway through, There are Rivers in the Sky by Elif Shafak and the words in this book will hold you and carry you along its currents.
• Doing something, anything with your hands - my hands are occupied these days in knitting, making roti, playing the sitar, flamenco, boxing, and wrapping my arms around dear humans I love.