“A board game where many of the players are mentally ill, raised in war, carrying hate like a family heirloom.”
🕯️ “The Board Game” – A Meditation on War, Trauma & Healing
If you step back far enough,
the world starts to look like a board game.
A cruel one.
Made by broken people
for broken children
to grow into broken adults
who pass the dice and call it destiny.
Some of the players were born in war.
Raised in rubble.
Fed on fear.
Taught that safety means striking first.
Others were born in comfort,
but numb,
disconnected,
drifting in a fog of plastic smiles and shallow screens.
Then there are the ones who watched it all.
Felt it all.
Carried it in their bones like inherited scars —
the children of silence,
of shame,
of bombed schools and stolen songs.
Hate isn’t born.
It’s grown.
Watered by grief,
fertilized with lies,
handed down like a flag or a prayer.
Now the game explodes.
Like a volcano.
Or a zit no one wanted to look at,
until it burst across the sky in flames and blood.
And still...
we ask,
“Why does history repeat?”
Because sick people make people sick.
Because pain echoes.
Because culture was crushed,
and souls were lost
in the dust of forgotten ancestors.
We don’t need more weapons.
We need ritual.
Truth-telling.
Collective healing.
Stories.
Songs.
Fire circles.
Tears that aren’t swallowed.
If we don’t remember who we are,
we become what we fear.
But if we listen —
to the Earth,
to each other,
to the forgotten languages in our dreams —
maybe we can begin again.
Not with vengeance,
but with vision.
