Yesterday I posted this quote: “The truth is, I don’t want a president. I want a council of Indigenous grandmothers.”

The post blew up, with thousands of likes, comments, and restacks.

99.9% medicine. 0.1% sewage.

A few crawled in with racist garbage—IQ slurs, “stone age” fantasies, an empire drunk on its own story.

We’ve heard that hymn of supremacy before; it’s brittle, boring, and tastes like vomit.

My response: light a candle, pour water for ancestors, plant ancient trees, answer to Earth’s council, not thrones of ego.

Ritual is my rebellion. Gratitude is my shield.

I won’t say yes to empire hate. Not now. Not ever.

We’re not going back to the throne; we’re going forward to the circle.

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