a love letter to those impacted by the wildfires

hey y'all... it's been a minute but I'm here now. I had tragic back to back loss last year. i'll update you on that soon. for now, here's a letter to those of us impacted by the wildfires in LA. consider it an invitation of grief. for all of us. 

sending love & light. 

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Transcript

Mimi Gonzalez (00:02.072)
Here's a love letter to everyone impacted by the wildfires.

This is called a letter to those rebuilding after loss.

Mimi Gonzalez (00:14.606)
Here's your invitation, the invitation of grief, the invitation you never asked for. I see you standing at the base of an immense mountain, the one they call rebuilding. Looking up at a climb you never asked to make. I know that climb a little too well, actually. 36 faces and 36 stories of friends and family gone, and I'm not even 30 yet.

Grief has been my uninvited teacher, and it seems like it's yours now too. Today, I'm thinking of you, the ones who've lost a family member, who went to bed in 2024, the last night of 2024, with hope for a new year, and instead woke up to devastation.

The ones holding shattered dreams and trembling hands. I'm thinking of homes reduced to ashes, of safety turned into smoke, of normalcy scattered to the wind, of the frontline workers, firefighters like my best friend's brother, running into infernos gambling with fate with every step he takes.

I'm thinking of sacred spaces lost and not just in buildings, but in heart spaces where people gather to whisper prayers for strength to cry for mercy to hold each other in grief and in hope. Life affirming spaces that reminded us we are never alone. I'm thinking of those that were on the brink, the ones already stretched too thin living in survival mode, waiting for relief.

that never seems to come. Those who find themselves asking, how much more can I carry? And to them I say, you may be carrying what cannot be fixed, my friend, the weight of grief, but we can carry it together.

Mimi Gonzalez (02:22.87)
You are seen, you are worthy, and your existence is not a burden. You are capable, you will rebuild again. And it's okay for things to feel shitty right now because they are.

Mimi Gonzalez (03:42.732)
I'm thinking of the system impacted and underprivileged. The ones who were already climbing mountains, no one thought they could move. The ones who are forced to navigate a world where basic human rights are locked behind gates built by greed and guarded by power. I'm thinking of those watching their world burn, people who never called for a ceasefire in Gaza. But now,

just for a moment, taste a fraction of what endless loss feels like. Endless loss.

Praying for leveled ground for a moment where justice might look and feel like equity. I'm thinking of the changes we've ignored for far too long. How Mother Earth cries out through wildfires, floods, hurricanes and droughts, begging us to remember what our ancestors knew. That we are one with nature. That she takes care of us. And we must take care.

of her, not with haste, not with greed, but with intention, with reverence, with community care infused into everything we do. They try to make us forget, but we remember. Our ancestors imagined a world of reciprocity, a world where time moves slower, where life was thorough and deliberate.

where technology served humanity and not the other way around. They dreamed of harmony, progress that didn't uproot community advancement that didn't sacrifice the earth beneath our feet. They imagined spaces where everyone had access to safety, to nourishment, to joy, to the privilege of daydreaming. Where we cared for each other as naturally as we breathe. And so as we rebuild, as we

Mimi Gonzalez (05:51.488)
Rebuild. I'm thinking of the rollbacks. DE and I pushed aside, because that's a conversation for another day. Resources reallocated to line the pockets that overflow. While those with the least are left to fend for scraps. I'm thinking of the homes of the wealthy. Burning too. As they will rebuild faster because wealth is well in its own resource. Is its own resource. But even here.

Ashes are ashes. Even here we all end the same way. Even here on a floating rock in space. Even here.

where we are only here for just a moment. And so as we rebuild, let us not reconstruct what was lost. Let us reimagine. Let us create open fields of possibility where everyone has what they need to thrive. Let us plant seeds of intention, of hope, of care. Let us become the ancestors the next generation will thank.

This is the time of the artists, the dreamers, the grievers, the time to create. The fires, like warnings before our inauguration of change, remind us that new worlds are coming. What that world becomes is up to us, not the people in so-called power, the people in power, the people like you. The power is infused in your DNA.

So if and when you are able to create, to write, to design, to sing, to build, to paint, to dream, to educate, through art we warn, through art we heal, through art we resist, through art we rest, through art we begin again. This is your invitation, your invitation of holding space for your grief.

Mimi Gonzalez (08:05.102)
to reinvent, to rebuild worlds that have never existed but should have in the first place. To dream without the people, experiences or things that made the last dream worthwhile. To all of you rebuilding after loss, I see you, I honor you. Let us rebuild not just what was lost, but what should have been here all along. We are with you.

I am with you in peace and solidarity, a fellow Griever.