The world burns, and my body knows it.

I live with a quiet, constant fury at the spectacle of human cruelty: wars waged in the name of power and ideology, children bombed, tortured, displaced, their bodies and souls used as collateral in games they never chose. The images of civilians executed, hospitals destroyed, forests burned, oceans poisoned move through me like shards of glass. It is not abstract for me; it is a visceral disgust at the stupidity, narcissism and spiritual blindness that make human beings capable of such horror while still claiming moral superiority. I find myself enraged not only by the violence itself, but by the global indifference that allows it to continue, the scrolling past massacres as if they were just another piece of content. My anger is the grief of someone who loves the world and sees it desecrated.

That anger is no longer only emotional; it has become somatic, inscribed in my organs. My liver speaks in the language of inflammation; my fatigue and my breath carry the weight of what I witness. The traditional link between the liver and anger is no longer a metaphor for me, but an embodied reality: my organism is metabolising outrage, resentment and the chronic stress of watching a world at war with itself. The fire is no longer just “out there”; it lives in my tissues, my blood, my nights.

You and I are not alone in t

his.

We live in a world where human cruelty is not an abstract concept but a daily wound: wars waged in the name of power and ideology, children bombed, tortured, displaced, their bodies and souls used as collateral in games they never chose. You have seen civilians executed, hospitals destroyed, forests burned, oceans poisoned, and you carry these images inside you like shards of glass. If you feel a deep disgust at the stupidity, narcissism and spiritual blindness that make human beings capable of such horror while still claiming moral superiority, know that this feeling is sane. Your anger is the grief of someone who loves the world and sees it desecrated.

I am writing to you because I want you to know that your rage can be honoured without becoming poison. The invitation I offer you is not to suppress your anger, nor to drown in it, but to give it channels. You can sit down each day and let the voice of your rage speak freely on the page: name the horrors, the absurdities, the betrayals that you see. Then you can listen to the voice of your body — its limits, its fatigue, its need for tenderness and rest. And finally, you can turn toward a wider consciousness in you, one that can hold both horror and beauty, both the burning and the stillness

This is where small, concrete gestures matter. A few breaths with your hand on your liver. A walk among trees. A cup of tea taken in silence. A paragraph written, a drawing, a piece of music, a moment of genuine presence with another human being. These are not escapist acts; they are ways of deciding that the energy of your anger will serve lucidity, compassion and courage rather than self‑destruction. Your body needs proof, every day, that your love of life is still stronger than your disgust for its distortions.

And I want to remind you of a universal democratic law that applies equally to every being on this planet: everyone dies, and none takes anything with them other than the karma they have created — the imprint of their actions, intentions and choices. No wealth, no territory, no military victory survives that passage. What remains is the energetic consequence of how we lived. If you feel powerless before those who choose violence and greed, who torture, bomb and exploit while believing themselves untouchable, remember this: whatever power they hold today will dissolve. What will accompany them is the weight of their deeds in the fabric of consciousness.

This law is also a call to you. You cannot save everyone, you cannot stop every war, but you can choose, day after day, what kind of trace your own life leaves in that invisible archive. You can choose refusal of cruelty, commitment to justice, tenderness, and the transformation of rage into responsible action. Your anger, when it is seen and guided, becomes a sacred force. It is your signal that you care. It is your invitation to become, not another casualty of the world’s madness, but a clear, steady presence that remembers: nothing and no one escapes the truth of their own karma.