Monthly Archives: January 2018

Art, insight, life

In Honor of Life and Death

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The whole of humanity is a series of cycles and connections.

 

 All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

– Willy Shakes  (William Shakespeare)  “As You Like It.”

wshakesp

I think William Shakespeare, (if that’s EVEN his REAL name) summed up the cycles of life very eloquently in that prose from the well known play As You Like It.  And yet, it plays the individual as an island… and we KNOW, No Man Is An Island.

 

”No Man Is an Island” by John Donne

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.  

jdonne

So, if humans, are merely actors, that must interact with other actors on the stage of life… Do we not follow scripts?  Taking on the attributes of the Archetypes, at times passing the torch off to another player… at time’s being upstaged by an understudy?

There is no step missed in the organic cycles of living… but are we living or dying?

Anne Sexton addressed this well in her book of Poems Live or Die

Live or die, but don’t poison everything…

Well, death’s been here
for a long time –
it has a hell of a lot
to do with hell
and suspicion of the eye
and the religious objects
and how I mourned them
when they were made obscene
by my dwarf-heart’s doodle.
The chief ingredient
is mutilation.
And mud, day after day,
mud like a ritual,
and the baby on the platter,
cooked but still human,
cooked also with little maggots,
sewn onto it maybe by somebody’s mother,
the damn bitch!

Even so,
I kept right on going on,
a sort of human statement,
lugging myself as if
I were a sawed-off body
in the trunk, the steamer trunk.
This became perjury of the soul.
It became an outright lie
and even though I dressed the body
it was still naked, still killed.
It was caught
in the first place at birth,
like a fish.
But I play it, dressed it up,
dressed it up like somebody’s doll.

Is life something you play?
And all the time wanting to get rid of it?
And further, everyone yelling at you
to shut up. And no wonder!
People don’t like to be told
that you’re sick
and then be forced
to watch
you
come
down with the hammer.

Today life opened inside me like an egg
and there inside
after considerable digging
I found the answer.
What a bargain!
There was the sun,
her yolk moving feverishly,
tumbling her prize –
and you realize she does this daily!
I’d known she was a purifier
but I hadn’t thought
she was solid,
hadn’t known she was an answer.
God! It’s a dream,
lovers sprouting in the yard
like celery stalks
and better,
a husband straight as a redwood,
two daughters, two sea urchings,
picking roses off my hackles.
If I’m on fire they dance around it
and cook marshmallows.
And if I’m ice
they simply skate on me
in little ballet costumes.

Here,
all along,
thinking I was a killer,
anointing myself daily
with my little poisons.
But no.
I’m an empress.
I wear an apron.
My typewriter writes.
It didn’t break the way it warned.
Even crazy, I’m as nice
as a chocolate bar.
Even with the witches’ gymnastics
they trust my incalculable city,
my corruptible bed.

O dearest three,
I make a soft reply.
The witch comes on
and you paint her pink.
I come with kisses in my hood
and the sun, the smart one,
rolling in my arms.
So I say Live
and turn my shadow three times round
to feed our puppies as they come,
the eight Dalmatians we didn’t drown,
despite the warnings: The abort! The destroy!
Despite the pails of water that waited,
to drown them, to pull them down like stones,
they came, each one headfirst, blowing bubbles the color of cataract-blue
and fumbling for the tiny tits.
Just last week, eight Dalmatians,
3/4 of a lb., lined up like cord wood
each
like a
birch tree.
I promise to love more if they come,
because in spite of cruelty
and the stuffed railroad cars for the ovens,
I am not what I expected. Not an Eichmann.
The poison just didn’t take.
So I won’t hang around in my hospital shift,
repeating The Black Mass and all of it.
I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.

-Anne Sexton  “Live”
anne-sexton2-18-10

 

So a human, can play a role.  Have a script, whilst still choosing to serve Life or Death.  And each day we are asked to choose; “Do you serve Life, or do you serve Death.”

Perhaps some people feel like they don’t really have a choice.

Death is inevitable.

 

Art, insight, life, Politics

What Are You Worth?

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The system is designed to support what is most profitable, and to break what is least profitable.  The systems that are most profitable are propped up further by breaking the lesser profitable systems.  For instance, in the sense of profitability of people, a doctor is worth more than a gas station attendant.  We know that as humans they are equal.  The jobs themselves have different profitability based on price point of service.  But in the bigger reality the fuel industry has huge profitability, just as does the medical industry.

Worth, over all, is distorted by the middle man providing the skill or service.  Few places still hire gas attendants, but we use more gas now than ever.   Doctors are always in demand, and as society gets sicker, and automation takes over low income jobs,  they will be in even more demand.  Demand will raise the profitability for the doctor, the institution they work for, and the medical industry over all; that is until automation becomes more reliable and lucrative, and people grow further annoyed at dealing with other humans.  Meanwhile, those who need the doctor to exist for their world to continue as-is, lose their subjective worth as they accrue debt; the person becomes subjectively worthless while propping up the profitability of the medical industry.

The system has realized they can make more profit off of sickness and death, then they can promoting preventative health.  People pay for health care; health care products, medicines, elective surgeries, insurance, deductibles, etc.  Doctors pay large sums of money for their own insurance, legal representation, accounting, and promotion.  Being a doctor is going to be more profitable to the over all system, as a worker bee, than say, a disabled veteran.  In fact, that disabled veteran is more profitable as a patient than an average disabled person with no military connection.  The military industrial complex is highly profitable and it is well funded and secure in recirculating funds to itself through it’s programs.

Even our laws are are made in such a way as to continue supporting systems that are most profitable to our government which acts as a corporation.  The United States, itself is a corporate operation, and it’s supposed wealth and success pivot on that truth.

We are living in a time, where everyone is encouraged to become entrepreneurial,to build their brand and market themselves. It begs the question, “is this going to bite us in the ass, much like every system of survival that is promoted in the main stream?”   I sincerely wonder going back to the idea that the larger systems function in a way where it is always looking to co-op or kick out the little guy.

Again I will bring up Youtube.  All these people have a voice, but that voice can easily be squashed if any of the content is offensive to advertisers; so you don’t really have a platform for free speech, per se.  Even if you don’t take the AdSense route, you are still at the mercy of flags and strikes by anyone registered on the platform.  So technically, Youtube co-oped viewers and contributors, along with large companies with large budgets, to promote an agenda.  If you work against that agenda, you get kicked to the curb, loosing hours of work in the end, if they completely delete your channel, and you don’t have it backed up.

Even today, some contributors complain that videos that they uploaded were mysteriously deleted off their accounts, with no explanation.

We really need to think about our worth as more than an hourly wage, or a salary.  We need to look at what we are choosing to offer the world and what we choose to take from the world and embed ourselves with.

Worth (adj) 
 Old English weorþ “significant, valuable, of value; valued, appreciated, highly thought-of, deserving, meriting; honorable, noble, of high rank; suitable for, proper, fit, capable,” from Proto-Germanic *werthaz “toward, opposite,” hence “equivalent, worth” (source also of Old Frisian werth, Old Norse verðr, Dutch waard, Old High German werd, German wert, Gothic wairþs “worth, worthy”), perhaps a derivative of PIE *wert- “to turn, wind,” from root *wer- (2) “to turn, bend.” Old Church Slavonic vredu, Lithuanian vertas “worth” are Germanic loan-words. From c. 1200 as “equivalent to, of the value of, valued at; having importance equal to; equal in power to.”
Worth (n.)
Old English weorþ “value, price, price paid; worth, worthiness, merit; equivalent value amount, monetary value,” from worth (adj.). From c. 1200 as “excellence, nobility.”
Worth (v.)
“to come to be,” now chiefly, if not solely, in the archaic expression woe worth the day, present subjunctive of Old English weorðan “to become, be, to befall,” from Proto-Germanic *werthan “to become” (source also of Old Saxon, Old Dutch werthan, Old Norse verða, Old Frisian wertha, Old High German werdan, German werden, Gothic wairþan “to become”), literally “to turn into,” from PIE root *wer- (2) “to turn, bend.”
We derive our sense of self worth when we feel useful, important, vital.   We are told we must earn our worth, and we act as such in the world.
But worth is not specific when it comes to the more esoteric sense of innate worth.  That each person is worth “something” and all men are created equal.  We do not live within a system which values or supports equality,  even though we would like to believe that it does.
Take for instance, days long ago, when people wove their own fabric.  It was a tedious task that took a long time, but as one became a master of the task, it would either go slightly faster, or the designs would become more intricate.  Once large scale manufacturing of the same work was available, the worth of the craft shifted.  Handmade became more expensive to produce, and those who couldn’t afford it, left the craft behind.  It was now easier and cheaper to buy store bought clothes, than it was to take the time to make ones own clothes.   And with the rise of manufacturing, people began replacing their clothes at a higher frequency, at times buying an outfit that may only be worn once.    Once upon a time, a man may have only one suit that he would wear to weddings, funerals and Easter Dinner.   Having a stocked wardrobe was left to those people in the higher echelons who could afford such frivolity.   This has lead to the disposable nature we now exist within.
A man use to wear his jeans to work until they were filled with holes, and re-patched again and again… now people pay over a hundred dollars for purposely distressed jeans, that haven’t seen a day of hard labor.
So, what is worth, to you, and what are you worth?  Are you disposable?  Do accumulate material things to give yourself levity when feeling worthless?  What do you give back to the world that matters?  Is worth a tangible thing?
Well, I suppose that depends on your perception of life.   If you feel value in humanity, if you feel value in yourself.   If you feel you add value, and take value away; then worth of life is priceless.   And if that resonates with you, take a look at how we are treated like chattel, and how systematically we are daily drained of our inherent worth through marketing tactics, and products marketed at making you feel better about yourself.
Nothing out there, tells you that you are worthy, just the way you are.  A sad and heart breaking fact.  We need to reattain an understanding of our worth as individual living creatures.  Nothing around you will tell you this because it is an innate knowing that we subconsciously wrestle with until the day we bring it to the surface, and look at it straight in the face.
You are worthy of life.  You are worthy regardless of what you have.  Just keep yourself in check, and refrain from harming life.  Bring your best to the table, allow that vulnerability.  You, are the only You in this world. I’d say that means you are absolutely, Priceless.
Art, insight, life

A Risky and Dangerous Faith

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When was the last time you actually took a risk?  A semi-calculated one.   You may have spent an hour or two contemplating that risk… and then randomly stumbled on a quote by, say, Mark Twain; such as,

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do, so throw off the bowlines, sail away from safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

And upon reading such Truth… you may make some silent commitment to jump off some philosophical edge, into some hypothetical unknown; all the while hoping for the best, but sort of expecting the worst.

So is, Risk.  So is, Faith.

Risk and Faith are not at all mutually exclusive… and they are adaptogenic in a sense.  There are big Risks, and small risks.  Big Faiths and small faiths.

When was the last time you took a small risk?  Maybe you left the wet laundry in the washer over night; taking the risk the laundry may smell like grossness.  And perhaps that small risk was in small faith… of course it will smell like mildew tomorrow.

Maybe you have taken a Big Risk that requires Big Faith, like quitting your job with no real savings and no fall back.  Maybe it’s moving to a new town, or having a baby.  These are hypothetically Risks with Rewards.  You can focus on all the things that may not work out, but the risk is worth taking the chance; the feeling of excitement overrides the fear, and it’s “game on.”

At times it can feel as though our modern society is embedding inside of us a fear of taking risks, and that risks are strictly categorized as something negative.   Think of things like “Risk Prevention.”  The etymology of “risk” circa etymologyonline.com says;

“1660s, risque, from French risque (16c.), from Italian risco, riscio (modern rischio), from riscare “run into danger,” of uncertain origin. The Englished spelling first recorded 1728. Spanish riesgo and German Risiko are Italian loan-words. With run (v.) from 1660s. Risk aversion is recorded from 1942; risk factor from 1906; risk management from 1963; risk taker from 1892.”

So what we see here is that risk is directly attributed with “danger.”  And risky behavior is deemed dangerous.  “Dangerous” is also explained on the same site;

“early 13c., “difficult, arrogant, severe” (the opposite of affable), from Anglo-French dangerous, Old French dangeros (12c., Modern French dangereux), from danger “power, power to harm, mastery, authority, control” (see danger).

In Chaucer, it means “hard to please, reluctant to give;” sense of “full of danger, risky” is from late 15c. Other words used in this sense included dangersome (1560s), dangerful (1540s). Related: Dangerously.”

Clearly we can associate risk with “difficult people or situations” and yet “danger” is a double operative when it comes to avoiding  strict binary.  “power, power to harm, mastery, authority, control” .  It appears that danger is neither positive or negative, it exists in its autonomy, truly only influenced by our perceptions of outcomes.

These are not words we would directly associate with danger as we know the word in the modern world.  But if one takes Risks which could be deemed Dangerous, inherently that person is taking on self power, authority or control, that will potentially lead to difficult, arrogant or severe outcomes. Perhaps that is when Faith steps in; when you believe enough in yourself or your actions to project positive outcomes.

Let us look at the etymology of Faith;

“mid-13c., faith, feith, fei, fai “faithfulness to a trust or promise; loyalty to a person; honesty, truthfulness,” from Anglo-French and Old French feid, foi “faith, belief, trust, confidence; pledge” (11c.), from Latin fides “trust, faith, confidence, reliance, credence, belief,” from root of fidere “to trust,”from PIE root *bheidh- “to trust, confide, persuade.” For sense evolution, see belief. Accommodated to other English abstract nouns in -th (truth, health, etc.).

From early 14c. as “assent of the mind to the truth of a statement for which there is incomplete evidence,” especially “belief in religious matters” (matched with hope and charity). Since mid-14c. in reference to the Christian church or religion; from late 14c. in reference to any religious persuasion.

And faith is neither the submission of the reason, nor is it the acceptance, simply and absolutely upon testimony, of what reason cannot reach. Faith is: the being able to cleave to a power of goodness appealing to our higher and real self, not to our lower and apparent self. [Matthew Arnold, “Literature & Dogma,” 1873]

From late 14c. as “confidence in a person or thing with reference to truthfulness or reliability,” also “fidelity of one spouse to another.” Also in Middle English “a sworn oath,” hence its frequent use in Middle English oaths and asseverations (par ma fay, mid-13c.; bi my fay, c. 1300).

“To Trust.” is the basics of Faith.  One must trust in themselves in order to engage in Risky actions which could or could not be Dangerous.

People do this to small degrees every day.  Like, blowing through a red light at an intersection.  That is risky, and dangerous, but perhaps you go because you have faith there isn’t a police officer around, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone in or near the intersection.  You use the judgement that you’ve never had a problem doing this before, why would today be different?

Sometimes we engage in miscalculated risks, and rely fully on unfounded trusts.  Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but usually it does.

In this world of fear porn, and crime rates, it can be hard to think of taking risks;  like I said, a risk doesn’t have to be a negative thing, and trusting can be really hard to do, when it seems like very little is trustworthy in the world.

Our bodies are amazing creations that give us a heads up when it is okay to take a risk and when it is probably not a good idea.  We are constantly told what we “shouldn’t” do or be doing, it’s easy to feel like  any little mis-step will land you in jail, or on some watch list.  So, people forget that feeling that the body gets when a good opportunity comes up, because the fear of the unknown arises and squashes the positive potentials.    We tuck ourselves back into our safe little boxes, ignoring the call of the heart to break free into that unknown, and see what good may be there.

I’ve always been a risk taker.  I’ve taken the long and hard route.  I’ve loved it, even at it’s worst… I have loved the flutter in my chest, the expansiveness it catalyzes in my brain, and the invincible freedom of faith that swells in times of uncertainty.  I don’t take many risks these days.  I feel like caring for my grandma, makes risk taking harder to do; still that hasn’t stopped me.

My most recent forays in risk, were applying to TedX Cheyenne, and being chosen as a speaker; for when I applied, it was on a lark after having a couple of whiskeys.

Nextly, I applied to Coding and Design School.  This decision was made from a panicked feeling.  A fear feeling.  It was borne of the insecurities brewing beneath surface, when asked by family members “what are you going to do, after your grandma dies?”  Or flippant statements like “These are your best money making years.”

I was buying into the fear of others, being directed at me. I was having a dip in my faith in myself and the process I know to flow without my guidance or want.  I paid the fifty dollar application fee, jumped through the hoops, spent more than a month waiting on an interview; and finally the day came and went without pomp or circumstance, and three days later, I had my answer.

I had never been happier to be rejected from something before.  I was really high on the idea at first, but as the time went along, I really wondered why the hell I would want to get into that field.  Part of me justified it, because I am always at a computer, these days, anyway.

But did I really want to go?  Did I feel it in my heart as a risk that I was really faithful in? No.  Not at all.  And I wish I could articulate how relieved I was when I opened that rejection letter.  I am so very serious.

When I take a good risk, I feel it, in my heart, and my mind aligns with it.  It goes for the ride.  My brain is like “You got this, let’s go.”   And my heart is all like, ” Cool, thanks for the support, let’s do this!”  And off we go, and everything unfolds, and sometimes there is danger, but because I feel the goodness, I turn that around… BOOM, a life shifting story.  A chapter of experience, and “Look at me, I am still alive at the other end!”

Almost any risk can be turned for positive outcome, if you have the tenacity and heart for it.  I am sure I will be writing more about some of my past risks, my relationship to faith and their outcomes.  Hopefully it will inspire you to explore some of your own risky behaviors, and how they have played out for you.  Maybe you will feel like taking a good risk tomorrow.

Faith be with you.

 

Art, Cheyenne, insight, life

What Your Parents Don’t Know

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I may or may not have outwardly appeared to be a “goody-two-shoes” as a teenager.  I didn’t really party; I was involved with the church, and several after school activities. I was usually preoccupied with jumping through the necessary hoops that lead to good grades and a well rounded college application.

In reality, I was a bit of an adventurer with a keen sense of intuition when it came to whether or not my adventures would lead to real trouble.  Lucky for me, nothing too terribly bad happened.

I didn’t get caught very often, but I remember one specific case which lead me to getting grounded about a year after getting my drivers license at sixteen.

During the summer, I had been working at Sloan’s Lake, life guarding my days away.   As one might imagine, being a relatively cute girl sitting on a life guard stand, day in and day out, brought male admirers.  By this time I had been driving myself  to work for almost a year, and I was riding high on that feeling of freedom while making money doing something I enjoyed.

Early in the summer, I was approached by a tall bleach blonde fella.  He had that tanned surfer look (conch necklace and all) that didn’t really look natural for Cheyenne, Wyoming native.  He was hot.  He was way more hot than any of the guys I knew from school.

I have to be honest here, I am a sucker for a good looking man; so much so, that my brain and intuitive capabilities just fly right out the window.  The insecurity arises in me, and for some dumb reason, I need to be liked. I want to be wanted by this person.  I will be willing to do stupid things for his attention.

So the flirtation began with this guy.  Everyday he would come to the park and flirt with me, and I definitely flirted back.  I was a couple months away from seventeen.  He was twenty four and in the military.    I was familiar with flirtations of young military men…one of my friends was constantly dating them opting for what they appeared to offer in the sense of maturity in comparison to high school boys.

Military guys always had nice cars and extra money to throw around.

So, this guy (I can’t remember his name to save my life, but he seemed like he was a “Josh”) and I can’t seem to get enough of each other.

I remember one time, my parents took me and my siblings to the mall for casual “pick what you want to eat from the food options” dinner and some strolling around… and once I separated from the clan, I went to a pay phone and called the guy, and met him in the parking lot where we proceeded to make out for an hour and a half.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

When I realized how much time had passed, I freaked out, tried to get myself together and went to find my family in the mall.  I remember my dad grilling me about where I had been, and me making up some dumb excuse about running into a friend, and how we must have just missed them while walking around.

I didn’t want to lie.  I also didn’t want to get into any trouble and for some reason I don’t think my parents would be too happy about some twenty four year old surfer Airman having his tongue down my throat and his hand up my shirt.

I was intoxicated by this guy.  Which should have been a clear sign that I was making bad decisions, OH, but the RUSH!  My hormones were on FIRE!  I would do whatever I could just to get a couple of minutes with him.  He had taken a part time job working at the Hardees on Dell Range, and after church my step mom would ask where we wanted to eat; if I knew he was working, I would beg to eat there.   Sometimes I would drive over there after school, just to see him for a few minutes before going back to school for play practice.  I was completely propelled by sexual energy.

One day, I remember telling my dad that I was going to be at the library all day, studying.  That wasn’t a normal place for me to study.  I didn’t usually have a lot of home work, and what I did have I was usually able to finish during breaks in rehearsals.  I am guessing that out of place statement, tipped off my dad’s own intuition.

I left the house and drove straight to Hardees, where Dude would be getting off of work shortly.  When I got there, he told me that he wanted me to meet some other dudes that he lives with at the barracks.   My heart started to flutter, I knew that guests under the age of 18 were not allowed in the barracks.  He assured me that no one really checks ID’s or anything, and that we would be fine.  So I left my car parked at Hardees, and hopped into his car and went with him, on base.

I think it must have been a Saturday or Sunday afternoon.  The guys in the barracks were drinking, playing video games, fooling around being boys, snapping towels and rough housing.  The guy took me to his darkened bedroom.  He asked me to sit on the bed, and from there he switched on a strobe light and pulled out a stack of Hustler magazines.

He started pulling off his clothes, and asked me to show him what I liked in the magazines.  Little did he know that I was planning to save my virginity for marriage, and that these magazines were really freaking out the Prude in me.  I started to panic, I didn’t want to be in this guys room any more.  I didn’t feel safe.  I told him to shut it down, and to take me back to my car.

There was about a half hour of him trying to convince me to just “loosen up and have a good time.”   It didn’t occur to me how crazy this situation could have gotten, I just knew I needed to get out of there.   The drive back to my car was awkward at best.  He sort of half apologizing and me getting the sense of dread that comes when I know I am about to get caught for drawing outside the lines.

As I got into my car, a girl a couple of years older than me, that I recognized from elementary school, came storming out of the restaurant, and briskly walked up to the passenger side of the dudes car.  She immediately started yelling at the dude.

I quickly pulled out of the parking lot and drove home, feeling some sick humiliation.

Once I was home, my dad stood waiting for me in the kitchen.

“Where have you been?”  He asks.

“I told you, I had stuff to do at the library.”

“Oh, really?  Because I decided I wanted to get some audio books at the library, so I went over there, and I didn’t see you.”

” I was kind of over in a dark corner by the periodicals.”

“I looked over there.”

“You probably just missed me.  My stomach has been acting up, and I went to the bathroom several times while I was there.”

“Mandie, you weren’t there.”

“Sure I was.”

“Your car wasn’t there.”

BOOM.  Back in those days, the library was pretty small, and if you were at the library it was pretty obvious by the parking situation… my ’82 blue Mustang hatchback was easily recognizable, and it had been his mothers old car, so he was really familiar with it… and no, it wasn’t at or near the library.  Something told me he had probably seen it on Dell Range, and had also stopped into Hardees to see if I was there.  Shit.

“Where were you?”  He probed again.

I couldn’t tell him the truth.  I couldn’t tell him that an adult man had taken me where I wasn’t suppose to be in an effort to try and get me naked.  I just could not tell my dad that… so again, I lied.  “I just went over to a friends house.  She’s having a hard time right now with a break up.”

He knew he wasn’t going to get the truth, and so “Lies have consequences, Mandie.  We are taking away car privileges for a week.”

“But, how will I get to school?”

“Your going to have to get up earlier, and ride the bus.”

“But State Drama auditions are this week, and there isn’t a late bus.”

” I guess you don’t get to audition for State Drama, then.”

“But, that’s not fair!”

“You probably should have thought about that before lying about where you were going.”

And that was that.  I begrudgingly rode the bus for a week, missed auditions and packed that bitterness into my heart.  Stupid boys, always messing my shit up.

The story doesn’t quite end there.  Nope, I came to find out that I was being played by a Player.  This guy was stringing along several underage girls.  His “main girl friend” happened to be nineteen, and she happened to work at the same Hardees, and she happened to be that same girl I recognized from elementary school who got into his car the day of the library fiasco.

The guy ended up telling her who I was, and where I went to school.  She knew what I drove and went to my school and waited for me.  I had speech practice or something and so I didn’t leave the building after the last bell.  She was waiting at my car to beat the shit out of me.  When I didn’t show up, she punctured one of my tires and left a threatening note that I should “watch my back.”  What had I gotten myself into?

Being somewhat confrontational, I needed to clear this mess up.  So, I drove over to Hardees, and saw his car, went in and grabbed a booth directly in front of the registers and waited for him to see me and come over.  Immediately his girl friend was hot on his heels, telling me to “get the fuck away from my man, you bitch!”

I calmly say that I am not here to fight.  And that she can have this sad excuse of a man, that is a dirt bag.  I then went on a tirade about how gross it was to take me to his dorm, and to try and get me to do stuff I didn’t want to do, and if she was okay with that then they deserved each other.  Then I slipped out of the booth and walked out the door, just as the girlfriend started to go off, full throttle on the dude.

Immediately I felt a sense of relief that I was done with those people.  I wondered if the girl had recognized me from elementary.  I recall her family seemed highly dysfunctional and poor.  She had the look of someone who had been dealt a pretty rough hand and her decisions weren’t making it any better.

About four years later, I got a part time job working in a makeshift call center for a vacuum company selling “air purification systems” out of the downtown mall near the Crown Bar.  It was more money than life guarding, and consisted of cold calling numbers out of the phone book.  Employee retention was low, and it seemed at least two people a week would leave or be replaced.

Imagine my surprise when that woman of the past comes walking through the door, fresh from jail looking even worse for the wear for her age.  I immediately hope that she doesn’t recognize me. I hope that she still isn’t with that guy.  I am immediately very friendly to her, very helpful.  She tells me some of her history; drug abuse, jail time, half way houses, parole officers, drugs testing weekly.

I remember it was July.  Frontier Days was a couple of weeks away.  This lady had no license, no car.  I drove her to a couple of appointments that she had to fulfill because of her legal troubles.  I never brought up that guy… but I did bring up the fact that I know we went to the same elementary school, and that she use to dress very “western.”

She admitted that even though she looks like a thug, that she was still a cowgirl at heart.  I had a pair of barely worn Justin boots and a couple of pairs of Wrangler jeans I never wore, and brought them to her the next day, so that she could get all Western for Frontier Days if she wanted.

I quit the job not long after that because it felt like a scam, calling numbers from pages in the phone book, and being told “Mr. So In So is dead.”  I couldn’t prey on people like that.

I’d like to think that despite everything, that I did something right by being kind to that lady.

 

Art, insight, life, Writing

Conversation With Death

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I sat in the far dark corner of that nameless pub that sits along a busy road in that average town in the corner of a state some people call “Home.”  This wasn’t my usual pop in.  Today had a purpose.  This drink in my hand had meaning and I had an appointment.   Rather, an interview with none other than Death, itself.

I had called it here to have a sincere conversation about the current state of affairs in transactions and avoidance.  I wanted to probe deep, in hopes I might find out something about myself along the way.  I’m not sure why, but I assumed Death would be tardy, but as  Death would have it, he showed up right on time.   I noted my own pessimistic attitude, and a desire to wish the worst on my guest.   Immediately I knew It was just as perceptive, as it was punctual.

Like a cool breeze wrapped in a dark, but sensuous cloud, It slipped into the booth in front of me.  Admittedly, I was caught off guard; caught in the reverie of some other time and place playing chess with the present future.   I could see that Death was amused.  It enjoys a surprise entrance, and I hadn’t given It that in a long, long time… a life time ago, actually.

I could feel It’s inquisition.  And as perceptive as it is, It took a moment to realize I wasn’t calling to set appointments for It to “take me” or anyone, for that matter.  I wasn’t “wishing for It.”  I sensed that Death rarely had true “casual conversations.”   It, is aware that It exists to serve a need at times unspoken; but this wasn’t my business today.

I needed to settle a minute.  I needed to acclimate to Deaths’ temperature as It sat across from me in this two sided booth.   I’m not sure why I had any expectations as to how this would go, or how it would appear.

It heard me.  In my head, It heard me and responded.  The sense of it was… straight forward.  It was incredibly normal sounding.  Like I said, I don’t know what I subconsciously expected, but this was just so… normal feeling.  Not like demonic voices, or screeching.  It was just a normal, calm voice asking why I set this meet and greet.

I could hear my own panicked response.  I didn’t want to sound panicked, in my own head, telepathically talking to Death; but I did.  I didn’t know my mind could stutter or sound so nervous.  Death caught wind of my insecurities and quickly stepped in.

“This is a casual appointment.  No need to be nervous.”

I immediately imagined a black t-shirt with a Grim Reaper silhouette saying those words in a cartoon bubble… I wonder if …

I cut myself off, because of course Death can hear this and see this image in my mind, and I don’t want It making any money off of my ideas…. I know It has a large market share, and I know It doesn’t need my help.

“I keep wanting to anthropomorphize you into a ‘him’ “ I think, “And I don’t want to do that because you seem to be so much more than that, but modern conversation has us all hung up on gender, and sometimes, even I get dragged down that nasty alleyway.”

I physically feel the entity that Death is, nod.  Do you even know what that feels like?  It’s like some one kicked on the AC really quick, turned it off and then turned it on again for slightly longer, and then turned it off.  Death, as a physical manifestation is like gusts of air, shifting of drafts, faint and sometimes pungent whiffs… and thoughts, some really rational sounding thoughts.

I get the smell of a cigarette.  Like a freshly lit cigarette.  In my minds eye, I see this shadowy entity settle back, and light one, waiting to see why it’s presence was summoned.  I sense amusement at my attempt to mentally articulate gestures of relation, and the attempt to anthropomorphize.

” I don’t want to die right now.  I’m sure you know that…. and I really don’t want to be here right now… I mean I don’t want to be in this world as is, not specifically this meeting.  You seem to have your hand in a lot of pots right now…. just casually stirring and occasionally straining off the debris on top…. all the while maintaining your ordinary routine.  Your routine since the beginning of time…”

Geez, why am I here again.  Surely It can hear all of this mental chatter, It’s probably use to sifting through all of that…. how can I articulate and inquire Death? How can I get to the point and move on?

The smell of cigarettes get’s stronger, as if Death knows that I wish I had a pack of smokes right now.  As if Death is taunting me with the most accessible of vices as an easy escape route… I take another drink of my seltzer water with lemon.  I contemplate whether or not the bartender thinks I am a waste of space in this near vacant hole-in-the-wall.  I can’t help but inhale deeply as I take in the last dregs of my water and suckle a piece of lemon flavored ice as I attempt to settle my nerves.

“I need to know why you whisper to me.”

I know it isn’t a question or a statement.  I know it may not be answered, but it is the only thing I can think of under this unseen pressure.

“I need to know why you visit me, and motion to me in regard to yourself.  I need to know why… I am worth your time and knowledge.”

The air shifts again.  It feels less like a draft, and more like a warm breeze blowing through an open window on a spring day… It smells, of… lilacs.  Not a threatening thing upon this breeze.  I feel a sudden sense of comfort in all of my senses.  I no longer feel edgy or insecure.   This breeze, this scent is so familiar.

Not long after this realization, I again sense smoke, but more the smoke of a large fire… a structure ablaze; the muscles that had relaxed, immediately tense back up.  I feel “on call”, some one has a need to be filled.  I have a sense I can meet that need, but I feel an overwhelming confusion.

“How can I fight a fire, when I am not a fire fighter?”

My mind becomes immediately obsessed.

“Where is the fire?”

“Who needs me?”

“How can I help?”

My mind races, I imagine scenarios.  I recall all of my rescue skills…

I dig deeper into that smell, and feeling…. The fire is close, it also smells of lilac.

I realize that I am the fire, sitting in the dark corner, of that nameless bar on that busy street in that average town in the corner of a state, some call “Home”, and I panic.

“Am I on fire?  Is there a fire around me?”

I somehow steady my unsteady breath, and realize, I am still in this saturated booth, water glass with dying ice and a filmy specter across from me.  It knows what I am feeling and experiencing, and it’s laughter smells like a cross between buttered popcorn and Lucky Charms cereal.   Sort of earthy, but sinfully delectable.

This interview isn’t going at all, as planned; but then again I didn’t plan.  I didn’t think Death would show up, and I definitely didn’t think that Death had so many smells.

“What is this even about?”  I ask this with a mentally forthright force.  “I feel like you are playing with me. I admit to being slightly amused, but most of this just feels like a circus show.  You know, I want to know, what you know.”

Ahh! Finally I was finding a point of reference.  Death is just so illusive and intimidating.   Maybe he is like my tattooed cousin; if you don’t know him, he is perhaps a scary person… but once you know him, he is a jolly teddy bear.

I was satisfied in that thought…  telling Death it was just a misunderstood Teddy Bear, but Death wasn’t here to make me feel better; It knew I wanted some truth, so the air became a mixture of swift and still, hot and cold.  The ozone was permeated with the smell of burning garbage and perfect baked cinnamon rolls.  My heart rate went up as my body temperature went down.  I was perfectly uncomfortable, a uncomfortably perfect.  I wanted to throw up while feeling perfect ecstasy. I wanted to escape as well as sit still… I felt on the edge of ready and run.  My body, mind and heart were over taken with a simultaneous pain and pleasure that I have never known.

It was a whirlwind that seemed to last forever, until It stopped. And when It stopped, It was gone.

In that moment I knew death.  I had taken It in, full force, in every possible way.  And it seemed unjust and totally right, all at the same time.

We didn’t have a long conversation.   Death rarely needs words to get It’s point across… It is so poignant with it’s delivery.  It never acts in vein, at least of It’s own accord.  It’s with us from the moment we start living, and wonders why we treat It like a stranger when It does show up.  We know all the signs It is there, if we choose to knowledge It.

It, isn’t impressed that Stephen King demonized It.

Death in and of itself isn’t bad, and It’s always punctual even if we think It is too late or too early.  Your perception of It, depends on your relationship to It and your observation of It… but It, is malleable, and what It is for you, is not always what It is to someone else.

It is, what It is.  An end to a new beginning.  Sometimes new chapters are scary, but they are necessary for the story to continue, until the story is done.  Either way, Death will meet you wherever you are, unless you opt out.  But that is another story.

 

 

insight, life

Only Dead Fish

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I spent part of my life wanting to die; after overcoming that, I spent another chunk of life thinking that maybe I was meant for something special.  In most recent years, I’ve wondered what life might be like if I just, disappeared.  Would I be missed, and if so, why? Why would I contemplate that… why would I care?

Our lives are a patchwork of personal experience and observation; we imagine the world revolves around us even when we actively revolve ourselves around each other.  That patchwork is a tangle of strings connecting you to other things and people.   Those people touched by you, have their own story; their own observations of you.  Sometimes we are but characters to one another.

The first part of our life, if it is healthy, means lots of attention.  Lots of love and reassurance, safety. Communication of basic needs.

Not everyone is blessed with such golden beginnings.

The next part of life is learning some detachment, basic independence. Wobbly steps and all.  Testing boundaries, taking unforeseen risks and experimenting with defiance.  It is the step where we begin having a conscious reaction to our likes and dislikes.  It is a time of either stepping forward, or falling back.

The following stage is definition.  A conscious realization of our uniqueness and our separation.  It is like the naming of plants and animals into genus and species. We begin to notice the differences in ourselves and others.  This can be a hard step for some; tragic even.  It’s a lonely time of contemplation. It can last an undetermined amount of time. Jealousy can arise during this phase.

Those without golden beginnings seem to fall harder during this recycling phase. They don’t always recognize their support systems, if they have any at all.  It is a stage that demands some sort of triumph.  Early triumphs can set the tone for future returns of this cycle.  Early feelings of failure during this cycle are apt to repeat until the outcomes change.  IF and WHEN those out comes change, most likely they will be questioned and dismissed as luck.

After separation, there comes a stage of reconciliation and understanding of what can, and cannot be changed.  That comprehension is not unilateral in its comprehension and holds strong ties to how we interact with the varied world around us, ultimately it too revolves around either the feeling of support, or the feeling of dismissal or isolation.

Adaptation, or rebellion?  Neither is inherently “good” or “bad.”  Each has it’s place in each individual experience and circumstance, but it always seems to repeat itself over time, in similar ways, in different expressions.

Do you join, or isolate?  Why?

“Is there something wrong with me?”

This phase is somewhat warped in our modern world, because society has deemed it necessary to create a supposed fix or a solution to any perceivable malady.  We aren’t currently encouraged to think things through for ourselves, or to observe common themes and outcomes.  Google is popular because everyone has a bunch of questions looking for an answer, but it’s scary to talk to eachother.

And this is the juncture of splits.

In a world where someone is always trying to come up with a magic-pill-quick-fix, it can be really frustrating just sitting  silently with things, as they are; especially when we are constantly bombarded with reasons to be less than accepting of ourselves, “as-is”.

At a certain point you may not have a mom telling you, “I love you, just the way you are!” during your “darkest hour.”

In the most recent phase of my life, “wanting to disappear”; it’s been about a losing battle in a world, I really don’t want to live in.  I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to live here, anymore.  When I sit in my silence, I am fine being here and alone.  I am not burdened by what I am not, but I am burdened by the knowing that when I come back, I will feel the pressure of trying to be whatever it is the world  wants to make me believe I want to be. I am sick of the fight.  Can you really  “love yourself the way you are” while simultaneously trying to be something different or better?  Do you see the conflict of interests here?

There was a point in my life when I didn’t contemplate these things.  It was childhood, and I was primarily contemplating death.  Look how far I’ve come.

I’ve been drained of my basic egotistical passions and I am fine, not being ignited; that is, until I turn back to the world that tells me I need to “dig deep, find (or, reignite) that passion, brand it and sell it.”

I simply don’t want to.

I see no reason to, and frankly, the idea disgusts me.

I just want some good friends who will accept me, and share themselves honestly.

A long time ago, somewhere in the dusty archives of the 90’s, I wrote in my journal that “I don’t ever want to be a sales person because most products aren’t worth selling.  A great product doesn’t need a sales person, the product will sell itself.”

In our modern society, it has been revealed that “You are the product, and the best sales person for the job, is YOU!”

Hmmm… imagine cows selling themselves on the auction stand for slaughter, or maybe a slave trying to sell themselves to the highest bidder…. see what I am saying?  It’s gross, but it is the truth of the time and place we live in, AND it’s completely encouraged!

I really don’t want the job.  I really don’t feel like making myself a commodity, essentially depersonalizing myself from myself, for others.  In the end no matter how hard you try to match your “public” persona, eventually the facade cracks.  Why this is a desirable path, and main stream, makes no sense to me… anymore.

Once upon a time in the phase of thinking I was some splendorific gift to the world, I thought that if I could capitalize on whatever talent I inherently had, it would equal money and attention, perhaps bragging rights to all those people who were mean to me, way back when.  Then, I would finally have worth, and be worthy.

Closely observing Life, gave me a slap to the face in regard to what is what, what it is we (think) we really want, and the subtle nuance of the various programs we can choose to follow.  I didn’t like what I saw, and honestly I didn’t want to participate with it, despite how necessary everyone thinks it is.

I’m told that this reaction is because I have a negative relationship and view of money, “a lack mindset”; to which I thoroughly disagree.  I think that those who impress that mentality on others, have their own (unrealized) negative relationship with reality, and perhaps should do some research.

I am told that “perhaps it is because you are jealous of what others have.”  Uhm, no; when you no longer “want” anything but solace in the world, material gain has no worth in desire.

I didn’t get here by mindless meditation… I got here with sincere research and contemplation.  Technically, I am exactly at a certain peace and understanding that “seekers” are seeking but going about in the exact opposite way.  My desire to disappear, is a desire to not be tied to the fuckery that we call normal.

I believe and have faith that “everything will work out in the end”, even if  it happens after, and without me, in a way that I can’t even fathom.  (Which is fine and most likely the case.)

I’ve thought about the mark I would like to leave on the world, and to a certain degree, part of me wants to “leave no trace.”  To be fully consumed to some degree, leaving nothing but fertile ground to plant upon… or, something.

My passion( though I said I have none, if I was to pick something I care about deeply)  is individuals.  For which I care for only a few, and deeply.  And for whatever reason I think it matters just as deeply.

I don’t think they “need me”, but what I do gather, is I offer something personally that is unique and at times vital.

Being thirty-seven, with no family of my own, and no prospects of the future, is almost dangerously freeing.  I feel untangled from the outcomes of those I love.  I will simply love from afar until needed; all out of a need to release myself from their outcomes.  I don’t want to manipulate anyone, I know my opinions can be powerful, and since I am not omniscient, I no longer want to manipulate much effect in others. ( I know I have a tendency to stir the pot without trying just out of pure and innocent inquisition.)  I am fine watching from the outside looking in.  It accompanies my loneliness, a fine enough companion for now.

I feel observant and somewhat reconciled, even if I still have cringe worthy moments that pop up when I feel the pain and mistakes of others, on their path.  Good ole Observation and Loneliness have extremely animated conversations, as you might imagine.

Within reconciliation, there are many questions and potential conversations to be had, yet  no one to have them with because the answers are unique to the individual asking.  And the individual asking, has the answers inside, somewhere.

I can’t put a poll on Facebook and rely on the answers of others, and how dare they put in a vote at all if I did?  Why would anyone feel bold enough to TELL someone else how to live with any true certainty?  Seems presumptuous and egomaniacal to think you know better.

But if you feel inclined, please put your suggestions in the Suggestion Box.

In this place of fading, I’ve found it best to remove myself from the perceived investment of intel or advice.  Each person will make hundreds of their own decisions in a day, any one of them could be fatal.  “What works for the goose, doesn’t always work for the Gander.” (Which I think may be relating to fowl penis’ and the fact that female ducks have a pretty gnarly maze when it comes to their reproductive systems, and Ganders have a cork screw penis?  I don’t know, my recollection may be failing…. it might be worth some extra research.)

At some point, we all wish for some submission.

“Why do you try so hard?”

“Don’t you ever take a break?”

Maybe it comes as a relief to simply not have to decide what or where to eat,  maybe it’s more profound, like infertility.  Sometimes, we want to submit to Life because none of our conscious decisions pan out as planned. Certain personality types will consider this “giving up.”

“Only dead fish go with the flow.”

Not true.  Every animal seeks a way to conserve energy when they are on a mission.  Humans are constantly trying to figure out how to make more of their time with less work.  “Work smarter, not harder.”

“I got a smart phone!”

Everything in the natural world has a flow, why would it be that, the phrase about dead fish became a pervasive and popular idiom?

The “push” and “momentum” of our modern world, wants to make it seem like “sitting still”  or “going with the flow” while thinking, is, well…useless.  But somehow, someway, sitting still and “shutting off the mind” is progressive.

Do you think a fish that goes with the flow, has its eyes closed?  Heck no, they are navigating the flow they exist within, they are paying attention.

Do you want to know when and where I don’t actively think?  It happens when I am in and grounded by Nature.   My body totally goes into an inexplicable survival mode.  Even if I want to purposely ponder, I can’t.  My senses get so filled up, that my desire to ponder is absolutely absolved by my present attentiveness.  It’s a raw state of awareness that immediately takes all things into account.  Frivolity of mind is meaningless.  Imagination still exists, but no props are needed.  Everything is resource, and Source.

These days, not in Nature, I still slip into those natural modes.  Content that it can all be taken away  in a moment and secure in the knowing I would still be able to “make-do” with the resource that is myself and whatever comes into my periphery.  This is still sort of a lonely place to be because it is very hard to articulate, therefore also hard to understand or support.  It is kind of like being dead and alive at the same time, like being above it, watching the cycles turn over themselves, recycling and transforming, evolving, despite the part of the natural cycle that includes death… yet another piece our modern society looks to abolish.

See, there is death in every chapter of every cycle.  A part of you dies in step one, if you do not receive the love and safety early on; that beginning safety net that humans need in their borne vulnerability.   And even if you do get the love and safety, there is still a death of that dependence, the moment you realize you are separate.

“Le Petite Mort”~ The Small Death, is daily.

Between the death of cells,  the loss of hair, and the changing of the seasons; it is a fantastic thing that Nature isn’t a hoarder.  Why would we ever look to improve such a spectacular display of cyclical balance?  Oh wait… we aren’t nomadic, and we’ve been force fed the pipe dream of permanence.

I was going to post  a link to blog that I agreed with 99%,  in regard to “only dead fish go with the flow.”  Two sentences toward the end caught me up, because inherently I saw something untrue;

“ If everything in this universe decided to change its ability to go with the universal flow, one would live in utter chaos. Those times are called natural disasters leading to calamities and destruction. “

“Chaos”, etymologically speaking mean “void” or “abyss, gaping wide space.”  To me, chaos doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.  So, in this quoted statement, if all things simultaneously went against Universal flow, we would have nothing.  And if it all changed directions together, it would still be Universal, and therefore still in Universal Flow.    So it seems to me, that there is either something, or nothing, either way, if it is indeed with Universal Flow, then it is still Universal Flow.

The next sentence used the words; “natural” “disasters”, “calamities” and “destruction”; all of which, for me, conjure up connections to man-made disturbances.  See, Nature runs fine without humans.  Without humans, Natures cyclical clearing process isn’t seen as a disaster.  It’s just Nature, doing Nature stuff.  Nature obviously doesn’t need humans in order to survive, thrive, change, adapt and evolve; despite how dead set our modern society is on “trying to improve it” or “better understand and harness the power” of it.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Another modern trope is that we are all broken, and we need fixin’.  The world is broken, Nature is broken, the family is broken, and you and all your cute lil babies are broken.

We are always looking for  quick and easy solutions to basically nonexistent or over dramatized problems.

Some people still believe you can buy love, perfection, and the perfect frying pan, in one package.

“For just 100 million easy payments of $9.99, you can bring more ease and understanding into your life.  Win friends and influence people all while having a sparkling clean toilet…. We will clear up those 99 problems, because You Aren’t One.”

Do You know what you are told isn’t broken?  Government isn’t broken, Capitalization and Commercialism aren’t broken.  And if you think they are, it just reasserts how broken you appear to be to others.

Oops, don’t let anyone know how broken you might be, you just landed on the “Rock Bottom Start”; build yourself up publicly and use those down falls as a way to increase your monetary income! (Value not included in the basic package.)

The best part of rock bottom, is the knowing that once you realize you are there, there is always someone lower down in the pit than you!  (Ten bonus points for helping the other person up!  Twenty bonus points for lifting them up and then dropping them down!)

What a joke. Hand me another sponsorship patch.

You aren’t anything if you aren’t sponsored or sponsoring something these days…

Oh, Okay, so going back to that fork in the road, that happens, to some… the part about reconciling… well how do you do it, and where do you go?

One way, is to find a way to be refolded into “a” fold.

Get a hobby; a passion, a career, a club, a sport, a religion, a book club, a charity, a favorite program, a schedule.  Try and make sure you can get a title to brag about while doing it.  If there are no titles, make up one… and if all else fail, maybe start a family just so you can break it.

I don’t know, just “GET INVOLVED”.

Take your mind off the fact you may be a downright shitty human, and at least give half an effort to something somewhat meaningful outside of yourself.  (You can justify your short comings later, when it is relevant to self preservation.  Secretly hope no one takes you to court.)

I don’t think current definitions of meditation tells you these things.  (Mind you, the etymology of “meditation” means “contemplation; devout preoccupation; devotions, prayer, a thinking over, meditation,” )

Meditation at it’s root, is quite active and not at all the passive activity it is portrayed to be. I think that observing the world and yourself, with some critical self reflection shows you these things. Perhaps what I call “observing and interacting with life” is what some now categorize as “active meditation.” And let’s face it, it isn’t silent and still if you are willing to take that route.

Meditation as it is defined today, almost seems to me, counter-intuitive self denial.  “Shut yourself up for an hour and sit still fighting that.”  People proclaim to have some heady epiphanies in that state, but I’ve yet to encounter an idea that someone got in meditation that I haven’t yet pondered six ways to Sunday,consciously…. so what is it about shutting up the mind, or controlling the awareness that is some fast track to…”consciousness”.

The etymology of “consciousness” literally means “internal knowledge.”  Hmmmm.  Like, the KNOWING is literally inside of you… It doesn’t say anything about having to be quiet to hear it, see it or notice it.   It doesn’t say that it can be bought, sold or traded. (Side note, this word wasn’t even used until the 1630’s.)

Coincidentally, about 30 years after the word “consciousness” started circulating, the word “enlightenment” came into play.  It etymologically means “to remove the dimness or blindness”, but by the 1660’s was re-purposed to more specifically mean “supply with intellectual light.”

Hmmm…. so people pay for enlightenment, like a light bill!?!?!  Ohhh, I get it, “it’s a voluntary service!”  You can’t have it unless you are willing to pay the toll.

So, what you are telling me, is there are a bunch of self proclaimed Guru’s, Shaman, and Life Coaches out there…. trying to sell “Consciousness”  and “Enlightenment” to the masses, when “consciousness” LITERALLY MEANS “INTERNAL KNOWLEDGE” and “Enlightenment” means to “Supply with INTELLECTUAL LIGHT”, but they want you to sit still and be MINDLESS and PAY for this process?

Seems legit.

I swear to God, what tree are you eating from?

Smack my ever loving head.

THIS is what I get for thinking for myself and stepping outside the world to watch!

These days, these aforementioned words are handed out like candy with a card attached exclaiming “Get Woke!”  The sad matter is, few know what intuition means while they scramble for new age answers and bandy about their experiences in trade for cash within this cesspool of sales pitches.

People are in survival mode, no doubt, but it is a survival program built of self doubt, justification and simplistically selling out on the easy route.

No wonder it is seen as a bad thing to go with the natural flow, fighting the upstream battle of this psychological fodder.

Let me illuminate you, or enlighten you about what it means to “intuit” information; “insight, direct or immediate cognition, spiritual perception,” originally theological, from Late Latin intuitionem (nominative intuitio) “a looking at, consideration,”

The mind can be busy and still be imaginative and intuitive; it can multitask enlightenment while being in meditation.  But don’t believe me or everything people tell you, and don’t believe everything you read on the internet.

Listen to yourself.  Research your questions, and use your internal guidance system (IGS) to disseminate what is real…

Admittedly, I’ve chosen to submit, and go with the flow; watching what happens, stepping in when needed.  I’m not sure yet if it is a blessing or a curse that I can see a train-wreck from a million miles away, but either way, I will willing assist with the clean up.

I am a servant to humanity.

Did you know that the etymology of servant relates to “foot soldier, personal attendant.”

Sometimes it feels like that in the battle of life.  I stand by in times of trouble. I serve where I am needed.  I could capitalize on this, but I won’t.