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Monday, August 29, 2016

Hatred as Default

 I have been trying to quit Twitter, as with everything else I quickly became addicted and just felt
Heartbroken, so much potential lost in misunderstanding and anger. So many angry people, it's so overwhelming I just could not take it all in. I learned just how protected my life has been and is, living on this island in this very homogenous population doesn't test me often. People who aren't white, who'd have less economic means than I, people, with more severe physical and mental limitations,not getting the support they should, if we really were a universally caring society, if compassion was our #1 motivator, would we all be dead? Has our drive for survival led us to default to violence rather than peaceably resolved hurt and disappointment. Are we just all about survival of the species to the extent that we wilfully erase our fellow humans because they look different, are we just an extreme herd mentality, is this what informs and feeds our racism our hatred.

Despondency is a clinging mist if I ever breach(too active a verb, how about glimpse) my depressive cloud immersion. Does my body think I need depression like I need Water, is depression really just an internal revolutionary act, does depression force me to stay safe. I do kinda get clobbered pretty much every time I venture into the world.

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Hope as a Pilgrimage of Interior Illumination

so i'm sitting here feel lost, need to talk, I am alone, so I guess it's just us. No fancy links, or images, or entertainments, just us

recovering from latest pan-gastrointestinal system meltdown, feeling physically weak, although to my credit I drove myself down to AF beach and just dove into the ocean for a wonderful swim, I'm thinking ocean swimming is pretty sweet after all , I miss the Ontario lakes of my child hood.

Not so much new although I endeavoured to act like a regular human being an participated in the recent local art symposium about cultural mapping. So much seemingly new information encoded with a blend of new knowledge and exclusive jargon. Very interesting, lots of incredibly energetic people with innovative thinking and "ways forward". I am sincerely glad I attended. yet the after affect, the side affect if you will, of being in such close physical, emotional and spiritual proximity to so many people, with my ears tuned in and empathy unable to filter the many competing - and justifiably so - factions.

Some authentic, compassionate people, I think I could be safe with, potential friends whose parallel challenges keep us forever isolated from each other and others. Looking inward, thinking hard, straining for insight and "outsight".

So much pain inside, tears while I swam, the ocean reclaiming, me remaining hidden in full view. The rawness of the ocean welcomes me it's a flirtation with danger, I know, but it soothes me so.AM i heading towards an edge, a brink? I don't know I am pleased that I spoke up in many ways these past few weeks. So much injustice in the world and all of it needing time and care yet everything is rushing around accelerating into madness. the water slows me down of necessity and compels me deeper. It is good there were many others there.It's vast embrace  calls to me i belong there when I do nowhere else.I want to belong, I do have things to offer, even if it's just my ever-listening ears, yet would I find connection if I left this world, I rather doubt it and the concomitant trap enrages me.

Hoping by writing I could reach my tears again. I'm very tired. Always it seems.

I want to be feel I matter, that i am worth this life, what will it take? It seems an impossible goal, I am almost 53. Do I take myself up on the challenge of a pilgrimage? And spend the rest of my days in anonymity seeking and destroying connection to this earth?

Madness and sadness. Enveloping, caressing, seeking ingress. Am I allowing it in or out? I don't know. Illumination escapes.

So many people putting their faith in a god. I seem obsessed with this idea and need to keep these kinds of thoughts to myself.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Still Unpacking my white privilege

Shitty

Twitter is my latest addiction and I got into trouble. There's so much I don't fully get about my white privilege that is quite obvious to women of colour, I feel really fucking stupid and horrible that I hurt some women in my ignorance. When I re-read my words I do sound high and mighty. Fuck. Just tired now. Tired of fighting, of being wrong coupled with feeling unjustly labelled (that's my pride speaking up). All of this intersectional thinking is confusing because,because I am white I have all this unearned privilege which seems to overshadow every time I have felt hurt. I need to find my voice and I also need to NOT oppress anyone when I do speak. Feeling ashamed, chastened.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

The Small Stain of My Existence

My numbness envelopes me. Channelling cocoons with no commensurate butterfly.
Non-transformation.

I have lived in fear since I became conscious. Fear of being wrong being different - yet at times celebrating my weirdness. Confusing.

So still am I.

The waves of shame slam into me, force my head under.

where next, how next? I am just done now? Is there no making left? Some ideas came, left unrealised. My head hurts me with its recriminations, accusations, judgments. The y are endless, tireless, devout. Killing me cruelly, little nicks, vast chunks of me fall away.A phantom lingers, in and out of bed, wearing a path into the house landscape.

So much potential, thwarted, wasted, eroded. So little left to offer. Doesn't that mean it's time to die? What positive do I bring to this world? Just something to worry about. The relief that would come when I finally die, that is what I believe. Grief then relief. Because people must move on and live their lives. I will be a small stain perhaps.

My brain is wasting away, losing power, losing the power of deduction. Losing logic.

I would be all sadness save I am numb.

Waiting.

Monday, February 15, 2016

stupid fucking shit

Feeling sorry for myself just found out that someone that I keep inviting to come and visit is going to visit somebody else. I don't get a lot of visitors and honestly I'm torn between wanting to have visitors and wanting to be alone. The great paradox.

Trying not to make it into a statement/evidence of my inherent badness aka why would anyone want to visit me? Still, it's my default. Willing myself not to call someone and complain, that is, ask what is so awful about me that I rarely receive visitors. After all, I'm the one who moved so far away, it was my choice. I feel hurt though. This in my bones feeling of unworthiness, of unloved-ness.

Hey write a song about it!

What did I do?
To hurt you?
You say it's not about me
Why don't I believe?

I crawl further into my rancid skin and weep for the sorrow that is me.
No reprieve.

Can I look into the void, won't it just show me the reflection?
Won't I be misled?

I don't feel close to fine (thank you I.G.).
Instead am clothed In a dipole, shocks and shards piercing , impaling, swirling within and without.

Little me cries



Saturday, February 13, 2016

it started with a metaphor, honestly

Too far away from the sea
To keep an open heart and mind

We've willfully forgotten to be kind

It's harder to be kind, it takes effort and you have you check in at an internal check stop, you have to change direction you have to step out of your history to see yourself in someone else

i keep thinking about a song, one of social conscience. It can be done and done well it seems.

I stripped some more wire today and maybe I will start to weave my next thing.

Therapy was long and arduous this week, entered into the realm of admitting to things I feel great shame about, things I actually did wrong (that I didn't imagine). These tales wanted to come out. So more will follow and perhaps these toxins also will be finally released harmlessly.

A woman can hope.

Friday, January 29, 2016

Toes as Scouts

rain and wind  - storms without as well.

Yesterday was therapy and art therapy, me tired. Yet, for the first time, I think I finally succeeded in grounding myself, bless my little feet of cocktail sausage toes for their infinite wisdom. They are my advance scouts (is that redundant?). It was soooo slow, the movement and it moved throughout my body, this slow, settling calm. Unreal and, finally, real. How quiet, lovely.

And we laughed and caught the moments whenever I went to my standby, my head, forever the explainer of all things (known or unknown so it would seem) and this was very good practice of being present. Then it was on to the art therapy (insert dramatic music).

Painting, to Enya (she [art therapist] had my favourite CD of Enya). Now I usually am too distracted by music to really connect to making art, but I went for it, I guess the word for yesterday was "Try" (and thank you dear old friend CH for your message: "If you don't know what to do, do something, see what happens". So I did, almost 3 hours of talking, painting then dialogue with what I had painted. Skeptical, quasi-detached then fully committed and connected, it was a moving and helpful experience. She helped me identify when the creative "block" happened, and at first I didn't know, but now I do, I was in full flow and then felt the world slammed shut in my face and the message I heard was "We don't want you". Sadly, a familiar message, harsh and powerful, felt like truth. No one said this, what they said had nothing to do with me, I know that in my head, yet my little sweet self who only wants to be loved despite her/my strangeness, decoded "you do NOT belong". Yessirree, that there's a block.

So there is movement. Despite my jadedness,  it did feel good to talk to the paintings and see what I had inadvertently made, there was a glorious yellow bird (well, pterodactyl) soaring, there was a recumbent (yes, super-chill) dragon helping me understand the possibilities and limits of fire, and some walls and a sweet little turtle swimming in joy. It was all me, all of them, all with messages and encouragement and reassurance and support, yet all from me. Glorious indeed. Thank you L.

Then this weekend I am going to  a friends to maybe make music, but at least talk art. So feeling most fortunate.

Music and Art are crucial for my survival and sur-thrival (ok, made that one up)

OK