I might finally be less homeless after today, and I’m trying, with all the energy I can accio, to be happy about it. The primary issue I’m having is the fact that pretty much every time something goes right, or I let down my guard and just be in those moments where things are looking up, the universe seems to say, “Oh, fuck, I almost forgot you for a minute!” Then casually resumes their painfully long game of keep away, where I am always the monkey in the middle. Please don’t assume that I haven’t tried hard enough to change my situation/s, my perspective, and/or if I just worked harder in some way that I too can be a happy and healthy member of society. I’m an obsessively analytical, spiritually scientific, mutualism/socialism based anarchist, psychosensitive, and shamanic ponycornasaurus with one goal, and everything I do is intended to bring us full throttle towards that goal. My goal is to gain knowledge, share knowledge, and use that knowledge to communicate our individual existence to one another in the hope that we can one day be put back together again. Following still? Better yet, are you beside me? Consciousness is the ground of being, and even particles are just possibilities on possibilities until an observer chooses a reality through their perception, based on what has been gathered through experience. That’s a scientific fact. So..,. My question is this, how am I supposed to manifest, or even just be able to see the beautiful things on the horizon, if I have no basis for perceiving them? I keep thinking of Columbus’ boats. As they were heading towards what we now call America, one of the region’s native spiritual leaders, healers, teachers, magic makers, or shaman…was standing on the beach, looking out onto the familiar ocean, when suddenly he saw the water moving in a way he did not recognize. He just stood there, watching. Until some time later, he saw the boats approaching. The boats didn’t just then peak over the horizon, or otherwise just appear out of nowhere. The shaman, observing, was just then able to perceive them. So, it goes. I hope for something to catch my eye, and then I’ll just hold steadfast and fixed on it. Not necessarily trying to manifest anything there to see, but maybe just being ready to perceive it, if and when something materializes.
Giddy up, buttercup
You can roll your eyes,
with contempt and derision.
It won’t shut me up.
You can attempt
and dismiss me
as the “oversensitive victim”
the “whiny minority”
the “politically correct liberal”
the “debbie downer”
and my own personal favorite;
the “feminist killjoy”.
You can call me “crazy”
Say that I’m “confused”
Tell me that it’s all in my mind.
And my mind
is an unreliable witness.
Little more than diseased grey matter.
It doesn’t matter.
Pay it no mind.
I dare you to silence me.
Try to cut me off,
cut me down,
I will not be silenced.
I will hold tight to my voice,
like a knife
at the ready
Ready to cut through the silence.
Just as the end came into view.
Sweet sanctuary softly singing
Songs of solace
Standing at the space where my altar sits
With a reposed reverence I reserve for Replacing, repairing, restoring
My sacred sacraments
Safe and sound
My wander weary way faring spirit
Those old bones and stones
Loyally leading me back to my center
My Half hearted hopes hung high
Higher than I could get them
Dangling like they were dancing
Dancing in the deciduous tree
I knew this was how it was going to be
I traverse these tracks with trepidation
A vigilant vagabond
Tiptoeing through distastefully discarded dangers.
Syringes still slowly seeping their sadness solutions.
Or solutions of sadness
Context changes the chemistry of curious compounds.
Feebly I fumble
Feeling my way free
Despite delay, the darkness is deftly disturbed
Beaming in the beyond
A bright beacon
A strange and singular scintillation
Please, I pray
Please, I plead
Send me the sympathy of the sun!
Anxiously, I anticipate an angel’s arrival
Only ominous obstinance
I knew this was how it would be
My light at the end of the tunnel
Is always an oncoming train.
Green about the gills
Spinning with longing
Swallowing my fear
Feeling the bile
rising up to meet the words
in my throat
Choking it all back
This leaves a bad taste in my mouth
That no amount of whiskey can mask