Growing Pains

I often sit alone on my porch, coffee in one hand, smoke in the other, and picture life as if I am painting a picture that I could jump into and escape the monotony of what my life consists of now. Not to say that I am unhappy or believe that my life is devoid of meaning; quite the contrary, however, I am unsatisfied in many ways. I have a hunger that growls deep within me and a thirst that seems can only be quenched by glacier waters from the highest peak in the most isolated mountains this world possesses. I am on a quest to reach that peak; metaphorically and otherwise. My fear merely comes from my belief that I will never get there; that I will never have that thirst quenched and I will die from the growling hunger.

I have began to realize that I seek chaos; in many ways it makes me feel alive. It gives me something to fight against. Does that make me strange? Does it make me less of a person that I find my humanity when surrounded by struggle, pain and tragedy. It is not because I think I can save this world, or myself for that matter, it is only because I see true beauty in the face of loss. I am surrounded by people who don’t understand what loss is, in all its various forms. To lose yourself is the tragedy of life, but I see it as an opportunity for rebirth. I want to lose myself over and over again, until the collection of me combines into something I can only understand in connection to my experiences: what I have learned, what I have gained, what I have lost and what I have felt.

I want to go to the places in this world where the struggle to survive is real; where freedom goes beyond materialism, individual gain and power; where the fight against social control is second to a clean glass of water that is a gift from the Gods and where joy comes from within rather than from things external. I don’t want complacency, I don’t want schedules, I don’t want to be organized or ‘reliable’ (in our sense of the word).I want my goals to be a reflection of my passion, that bring life to my world, rather than conform to the expectations and external demands of the capitalist state that sucks me dry….

I believe in the Creator, I believe in his strength, in his undying compassion, and in his vision for my life. He walks with me daily, although, most of the time I am too wrapped up in the distractions I have placed in my life to fully comprehend the power I am so close to. I have been on the brink of self-disclosure for majority of my life….. sitting the picket fence I have painted with colours of confusion, despair, strength and joy…. Rocking back and forth, desperately wanting to be one side of the fence, but unable to muster the courage to let go.

And love. Yes, the ultimate peak, the unattainable joy. He speaks of love like I dream of it. His words are like velvet ribbons caressing over my body and filling me with warmth I haven’t felt in years. I want what we wants, I want to receive what he wants to give and I want to give what he longs for. But what does that mean? I want to bring him his coffee while he write fairy-tales of love, legends of war and anecdotes of philosophy. I want to be his inspiration, the person who gives him strength in his weakest moments, and celebrates with him in his times of triumph.

I have experienced true and unequivocal love, I was young, yes, but it was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced in my life. To look at a person and have no breath, to feel like your chest will explode if you love them anymore. I was blessed to experience that, and I am even more blessed to still have that person in my life, but things changed and there was too much time in between.

I wonder, if I'm on this high right now, a drug of anticipated love, possible forevers, dreams come true; but highs never last, depending on the drug, 30 seconds to a few days tops. The infatuation can be unbearable… but only for a time and then it dissipates. Will this happen, I wonder. I don’t want the dream, I want the reality. I want to give away my worldly possessions and live out of my old and torn backpack, travel the world and seek beauty and humanity in the furthest corners …

My mind is a tornado of thoughts and ‘what ifs’; but my heart is at peace, like the calm after a storm. He's given that to me. What do I do with that?

Autumn

A Protest For Me

It is a difficult task these days to ignore the rehtoric of social justice. It has become very 'pop culture' to protest the myriad of global injustices that plague our world. It is a movement that has become trendy and fashionable in the 21st century; but then again, so has hypocrisy. We watch our celebrities drive hybrid vehicles while sporting 'Gucci'; our leaders profess environmental protection, yet smooze with those who rape our earth; and, I, unfortunately, am no different. I used to attend protest after protest, fighting against anything from homelessness, to anti-war, to prisoner rights. For a time I felt like I was igniting change and was part of something greater than myself. Then I met a man, a prisoner in a federal institution, who knew nothing of the 'trendy' social justice movement, but everything about what it means to be oppressed, and he taught me what it truly means to be an advocate for social change. He told me it is not enough to make a poster and then parade it around the art gallery on a Saturday afternoon, yelling obscenities and smoking dope as if it's the magic potion that will bring equality, love and world peace. "No wonder our world is still at war; why there are still children going hungry; and people still being executed and imprisoned", he would say, "no one has changed." Through the many conversations with him, that I hold dear to my heart, this man taught me it had to become a way of life; a space I hold in this world, and a way of treating the earth and others around me on a daily basis. The hardest thing about being socially conscious is living it.

I don't go to protests anymore.....

Thank you G. I miss you

Autumn

My Sordid Nature I Cannot Deny

I have realized that they are two kinds of social fighters in this world: those who fight against something and those who fight for something. In this realization I have come to the sad conclusion that I am a fighter who needs to fight against something in order to fight for something. In this state of being there is an ingrained propensity for violence. To fight against something is to wage a war and war avows there is a winner and a loser, someone who lives and someone who dies; there is no compromise in war, no dialogue, no peaceful resolution: there is only death, destruction and oppression. I do not wish to be associated with this ethos any longer. I publicly recant my war against the system, against the evil empire of the capitalist state; of the razor wire that has caged my fellow man in his shame for far too long; of our schools that seek to judge and punish rather than empower; of our church's that have turned to the propoganda of the Bush Administration to increase their numbers; and the complacency of my neighbours who know everything they want for Christmas this year, yet know nothing of the worn souls of their loved ones.

While these things will always set a fire in my heart and can easily turn my body into a boiling pot of anger, I do not see the beauty in that sordid nature. Rather, I stand and uphold my fight for an alternative mode of being, a different presence to hold in this world and the determination to work towards social justice with the seven virtues always close at hand.

awwww f*#@ it! Who am I trying to kid? I was born into this world to fight, why deny myself the one thing in life I'm good at?

Coffee at Starbucks anyone?

Am I Interesting?

To be perfectly honest I'm not sure how I feel about this blogging ritual that has become quite the trend in the online social world ; however, I will admit to my neurotic curiosity as to whether my life is as interesting, or perhaps more so, than the average 'joe' who shares my space. While 'interesting' is a highly relative term, I do believe there are some aspects of my life that may spark the interest of a small few who somehow find the time to read the daily musings of a 23 year old redhead with a passion for anything non-complacent and a hopeless obsession with 'shell-shock'.

Life's a journey.... I drive a beat-up Volkswagen

Autumn