Nothing. Nada...nil, nix, and none. Nearly non-existent, never-was, none shall pass, not in my backyard. Ouch. I'm really hurting, so I had to fall off the wagon, get off the train, call a halt to the expedition, reroute the landing gear. it's in my knees, mostly, and my gut. the lower back feels like a building tide of muscle gathering to loose an angry red wave...how I long for a thick, woolen shelter, for the muffled peace of sacred solitude. am I coming towards winter? the hermited life of an ascetic, cloistered away in a hidden grove. what purpose can it serve? to mourn for the world, and pray for peace? to feel my heart torn, everyday, asunder - to scream into the abyss until my throat rends and tears, for what? nobody hears...nobody hears. this vessel is breaking, and I can not hold it. the howl is too massive, can't you feel it? it's tearing through the floorboards of my house, exploding up through the ages to pour out and sing, but it's too loud and so deep, it's vibrating the foundations, flooding with light and the darkness. those stories, those stories! write them now, quickly - oh, I remember this pain, now. the contractions have been rolling through me for a few months, I guess, but this last one tells me we're almost there. and I'm going to tell you now, that for all my life, I've never been so scared.
oh, sure, there were those times when I fell out of the tree I was climbing, or got hit by a bike, had my hands slammed in car doors, or dropped a window on my foot. there was the block to the head, and the glass underfoot, the knife to the thumb, and a thousand other little injuries. the broken leg was probably the worst of them - it was certainly the ugliest to look at - but I don't really think there was any undue fear associated with the pain, other than the "aah, I'm falling!", or "my parents are gonna be pissed...". car accidents are scary, but thankfully I've never been in one so bad where I, or anyone else, was seriously injured. I've been lost in dangerous areas of the US and other countries, and then there have been those times when I have purposefully walked into the scary, naively unaware that my mettle was about to be tested, though keenly interested in my own response, as if I were separate from myself. there is the jump of adrenaline, but would I call it fear? the feeling right before the hammer drops, the moment that hangs... ...before it falls away, leaving you affected, possibly changed.
childbirth hurt. a lot. and it was scary, but only in the way that it was Unknown. I can't even think of a number big enough to include all the women who have given birth since it became a thing, so what's to be frightened of? pain can be managed, and though I decided to manage mine by walking it off, and standing in the shower, it was still quite painful and traumatic. but the truth is, you deal with it while it's happening, and then you get over it. this feeling I'm describing is different. first of all, it comes from outside of us, deep in the ground, from our Source, out in the Universe...through us. picture an old, clay jar, tall. picture it rumbling a little, as if there's an earthquake in the distance. now picture the jar filling up with light that seems to begin as an inner glow, and emerges out the top in a great, streaming beam, while the jar continues to rumble and crack, as the light pours out through the fissures of the clay being blown apart by the force of the energy. now picture my body as that vessel. that's the feeling I'm talking about. that's what's scaring me.
I remember doing the math when I was pregnant, thinking that my son would be just shy of nine when the 2012 ball dropped somewhere other than Times Square, and feeling satisfied that he'd be big enough by then to run while humping his own pack (hey, my dad took our survival training seriously, and I'm a bit of a paranoid conspiracy theorist to boot). not that I knew what we'd be running from (if anything), it's just a condition of having been born me, I suppose, to always have an escape plan. I'm just a contingency-supply-bag and exit-strategy kind of girl, you know? I love the many lovely and delicate things I keep in my home to decorate and enliven my space, but I will not look back if the jackbooted ugliness reaches my doorway. hell, I don't even use salt... the point being, the Earth is our Mother, and she is about to give birth. I don't know to what, or what horrific form her contractions will take, but so far, it looks like wealthy republican overlords who intend to set their zombie armies to imprison and dehumanize the non-white/non-conformist male population, while raping and impregnating the female population.
once 98.6% of ameriKKKa has been relegated to work camps, all of jesus' little rape-babies will enjoy being raised into future zombie armies fed on 'enhanced, medicated chow', as the ritualized lobotomy-at-birth won't leave them much to complain about. it is my sincerest hope that these nightmarish visions of possible futures as evidenced in the psychic over-wash of extreme distress our beloved planet is in are just that - the purging of emotional flotsam that can occur when toxicity is released from the body, and the vibration moves closer to its own harmony, while my own nature is leaving me torn between making for the hills in all swiftness, and polishing off the shotgun, filling the storehouse, and battening down the hatches. of course, having neither shotgun, nor ammo, storehouse, or hatches pretty much leaves me the running for the hills option - so the question becomes 'which hills?'.
for all the crazy ouchie broken and stitched fallen off of out of onto in through gave birth to you Mother Earth is who you owe more than Fukushima which poisoned us all, rolled around us like a big cloud of 'now you've done it' like they'd been saying all these years out in desert, through the soy, which I've been saying all these years, like how the cities need to go back to green, like Bucky Fuller said all those years ago...we've got to shut it down, but more, we've got to grow the solution to clean up the mess. I'm just dreamer, that's all I'm good for. all I can do is see it, and hold the vision in my head so that it's real for the people who can make it happen. that's all the magic I have. but there are times when it has been enough. with all my heart, I hope it's enough. if it isn't, we all die...well, we all die anyway, but without my vision, the end is a whole lot darker.
oh, sure, there were those times when I fell out of the tree I was climbing, or got hit by a bike, had my hands slammed in car doors, or dropped a window on my foot. there was the block to the head, and the glass underfoot, the knife to the thumb, and a thousand other little injuries. the broken leg was probably the worst of them - it was certainly the ugliest to look at - but I don't really think there was any undue fear associated with the pain, other than the "aah, I'm falling!", or "my parents are gonna be pissed...". car accidents are scary, but thankfully I've never been in one so bad where I, or anyone else, was seriously injured. I've been lost in dangerous areas of the US and other countries, and then there have been those times when I have purposefully walked into the scary, naively unaware that my mettle was about to be tested, though keenly interested in my own response, as if I were separate from myself. there is the jump of adrenaline, but would I call it fear? the feeling right before the hammer drops, the moment that hangs... ...before it falls away, leaving you affected, possibly changed.
childbirth hurt. a lot. and it was scary, but only in the way that it was Unknown. I can't even think of a number big enough to include all the women who have given birth since it became a thing, so what's to be frightened of? pain can be managed, and though I decided to manage mine by walking it off, and standing in the shower, it was still quite painful and traumatic. but the truth is, you deal with it while it's happening, and then you get over it. this feeling I'm describing is different. first of all, it comes from outside of us, deep in the ground, from our Source, out in the Universe...through us. picture an old, clay jar, tall. picture it rumbling a little, as if there's an earthquake in the distance. now picture the jar filling up with light that seems to begin as an inner glow, and emerges out the top in a great, streaming beam, while the jar continues to rumble and crack, as the light pours out through the fissures of the clay being blown apart by the force of the energy. now picture my body as that vessel. that's the feeling I'm talking about. that's what's scaring me.
I remember doing the math when I was pregnant, thinking that my son would be just shy of nine when the 2012 ball dropped somewhere other than Times Square, and feeling satisfied that he'd be big enough by then to run while humping his own pack (hey, my dad took our survival training seriously, and I'm a bit of a paranoid conspiracy theorist to boot). not that I knew what we'd be running from (if anything), it's just a condition of having been born me, I suppose, to always have an escape plan. I'm just a contingency-supply-bag and exit-strategy kind of girl, you know? I love the many lovely and delicate things I keep in my home to decorate and enliven my space, but I will not look back if the jackbooted ugliness reaches my doorway. hell, I don't even use salt... the point being, the Earth is our Mother, and she is about to give birth. I don't know to what, or what horrific form her contractions will take, but so far, it looks like wealthy republican overlords who intend to set their zombie armies to imprison and dehumanize the non-white/non-conformist male population, while raping and impregnating the female population.
once 98.6% of ameriKKKa has been relegated to work camps, all of jesus' little rape-babies will enjoy being raised into future zombie armies fed on 'enhanced, medicated chow', as the ritualized lobotomy-at-birth won't leave them much to complain about. it is my sincerest hope that these nightmarish visions of possible futures as evidenced in the psychic over-wash of extreme distress our beloved planet is in are just that - the purging of emotional flotsam that can occur when toxicity is released from the body, and the vibration moves closer to its own harmony, while my own nature is leaving me torn between making for the hills in all swiftness, and polishing off the shotgun, filling the storehouse, and battening down the hatches. of course, having neither shotgun, nor ammo, storehouse, or hatches pretty much leaves me the running for the hills option - so the question becomes 'which hills?'.
for all the crazy ouchie broken and stitched fallen off of out of onto in through gave birth to you Mother Earth is who you owe more than Fukushima which poisoned us all, rolled around us like a big cloud of 'now you've done it' like they'd been saying all these years out in desert, through the soy, which I've been saying all these years, like how the cities need to go back to green, like Bucky Fuller said all those years ago...we've got to shut it down, but more, we've got to grow the solution to clean up the mess. I'm just dreamer, that's all I'm good for. all I can do is see it, and hold the vision in my head so that it's real for the people who can make it happen. that's all the magic I have. but there are times when it has been enough. with all my heart, I hope it's enough. if it isn't, we all die...well, we all die anyway, but without my vision, the end is a whole lot darker.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I do so love to hear from you - please let me know that you came to visit (sorry about the word verification, but I've been getting too much spam)!