How did we get here? In our political climate, in our unique environment, in our world-how did we end up here? That thought and question are too complicated and heavy. But, I sit here today and ask myself what is happening. The actions we see in our current events aren’t new. History, it seems, is repeating itself. We are more aware of it because of instant social media visibility.
Homes, comfort, shelters, food, parents, security, and safety: all taken from us.
We’ve had things taken away, people murdered, lies thrown at us. Information kept from the people. It’s out of control. The public, The corporation. The government. Religious leaders. All take us for fools in the flock. To this, I say, go fuck yourselves.
I don’t pretend to know more or even pretend to have the bandwidth and ability to hold an educated conversation. Not today, anyway. Today, I sit and drink and cry and let myself be fucking angry. Anger and motion. That’s what a friend told me. Get angry, get moving. Agreed, but when do we stop? We stop when we stop. It’s like someone asked me, how do you run in the rain? I run in the rain, I answered.
With all the sadness, and inconsistencies, and terrible injustices that continue to take place, it’s enough to feel violated, discouraged, and robbed. But, at least, there are some things that we possess that make us feel whole. Feel put together. Things that are truly part of us– things they can’t take away.
I look deep inside myself and know what is mine.
I know that I can make my coffee. Take time to make it, smell it and pour it. It sounds simple and trivial, right? I don’t think it is, though. These are my own. I OWN my time, my senses, and my percolator.
I can go for a walk on an almost empty trail and feel safe. Ish. Well, I do carry my keys. As a female, that’s what we do. But I OWN my time in that empty trail. I’m thankful for that. I’m not going to lie. Even though my time is mine and it’s about me, my thoughts still stray, and I feel that I can’t completely enjoy myself knowing that others still can’t feel safe. They still are not safe. How the fuck are we still here? How do we still have people making others feel unsafe in their own communities? Females feel unsafe; people of color don’t feel safe. Not necessarily for the same reasons, but the struggles are valid in any case.
Heavy. But real. I pull back my dark and unpleasant questions and thoughts on the trail. I have to. I continue to enjoy my time on the trail.
Again, I’m thankful for being able to do that. And, I do look deep inside me and know that that’s all I have. All I have is me. My existence. My being. And, I search deep inside of me for a little quiet and peaceful part of me. And I stay there, letting my heart rate come down. I try to stay there as long as I possibly can. But I don’t dwell there. How can I? I’m not that idle or privileged. I know there is work to be done in the world, and in my small world, and in the conversations I have.
I get restless. I’m sure you get restless.
And, if you don’t live under a rock, you’d get restless, too.
I know; it’s presumptuous of me to suggest the former. It’s insulting,
Oh, well. Fuck it. My humble arrogant self and I will survive.
But, I take a break from my internal anger and hostility.
Intentionally, I search deep inside me, and I know there is a little spot; My little spot of quiet, of calm, and of a more peaceful me–a part of my essence, of my being, Of my existence.
And, consciously, I stay there. I stay in that tranquil, untroubled spot.
If only for a moment, the whole world would stay quiet and reflect and listen, and protect, and respect each other–protect our children, our trees, and oceans and elders, we’d be able to look deep inside of ourselves and find the quiet, guarded spot and stay there for as much time as needed. But, this isn’t probable, so I’ll start with me.
At any given time, I sit quietly in any given place and look deep inside me, and for a few moments, I find the quiet in my head. And I feel peaceful and in control, and I feel whole and true. I know what’s mine, and they can’t take that away. My hopes, fears, and thoughts are mine. My ideas are mine. Carrying the weight of my feelings is mine. My emotions, regardless of their logic, reason, or substance, are all mine. My soul, humility, and my pride are mine. The smile I get with the scent of my morning coffee is mine. The love I feel is mine.
And, currently, with great effort, I remind myself of this.
My feelings are mine. Period.
I see me. I feel true, and I feel each breath I take, in and out.
I feel. I breathe. And I’m in control of my breathing.
I wish everyone would be able to feel true, and whole, and safe, and was able to breathe unharmed.
To be continued