Yarning about true fiction

There once was a girl who had a bit of a different start to life. For a long time, she listened and considered what she was taught by the people around her. She felt there might be an easier way to live. She had seen something like that once.

It’s hard to say whether it really happened or it was a vision she was working on building along with the rest of the world.

I can tell you she thought about the whole world often, wondered where it ended and began again, where the line should be drawn. Is it the everything or just everything or EVERYTHING?

How do you make two things when we can’t be sure where even one thing ends? This is how she came to feel connected to everything, in trying to find the precise distinction that made you entirely separate from her. It seemed like true fiction.

In a similar way, the thing she heard most frequently about herself was that she was black, while in the early days (when she learned this stuff), almost everyone around her was white.

She did not like being named black, even when she repeated it herself and they all clapped. Another true fiction. To her, nothing in existence was black. Nothing was white. It was just an idea. A dance partner for her era. Whatever the point was, it did not feel right.

After several decades of struggling futilely against the sense of oppression that these ideas with their consequent array of deleterious actions and reactions engendered, she surrendered to the inevitable flow of life – overcoming this and that crisis until she finally lost everything. Friends, family, home, job, belief, security — identity.

Her entire social backpack crumbled under the weight of conflict against a system she was dependent on and had been trained to replicate. A system she didn’t like, but could not escape. A system that qualified, quantified, carved up, dissected, categorised and used life in such ways as to threaten the survival of most things she cherished.

She could not conduct a one-person war. That much was obvious. What could she do to un-train her mind, to stop perpetuating the same arbitrary classification system used to decide who gets sacrificed next? She surely knew whether she opposed or supported it – either way – she would have to move from this position to stop engaging with it.

It seemed very strange to her to do nothing at all. To watch and wait and watch again.

Although no movement was apparent to anyone, it felt to her a lot like she was something tiny getting ready to begin, on her way to the start line – a dandelion seed. A dandelion seed after a small child has inexpertly blown a few of them to the breeze and she is half-clinging, half-leaving, flapping this way and that, just waiting for the wind to bring her home so she can grow roots.

So she can grow roots and sing this word – fellow.

because the world is so beautiful
and the way we are moving through life
we’re all seeing it a little bit different
we’re each building something unique

when someone brings us in
when we want to do the same
because we’re seeing each other
and we’re working on living our art

it’s when you hit me over the head with it
force me to make mine look like yours
we get this deluge of soul-breaking, life threatening, impossible-but-true events

moment to moment

if we would move through our living without diminishing anyone’s world

there’s a way they all connect

have you seen the way light travels?

we are part of that

– 2018

We don’t know how this story ends, perhaps it never does…

We don’t know how this system can be dismantled, or how this cycle ends and the next one begins. Perhaps it never does.

Whatever you call it that has people justifying the denial of rights to anyone, whatever it is that says to us that we will not be destroyed by the very same ideas we all perpetuate, that is some true fiction right there.

Keeping still

I’m going to call this the truth for now…
what you said
I know the truth changes in the moment before each breath
but for now it’s the truth
with every exhalation I see entire realities birthed
and eradicated
so many truths and gods live and die on the breath
since time eternal

Oh how the world (in fire, my soul) reignites when every utterance
wrung forth or received
is considered to be the truth in this moment
to reduce conflict
or to survive peacefully (the still mountain)
that I might hope to experience yet another truth
a new combination of feelings
before the next breath

and perhaps there will be another exhalation
after that
we don’t know

…the suspense is killing me

externally
I imagine there is no response from me at all

In colony

the dream is eons long
we have been entwined
you and I
since forever

on certain days
I ache to withhold my truth
to show you how it feels
to listen to endless lies

on other days
I tumble to the floor and bounce
to show you how it looks
to act from the real and present

no bargains can be struck
in the market for shadows

that mind’s light is so full
it throws it’s own shade
to all that might detract
from it’s righteous narrative

your hand-me-down economy
avoids all mention of entropy

the dream is eons long
you know
the one where I play
the swiss-army-knife version
of a scapegoat
and you deny everything

on certain days
we see you hurling platitudes
while dismantling ecosystems
and poking holes in rainbows
again

on other days
we see you acting out our own shadow-selves
and then we fall about laughing
at your feeble attempts
to direct the wind

*

What’s with all the questions?

Answering questions is not my forte.

red question mark

The big red question button, similar in function to the all-purpose doomsday button

Question me and you will get a response that is almost never what is expected, particularly if you’re wanting me to ease your doubts.

I’ve observed and pondered this quirk in my behaviour for a long time now and these days I can’t quite recall whether I’ve always been this way or it just kind of crept up on me one day – while I was dreaming.

I love to learn – new things, old things, patterns and disruptions, flows and cycles. Life is so endlessly intriguing and engaging through my eyes that it seems impossible for me to imagine any other way of being. So I answer questions with an almost unconscious intent of setting up the conditions for a learning experience, preferably involving laughter, smiles or little nods of recognition that we humans are all, essentially, in the same boat.

It is my heartfelt wish, from the centre of all that I am, to share the joy of learning and living with you. I want us to take a step or two down the road together, however brief.

I want you to offer me some way to relate, to walk away with some idea of how your shoes feel and your most recent speculations on the imprecise nature of our current destination, whatever it is that you’ve got going on.

I want you to take your choice from the menu of delights, insights, delusions and intuitions that may come tumbling from my being in any one moment and use them. Use them to bring yourself home if you’ve lost your centre, use them to inspire you into your next learning or maybe add a little light to your next great or tiny goal.

I most assuredly see myself in the business of elevation and reciprocity.

Sooner or later it also seems to turn out that when you use what I have on offer to constrain or reduce the reality of me, invariably you will find that you’re presenting me with an even greater gift – the irrefutable proof that there are times when people have completely given up on themselves and others. The broken times, when someone has entered the world of self-justifying or self-gratifying illusions.

“Excuse me, I can’t be human right now, I’m right in the thick of my own self-destructive implosion mission. Check back with me later.”

“No worries. I’m glad I’m not you right now.”

We are not separate, I know your pretend vacuum-sealed self is imaginary and hurts you one thousand times more than it hurts me. This is not news. I know because I’ve spent lots of time trying it out. I most certainly cannot conscionably recommend hanging out on that particular limb for too long, it’s bloody exhausting [or bloody and exhausting, your pick].

You don’t have to like me to enjoy the journey. I don’t have to like you for us to exchange genuine service with each other. Vile, virtuous, vexatious or the epitome of verity – I regard your presence as my reward. So go ahead and present yourself as a poo-flavoured dog-biscuit and watch me laugh at all the time and energy that was just wasted.

Seriously, come, lay your doubts on me brothers and sisters, then strap yourselves in and grab hold of your socially-engineered default-configuration hats, I think we’re in for a one hell of a wild ride!

Really being a human

If you’ve had enough of bad news, or you can relate to anything in my last couple of poems – check out this news article today. It’s a fine example of diversity in action in Australia.

Snip of triple M article

Excerpt from the Triple M article

In truth, we have all sorts of people here with very loud voices representing their various interests and, oftentimes they are all arguing with one another. Dan represents the voice that almost never gets heard and it’s a testament to our shared humanity that his beautiful attitude (in my humble opinion) has even made it’s way into the news stream.

Objecting, opposing, denouncing, calling out bad behaviour, resisting, etc. they all have their place. Here’s a reminder that there is also another way…

Read the article here —>  Dan becomes anti-racism hero

News Feed

In the age-old tradition
of propaganda and repetition
we are expecting
perpetual circumnavigation
of the truth
peppered
with a percussive deluge
of obscurities
highlighted
in blinding succession
by incendiary instants
of infinite insanity
inflicted
upon marginalised percentages
of human populations
precipitated
by pandemically disproportionate
political photosensitivity
conducted
in indecipherable waves
of community-conscious pathos
punctuated
by an hysterical post-ethical
imperative to imperil
inherent critical faculties
with antithetical rhetoric
reinforced
by a dispassionate discourse
of preposterous proportions
among the privileged unharmed
and the righteously
unaffected.