Are you lost?

I'm always fighting a pull or pushing a limit. Disconnected mostly and full of fear sometimes. I'm always wasting my energy on thought and regret. Thinking, rethinking and trying not to think. Writing lists and clipping wishes. Like reminders of normality or what I think I want to be. It's never ending. A genetic defect I assume. Because heaven knows I won't take credit for it...or anything. I would love nothing more than to roll with it but I know I don't have the wherewithal to take it any place real. And my real place holds me here regardless. This is a perfect excuse to do nothing about it or blame you for letting me do nothing. I keep fighting it and I force being normal but I want to be part of the bigger thing. I want that to be my thing. I want too much I suppose. Or maybe I'm just partly shackled still. And the guilt of my non-participation is wearing me. But I have seen less do more with less and more, if you know what I mean. Reading back on my thoughts I conclude I think a lot. I think about doing and complain like a spoiled child and then I do nothing and complain some more. Are you lost? Because to me you look somewhat put together. I don't believe that no one understands me. I know for a fact that I actually have very little to complain about. But I have seen the pattern play out generations before me and I don't want a part in it. Hell, I've seen runners run with no legs. It is my goal to break the cycle I am. I am always fighting a pull or pushing a limit. But not in a good way. I've been swimming against the current of possibility, watching others ride it downstream. I'm jaded. Underestimating myself. At what point do I figure it out. 
Well not today, today is not that day. What if this is life. That would be something...

Plastic flowers

It's not a good time to write...or it is a perfect time. I'm tired and hanging onto heavy lids. Not worn or deeply disturbed just weary, just today. Life is good, blue sky abound. But the nagging impending doomsday rest anxiously upon my mind's hammock. Swinging in wait I can't help but feel like the weather will break, the fighting will escalate, the states will fall and something ....something will happen. I ponder on the cloud on whether my innocents will emerge from it or if they could succeed at all.  It's a fine mess we built. Naive ignorance laid the stone that will crush us all. Worse off so Canadian is my current awareness in that I will smile at the wolf in sheep's clothing, accept my silver metal and feel ashamed at my thoughts. Helpless, Hopeless, Powerless. I am not the one that will resurrect anything. I want to be. But atlas I am bound by the very rope I weave. It's so funny. Funny in the way that I will laugh great tears of defeat and confusion. Swing, swing.... it is soothing. I drank from the vile as did you, hell I made the packaging and advertising too. Just a brainwashed brain brainwashing the sane. Lovely optimistic human spirit. Like dumb dancing children in a field of plastic flowers. Can't they smell that there is nothing left. But they are too busy dancing. And I am too busy making plastic flowers. It's over...at least 'as it was' is. But maybe some of the new will survive and be less tired and sacrifice everything to get it right. That which we so royally screwed. Because even through my disgusting weakness I feel hope, if not my own than theirs. And I hope its real. 

Heart's home.

Sitting there and trying to feel something. Prominent picturesque perfection sprawled before me, blinding me with all its evidence. Waiting for my heart to gambol. Nothing. It is not possible to force feeling. Like your mother it just exists or existed. Like drinking table salt to fill the sea of memory or is it memory of the sea. But not this one. My footprints were not born here. For what crime am I being punished? As much freedom as a glass cage in an open field. An illusion presented to prove that my longing is deeper than the surface of the sand. Much deeper. It is the proverbial hole in the heart, the missing puzzle piece. It seems as though others have found their way with more complicated maps or simpler destinations. It seems as though some are not looking. But you are sure when you see those who have found it. Or more accurately have found yours. The deep green envy pounds in your heart, making you know there is life left. So it is just the situation that has to change. I hope it is always waiting and that my truth does not get more complicated then that. For at this moment I know my heart's home, I have just taken a lengthy detour with a stubborn tour guide.

Lost? Found...

Short and sweet these days. Like sunlight woven through clouds projecting breathless proof of our insignificance. I lean on my bank of memories. Heart stopping moments of existence. The blue of that fire taunting my truth that this perfect moment is only here now and won't be tomorrow. This part of recollection is mine alone and most likely not being witness by anyone else here right now. That golden sun on my path to nowhere. A path I took a thousand times without notice of that color. Life is short and sweet and we could linger on either explanation. But you will be different if you prioritize "Short" over "Sweet" life. I don't get it, and I am a little more okay about that everyday. Sometimes it is wise to believe that your luck is just being able to taste a fresh strawberry.  Your privilege is the freedom to not just catch the moment but to linger in it, love it...live it. We don't know how short it is but we all have the capability to swim in the sweetness.

My road trip was fast and fruitful.

What to say.. I am almost numb with normalcy. I am light with the weight of cloudless high, by and by. Untouched by the heavy grief of our usual provincial sky. Free and happy and hopeful and light. Rhyming words and without plight. Seems meaningless to write.

Wrapped in the warmth of familiarity. Confidence defined by friends and family. Rooted in relived memory. 


Did you know there is a world out there?
And oh it is grand, this country…our land.

It struck a cord in my soul of souls as I drove deep into the walnut grove. Peachy peaches…green landscapes replaced beaches. 


I saw it as if it were a painting. 
It evoked raw happiness that paddled me back to life. 


I felt my heart beat for the first time in years. It was a back road in my backyard…and it blew out all my fears. Maybe it was the sun, or my mind…or mindlessness. When I left my umbrella and ran for the hills I brought my sun block and forgot my pills.

There was an ease of regroup. A solid hand. A puppet, a witch and a handsome man. There was a princess and dinosaur, a father’s kiss and a family of four. There was magic that connected me back to the world. A reminder of that normal little girl. There were colors and hills and miles of drive. A brave baby bug and a big water slide.

My road trip was fast and fruitful. Literally there’s a lot of fruit in the valley. May I never get so lost again.

Got home and stepped in a new load of poop. Shook it off, re-gathered, recounted, regrouped.

Allergies and Effigies.

Climbing down my throat, like a kitten's claw on sandpaper. Tiredness sets in. I want to curl up with it and sleep for a week. I may be harbouring a bug. It may also be the lorax like pollen falling as softly as snow. Spinning through the tree tops possessing the wind, and my lungs. How can I so innately reject something so natural. I have already forgiven nature for her crime for she is only doing that which she is meant to do. I envy her for knowing what that is and then for executing it with such fervour. Alas, there seems to be a growing anxiety, not within me, but all around. I want to panic but weariness pulls on my lashes and purrs. Wanting to captain the ship I steer headlong into the crowd. Seduced only by the sirens of sleep. The light hangs late, so late that the birds still chant. I remember how much I love Lilacs. And not because I do but because my mother does. I call to mind her visceral reactions every time she has stumbled upon them. A burning memory exporting her to youth, times of easiness and her mother. I want to hold her. She must be so tired. I grant myself a moment to feel the pain of our distance. Tiny little woman who carried my world on her shoulders. I am fading and drifting and hoping to wake up tomorrow rested. I wish no discomfort to any heart who loves a part of me. Tonight many innocents suffer, I know not of this kind of pain. I am merely in selfish discomfort within entitled plentifulness. Oh, I just disgusted myself. Don't let me fall into the pit of ignorance and injustices. Let me do enough. My mind passes faces cold as stone. People who have been there for me. People who could need me. People who think they don't need anyone. Frozen reminders of what? Fatigue drapes herself in my lap. My heart slows. My lovely little life full of allergies and effigies.

Cute little bastard

My closest confidant quips "you are never happy" regarding me and my weekly rants. I always quietly respond internally with "if I have nothing to strive for then I might as well be dead." I believed this to be true, wholeheartedly for most of my life. It was my understanding that the gift of life was not pure existence it was the unravelling journey of discovery. The endless opportunity to grow, change and challenge. I mean how can one be content if they have not experienced it all? How can ignorance be bliss? Are those gratified islands of peace truly satisfied or are they clothed in fear of what they might find behind door number 2? I love being in the moment and am becoming rather skilled at recognizing and bathing in it. But I see those moments as accomplished blocks building towards a new discovery. And failure doesn't deter me. I welcome her in at least once a day. She teaches me as much as any moment of solitude or stillness. Then I wonder, is it my ego that pushes forward? Am I unconsciously ticking off boxes and building new lists in an attempt to avoid my reality. Or worse, to impress the droves and drones...those passing souls and their musical listings of social norms. I am surely passing that stage but worry often if I've been propagandized into a incoherent submission. The sun is out and my skin is burning with it. Blue skies obliterate all memories of grey. I am putting water on the ground where it pour relentlessly for the past 8 months. Maybe longer. The days pass all the same. I am not lonely or pained. I recognized cracks in my skin like blueprints drawing memories of time. Mimicking the frail mitts of my mother as I remember her washing, washing, washing. Always working. Always strong in their delicateness. I saw a bird today. I think she was me. She was gloriously free but as confused as could be. Cute little bastard. I take five breaths now before I think of where to go. That's more than two.