I sat down to write a post tonight and watched a sentence appear on the screen only to click backspace and watch it disappear again. Five times. Talk about my workshop yesterday. Talk about how I’d like to change the world but am a little tired today. Talk about plants (been there, done that). Talk about a wounded man in a boat.
Sometimes I’m just not sure where my head is. I feel like a fisherman with his line dropped into dark waters, just waiting to see what the catch of the day will be.
What do I know today? Winter just will not end. The violence continues. My heart is still beating. I’m going to be a great grandmother. I feel the urgency of all the many goals of life the same way I did when I was nineteen. I’m 59.
I recently realized that all of the people working to raise consciousness, bring peace, preserve our beautiful Mother Earth are just not speaking with loud enough voices. We are working from the heart and spirit . . . too polite to make waves, too introspective to activate real change. You can find a thousand paths to lose weight, make more money, organize clutter, get on the fast track, but who is helping the change makers make change?
A few weeks ago when I was getting ready to offer a first workshop at The Many Kites Center, I was thinking about the hundreds—even thousands—of people who have sat with me in a day-long or longer workshop considering how we create thought, how we stand stronger, how we ease disturbances in the family of origin. I was struck by the sheer numbers of people seeing to find a stronger place in their lives and in the world.
Maybe we are spending too much time preparing for life and not enough time doing life.
I simply can’t stand that while we have been politely preparing for life we have made such a mess of ourselves socially, environmentally, spiritually. I feel like that frog who is sitting in the cooking pot as the water heats up.
I simply don’t know what to do about it.
blah blah blah bullshit, blah, blah, blah, bullshit.
I’m in a strange space tonight. Frustrated by a mighty energy but unsure of where to direct the steam.
Maybe we should start getting pissed off.
Maybe there is no maybe left.
Just do it.
I remember seeing a Ziggy cartoon. He was sitting in an easy chair with dreamy bubbles of thought above him. “I could be an airplane pilot. I could be a doctor. I could be a famous inventor . . . if I could only get out of this chair.”
(The image is of a building on the campus of the Sisseton/Whapeton Tribal College. Very cool.)
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That’s how I feel tonight. But on a more positive note . . . I can’t wait for Chapter Two with our little workshop group. We are mobilizing for change.
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