Civil Rights Movement vs Ferguson Protests
Summer’s glorious gifts & a ruby floored room to call one’s own for one slick night with the brightest stars.
I am in the woods and all I want to do is escape into the Internet - that sickness and addiction pulling me back to the sea of human noise. There I can measure myself against the popular sentiment - am I living right? Are my feelings justified? Am I angry enough to warrant the titles I hold and cling to? What cry can I add my voice to and feel less alone in my private suffering?
I sit with coffee on the back porch of a generous friend. The family has gone about their days and I am left with the crickets and a far away lawn mower. Here is the self I have been fighting away from, the one who’s left at the end of the day confronted by quiet. I can hear my heart loudly as it feels with it’s brain through the world’s horrors, as it singes with guilt for the treat of this escape. When I lay in the grass I become less human, which is not bad. Neither is it good. This human of progress at all costs, human of fast and furious, human of machine and sharp tongue and arrow pointed at its own reflection.
I am obsessed lately with reconnecting to nature, but find I stand so separate, typing on a keyboard and replacing instinct with google. Under all the armor, the essence seeks connection with all life. Slowly I peel off the layers like a dress sticky from dancing. I let the ocean’s hands touch my naked skin. I learn the song of the birds and no matter what, I keep singing.