In a matter of twenty years, our world has become a digital distraction with a dizzying number of online options. Certain platforms are intentionally designed to be addictive. Although my digital communication style is primarily texting and emailing, in the past, I had completely fell in love with Pinterest and Facebook. I found myself utterly captivated, constantly glancing at pins and tags whenever I had some free time. Eventually, I had to divorce myself from the unhealthy relationship. It took some determination, but I finally broke free of the soul-sucking desire to scroll.
Quite some time has passed; I actually thought myself free of digital influence, but then recently I realized I am completely smitten with YouTube. I am endlessly playing footsies with the bottom comment sections of podcasts and cheating on my actual real life. On YouTube, both intellectuals and idiots flourish on this podcast platform. I blushingly confess I listen to both. This is primarily due to my inability to resist listening to both.
Do you want to know how I became a podcast junkie? It all began with a workout program, and now, two years later, here I am, hiding from my dog in my closet, listening to Mr. Beast. I am weak. And worse yet, I am volatile. When my emotions are stirred and I decide to post in the comment section, a wrestling match between my inner angel and inner demon begins. How shall I respond? Should I spout brimstone and curses or benevolence and understanding? Ultimately, the halo prevails. Likely because of my parents’ ample indoctrination; kindness is paramount. Plus, this idea was also reinforced with a wooden spoon across my butt.
Sigh, enough of this.
Dear YouTube, we need to break up. I need to get a life.
But can I even get a life offline? I need some distance from the wifi. Are any of the remote tribes of South America accepting immigrants from Canada? How about the Amish? Do they have an open immigration policy?
Ahh, don’t worry; I kicked the tech habit once; I can do it again. I’m looking forward to less online time. My dog says, “Ditto.”
In this brand new year, I am asked, what could I do differently? Well, almost everything if I was so inclined. I could walk on my hands instead of my feet, or I could put my clothes on backward, or I could travel around with the circus and be a bearded woman. But I suppose the true intention behind asking that question is for people to go deep into the muddy pit of self-discovery.
For me, the pit of self-discovery is nothing new. In the past, I spent a great deal of time churning up my dirty laundry to remove my regrets, in hopes of becoming something pristine and squeaky clean. It was countless years of spinning round and round. Until, finally, I realized my stains were set. Resigned, I picked out all my inappropriate belly button lint, threw it away, and set myself out in the sunlight to dry. In the naked light of day, the blotches and splatters, and the threadbare fabric, and fraying edges were on full display. Yet, instead of feeling ashamed of the wearing of the years I felt a sense of peaceful knowing. Regrets are as pointless as planting a tree underwater; nothing thrives in the environment of regret.
So, what could I do differently? I discard the word, could. Instead, I simply do. I do kindness. I do love. I do learn from my mistakes. I honor my blotches and splatters, threadbare fabric, and tears, and I do better.
Pursing the craft of writing requires determination and a certain understanding that failure is a step to success. So, when I think of all the writers who struggle, I laugh. It is not a cackle of cold-hearted humour but a laugh of harmonious hysterics. And we must laugh, because it’s far less painful than banging one’s head against a wall. A day without laughter is a day with bandages on our heads.
And so, I commend all writers on their continued dedication to writing. Storytelling isn’t a craft for cowards; it is for people with golden scissors in the pocket of their pants. A tool to cut well-loved sentences, paragraphs, and chapters. In fact, well-written stories are the result of a bloody and thorough scissor slaughter. My novel, for instance, is beginning to feel like Frankenstein— a cobbled together horror of life.
In the end, dear fellow writers, the only way to finish is to keep on writing. Which oddly doesn’t always mean going forward; often times, in a banging your head against a wall situation, you need to go back to the beginning. Ugh. However, don’t give up. Whether it be forward or back, movement is the key to success.
Be the flowing words; be the vibrational hum; be the silence and the song. Warble on and tell your stories of deep longing in a world of shallow breaths. Go outside and walk upon the earth; take notice of the trees and the sky. Pause to listen to the screams of silent masses, and then come into yourself and gather up your gifts and share. Stories are you; they are me; they are everyone we see. Endless tales of wonder and laughter and banging our heads against the walls.
Do you trust your instincts? A difficult question to answer if you only believe in the physical aspects of our mysterious and self determining life. There was a time in my youth when I pushed aside the silent information pressed into my heart and mind. Now, however, with a solid belief in the divine, I look at my instincts as source data, insight free from impurities. What a gift we have all been granted.
Melancholy is a common occurrence and perhaps even more common these days. This meandering affliction has flitted in and out of my life in an erratic flow, mostly concealed and locked up tight. And within those months—and even years, I felt utterly exhausted and completely incapable of succeeding at any task. Yet, somehow, I pushed through, numb and only partially engaged. Fat with anxiety. I found myself operating on autopilot, completely unable to plot a course for my future. My lifetime of gaffes and blunders replayed throughout my waking hours on and on like the relentless refrain of an old song stuck in my head.
As I grew older, my list of botches grew longer and longer. And then, when people confided in me with their own troubles, I oddly found myself automatically adding them to my own litany of unravelings or downfalls to solve. At best, this idea seemed absurd, as if I could also resolve their issues? Soon, in any conversation, I found myself begging in a silent voice, “Please don’t ask anything of me with your expectant eyes and anxious energy, for I cannot carry your burden too.” In reality, I’m confident that if they had known my thoughts, they would have assumed I’d lost my ever-loving mind and would have responded, “But I haven’t asked you for a thing.” Deep down, I would know that this is true. However, being raised the middle child in a dysfunctional family, I constantly strived to improve things for everyone else. I felt it was my job. I was forever on guard. As soon as I’d enter a room, I’d read the emotion gathered there; if it proved tense, I’d either try to defuse the bomb before it exploded or run away before it did. Unfortunately, by constantly focusing on others to maintain a smoother path in life for them, I neglected to plan a clear road for myself.
As time went on, what should have been joyful, celebratory events with family and friends turned empty. I acted within the play. Despite the good-humoured grins and laughter that were thrown around like money in a casino, my smiles were consistently hollow, and my laughter was forced—a pittance at the penny slots. My feelings contracted. The space inside my heart reserved for warmth and caring iced over, and in actual fact, the slow pulsing core of my being became more desolate than a prairie field in the depths of winter— icy, rigid, and filled with emptiness.
Those were the darkest of days. Today, the sunlight pours down, creating dancing shadows on the ground. My smile is an expression of my heart, my future unfolds as I choose. This is our one guarantee in life: everything changes. So, if you are feeling that your life is pointless, overwhelming, and beyond repair, believe me when I say it is not. We live in a world of opposites: up/down, rich/poor, cold/hot, happy/sad, and on and on. Nothing is stagnant. All around us, every day, everything transforms, including you.
So, if you find yourself at the bottom of a dark and despairing hole, please remember… The light of spring will come again. The dull, lifeless grass will manifest into an iridescent carpet of emerald green under the warmth of the sun, a kaleidoscope of flowers will bloom, and the gophers in the burrows will foster little ones. A better future is here.
I, for one, believe in you. Perhaps you are wondering, “How can you believe in me?” You don’t even know me, and I reply, “It’s because you are human that I believe in you.I trust in your heart—your love, forgiveness, and kindness. I believe in your creativity, in your tears, and in your future joys. I believe in the contrast in who you are. Even the most evil-minded individual holds the capacity to become giving and loving. We all have the potential to transform and grow.
We falter, we fall, we bleed, we lash out, and we learn. If we can be strong enough to accept our pain without blaming the world or those around us, we grow. Our power lies in the love we give, not in the love we hold in our hearts. Our gifts are the love we offer in a smile, in a letter, in a devil’s food cake. Humans are magical creatures because they possess the ability to overcome. Let us overcome.
Good day, my fellow companions sharing in this grand adventure of life. I have a confession to make. I used to be the most over-trusting, easily deceived, green as grass, rural dweller that you ever could meet. I assumed all professionals such as doctors, dentists, lawyers and cheese makers were equally effective and proficient in their job. I had no clue that a little research goes a long way. Talk about naive. I mean, I was once a Girl Guide, I should have taken the motto, ‘be prepared‘ more seriously, but I think I was a bigger fan of the stylish uniform than being prepared. Long story short, I have aged into the understanding that a quality investigation into anything relating to your health and welfare is critical to a great outcome. And, if you know me at all, you know I have a story to illustrate this point, and no, it’s not about a cheese maker. However, if anyone one has one of those stories, I’d be absolutely giddy to hear it.
A few years ago, my friend, Brenda and I were on our daily walk. It was mid-summer; the towering grass growing in the wide ditch swaggered within the rush and wane of the wind and a hint of wild mint from a pond beyond the willows wafted through the air. We strode side by side without saying a word, all talked out from our previous kilometres, tiny beads of perspiration sparkles on our faces and the heat of the day hangs on the road between the ditches. A sudden movement to my left snatches my attention, a fluffy bear cub rears up near the edge of the road and contemplates us with obvious curiosity. My breath halts as a huge black mass rises up from the long grass behind the cub. My eyes widen and my body trembles in alarm. Brenda hadn’t seen them yet.
I grab hold of Brenda’s t-shirt to get her attention. “Stop. It’s a bear,” I say, huffing on each word. My knees weaken, running into a mama bear with cubs was not on my bucket list. Brenda’s eyes bulge as she takes stock of the imposing bear and her three cubs now romping unpredictably through the grass.
Thankfully, this bear and her three cubs had been sighted in the area a few days earlier and I had taken the initiative to sit at my computer and search this question, ‘What do you do when you run into a mama bear and you are about to drop a deuce in your drawers?’ Instantly, I received a list of websites about bears, none about poo. I read about five or six articles to get a wide variety of advice. The national parks had excellent information but there were also some educational personal accounts. The unanimous point in all information was DO NOT RUN. Then I opened another window and searched, “How to remove poo stains from panties.” So, according to experts you can mix one tablespoon of white vinegar with one-liter of water in a spray bottle. That said, I should have checked my sources, because squirting the bear with vinegar solution only enraged her further.
Kidding.
The bear stood about a camper length away, like an average fifth wheel, not a tent trailer. It seemed as though we stared at that bear for hours before we made our move but in truth it was closer to a second. And in that second, it was impossible not to take notice of the sharpness of her claws and the whiteness of her teeth. Who was her dentist? As we huddled together, I swear our hearts weirdly synchronized and we pounding out the drum beat of ‘Run Run Run,’ by the Who.
“What do we do?” Brenda asks, voice quavering.
Do Not Run, I thought. “We need to look as non-threatening as we can, look at the ground,” I say hoarsely, my mouth drier than a salted mummy. “Back away slowly.” We move in lockstep, a stealthy retreat. The sow shook her head clearly agitated, clacking loudly. Obviously she is trying to decide who to eat first, juicy Brenda or dusty Deb. In one swift move she drops down and takes two powerful strides toward us, head bobbing, ebony fur rippling in the sunshine. Then she rose up again to her full height, clacking fretfully.
We continue backing away, calmly and quietly— kind of quiet. Whispering, “Oh my God, oh my God.” A rattling holy phrase. The bear hoverers on her spot, eyes unblinking, nostrils flaring. Bren and I back down into the ditch nearly disappearing from the bears sight into the sparse shrubbery that lined the road. We duck behind a wimpy looking willow; the sturdiest tree of all. The bear sways trying to see where we are. I search the ground for a weapon of some sort, just in case; a weighty branch to be swung as a club or a sharp-ended stick like a spear. There is nothing. Only twigs. I could poke her eye out.
Then Brenda leans into me. “I think she’s leaving.”
I look up and peer through the leaves. Sure enough, the mama decides we are not a danger and she and her cubs lope off in the opposite direction, up an incline and into the deep bush.
Looking back, I should have failed my online bear psychology degree. Having done the research, I knew that Brenda and I should have been carrying bear spray or wearing a bear bell to announce it was dinner time. But at least I was able to move through my fear and use some of the tools I learned to minimize the possibility of a bad outcome. After all, we are all in charge of our own outcomes. So today, as in every day, I wish you the clarity of mind and clarity of heart in any decision you make. Oh yes, and by the way, the vinegar and water solution really does works.
Imagine this scene multiplied a million times over.
Are we being deliberately limited by what we hear and see through the mesmerizing transmissions on our TV?
Imagine this scene repeated endlessly.
Are we the ones choosing the planning of our time or are we led down a path of someone else’s design?
Imagine this tool being used trillions of times a day.
Do we control it? Or does it control us? Do the apps within its programs feed your need for approval one day and then smash your ego into smithereens the next? Does this device empower your sense of accomplishment?
I am not against technology. Technology optimizes the workplace and is invaluable in staying connected with family and friends. That said, I have to ask, do you think technology can be a substitute for the active experience of spending time with flesh and blood people? Do you think it can take the place of the heat of a tender embrace? Or the sultry sweet scent of flowers after a rain? Or a walk along a beach with a loved one serenaded by the roaring of waves crashing down upon the shore? Or the snorting laughter shared during an outing with old friends?
Pause, close your eyes and remember the last honest experience you had with another person, remember the energy. Feel the realness.
Now, just imagine, dear ones, what could we accomplish if we all cherished our flawed yet marvellous humanity and we began to use our precious time for appreciating and creating with other people instead of tuning into the program. What kind of possibilities would open up if we envisioned the world as a healing circle of compassion and then day by day, interaction by interaction we focused on lifting up instead of tearing down. What do you think would transpire if we had a world threaded together by connected hearts instead of connected wifi?
“We have to create culture, don’t watch TV, don’t read magazines, don’t even listen to NPR. Create your own roadshow. The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your Universe, and if you are worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, you’re giving it all away to icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y. This is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion. What is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told ‘no’, we’re unimportant, we’re peripheral. “Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.” And then you’re a player, yet you don’t even want to play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that’s being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world.” — Terence McKenna
Here’s a question for you and it’s probably the most important question you could ask yourself… What is your reality at the moment? Seriously. Pause and consider, are you absolutely certain that you are determining your own thoughts and perceptions? The answer might be eye-opening, but if not, then simply go back to your life-sucking, mind-numbing television show or all consuming social media frenzy. Sorry if that hits a nervy spot, but really, how much have you learned from your own personal inquiry lately? Now, consider, how much time you give to social media, television, and the internet. How do you know that what you’re listening to is actually true? Do you simply take the government and corporation sponsored programming at their word? Or do you invest the time to look at scientific data, published papers and listen to a variety of professional and personal accounts on a topic before forming an opinion? If you are only listening to one source it’s no better than hearing the gossip on the corner and spreading it around as Gods truth.
Let’s face it, if nothing else, life experience teaches us that nothing stays the same. And unfortunately for us, change causes us to feel off balance and uncomfortable; like a clown at a funeral. That instability can easily be used to make us feel vulnerable, and in those circumstances most will leap into the first clothes closet of safety.
These days, if you are listening to the media you hear each and every day that we are all at a great risk of dying. (So weird, I thought we were always at a risk of dying) But now we are told daily how we need to be separated by a block of six feet of empty air, a mask, hide in our homes and plug our ears against certain types of information to stay safe.
I’m just wondering? Are your spider senses going off yet? How much discomfort are you feeling in your guts because I’m sure by now that you must know something duplicitous is amiss? Are you quelling the jitters in your tummy with extra packs of peppermint tums? It’s not your fault you know, humans are creatures of comfort, we often disregard our early warning systems because it’s much easier to believe what is presented to us than to believe there might be malicious intent lurking under all the carefully crafted story lines.
Don’t you find it odd for a free country to suddenly begin silencing reputable doctors and scientists, and to begin name calling and bashing citizens, singling them out because they have a different belief than the proper narrative. What type of government enforces censorship and encourages the masking of free speech? I will not insult your intelligence by telling you. I’m quite sure you know. Coincidently, if you don’t look under the bed for the boogeyman before you go to sleep at and he is actually there you will be defenceless. Oops, you didn’t look. And now because of your unwillingness to look, he will suck the marrow from your bones.
As Terrence McKenna implied at the beginning of my blog, many events have been guided into a certain way of group think using mind manipulation. I for one am saddened by the depth of deception. I love community. I love people. I love their unique and diverse individual expressions of living. I love humanity. I love the artists, the accountants, the musicians, the professors, the bakers, the barbers and even the lawyers. I could go on and on, for each person has carved out a life for themselves and their personality and contributions have been woven into the fabric of humanity. We are all so damn special. Collective mind think is not freedom and it’s not special.
Step back. Breathe. Consider. What if everything you were told was wrong? I’m not saying it is, but what if it was? The first strategy of an authoritarian government is to divide the people and implement censorship under the guise of something else. It’s all been written before; it’s in the history books. Read some personal historical accounts from those times. The citizens never realized what was happening— they trusted the authorities. They happily listened to all the propaganda and took part in terrible things. Ask yourself, who has brought more death and destruction to countries throughout history? The people or their governments? Cap your opinions for the length of this video and listen to this little known information.
Please ask yourself, who do you think really makes the decisions for our country? Are they virtuous well-meaning politicians free of ties to corporations and other influences? Are our governments really keeping us safe? Who benefits the most from their decisions? Who has made a mountain of money these last two years? Do you understand that safe is a code word for restricted, controlled and limited. Come on. I dare you. Show some grit and look under the bed.
Sharpenedink 