…I need to start writing from beyond that thing I call I, yet whatever I am needs a root, an anchor, a sense of position in this mayhem. I guess I am wondering who 99 people I meet out of 100 truly are, in essence, in heart, in spirit, in everything that matters to me. The lack of any I in so many others who speak in scripts or fake smiles or use others to make suffer to make themselves feel better of their own loneliness…is by now too much, too obvious, to ignore. ANd the sickness drips over into me. Makes me question my I.
Yet I know my I….I is to me, Self, or if I delve to something more easily outlined, but more easily misunderstood, I will say the I is not the character, it is the Soul. It finds wings in the eyes wide closed realm. It shows less obviously in the wakeful scene where there is a constant avalanche of interference…The Spirit matters, by which I mean the drive, the howl, the zeal, of a human, not anything connected to what many think of spiritual. The force which keeps you going, day to day, moment to moment, despite anything and everything…
This I is bothering me. It feels like I am speaking in the third person, for this generic hollowness of the shared notion of I, is of far more interest to me than any gender discussion, than any nuclear war chitchat, than any global affairs or political challenge…It focuses on WHO WE ARE if we are in any way individual, and how we look at this and then express this.
I ponder the value of I of late, less so than I am ever curious of dreams. Its not just myself who looks Out more than In, its Society in turn…for considering the world we know has been shaped by the dreams of powerful men and women…that whole peoples have been destroyed and erased from history on the basis of dreams… how much value do we place in Dreams, let alone how much do we really know in our wake of Dreams?
So few people tell me their dreams, when they are so important to me. Maybe they are too personal, or I dream too much. Or people are fearful of sharing things. For good reason…ANy I…which I can ponder…is worthless without We, not Me.
I am too aggravated by this idea of I…for all I care for is soul, and spirit and heart, and if the general idea of I is ego, this is something I have, but its far less sturdy than some would like to believe to confirm my deplorable nature…the reality to those who know what matters of me, is markedly different. And that may be the point, the sole value of writing and speaking myself as I always mean, for to do so, makes me seem not deranged – but horrid to those who seek to condemn, equally a loud pipsqueak in cryptic crippled poetry to those who have felt the love in my heart…Even a lone fox cub who found himself surrounded by wolves, who took whatever he was, as something weaker than them, but somehow valuable…finds loneliness whenever he approaches humanity beyond his adopted tribe. And I have been so far from my tribe for so long.
It is SPirit which makes the most superb souls stand out. Other than Keny Arkana, and my other far away connexions, I have but four Spirits in this hemisphere I not just admire, but draw inspiration from-
The ninja lawyer poetess. can be found one moment in a day teaching muslim women self defence, another…fighting for survival from a pack of rabid dogs poorly disguised as men…another…delivering meaningful and powerful poetry to strangers, with such vigour I could only ever match in this garden amongst loved ones, or at least…trusted ones. Its the same. Trust is Love to me….The ninja has so much more worth than she is willing to accept.
The only true Elf in my realm. my favourite in mythical creatures I feel as real…a distant cousin of the unicorn///whereas I am vulpine…///The closest to a true Earth ANgel I have ever known, lived with, to understand enough to admire and hope to be recognised by as something worthy, with whatever there is in me beautiful and pure…She is more than a wonder of the wilderness, in a pretty, benign sense…She has the beast in her poetry, a fang in her roar…and is one of few I know, who is never anything but honest and hurricane spirited.
The canine supernova of fur and fang…Maybe the rotten apple never falls far from the tree…but in some ways, he has improved upon the tree…Sometimes we look similar, but his spirit is stronger…Many of those closest to me find his scars on their body, as do I on my damn snout, yet all of them love the scoundrel. He has mega zeal, lives off not just his instincts but his spirit…and inspires me more than most other creatures, for there is zero false or cunning in him, yet he is smart.
FInally, there is the fierce blur of valkyrie curls and wild dark animal eyes…who has not just my inspiration of SPirit, but my heart.
….the nourishment I have from further afield, but always deep in my heart, can be outlined another time. Its late and for the best to suggest listening to the following, for others whose rabid Spirit demands of me far more than any honest mention of the I could satisfy>>>>