Month: January 2019

As winter arrives…

The weather is finally starting to commit to winter around here. As I’ve lived here for the last 20ish years, winter has been an elusive beast that tempts you into thinking that the season exists right as it morphs directly into spring.

But that seems to be shifting, as more and more winter comes out of its hiding place and firmly displays the 20 degree temperatures and the copious precipitation that comes with it.

It starts with the rains, they come heavy for days. Then the temperature drops, and the water begins to crystalize and the scent of outside begins to give off that pure scent that says “snow is here”. This is how we renew, casting off the things that die and no longer serve us, so they can become the nourishment for the new things allowed to grow in the space where death once roamed.

I think this is one issue we have in our society. We no longer have an acceptance of death. It’s more of something we either seek to hide away in hospitals or communities of elder care facilities and cemeteries. We look to modern medicine and “fountain of youth” treatments to avoid the natural progression of life. In our great progress to treat our disease of self, we’ve created a new bug. Not one created from a virus or bacterium but one that is in our heads and our social structures.

It makes us immune to the effects our words and conduct have towards others. The “sticks and stones” rhyme made real. Failing to see the consequences of our thoughts made real. And if we do, see those consequences, they’re shrugged off with simple dismissal that it’s someone else’s problem.


So I have a new non-fiction book (well, fiction if you consider that the topic is about fake news and smear campaigns) that I seem to not shut up about. I love reading stuff that is a bit off the wall but grounded in analysis – maybe that’s the Sherlock Holmes wanna be in me that gets stoked. At any rate, The Smear, by Sharyl Attkinsson (sp?) is my latest reading binge. It’s taking me away from Turn: George Washington’s spys on Netflix.

I’m ranking it up there with Cows, Pigs, Wars and Witches by Marvin Harris. Mainly because I love perspectives that make me rethink how I look at things, as well as possibly gain an insight that I tend to miss being an anti-social hermit.

The main reason I’m devouring it has more to do with what I’ve been seeing on my FB feed and the various stories propigated by friends and acquainences. It also lends an interesting perspective to the fallout I’m seeing from the recent Gillette commercial addressing “toxic” masculinity and the debate that has been sparked. I followed the rabbit hole and read through the comments on the YouTube post, and if you can’t tell the majority of the comments are the same, or just slight modifications of the same post.

It half makes me wonder what would happen if all of us ceased posting, what would the bots and the humans paid to write the reviews come up with, if all of us just didn’t pay attention to it. It really reads like those article transcripts of people who set up a couple of AIs and let them talk to each other. The only difference is that AIs will debate, argue, and discuss their subjects. These things just regugitate a single talking point.

It half reads like a modernized theatrical production based off Huxley’s Brave New World with some Fahrenheit 451. The only difference is that we’re living it, instead of reading and discussing it in our Senior year lit class in HS.

On being a slacker…

Hallo dear readers,

I’ve been a slacker. Well, not really, but in regards to writing I have been. I’ve made putting out fires my priority over tending to my own monkeys. For that I apologize. I’m putting this out there as a way to give myself some accountability. Every Wednesday or Thursday I’m going to write out a brain dump that hopefully will turn into something a little more intentional and planned out.

I’m starting with my personal blog and hopefully that will morph over to my business blog (nope, not gonna connect it. If you’re that interested consider this a game of hide ‘n seek of the over-worked adult variety). I have no clue what will come out of my head but if you read through my former LJ, you’ll see that it ran the gamut. From overly deep and TMI introspection (my former partner and I had many an argument over my method of sharing) to rain glazed highway shallowness.

But I am at an age where a lot of what you’ll see there has somewhat been mastered in a way that it’s not a written process anymore. Sure, there are still interpersonal relationship issues that I deal with and will probably process here, but most of those deal with the fact that I am anti-social and highly introverted to the point where I should have a psychologist to talk to instead of blog. But hey, here we are and it’s functional. On top of that, I don’t have to worry about my usual issue of not being heard because I don’t look at my analytics. 😀

So, at any rate…welcome to my attic – where all the skeletons are hidden.

New year, new….?

So I’ve closed out this last secular year. I look back and find that I have failed at my desire to begin writing more. That was the whole point of opening my journal back up and creating this space, separate from my past. So I’m making a point to recommit to it by setting aside time each week, even if it’s just a brain dump.

The last remaining threads of a past chapter disintegrated in the past year. Last Christmas eve, I spent the day holding onto the first furbaby that I chose, in absence of the failed partnership that brought me her sister and brother, as she slipped across the veil. She was preceded 2 years before by her older sister, and this Samhuinn her slightly younger brother joined her. 23/24 years of my life between the 3 of them. The pain was so great that I just kept quiet, preferring to grieve in my own time in my own silence. Only one person, out of all of my close friends, reached out to me to express her condolences. The rest chose to extend them to my partner on his FB page.

I tell this tale because it was an eye opener for me. In fact, most of this year has been one. I’ve always been the “outsider”, the person that kinda wafts between groups, cliques, friends. Rarely having that bond that some claim is a “BFF”, though, oddly enough the few people I can look to and see that bond share a birthday with me. It’s sparked a conversation between me and my parents, especially a few months ago when I was at the deepest point, traversing the staircase that takes me to my psychological basement. A connection that I’ve never had with either of them and a connection that has led my mom and I closer, as we’ve finally found that thread that connects us past our DNA.

I have had bright spots. The brightest being the connections I’ve made professionally and somewhat in the activist world. My professional connections are what is going to make this next year interesting. A new direction in my career, which I hope see blossom in the coming months. Goals have been set, plans are being put onto paper and courses set.

Activist-wise, I’ve always leaned towards the greatest freedom. I grew up in rural areas, surrounded by remnants and spirit of the original caretakers of this land. I’ve always felt connected to them in some way, even though my beliefs are a follow up to those of my pre-Christian European ancestors. The land, the sea, and the sky are the threads that connect those ancestors to the ancestors of the land I live upon. The last few years I’ve had a wrenching in my heart about something that has been long in coming. This year, that knot has slowly been unravelling as I watched the nations that inhabit North Dakota and the surrounding areas stand up to a gov’t that has long reneged on its treaties and promises. I watched as more and more indigenous voices rose and claimed a right that has long been theirs, but has been shouted down because the wounds of others are more recent and viewed as more raw. I’ve watched as they, and those with more recent wounds have been heard. I view myself as privileged to have made acquaintance with these voices and been witness to their strength in rising. And privileged in being able to support these people with such inherent greatness.

While this last year has obviously had some overwhelming dark spots. My ability to be “a watcher” has helped me take a different tack from most of what I see in the news. Yes, my country stands teetering on the precipice that many nations have faced in modern times. And which direction we will ultimately fall on remains to be seen. But if we are truly in an era of a great unraveling, then what better way to unravel than through the actions of the jester, the machinations puppet of a trickster god? In most tales, and philosophies for that matter, one cannot truly move forward until one unloads the baggage of the past. And if this is how we dump that suitcase and deal with all the horrors that we’ve created for ourselves and leech the wounds that have been inflicted, so that they can really heal, then I can be okay with that. But it requires us to work toward healing – which, unfortunately, it’s obvious that for some healing is a continuance of the illness that got us here in the first place. But I have hope.