Another Old One

I found another old writing.  I wrote this one during one of the literacy lessons I helped coordinate with my students in Albuquerque.  The Albuquerque Poetry Slam Team lead some instruction on writing.  This was the result of my attempt.  I like it!

Reading the book was

intense and shocking.

It was an extreme notebook

all about love.

Jumping, dancing, happy love.

The kind of love that 

makes me want to create,

writing my voice so it

flutters around the globe.

And then it comes back home

and throws sin at the TV.

The art about which I sing

makes me skip a slimy, vertical beat

No longer sad, dark and crooked.

But fast, alive and real.

So hyper I might bash a swing,

just to feel the release.

I might throw a huge, red heart 

into the culture of

Burger King, use a hatchet 

on a tree and throw a 

bash for healthy eating.

Back In the Day

Back in the day (the olden day that I am seeking to recover) I was a poet.  I am always amazed when I happen upon past writings.  I used to journal every day.  I have at least 10 journals from my early and late college years, which happen to be 7 years in total.  I once had a roommate read a journal, against my will or knowledge. I also had a boyfriend that read a journal.  Neither were happy about what they read.  Like I said in the beginning of this relationship, only in the name of adventure, should you venture.

I have been packing in preparation of moving my possessions into a storage facility.   Come Feb 28, I will, officially, be living out of my car.  I am super excited about fulfilling the freedom and necessity to travel in search of water and a soft, flat place to rest my body each day.  The only other time I survived in this manner for an intentional and extended period of time, was in the Fall of 2003 when I packed up my truck, picked up Gerd Faulstich in Atlanta, and drove away from the Southeast with no intention of returning. Gerd had intention of returning, and an intention to explore the beautiful United States considering a place that might be fun for me to inhabit.  After a month and a half of travel, I settled in Flagstaff.  It was there that I met Cece.

In my packing, I found several photo albums (you know, the printed photograph with glossy color and all) and a journal from that trip across the country in my truck, Henry.  My journal speaks of the native histories from each place we stopped to play.  It speaks of my arrival in Flagstaff, my search for a home and my search for a job.  It speaks of Cece, my therapist, and the tornado of a journey, into which I entered with her counsel.  With Cece, I did a tremendous amount of self work in a minimal amount of time.  She told me from the beginning that it wouldn't take long to work through my shit and then I would only desire counseling about once a year.  

My journal details, what I reflect on, as a crucial time in my emotional development.  I was learning to acknowledge and identify my emotions.  My assignment was to document, in writing, my emotions three times a day.  Three times a day, I wrote a word to describe the emotion that I was feeling.  I read a lot of "sad," "frustrated," "bothered," "angry," and "crowded."  I also read a lot of insightful awareness into my experience living in a "shame cycle" and identifying the "drama triangle" in my relationships.  I didn't realize that what I am teaching the kids at Second Nature are the exact things I learned at 28.

In addition to taking notes during my therapy sessions and taking notes from my homework, I also free-wrote a lot about the voices in my head (figuratively, not literally).  I stumbled across a, sort of, poem that I wrote.  I am always astounded by the depth of my writing when I read my journals.  It reminds me of why I choose to write.  I am not saying that my writing is good, I am simply saying I remember why I write.

In my journal, I had written the following,

Stumble = Trip into fanciful wonderment

Proceed with caution into the unknown

head over heels rolling

fall

develop

free fall

happen upon

dangle

delight

trip the world fantastic

fall into action

*fright or flight or fight 

Then, I had written this "poem,"

I walk too fast, 

it causes me to stumble.

I think too slow, 

I stumble over your words.

I feel to fast,

I stumble over the meaning.

I stumble so much,

it is difficult to comprehend,

What it is or isn't,

Was or wasn't,

Is becoming,

Or could have been.

Stop.  

Be. 

Begin.  

Again.

Continue on, 

more careful this time.

So as not to stumble.

Think before you speak,

and you may miss something important.

Something that actually means something.

Or not.

Thinking causes me to stumble.

Sometimes the pain from the fall is worth it.

Sometimes I don't feel at all.

I cannot remember if I feel or if I felt.

I know...cheezy ending.  HA.

Deep Thoughts

What has happened to our society?  Children are being diagnosed with ADHD, oppositional defiance, anxiety disorders, depression, and suicidal tendencies.  I look at this partial list of “disorders” that describe the teenagers with whom I work and I can relate to every single one of them.  Most people I speak to about these 

labels agree that they can identify with them as well.  I will argue that with technological development our society has been and is changing. I know I am not the first to argue this point. I believe that the value messages in media are affecting our minds in destructive ways.  I believe that people are trying to create a false reality that is highly influenced by mass consumerism and the ideals that are presented in media.  I believe if we slow down, step outside and breathe we can learn from Mother Nature.

I typically don’t watch TV.  When I do, I find myself thinking crazy things like, “I’m getting too heavy.  I need to start exercising to lose the cellulite on my butt.  I think my hair is thinning.”  When I’m not watching TV, I don’t think about these things.  I simply live and enjoy my life.  I am as influenced by media as the rest of us.  I often find myself daydreaming about the kind of love characters experience in movies.  I want a dark, mysterious man to come into my life unexpectedly, exclaim his love and passion for me, take me to exotic foreign countries, finally, settling in one where we will build a small cottage just big enough for the two of us. All the while, I will be wearing beautiful skirts and dresses and my hair will be long and flowing and my lips and cheeks always rouge.  I want my family gatherings to consist of beautiful fall days, playing football in the front yard with the whole family laughing together and being all up in each others’ personal business (think Dan in Real Life).  I want the trials and tribulations of life to end in deeper understanding by everyone.  And I want all of this to happen to a never-ending soundtrack of deep and meaningful music to fit every situation.  I have been watching way too many movies recently.  I find myself continuing to hibernate and entertaining myself with movies and the fantasies that come along with them.  The depression of reality sets in and I become forced to find the will to step outside and breathe and seek Mother Nature’s lessons in the cold, cold, snow.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to be a teenager or even younger, seeing the value messages in media without even realizing that they are, in fact, messages subliminally relaying value.  I can’t imagine not having experienced the freedom, guidance, protection, and healing that the outdoors has provided me.  I live in a bubble.  I work in the outdoors where absolutely everything I believe in is enforced on an hourly basis.  I get to share what is most important to me with beautiful teenagers and inspiring, like-minded peers.  We laugh together, cry together, and share in each other’s epiphanies.  We contemplate the morals of our society, exchanging ideas for how we can contribute to influencing change.  I work with activists, revolutionists, healers, educators and lifelong students.  When I am not at work, I am in one of the “10 most desirable places to live” in the United States of America.  When I travel outside of Oregon, I am struck by an eye-opening reality.  The rest of the world seems not as proactive, environmentally conscious, or local. 

Of course, I am exaggerating a bit.  Only a bit, though.  I am aware that even in Bend, there are those who live their lives in a way that makes me cringe.  They purchase all things plastic, dispose of all things plastic in our landfills, and voted for McCain.  They even put plastic in their bodies to obtain the images we find in media.  I am not blind.  I am hopeful.  And I do hope that they slow down, step outside and breathe.  If they choose to recycle and stop purchasing plastic, I will support that, too.

I recognize changes in my students’ thinking after spending several weeks in the wilderness.  For example, one of my female students arrived consumed with pop-culture.  Almost everything she discussed was something from mySpace or Internet culture like the chat scene.  She spoke in “labels”; things were either “so scene” or “so emo” or

“so _______." I honestly didn’t know what most of the cliques mean.  And her opinions of things seemed so intense and completely black or white. She was incapable at first of connecting with others on any topics other than media.  She either “LOVED” a song, band, movie, or Internet personality or “HATED” them.  I found it difficult to relate to her because I choose to remain removed from these influences. When she first came to us, I think she was behaving as if someone was watching her (as if on TV) 100% of the time.  I thought that no part of her behavior was genuine. I believe she didn’t know, literally had no clue, what her genuine self may even begin to be like.  She was too consumed with what media was telling her. Over time, she allowed the genuine to appear, and it was beautiful. 

After her fifth or sixth week in the program, she spent two nights and three days alone, in her own camp, on her solo experience.  When she came off of solo, I began to see the influence Mother Nature was having on her.  She had been progressing so slowly during her time

there, and I didn’t really see it until after her solo.  Her language switched from the aforementioned, to things like, “I feel older and a strength I haven’t felt before.”  She said she didn’t originally think she would be able to survive and that she was sure it would be a miserable experience.  She surprised herself with her ability to entertain herself.  She paced around her camp, jumping from rock to rock, creating sculptures with the natural resources Mother Nature provides.  She was always awake and outside of her shelter when we checked in on her in the mornings.  She said she found that being active (jumping the rocks and simply getting up and walking around her camp) prevented her from allowing her mind take her to dark, depressed thoughts. She also found an appreciation for herself.  She said something like, “I don’t think I am as materialistic as I used to be.  I used to never leave my house without make-up and I don’t think I am even going to wear make-up anymore.  I don’t care what other people think of me as much anymore.”  I had not asked her questions that would lead her to answer this way.  She was simply processing the thoughts she was having.  She spoke for about an hour about these new ideas and about how her perceptions of the people who were most important to her when she arrived in our program (her friends) were changing.  She was beginning to see herself as the most important person in her life.  She was beginning to realize how her perceptions of what others think of her had been guiding her decisions.  Her time away from media allowed her the space to delve into her own mind without outside influence and determine what she likes and what she wants and what she believes.

She slowed down, stepped outside, and breathed.  She may have ADHD.  She may be depressed.  She may experience anxiety in the form of attacks.  And she may very well have suicidal tendencies.  And when she slowed down, stepped outside, and breathed, the symptoms seemed to lessen.  I can only hope that she remembers that, and chooses to revisit Mother Nature when things get tough.