It's Getting Harder to Tell When We're Awake
Margot was living the dream of a clearer conscience. Then one day, the crystal ball fogged, someone cackled, "Poppies...poppies..." and the nightmare came to her:
Hi darling, how are you?
I think that I wrote to you that my company was bought by a mega corp that is heavily invested by Monsanto, 2 pharmas, Phillip Morris, Entergy Nuclear, Waste Management Inc, Citigroup, Bank of America, and a few others. What is scary about this? The nukes are for irradiating food, the WMI wants to use treated human waste as fertilizer for organics, Monsanto was the creator of genetically modified soy and corn...Hain-Celestial owns 100+ companies in the natural products industry, including a large soymilk company and several food companies that use grain, soy, corn...On and on it goes, the daisy chain of horror and end times. Me, I am reminded of the story of the fox and the scorpion...and our inevitable surprise and shock when we are indeed stung mid-river, only to have that ugly truth of self-responsibility reflected back at us as we sink into swift, deep waters.
The other night I actually had a work nightmare. I haven't had one in many years, and it was the work dreams that preceded my leaving my previous employer that first time. And I am tired of the mega pressure, no longer does it seem a worthy challenge. I long to be reflective and quieter. Where the 100 watt smile illuminates loved ones rather than for customers, and the eloquence and beauty that lives in my soul is used to inspire greatness, compassion and imagination rather than a smoother complexion or a sunless tan. (I ask myself: What is wrong with aging, anyway? We sell our souls to look like we are something we are not. And right now, it doesn't seem very important at all.)
I have become a distant dreamer that is trapped in the waking world, lost to sleep and dreams. I acknowlege that I got/get caught up in the material, the maya, the illusion. It is times like that this that force me to wonder: what happened?
I don't wonder what became of the old me(s), I don't think I could go back to being a hippie wanderer vegan herbalist, or a cog in the entertianment industry, nor any of the other many incarnations, even if I wanted to. What does the caterpillar think while it is in the chrysalis, does it know what is happening, changing into something that it can't even imagine? What it will become? That the necessary struggle to break free of the very thing that enabled its transformation is the very thing that will make it strong enough to fly?
I somehow doubt that it sits in its cozy sac watching CSI and XFiles and crying its uncertain little heart out, but who knows? Maybe. Perhaps this is the struggle that I must endure to find out if I will be strong enough to fly.
On the brighter side, I have been eating a lot of vegetarian food, not drinking coffee, and not smoking the chronic, so I am slim and thinking clearer, though incredibly emotional. That's a funny thing too. Sometimes I would kill to lose 10 pounds, but when I do, it is shadowed with the despair that for all that emotional struggle, what does it mean other than my pants fit better? No worlds were saved in the making of this waistline. I think the weed suppresses the expression of negative stuff, so it can build up like a septic tank. Today I dreamt that I touched my belly and it had actual abs. That's a first.
In the words of the austere wise man Austin Powers: "I'm spent."
It's like coming to a personal crossroads and finding the Devil's already paved.
She's a tough little mystic in thigh-high boots. I have every confidence she'll be hydroponic farming and goat shearing in no time, and somehow, she'll be totally hot doing it. I admire her determination to live both well and ethically, and her resistance to becoming a faceless corporate butt monkey.