Mad Carousel

As always, I must be honest. Often times I feel I have little more to say. I take pleasure in neither preaching nor pontification, neither telling nor showing. I’m not an expert or an authority. And I’m not too sure anyone else is either, except possibly on their personal experience of life. I’ve learned through experience just how easily one is misunderstood or can misunderstand another, can mislead or be misled.

Words, thoughts, feelings, heavens, I doubt there’s one among us who hasn’t been betrayed by his or her own or by someone else’s. For the most part it seems we’re brought up, or otherwise learn to mistrust life, or worse, so that can’t be too surprising. And if you can’t trust yourself what then, I ask? Well, look around. Our culture is one of avoidance of responsibility, of indulgence, apathy, selfishness, and all the ills that result from this anti-life equation. Meanwhile, evil, which thrives in such conditions, festers the rather lethal antidotes to those very conditions. Perhaps prescribed by Nature herself as she creates balance, perhaps by another hand. All around us we’re told that war, horror of horrors, of every kind rages ceaselessly, that fear is everywhere and safety only with the gestalt, always waiting with open arms to crop and assimilate your uniqueness whenever it may come up.

What good can come of becoming domesticated to an unnatural way of living our lives? We are meant to create our lives ourselves. Your life is yours and no one else’s, regardless of any claims. Anything in the way of that I do not trust. And so I observe the world around me and within me, for there too are uninvited and alien incursions, be they cell towers, Wi-Fi fields, so called smart meters, chemical poisons, bad childhood TV, any number of memes, judgments, other folks’ energies, or whatever happens to slither by at the time. I have noticed that my integrity, in the sense of being whole and undivided, a territorial sovereignty – if you will, unified, unimpaired, is in direct relation whereas it’s health is concerned with the other meaning of the word: the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles and ‘uprightness’, to loosely quote my dictionary.

In this artificial architecture, this matrix of distraction, this imposed labyrinth of our owned minds, mined not only for it’s potential wealth of awareness, but also mined with dirty little implosive thought bombs, constructed of past and present traumas and subliminal subversions, ever-ready to take one out at every turn of this byzantine maze with prepackaged guilt or any of an wide assortment of devilish flavours; in this place one must practice and develop that very same integrity or suffer for its lack.

Cultivating strengths rather then weaknesses seems an obvious thing, but in this backwards, cuckoo-clock-alice-in-wonderland, mad carousel ride of realities, it ain’t always so: hence the usefulness of guides such as honesty and integrity. They are powerful technologies, guides of a sort, instruments in a sense awaiting play. And there are others! Heavens! So many really it’s astounding. Bravery’s a good one. Humour. Kindness. Where would we be without kindness? It’s really up to the individuals themselves what part of their possibilities they next choose to explore, to create, regardless of the temptations to act contrary to one’s own best interest that seem inculcated within the very fabric of this civilization.

I was once told by a very wise woman to never listen to an inferior artist whereas one’s own art was concerned. She was an elegant and graceful woman, an accomplished painter herself, and in the last years of her own story which added quite a perceivable and palpable power to her wisdom. At first I only considered her words with what I once though of as art. Now I know she meant the one with the capital a.

Remember: You are your Art.

Love, Fredalupe!

F.3

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