Sunday, September 13, 2009

An Honest Effort

Zombie shuffle to the cafe, a woman crossed my path and inspired me with her zest for life. It almost made me feel human. I stumbled off on a dreaming tangent into the cafe, ordered the forbidden fruit, went astray, got lost in the woods, sat by a lake in front of my grandmother's house in the bush, white pine, silver birch, maple. The beauty of the forest inspired me to spread a sheet of paper on some exposed granite and to make a picture, or to record words from grandmother's dream.

She said: be proud of what you are. Appearance doesn't matter. You don't have to be sexy or suave. There's a tradition of tall thin men who seek places of quiet solitude in order to contemplate existence. There's a place for people who lounge through life, who appear to do nothing, but introspection.

Don't feel bad about not having a regular job. There aren't enough jobs for everyone. I had a job, but somebody with more qualifications wanted it and felt no hesitation about taking my job. I made an honest effort to be part of the system, but was expelled from the hive, an alien bee, fly away, no connection to anywhere, no place to call home, always a visitor, space alien, immigrant, eternal exile. It's not a problem. One is never completely alone. Kindred spirits find each other. There are a lot of people in a similar situation, flying Dutchmen and women, fellow travelers down the side roads of life.

In the morning, I felt groggy, sheepish, low self-esteem, but then saw somebody and realized everything is fine. There's a lot to explore.

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