It has been almost 6 months since my last blog post and I find it difficult to put into coherent words what this time has been like. Much of it has not been coherent, but rather emotion or energy. Inspired by our last couple of weeks of creative expression I will save the sentences for a later date and instead share some musings. Feel free to call it a poem.
If I were to gaze at the reflection of these past months what would peer back? All the things we have shared? All the things we have lost? All the tears shed and the fears held? The meals, talks, hugs, creations, oh the jokes, the PUNS!
The faces have changed. Those that have been here since the beginning are familiar to me now; like they are a part of me somehow. I hold them inside myself and cherish them dearly.
But what about the new? Those we picked up along the way, absorbing them as an amoeba does its sustenance through a strange combination of osmosis and the hunt.
They add a pleasant disturbance in the familiar background that attracts my attention and makes me look again; soaking up their new faces as I would the intense Spring sun. They begin to settle beside the old. Will they take the empty spots on the sweet mail? Or is it too late?
But what about the old? Those that birthed this beast we see around us. Where the hell are they? Why aren't they here?
The space has changed. The chairs left behind, hurt my behind. The centrepiece made of cedar and holly and joy and companionship and fun, tossed in the garbage. We are practising zero waste after all!
We are asked for trust. Trust? What the fuck does that mean? Is that something I am able to do anymore? Instead I sit in the uncomfortable space next to fear. I am starting to feel comfortable here, like my worn out mattress; I sleep in that deep groove that makes my back ache the next morning. How can we upcycle that?
But there is beauty too. Back to those faces, both old and new. They are beautiful, wondrous beings that make the world worth living. From them I learn about making the world as we make a living, as we do the impossible.
Impossible. It is impossible, so instead we find the compromise. There is no winning innovation when not everyone can win, so WE get to decide who wins. It's the folks from Railtown, who win this round. Fuck them, they always win. I am so sick of them winning!
Then I ponder their prize... And I realize I prefer to be on the losing team. So here I am on the losing team, surrounded by a bunch of losers that I love so much. Maybe next time we will get team jerseys and that will make all the difference. What would those look like?
By Groundswellian, Kim De Valle Garcia