A Stranger in a Strange Land

I can’t remember ever not feeling like I didn’t belong.  My Mother always used to say ‘why can’t you be normal?’  But I didn’t want to be normal if it meant telling lies, being dishonest, playing games with others in order to subscribe to the British stiff upper lip and ‘what will the neighbours think?’ way of life.  I rebelled, and fought and raged against the machine.  I have for 45 years.

But it must be so peaceful being normal, going along with the flow, working for ‘the man’, believing what the media tells you, telling lies (big and small) so as not to offend people, eating meat, drinking alcohol, taking pills for headaches etc, eating fast food, drinking too much coffee every day etc.,

Just being like everyone else.  Being ‘normal’.  It would be great.  Instead of all this wrestling in my heart and soul, this determination to live long and well and healthily, this aversion to putting toxins or poisons in my body so I can be ‘present’ and ‘real’ and ‘here’ and make the most of my time on this beautiful planet rather than deaden or numb or placate myself with platitudes and packaged food and pills.

Right now I long for such oblivion.  I’ve got such a headache from all the tooth problems I have had recently and I’m so tired of being shattered and broken open as my heart opens finally and I see myself for who and what I have been all my life and I don’t like it, and there is nowhere to hide.  A holiday in the form of alcohol or drugs is so tempting, but I guess I won’t, I’ll keep soldiering on and doing it my way (raw, unadulterated and conscious) and keep on keeping on.

I guess it’s rather like our birthing choices.  The masses choose to do it medicated, pain free, in an institution and with as much intervention as possible.  The small minority choose to do it naturally, at home, conscious, drug free and strong, powerful and raw.

I’m not alone.  There are others, making the same choices, with the same beliefs and passions and commitment to fully experiencing their lives, themselves, this time round.  But we are far flung and all walking lonely paths, ridiculed by the media, the masses and the mob.

So be it.  At the end of each day and at the end of my life I have only myself to answer to . . . was I brave, was I strong, did I learn, did I change, did I feel, did I make a difference, did I love enough, is the world a better or  worse place for me having walked it for some brief nanosecond in its history?

Right now the answer to those questions is not good or heartening – it is deep, dark and uncomfortable, but there is an egg of hope in my heart that I can face up to myself with a little more love soon.

At least I am delving and digging into myself, at least I am asking myself big questions, at least I am brave enough to see myself, to know myself and still be standing tentatively on the planet.  Maybe if there were more people doing this work, the world would be a kinder place.

Don’t be a sheep, little lamb, be a shepherd!

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