This one will break you

I say I won't be moving away because of the economy. 

I see it in your eyes that glint of relief that seems a victory. 

I think how I live upon quicksand. People are viscous. 

And there is a fly with its wings glued to paper above us.

I think on love, what it is to family, friends.

I face the dread of existence that marks me.

I consider a memory, several in which

my body and mind disassociate me into a waiting reality.

Again and again. pounding at nothing. 

For there is no one to hurt, no wounds to open. 

The secrets do not give me power, they are a burden.

For I see the ones only I keep, to keep from breaking everything.

Or myself for not even caring enough to mention it.

You would care and it would crack your world to the core.

Truth is I don't care. Because in the light of the existence of our kind,

I renounce it all. If it was abuse to me it was so young 

all that I am left with is the aroma of Old English Leather. 

A rough hand memorizing every part of me.

My body doing things I didn't know it could in response.

Would you want to know? How I don't care. When it would break you?

When you spent your whole life reliving your parental issues.

The man you just wanted to love you like he would have a son. 

And then you had sons. And he was back in your life again. 

I do not think I ever and still do not believe I hate him. 

If it was real. I was so young. It could have been a dream.

I wish I hadn't mentioned him. But it doesn't matter.

I am in my thirties now. I see with sober eyes.

If that was trauma. I don't care. Life gave me vision.

So it is with your religion. The origin of my true trauma.

What am I to do to convince you it is not real. 

When it is ordained in the Rule and Law of this land

that you all have a right to behave according to outdated thought.

That this does not have consequences when traitors rule,

and you believe with your eyes closed he is wearing any clothes at all.

Who am I to judge? This sober vision is a burden. When truth sings

from the mouths of scientists strapped to the doors of buildings.

What madness? When facts and reason are diluted in your minds?

How can I live unaware? When psychology has given away tools

of mass conditioning. That your madness is your own. Your madness

is the world's bane emerging through. Things are not right family.

You have a right to your anxiety, your depression your manic thoughts.

And we, her wayward children have reaped this upon ourselves. 

The way we exist must change or the cliff's edge will come. For us.

And our dear brothers and sisters that support this web of life.

Do you want trauma? Do you want to smell and taste blood?

Is this what therapy is for? Does it make you feel powerful? 

A counselor who should know sitting where they do with no power at all that

one can only do on his own through suffering and the insights there to find.

Because we exist by the rules of our own suffering. My body rejects this every day.

The religion that saves you is false. Our understanding, our spiritual curiosity;

they are neutered by the blades of scriptures- of idolic gods formed

in your mind by the minds of long dead men. And it worked all this time.

You pay attention to what they want you to attend to. And if you manage

that potent of a message as the words of a god then you have them.

By god they fucking have you. So who am I? To tell you God is Santa Claus.

Jesus, if he had any vision, cried his last words because he saw what was done in his name.

Creating context for you doesn't even help because the world has no context.

The kind of thought and reality shaking it takes to be this existential-

to know creation and decomposition within this very frame is a 

stream that flows downriver. A river I came into alone and let its course guide me.

My species cares for things that are not real. Money. The worst game imaginable.

They conquered and parceled our birthright and the birthright of our coinhabitants.

Clearcut, burned, denied entry in exchange for participation in the game.

You see why nothing matters? The game is stupid now. We are all losers.

So I am the anti-christ for wanting to burn it all to the fucking ground.

It is all in the service of the people who control the rules to the game. 

We play against the house and we lose more than we ever win.

And it's not even about this. It's not about the game. It's about our purpose.

The thing that brings us to the question of our existential escapist existence.

We are here because we are here. Essential. But when we infer further. 

The harmony in nature we unconsciously apply in domestication, and nature

wildly attempts to create herself in intensely biodiverse places.

We can guide this life. We can aid this life and wreak harmony on the world.

Instead of blind, obeisant destruction. You can take your minds back. 

Give your money away or stop buying all together what you can. 

When they are starved for their own paper they can print more to eat. 

I care about bigger things than an old, sad man touching me.

I worry about life itself and our role within this whole existence. 

I can't stop to explain why God isn't real and how the past matters little

when we burn our way like wildfire towards an end we should prevent.

Truth is I want out. I didn't ask for this. Pretty sure I was an accident.

Why me? Why this stupid species? Kill myself? Thought about it.

But knowing things can and should be so different is my golden thread.

It burns with curiosity to why I bear witness to such normalized madness.

Who am I then? I was stamped a name and raised an ego. 

My body never fully accepted that and I understood I was more.

The ego is the dream, the nightmare. The first or last hurdle to enlightenment.

The secret is there is no secret. How does one get past your identity as ego?

Who am I? To say this not to you but to everyone else. 

Because the message was always more important. We are better

when we are human. And there is more to this existence out in the wild

back with your roots than you can find enough to save yourself in a city park.

If you want to be human you can't spend your time practicing it around

beings acting human. What you give of yourself you give as a gift.

My gift is Dorothy Bryant's: Nagdeo and Donagdeo. Two principles.

What is good for all. What is not good for all. Consider in every situation.