"Look Into Your Heart!": Life Rights

There is something in our not so polite society which I can’t seem to get around. It’s that feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I see people on television talking about making a difference, and sponsoring themselves in some grand or typical fashion for a cause. The caring and worldly idealistic part of me thinks everyone should help others, more than damn near any other drive in this life. Something that happens, when someone is looking to you for care, and healing and help. I found out years ago that it’s hard for the helpers to get help themselves, and often when you do give that much of yourself, you can get taken advantage of, bled dry, have your own drive, desires and vitality driven from you all the way to the corner of your big toe, cowering like a little battered puppy, unsure of why you got put out so, and how more was never enough, and how when people feel sorry for themselves, and their problems, generally speaking, they are not honoring their humanistic duties. To not only persevere, but to change what it wrong to the best of your ability and rise above it. Even if you have to go around, or dig a new hole out, or slowly build a ladder to the stars in old, bent nails and crooked floorboards, you DO it. There’s no way out of it. When the selfish ones take you and your good works for a ride, you’re left at the side of the road thinking “was that really all about them”? And you wonder, you wonder what good parts of you they took with them….it would be all well and good if they took these little gems of your wellbeing and utilized them, fashioned them into themselves and achieved something More. Usually, though, they stumble upon some other thing that’s shiny and appealing and makes them feel good for a moment or two, and drop what you “gave” or what they got more often than not, and leave it dusty in a ditch between opposing highways somewhere unspoken of down the line. It’s always the ones who cry and yelp and wallow in loud enough voices that you and all with functioning ear drums can hear them at it, who get all the help they need, and don’t take. It’s the quiet ones like us who have to work it out for ourselves, our humilities the thing that sometimes wrecks us in the end.

Well, other than those types, something Does happen when someone is looking at you for care, healing and help. They release their inhibitions, their fears take a back seat and they trust in You. There is almost nothing like this feeling in life. When during the day to day practices of our matchstick existences do people lower their iron veils and trust that you can make it better for them. Inside/out and in again, whether mental, physical, emotional or the like, it doesn’t matter the science of what you are doing to help. But, there is accord with other human beings, and the ultimate of these accords is love. From the level of a healer to a lover to a parent to a god, you’re all in the mix and the structures of heaven cannot stand without you. We are all differentiated nerve endings that shoot off into nowhere, no end, no insertion point, just blank destinations that need us to name them in order that they can grow into something. Still, there are those now who help and help and try in their way and I cannot tear down anything they do. Back now, to the evening television and the people sponsoring names and charities and words across chests and phone numbers at the bottoms of screens. All I can see now in my streamlined eyesight is wastes….waste of time, waste of people, waste of days and brains and emotional states. Did you ever think to add up all the hours wasted with people I can’t stand and would leave a public place if I saw even a few of them present, clattering about nothing and filling my time out with their bullshit? Because I have. I have added, and multiplied and added again. I was not put on this earth to sit here, like this, my back and ass degenerating into moss at the side of the road. This system is blackmail, and nothing more than that. Answers are not needed if you remove the reasoning behind their questions. Nothing Has to be a certain way, yet we tell ourselves it does every single day. Being present and seeing the sun rise like a poem doesn’t remove the fact that most of us live in a bad soap opera, not even one about passion or adventure, but the kind where everybody’s talking all the time and getting nothing done. Years inside our own minds dealing with lovers, and friends and people in our lives who we put up with and not for love, but for complacency, for situationalism, for the day to day security of thinking someone might need us in this world. With energetic vampires that become a bad smell which haunts our auras and injects poison into our veins….forks bruising our skins and palatable insides with its all you can eat buffet, the fat and retarded Americans eating their egg salad and tuna using your backside as a folding table, like there is no tomorrow. Accepting every thing we see in tiny screens and bigger ones, our eyes milky with residue of the machinery that fucks us further into the ground, hour by hour, which presumably will go by another word and system some day soon. Clocks seen so antiquated in this world of invented time, and our second hands are disintegrating before our very eyes, while we chortle sour infected milk through our noses, throngs of assholes on our backs telling them they love us, when they don’t even know by a tenth of one percent what that word really means.

So, now a third time, back to those charitable ventures. The feeling that causes the stomach churning is painted as thus: I hear that American thing, that modern thing, that Thing I can’t seem to get past or abide by, and it makes me back up into the corner of the party every single time. It’s this small frame view of helping people somehow that comes from this right place, but somehow grows fallow on the road between there and here. My mind sees things like this: World Bank, richest people, corporation/business, fucking everyone who isn’t making them richer, leave the poor to remain themselves, with no books to read or moments of leisure, or blank pages of sky on which They themselves can write, without the multitude of those working for the first set telling them just how much they are allowed to do. Then you have the somewhat well to do types, trying to help the little guy, when the card game for the little guy was fixed eons and eons ago – at the very least, the last half century constricted that collar so tight on this slave that he buys his technological toys, listens and watches shit in every shape and colour and design they have out there (and boy do they have a Lot these days) and doesn’t feel it getting tighter and tighter on his neck every moment. A bead of sweat, a feeling of closing in, one chink less in the chain dangling him above the firepit of ultimate despair (in which he’s probably just fall past flames into a 9-5 and some car payments and guilt shoved down his throat by people who hurt whom he did not hurt who need him to work to save, when they them the first set of revelers would rather stamp out a nation to make their day better than give to them, or to you or me or anyone not tethered closely to their side). Now, this small frame view as said is a drop in the bucket and a drop is better than no drop one would assume, but you then get back to that cycle of waste – time, people vampires, emotional fucknots which we think we need to survive, excuses and roadblocks which keep the winds of change off of us, work to get to the buffet on time, etc…..and how let’s take this one paid ad commercial about sponsoring a charity. They (those who demand the collars on the rest of us) sit back and let this chain be built – organizations, LLCs, business dealings, paperwork, accounting, people employed and taxed and put upon, equipment, cables, making and constructing, metal, wires, buildings, rent, events, media, glass, cameras, t-shirts, phone calls, and what’s more, monies going to other organizations, and eventually people are helped….but all of that in between, how can it be living? When each step gags someone on the chain, and they still sit, unfettered by emotional and trust and love. I sigh, and sit back, on my ass which I hit awake and tell to get the hell into the streams of highway ahead of it, and think it all unfair. And that we, and no one else, keep ourselves in darkness and waste and outward spirals into nothingness, when we could have it all starting NOW.

M. Lucia