What the Soil Said

What the Soil Said

If I was a person
this world
would destroy me.

Good thing then that I am
at peace under your fingernails.
A
robin on her nest.
Shining feather grass
waving in the ditch.
Moving clouds
at rest
in the sky.

And the wind
rolling foam into waves
for the fun of it.

You may be a woman weeping.
You may struggle, petition,
march, vote, scream, follow, vent, and lead.
What I see is a creator laughing out loud
on the very worst of days.
I see you.

You may be
p
erceived
perpetually
inappropriate
by all the sides
I witness but do not feel. Deep down
where my bones are
there are no sides.

Me. I just love this world of ours.
I am this world of ours.
Events don’t change that.

I am here naked and in gratitude.
Only i
n gratitude do I come to you.
Only in gratitude do I listen to you.
Only in gratitude do I learn from you.
I stand here with you.
I will receive
your violence
receive arrogance and ignorance.
I will receive the blood you spill.
I will hold it all
as my own.

I am
sacred ground.
I am love.
Try to wash me from your hands and
witness straight lines melting into rivers.

I will turn your rigid bones
soon enough
into trees.

In Saying Goodbye

In Saying Goodbye

I found a perfect dead bird
on the deck, outside the window
victim of violence
a deceptive white light through too-big windows

his perfectly groomed feathers
grew darker as they moved
from his pale yellow-gray head to his almost black tail

I spent yesterday willing him, rise
please open your beak again, open your eyes
shake precious soft belly, hop to perfect black feet
dance again, go!

but he was gone

This morning I carried him deep into beauty
laid him to rest
in the tall grass of a clearing
beside the cabin
in woods and in sunshine

his family around me
we told him he’d be missed
that he was, is, loved, by everything around him

In saying goodbye
I fell to my knees
wept like a baby
for beautiful Orlando
I vowed to slow down and notice
to listen more closely
to love louder and better and more.

Then we all did.

 

Life Without a Net – New Lessons from Later-Stage Alzheimer’s

Life Without a Net – New Lessons from Later-Stage Alzheimer’s

Mom’s been living with Alzheimer’s disease for somewhere between 11 and 14 years now, depending on who you ask. Last week, our full-time care partner dad got sick. Really sick. Fever, intense pain, not sleeping, difficulty moving, back-to-the-doctor-three-times-in-five-days sick. Nothing drives home the 24×7 work it is to be an Alzheimer’s care partner like the care partner himself becoming too ill to do anything. Attention full-time care partners! If you’re struggling with explaining how difficult round-the-clock caregiving is to family and friends, I highly recommend this: get stay-in-bed sick for a couple of weeks (or, take a two-week vacation. Either way, it helps us all out, believe me.)

This week highlighted all of the things Daniel and I were ready to help with and what we weren’t ready for. In a drop-everything-and-move instant, we took over errand running, grocery shopping, and meal planning and preparation. We took over doing laundry. We helped with activities, distractions, and emotional support for mom, whose deeper-than-ever empathy causes her to suffer when dad suffers, and we bumped up our emotional support for dad as well, who struggles with guilt about needing help in addition to being so sick and worrying about mom. We took over straightening up the house and taking the garbage out to the curb.

Fortunately, they recently moved into a neighborhood where weekly housecleaning is part of the rent, so that extra support was lovely. Perfect timing! Mom stepped up too: she cleared the table, dried the dishes, threw toys for the dog and entertained dad, and she got herself ready for bed and ready for the day (things I know he often helps her with). The days he had a fever she checked his forehead every 30 to 60 minutes, all day. Her simple acts of touch and obvious empathy doing more for him, I suspect, than what we did.

What we weren’t ready for

But here’s what we weren’t ready for:

    1. Detailed medicine and vitamin routines. In what combinations and at what times of day do mom and dad take their medications and vitamins? Thanks to dad, we have a list of all the vitamins and medicines they take, but the list didn’t say… Which ones are taken when? Mom takes pills three times a day and no longer has any idea what they’re called or what they’re for. Also, where do they store the backup pills to fill the 7-day reminder packs? Where do they get them if they run out? Without dad’s help on this, we’d be screwed.
    2. Showering. Mom hasn’t showered by herself in several years. Dad does this with her. Without him to help, we have no idea what to do. How often does she shower? Is this something she’d want my help with or would she actually prefer professional help? They used to shower just once or twice a week, but we learned he’s been showering with her almost every day this past year, because…
    3. Toileting. Mom needs a little help with this, now, too. She doesn’t have accidents, exactly, yet. However, she doesn’t know when to flush anymore. She flushes first. And she puts all wastepaper into the wastebasket instead of flushing it—no matter what. Sometimes poo too. And her wiping skills aren’t what they used to be. Mom and dad have routines to help her remember. Routines we didn’t know. And dad has extra cleaning routines in the bathroom and with the laundry now.
    4. Alzheimer’s support routines. To make life easier for mom, dad does a thousand little things almost without thinking about it. For example, he has a complicated matrix of night lights that are on or off depending on time of day and night. He knows certain TV channels that she enjoys or that don’t disturb her. He has certain things he says, and ways of saying them, to get her to go walking with him or to go out when she doesn’t want to go out but they have to. He keeps silverware and certain condiments on the table, so she doesn’t have to search for them and he doesn’t have to make multiple trips back to the kitchen for them. He keeps certain foods and potholders and even pans on the countertop too, so they’re easily accessed. He keeps other things hidden. Imagine if you had no memory of eating and little ability to feel the difference between hungry and full: it’d be very easy to overeat if lots of junk food was on the counter.
    5. Major plans changing. Mom, dad, and I were supposed to be flying back to South Dakota this Friday so that we can pack up their home there and prepare it for sale. Today it looks like we’ll need to bump out the trip by at least a week. Travelling with mom is hard when dad is well. With dad sick, I don’t think we can do it. We all have to be flexible. My work schedule (brand new employer) and Daniel’s work have to be flexible. Jen and Cam (whose house we are staying at for a few days on route) have to be flexible. Derryl and Jodi (whose house we are staying at in South Dakota on route and who are driving us several hours to their home) have to be flexible. Our doctors have to be flexible. Our family and friends and neighbors have to be flexible. More and more people have to be able to improvise with us on the fly.
    6. A doctor for dad and arrangements for getting there. Dad being dad, mom had an Alzheimer’s expert doctor set up for her 6 months before they actually moved here. She saw him for the first time back when they visited at Thanksgiving. Dad had their housing and banking and even state residency figured out ahead of time too. But he hadn’t set up a doctor for himself. In hindsight, when he set up a doctor for mom, we should have helped/insisted that he get one for himself. When he got rapidly sick last Wednesday, he ended up scrambling to find an urgent care clinic in a city that’s new to him and then driving himself (and mom because she can’t be alone) to urgent care although he could barely walk before he called us to tell us he was sick. He called us from the waiting room. Arrgh.
    7. Accessing money for daily living needs. Mom no longer even has a credit card, which is great because money is meaningless to her. But, when dad becomes can’t-get-out-of-bed sick, how do we pay for their daily food and life supplies? Luckily, dad had enough cash in his wallet to cover this week. And we have a little extra in our account for emergencies too. But I think it’s time to talk to him about getting one of us on their bank account with them. We need to be able to get them what they need, when they need it, at a moment’s notice. If he’d had to go into the hospital this week, or had been unable to give us his debit card info, we’d have been stuck. Thank God we are a family that trusts each other. I can’t imagine what people who don’t trust their relatives would even do.
    8. Dad being utterly overwhelmed when sick. And more honest about how he feels. Dad’s slightly better today, but he still has at least one more week of rest, antibiotics, and pain medication before he’s back to being well. He’s so exhausted, and in daily pain, that he’s now talking about moving mom into memory care sooner rather than later. Ahead of even hiring a professional to come in and help him. This is hard to hear. But it also feels good that dad is sharing his pain, and what he’s feeling, and how overwhelmed he is. He’s aware that she feels whatever he feels—and is concerned about the impacts of his stress and illnesses on her. Also, what he thinks he can do, and handle, changes day to day right now. It feels like hour-by-hour emotional juggling. I’m so glad that we have people to talk to, vent to. And my writing (aka, Lori therapy) and Daniel’s photography (Daniel therapy). And people around us willing to be flexible. I had to change my own doctor’s appointment 3 times this week. Thanks Polyclinic schedulers and doctors! Even though it sucks in the moment, I’m actually beginning to enjoy hour-by-hour juggling. When I’ve had enough sleep, it makes me feel like a bad ass who can handle anything.
    9. Extended time away from our own home. This week we became experts at 5-minute bag packing/living away from our own home/grabbing what matters/leaving everything else behind. We sucked at it the first two times, but by time #3, we were pros. We need so little to be happy and relatively little to get our work done. If it wasn’t for the cats and our own wish for slightly more personal space, we could move in with mom and dad indefinitely given 20 minutes notice today.
    10. Being flexible enough to do this long term—it takes a village. Mom and dad moved closer to us earlier this year, which has been fantastic. We’re able to see them weekly now, play cards, hang out, and help each other out as needed. But we still live 45 minutes apart, because they chose a neighborhood that has assisted living and memory care (for later on) in addition to the cottages they moved in to. This week, dad needed full-time care and a driver to multiple doctor visits on top of mom’s full-time care needs. One or both of us had to spend days and nights at their house. Working together, Daniel and I could just pull off providing this level of support for one week, while still meeting our work obligations and popping home to feed the cats and bring the mail in at our place. I had to cancel several work and doctor’s appointments to make it happen, and Daniel cancelled a bunch of plans as well, but it’s do-able for a couple of weeks. And it pulled forth the question: What would we do if they needed this level of support for a longer period of time? We have no other family close enough to help. It’s clear that we all need to get closer to the people in their new neighborhood ASAP. And become more familiar with the help available there through the assisted living center. It’s also clear that mom’s definitely at a point where she needs a professional care partner we all trust 100% to help with the most intimate of life’s details. Someone who can be there the moments we can’t be: including backing us up if dad gets ill again. Or, it might be time for her move into memory care. It feels early to us, but we intend to back dad on this decision, especially now that we’ve lived in his shoes. Our social butterfly mom will do fine there, too, I strongly suspect. Babies, dogs, cats, and other people with memory issues are her favorite things.

The down side, the up side, and the upside down side

Being an Alzheimer’s care partner is like walking a different circus high-wire act daily, blindfolded, without training, and without a net. It’s all consuming and impossible to describe with words because there’s just not enough time in the day for all the words you’d need. On the up side, your empathy for others expands exponentially all the moments you’re not pulling your hair out in frustration.

This disease shines a light on the weaknesses of our society, our communities, our approaches to health care, our families, and our individual selves. This is a painful thing and a great thing. Because with the light on, we can more fully see what we need and start to imagine something better.

This week, Daniel and I got more insight into what it’s like to be a full-time Alzheimer’s care partner. One week both inspired and exhausted us. And dad’s been doing this mostly alone for more than a decade. He is amazing. He does a thousand little things for mom each day. Things we healthy folks literally can’t even imagine. It’s like being a 75-year-old single parent of a fully enlightened Buddhist toddler on top of being a full-time spouse.

We also gained greater insight into what it’s like to live with Alzheimer’s disease. Mom is amazing. She may not have much memory or speaking ability left, but she is all empathy, all the time. On her own, she doesn’t judge others, period. She’s a joy to be around. She’s happy with what is. It’s only when her care partners are hurting or angry that she feels these things too. In her presence, I become a total bad ass. Because this disease no longer scares me. Or, more specifically, I see no point to being scared in her presence—why transfer my fear to a fearless being who is utterly content with the present moment? From the outside, it may appear that she, or we, are suffering. The opposite is true. Her presence is liberating. It’s totally freeing to live loved for exactly who you are in the moment. To move in the world and live entirely free of negative judgment…

When I walk around town now, I feel like a creature who just alighted on a beautiful new planet for the first time. I look around and wonder about the quiet, hidden bad ass life that I know each human being is living. I gaze into the eyes of complete strangers, feeling their stories, and tears well up in my eyes. Because life, and joy, and disease, and pain, and even death are all amazing. I’m no longer ashamed that life’s pure beauty makes me weep. If anything, these days, I’m more inclined to be curious about why everyone else isn’t weeping right now, too.

Arlo

Arlo

Happy final day of national poetry month! A flash poem a day, every day, in April! Looking forward to next year. Here’s today’s silly poem…

Arlo

Waggingly
he came
from the
streets of LA

Bundled up, shipped off
to Seattle
where average time to adoption
was just 4 days

Part Chihuahua
part sun-soaked mystery
the day after he arrived
he found his new best buddy, a mom
from Whidbey Island

She took him
on a tour
of all the dog parks
Just to get his feet wet
and hers
As a new mom
she worried
about him

But he was brave
and kind
and strong.
Quietly outgoing
except in the presence
of bullies.
Wise
before his time.

His very first time
at Marguerite Brons Park
he hired himself
as Front-Gate Greeter
welcoming other new dogs
and old
waggingly.

The night after we met him
Daniel and I spoke of his magic
The next day
we bumped into him
at a café.
Still smiling
he conjured us to him
or we him, maybe.

And we’re smiling today.
Oh dear sweet Arlo from LA
what a gift you are
inside I’m still wagging.

Red Pleather Seats

Red Pleather Seats

Happy national poetry month! A flash poem a day, every day in April!

 

Red Pleather Seats

above the lunch rush crowd
a clattering, plates and cups

two women sit alone reading
in heaven

a young boy, also alone
on break from the kitchen
intently checks his phone
smiling his escape

one older couple
sits quiet, side by side
looking out at the scene.
Smile at me.
Are they poets too?
I smile back. We’ll never ask.
It’s enough to be happy.

two women
above frothy coffee
debate loudly, first
about dish soap brands, then
about the primary electoral process:
the soap is more interesting
to take sides without hostility

another couple at the end of the diner
stand, look down, embrace
as they leave
a long goodbye is happening

the old man
sitting next to me
works the crossword puzzle:
I wonder if he’d rather be
making love
to his tonic and gin and be
observed by Billy Joel

a barista walks by
waving at people
flannel shirt
cool orange Mohawk
so much love

the teens beside me
discuss the setup of a play
they’re either writing or staring in
over fish tacos.
their passion for the theater
gives me goosebumps.

the waitress
in an NYC sweatshirt
appears to be a long way from home

a middle age couple
older middle age than me
smile as their too-large burgers arrive
chat with the waitress about home

two women talk of their grown children
one expertly wielding a butter knife to
extricate ketchup from the bottle
the other stands and dances
when her Chai latte is ready

Steve Miller sings
about shaking trees and
loving peaches and
Johnny Cash
about the ring of fire
I wonder in earnest if they mind being followed
by some not-great country western.
know instantly
the answer No
It’s only me who minds.

I smile up at them
I feel alive, connected and present

An Artist Heart Is Present

Do you feel the space herself as poetry?
Want to craft dialog right now?
Do you long to sketch or paint the scene?
Are you turning this into music?
Tempted to table dance between?
Are you wondering about the lighting
placing camera in your mind?
Or flying around the space to find
the best place for the mic?
Are you thinking maybe interviews? About a small town life?
Can you see yourself seated
writing essay, article, or story?
Are you acting this on stage
for some fun and maybe glory?
Or are you crafting sets
pots, scarves, or jewelry
to tell your own deep story?

I sing along.
Because I, too, have friends
in low oh oh places
and its fun to join
rockin robin
in his tweedly tweedly tweet

an artist heart is present
it breaks and soars and beats
everywhere
and here
at the diner with
the red pleather seats

Dear Artist,

Dear Artist,

accept

throwing out everything you knew was true
each morning
starting again
from the beginning
or well before then
uncertainly

receiving just one certainty each day
some days, mine is a friend or a warm breeze or a cat
other days, mine is a poem or an essay or a book
let this one be enough for today
greed for more certainty isn’t necessary

here’s what is

slowing to notice what’s real
responding to that most deeply felt
hearing procrastination, singing
tasting fear and sorrow, retreating
smelling joy, escaping
discerning, until we notice what is
writing about farts
photographing old orange peels
composing wild flowers
painting scuffed kitchen-trim masterpieces
gushing about love
losing yourself in puzzles.
Artists prioritize noticing.

questions

can I offer up everything I am right now?
holding nothing back for later
for better times, places and people
that don’t exist?

can I make a choice on the sliding scale between noticing and judgement:

and in the moments I choose noticing,
create?

and in the moments I choose judgement,
wait? can I instead, then
go walk, dance, cook for fun
talk to friends, neighbors
sit with the pain
or lay down in sun beams?
until I re-member this vital part of creation:
prioritizing this one whole self?

can I learn that judgement is not my job?
can I release my corporate self?
can we live with “not good enough” every single day
recognizing that it floats with
“thank you deepest flaws, perfect as is”?
Can we recognize this as bliss, most days?
Can we bow more deeply?

time doesn’t exist

to be an artist
will take me at least one whole amazing lifetime.
Dear Rushy McRush Pants, can you slow the fuck down?
Allow seasons, tides, stars, and wild animal trails
to be our clocks and compass points now?
tickle tock
trickle sock
pickle pock
poodle plop

certainty

To be an artist
is a daily choice. Like being a friend
parent, and partner.
It’s not fancy. Beauty rarely is.
And at it’s core, it’s not hard.
The voice that says it is
is selling something
that you can no longer afford to buy, my friend.
Not when you’re an artist.

energy

The primary energy suck today
is you
fighting your own choice to be who you know yourself to be.
Becoming an artist isn’t about what we do
it’s about what we stop doing.
An artist is you:
every moment
you stop fighting yourself.

That is what one artist thought anyway,
sincerely and yesterday.

Nursery

Nursery

internet, off now
breathing, noticed
ears
dancing with rain down eve spouts

family, hugged, fed, dispersed to their corners
paw, across cat’s face
wood floor, brightened with daylight through clouds,
appreciated

aspect, spacious
eyes, closed
lungs, expanding
chest, broadening
edges of self, stretching
until earth and moon become neighbors
until every last star is a friend
and
all recording devices
begin humming, with anticipation

poem arrives
dripping with life
surprised
curious
delighted, to meet you

she floats down and around
exploring her new dimension
kisses your cheek as she passes, visiting
the kitchen first, like we all do

as she tastes homemade lemon marmalade
warm bread and butter,
her eyes widen
and she giggles

for the very first time

re-melting once fluid hearts,
once open minds
with nothing but presence
without even trying
reminding us of home, returning us to us

as she rounds the corner,
we’re left wondering

who is she?
where did she come from?
how did she get here?

what is it exactly
about butter and jam
that has me crying?

Holy Ground

Holy Ground

the old man up the hill
tends the garden
of the woman next door

the woman behind us
up the hill
donates supplies to schools

the woman who lives beside her
takes her sick dog for very slow, sunny walks
to sniff the life from dewy blades of grass
while ailing pup still can

our neighbor below
home-cans food gifts for friends and family;
took in a toothless, clawless cat
so she’d have a safe and sunny retirement

another neighbor tends to her partner
through poor choices within dementia:
she’s stronger than the strongest battleship in existence
and kinder

another neighbor devotes her life
to teaching
and hosting the wandering and lost;
drops food by when she has extra
which is often

other neighbors
walk the perimeter
intending to keep us all safe

all give us tips
for who to call
to get our roof repaired
and where to go
when our eyes need a tune up
and what to do
when the power goes out

our neighbor eagles
cry to each other
when they’re bringing dinner home to baby;
and cry to us
“Welcome home!”

neighbor whales
pull forth the child from within us
every time they pass the shore
once I threw on two different shoes
running giddy-awkward
in a rush to greet them

our neighbor deer
teach us to sense presence before we see it
remind us of the unfathomable power
within vulnerability

our neighbor rabbits, birds, and insects
leave wonder-inducing patterns
in sand and snow
teach us new-old games as adults
we’d all but forgotten…

our saviors are our neighbors
our conversations, prayers
every moment
every footstep
lands on holy ground

A Poet’s Payment

A Poet’s Payment

Need a poem
or another gift
and you receive one

Love a poet
and you fall in love with every face
within translucence

Walk, or drink, with a poet
feeling the whole truth of a place
complete with hatred, laughter, fear
betrayal, goofiness, and tears:
theirs yours ours

Each new day is a slowing down
alone and in community
to find your

own
sweet
point

Writing imperfectly formed lines
again and again
to stumble upon
your three wise women.
Today m
ine are:

zero talent
broken dreams
unquenchable gratitude

Finally

Finally

Abundance
catches up with you

Contentment and angst
ally themselves on your behalf

Security nests within your ever-shifting heart

Galaxies and egos deepen
lightening up as you walk by
turning toward each other
like fellow sunflowers opening to their most beloved star

You have no control over any of it: nor do you need to

Seriously is not a thing to take one’s self
there are far more worthy gifts to give: and

Everything becomes a simple wonder again
just like you remembered

A poet is paid in wonder.
Every thing and one and where and why else
is a gift.

******

Happy national poetry month!

How the Land of Don’t Belong Changed Its Name

How the Land of Don’t Belong Changed Its Name

There once was a land called Don’t Belong in which the people panicked and began believing that it was important to create a list of all those who didn’t belong. At first The List seemed small and harmless enough, so people didn’t think too much of it:

  • foreigners don’t belong, obviously (they’re too different and too likely to want our stuff)
  • natives don’t belong either (they’re also too different; too likely to want their land back)
  • some foreign religions don’t belong (any that are too unforgiving, unpredictable, violent, and different; and too likely to perfectly demonstrate how distant we ourselves are from God)
  • women don’t belong (they’re too intuitive, too nurturing, too emotional, and too complex, making them suspiciously like many foreigners and natives)

Because the people were busy and weren’t thinking about it too much, The List rapidly took over and wove itself into the fabric of the culture itself. People were no longer in charge. Only The List was. The moment this happened, panic became the norm of public life in Don’t Belong. The List expanded to include:

  • members of the LGBTQ community (too understanding, too stretching us to grow, and/or too fabulous)
  • men who are anything less than “100% all in” on greed, patriarchy, capitalism, and/or hierarchy[1] (too much like women)
  • babies and young children (too messy, too loud, too playful, too uncontrollable)
  • teens (too hormonal, too irrational, too impatient, too energetic, and/or having bullshit detectors that are too powerful)
  • elders (too much time to think, too generous with their time, and/or too physically frail to be of standard use to the system)
  • people of color (too colorful, too angry when persecuted or killed, and/or too opaque[2])
  • differently abled people (too likely to make us think, feel, and act outside our normal frame of thought and reference)
  • the devoutly nonreligious: atheists and agnostics (too non-conforming, too likely to ask questions, too disinclined to value 2,000-year-old words above the words of living friends and neighbors, and/or too arrogant)
  • the traditional devoutly religious: Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Sikhs, Christians (too prayerful, too likely to smile or break into song or feed the hungry, and too likely to argue amongst themselves)
  • the irreverent religious: Rastafarians, Wiccans, pagans, Buddhists, Pastafarians, the “spiritual but not religious” (far too free for their own good and ours; also, too likely to laugh off shackles)
  • people who work for a living by making, improving, cleaning, and/or repairing things with their hands (too non-greedy, too dirty, too financially poor, to distrusting of “upward mobility,” and/or too likely to also be or become artists someday)
  • artists (too loving of life, too unwilling to sell their souls long term, too able to demonstrate abundant life outside financial security, and/or too likely to create very beautiful and very terrible things, both of which disturb the norm)
  • scientists (too curious, too needing of evidence, and far too likely to hypothesize)
  • people larger or smaller than an admittedly unachievable “average” size (too unlucky of genes or too little self-control, too likely to stretch the boundaries of “normal”)
  • teachers (too devoted to the future, too inclined to respect and encourage individual differences in learners)
  • people of opposing political parties (too not like “us”)[3]
  • anyone denied access to money, resources, housing, food, water, and/or education (too lazy, too draining of collective resources, too criminal, and/or too personally demonstrative of the massive failings of the current system)[4]
  • nonconsumers: people who regularly gift, barter, share, and trade; who buy and need remarkably little to be happy; grow and make their own food; and/or make their own clothing or shelter (too damaging to the economy, too self sufficient, too happy) [5]
  • people sensitive enough be become “sick” or “addicted” within a deeply sick system (too depressing, too canary-in-the-coalmine for comfort)[6]
  • people unable to pay off debts in their lifetimes (too lazy, too criminal, too unlucky, too stupid to work the system or put themselves first, and/or too likely to chafe at a lifetime of indentured servitude)
  • demonstrators (too loud, too messy, and too disturbing of established and respected traffic patterns and mindsets)
  • voters (too likely to vote, too easily disappointed in leaders, too hopeful)
  • all animals, birds, trees, soil, air, rivers, lakes, and oceans and those who listen to and work with them (too messy, too vulnerable, too non-competitive, too exploitable, too “woo woo”)
  • Anyone who answers “All of the Above.” or “None of the Above.” to the question “Who are you?” (too confusing)

In Don’t Belong, The List was the law of the land. Those living in Don’t Belong were bound by it. Unfortunately for everyone back then, the only way to change it was to just keep adding more “don’t belongs” to it.

Eventually everything and everyone on the list was pushed out of Don’t Belong. Only a small, entirely transparent group (called The Invisible by others) remained. The streets grew very quiet. The Invisible mistook the silence of death for peace. They renamed those pushed out The Left Behind and congratulated themselves on being Peace Bringers and Greatness Makers. The only true Don’t Belongians. But with almost everyone and everything pushed away, they were more fearful than ever. They built a high wall around the land to keep The Left Behind out. In Don’t Belong, soon death became preferable to becoming a Left Behind, and more people were becoming Left Behinds every day. The rates of suicide in the land skyrocketed. Nobody left in Don’t Belong could figure out why.

Fortunately for the land of Don’t Belong, soon almost nobody was left in the land to enforce The List. The List itself began to gather dust. After all, to qualify for staying in Don’t Belong the few who remained were not allowed to grow old. They also couldn’t reproduce. They were running out of packaged food and bottled water too. Some[7] worked night and day to build perfect mechanical offspring, but they ran out of time. In the span of a single generation, the walled land of Don’t Belong stood empty: completely devoid of life.

In that same moment, the polluted air began to return herself to clean. The polluted rains and rivers joined clean air and returned the water to clean as well. Seeds and bees drifted back in, and soon trees and other vegetation began to grow. Birds and animals quietly wandered back in.

The remaining humans were the very last to return to the land of Don’t Belong. They had been hurt the most deeply. After all, they’d been banished and renamed The Left Behind by their own kinsfolk. They’d been hurt deeply in watching their kinsfolk lay waste to a home and a land that they loved and were forever connected to. They bore the scars of strip mines and deforestation and food deserts and gunfire and misdirected hatred in their very skin. This made them extra sensitive. Also, blessed with wild and creative imaginations, they couldn’t quite believe that the invisible residents/tyrants/murderers of Don’t Belong were truly gone.

Before the humans would enter the empty land—their home land—they decided to hold a gathering of all on the outside edge of Don’t Belong, in the long shadow of the wall.

“What if they aren’t really gone?” one young human voiced the concern of the whole. “How can we possibly arm ourselves against The Invisible now? I fear we don’t have it left in us.”

Another tentatively offered, “Could we find that old Don’t Belong list and put only The Invisible on it? Banish them as they did to all of us?”

A murmur rose up from the crowd. Everyone thought and talked at once. Those banished from the land—people who’d been on The List, pushed out, and abandoned—were not so easily persuaded to put others on The List, no matter who they were or what they’d done in the past. Life was a lot more complex than that. Beautifully messy and complex, in thanks.

They talked all night. The animals settled in to the warm grasses and trees around them, smiling. In the process, the people remembered themselves.

As the pink rays of morning drifted across the now-sleepy faces at the base of the wall, they had found a way forward.

“We are Namers,” an elder began. “We rename this land today. We more fully know her now. We are part of her now as she is part of us. And we recognize her as she truly is. We recognize ourselves more fully, too. This land is Belonging. We are Belongings.”

Another elder finished the thought, saying “As best we can, we will honor the spirit of welcome that lives within the land herself. We will honor the welcome that lives within the soil and the water, the air, and the trees and the animals around us. The welcome within ourselves. We will welcome others here. We will welcome The Invisible here, too. The Invisible isn’t outside us anymore and separate from us. The Invisible now lives within us. The Invisible is the unspoken, fearful, angry, hurt, or hidden part of us. The comfort within this home, our home, is only an illusion if The Invisible isn’t welcomed too. This community welcomes The Invisible within each one of us.”

The birds flapped their wings in relief. Animals inclined to howling, howled for joy. More than a few bugs danced. Earth, ocean, and wind were seen doing a collective high five, which the humans named a Wave and later mimicked during sporting events to remind them of their connection. And to remind them not to take themselves so seriously all the time.

And before the elder had even finished the thought, young people in all directions began tearing down the old walls and reimagining selves and boundaries. Because even the illusion of competing generations had fallen from their eyes once they’d remembered themselves together. They were all excited and itching to get some dirt under their fingernails and to begin anew.

THE END

 

End Notes

[1] Hierarchy was a bizarre mass delusion in the land of Don’t Belong. At the time, they strangely competed for a non-existent physical space called “the top” and added to The List hoping to either move closer to “the top” and/or return to an imaginary time known only as “When We Were Great.” The best we can assume from their behavior is that they believed themselves to be individuals trapped in a 2D world by a separate, cruel, and conniving supreme being, who they aspired to mimic. There is limited evidence that they referred to this being as “Drumpf.” However, evidence is so very limited that this name is now considered myth. Beautiful, life-renewing myth, in thanks.

[2] people of color. As near as we can tell, there was an elusive, rarely seen in public (because duh) group of humans in Don’t Belong who felt themselves entirely invisible, and who, because they were transparent themselves, also felt the need to be anti-color. We can’t be certain, of course, how many there were, because no photographic evidence is possible when dealing with transparent beings. Back then, the rest of humanity began referring to themselves as people of color in response to the irrational fear, rage, and hostility of the transparent (also know as The Invisible) and as a sign of solidarity with each other in the face of outright discrimination, torture, and killing of people of color by the transparent for hundreds of years before The List was remembered into fiction and myth, in thanks.

[3] political parties. As near as we can tell, multiple groups called political parties existed for the sole purpose of making people distrust and/or hate their neighbors and become obsessively attached to the idea of a separate “them” out to destroy “us” within the imagined boundaries of a region or nation state. You’ll have to stretch your imagination here, as we have nothing remotely like this today to make comparisons with, in thanks. After The List became irrelevant, subsequent generations haven’t felt the need for political parties outside of historical fictional storytelling such as this.

[4] strangely, called “the poor” in Don’t Belong. We have no current equivalent for comparison, in thanks.

[5] economy. Another name for the global monetary system of the time that was poorly designed by a handful of the greedy to screw most people and the planet itself, in shock. Because so many people were deluded into believing that economy was separate from all of life and planet, the delusion ended up screwing everyone and almost everything eventually. We have no current equivalent for comparison, in thanks.

[6] the sick. Strangely, also called “the unwell” or “unhealthy” in Don’t Belong. Today, whenever we enter this phase, we recognize ourselves Seers, in thanks.

[7] In Don’t Belong, near the end, this group was called the Techies or the Technorati. None of them survived. However, some of the Techies who became Left Behinds did join hands with others/survive. You will recognize their ancestors among our beloved Tool Makers, Game Teachers, Star Travelers, and Artists today, in thanks, and recognize them in yourself when you join them.