Update:

I’ve been spending more time on my other blog these days. There has been much going on in my personal life, changes and decisions being made and those posts are only appropriate for my mature blog. If you are 18 years or older, please join me at my other blog which I hope you will enjoy.  -Kate

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A Call To Arms…

While I was looking through some of my past written works I came across this one. How I could have forgotten about it, is beyond me, other than to say I most likely became distracted by other things. I sent it to a couple of my friends explaining to them I wished I had a place to post it for others to read, which is what sent me on my search that eventually brought me to wordpress.  It is quite different from my other postings in my journal, but for me this expresses my more deeper thoughts that become aroused when I find a book which stimulates my mind. So here it is unchanged from its original (2011), enjoy and comment if you feel the desire to do so.

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In a book I have been reading called ‘Faith of the Fallen’, I have come to recognize our own predicament.  The story is much about people having fallen into slavery under a falsehood of doing good for the people.  Sacrificing themselves and all they have for the good of the people.  The common worker almost starves to death while working and slaving hard to only have the money they rightfully earned taken from them in the guise of helping others, and in actuality it feeds the rich to become richer.

 

I have in essence worked for the same company that has migrated through transformation after transformation with the guise of doing better.  In the beginning there was once pride in the work the common workers performed but in some areas the degradation had already started.  Workers were threatened with the loss of their jobs if they didn’t perform, and were lectured to and punished when a wrong was committed by only one of their fellow workers.  If someone stood up to the unfairness of the situation then rules would be tightened down on everyone and fear would be the common ground on making the common worker keep in line.  As transformation came it was with speeches of ‘inspiration’ of how good the transformation will be for all, how it will improve the overall standing of the company, thus providing benefit to the common worker.  Transformation over transformation, and year over year, the common worker has never seen improvement on their situation.  The common worker continues to be ‘inspired’ by fear.  Watching as those they have worked alongside of for years, lose their jobs while others who have no skill be hired in to do the same work, replacing the skilled common worker.  We watch with our hearts in our hands, and fear in our throats afraid to speak for fear we will be the next one to be walked out the door and left to rot on the doorstep.

 

I take away from the book I have just finished a quote which cuts to the core of what we all need to be reminded of: ‘Your life is yours alone. Rise up and live it.’

 

Large corporations have taken upon themselves the right to enslave us with false testimonials of ‘perform well and you will be rewarded’ because the company will do well and in the same breath they speak of millions and billions of dollars being spent to acquire, expand, take over…  Not only in the many transformations of the company I work for have they proclaimed this throughout all transformations but have continued to grow and expand while the common worker sees nothing for the hard work they put in except fear and more fear and the constant expectation that their skill and ability and good performance will account for nothing when the rich decide the bottom line needs to be increased to make them richer.

 

I proclaim nothing but honesty and the brutal truth.  I know of no worker who does not fear of losing their job.  I know of no worker who doesn’t see the futility in the never ceasing ‘transformations’, which are really just a reshuffling of department heads to keep the common workers so confused as to who they report to, and cannot tell when another management/director/vice-whatever position is made instead of being eliminated, and know performance evaluations no longer have any merit when the person performing the evaluation hasn’t even worked with the individuals being evaluated.

 

We are just slaves being shuffled from one slave master to another, with pillow talk to soften the blow of yet another master who will not fight for the value provided by the common worker they have enslaved.

 

The book ‘’Faith of the Fallen” is the sixth book in a series of which I’m driven to reading the rest of the series.  I am quite blown over by the depth for which the author had to have knowledge of the psychology of warfare, slavery, governments, institutions, and of individuals to be able to write a story that is classified as ‘fiction’, takes place in a period I can only classify as ‘medieval’ and yet have reverberations throughout our current period in time.  I have yet to come across a current situation that is not represented within the story.  I applaud the man for his boldness and understand why it is written in fiction.  If he had written this as current history with a call to arms for revolution he would have been jailed without counsel for treason to never be heard from again.  It is a sad state of affairs we see ourselves in, not only as a workforce but as a so called ‘free’ people.  And I fear it will have to get much worse in order for revolution to occur to bring about change for the better.

 

© Kate Spyder

Opening and Closing Doorways… which do you want open?

This weekend has been a reminder to me. A reminder to be true to myself. To not let the superficial interfere with allowing life to flow harmoniously. To not allow insecurity to play a role in deceiving myself. But mostly to not run away from anything that awakens me to what lies dormant within me.

It is interesting when one changes their focus how doorways will open and others close. I made a leap in my own observations realizing the focus I had was not clear, was not defined enough in detail and thus was allowing distractions or should I say detours from my intended course.

Sometimes focusing on a point too far in the future will allow for too many possibilities that in the end will steer us off course. This is what was happening to me.

When I realized this, I asked myself how I could correct my course and ultimately attract that which I ultimately seek. As in programming a super computer, one doesn’t sit down and write the program in one long uninterrupted session. Though a genius probably could, it isn’t usually done and a genius probably knows it is better to do so in incremental steps.

This is the conclusion I came to. Instead of focusing on the end result, as ‘the result’ which was not completely clear anyway because of too many unknowns, I switched my focus to visualize the first step in the process. Then to alter that visualization as progress is achieved to reach the next step in the process all the while keeping the idea of the destination as a reference point while allowing flexibility for change in the destination if what is learned along the journey brings one the knowledge that the original destination is no longer desirable.

What I realized in doing so is the end is not really an end at all but an ongoing process that brings us much more than we were ever able to visualize when we were focused on the end result.

A friend told me, “the journey is more important than the destination”.

Though I had already taken the steps I did to alter my focus, his words reminded me, that my altered course was now about enjoying the journey and in fact I have no doubt if I had not altered my course, the door to meeting him would have remained closed.

Our choices open some doors and closes other doors. If the right doors are not opening then maybe we are not making the right choices.

A Gift I’ll Never Forget

He touched me with gentle hands. A single finger that slowly traveled down my spine and up again, over my face and down again. Ceaselessly, tirelessly. Some would say, a lover’s touch. I might would say the same thing now, but I knew then it was the touch of a man who loved me, cherished me, and adored me.

I touched him in turn. Sliding my finger along the raised vein on his hand. Watching it disappear beneath my finger just to pop right back up as my finger passed along its length of blue-green color. His skin darkly tanned, gnarled knuckles like the knots on an old tree. He was beautiful even with the aging spots upon his leathery skin.

For as long as he lived with us, I spent as much time as I could with him. Watching him prepare the rinse he would use to wash his eyes out every night before bed. Or to sit with him and just let him touch me. It didn’t matter what we did together. He was the only one who touched me anymore. He was the only one who sat with me, actually talked with me. He seemed to understand, I needed nothing except him and the love he gave me. So I loved him back fiercely.

I missed him after my father, his son, pushed him away. I miss him still. It wasn’t until some four or five years later I heard of his death and only then by reading the announcement of his death that my father had wrapped within one of my Christmas presents. I wanted to scream at my father, yell at him for not calling me so I could have said my good-byes. Instead, I clamped my lips tight, held back my tears, closed the lid of the gift never remembering what else was in the box, only the announcement of my grandfather’s death.

Saying Good-bye

They were tears. She was sure they were tears falling down her face. As she looked around her, at all the people, every one of them looked the same. Sullen, sad, downcast, whatever words you want to use, but nary a single tear.

Why? Why was she the only one crying?

She looked up at her father. Looked around at her brothers. Looked up at her mother. They were all the same as all the others surrounding them.

Even her grandfather.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the tears. She tried to be like them. She tried. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop them, not until she felt her mother take her hand.

Her grandmother was there too, just not where one would expect their grandmother to be. She was there sealed in a beautiful shiny wooden box.

The last time she saw her had been over the weekend. Her dad had suddenly packed them all up in the car and taken them to his parent’s house, her grandparents.

She loved spending time with them, only this time was different. This time it was only her grandfather who met them at the door. When she asked where her grandmother was she was told she was in her bedroom, and that she was to stay out of the bedroom.

But when everyone was busy, she snuck in. She had to see her. She walked in, and walked around the bed to where her grandmother lay. She was dressed in her Sunday best dress. Even her shoes were on her feet. She looked like she was ready to just get up and go right to church.

But, she knew. She knew her grandmother would never get up again. She also knew what she looked at was only the shell that had held her grandmother. Her grandmother was no longer inside. She was gone and would never come back.

She didn’t cry then. She just stood and looked at her, knowing she still loved her. She was here to say her silent good-bye.

She didn’t stay long. She didn’t want anyone coming in and spoiling her time with her grandmother, chasing her out of the room, so she silently said her good-bye and quietly left the room. As she walked out she saw her grandfather and father letting in some men. She knew they were here to take her grandmother away.

A few days later, she was instructed by her parents to tell her teacher she would not be in school the next day since she had to go to her grandmother’s funeral. It wasn’t until after she told the teacher that she felt the hard lump in her throat so she asked to be excused to go to the restroom.

She sat alone in the restroom crying until a group of girls came in from her class and asked her why she was crying. She told them about her grandmother but she could tell many of them didn’t understand, especially didn’t understand why that would make her cry.

As she stood at the grave site watching them lower the shiny new wooden box into the ground, she looked around her at all the people without any tears and she wondered what was wrong with her. Why she was so different from all the others. Why she couldn’t be like them and not cry.

Slowly, Perpetually, Going Insane…

For the past three months I stepped away from almost all online activity other than checking my email and only searching for websites when something in my life required it. Not even any online chatting. Even phone calls to friends sort of took a nose dive into oblivion.

I took this time away to do some internal searching and evaluation. It was and is quite difficult to realize I am slowly, and quietly going insane while no one sees or cares.

I have no doubt I’m not alone in this evaluation however no one will admit it, even me, at least until recently. I wonder how long it will take others to finally admit it. Even if they do, I find no one broaches subjects that could possibly be hurtful. In fact, no one broaches subjects other than the politically correct niceties any more. Even the “Hi, how are you.” Is expected to be returned by “I’m fine thanks for asking.” While everyone knows it isn’t the truth but allowing the lie to convince them it isn’t a lie and gives them permission to ignore what is behind the façade.

There is something to be said for insanity. Insanity allows a person to say anything, even the truth while not hurting anyone, because everyone knows you are insane and that what comes out of your mouth is total nonsense to be shrugged off and ignored and whispered, “Do you see how crazy they are? It’s so sad.” While shaking their head and ignoring the truth of the statement.

In a larger part the world is perceived as insane so what goes on in it receives the same treatment as individuals of insanity. “Oh do you see how insane the world is? It’s so sad, especially for our children.” While shaking their heads and walking off ignoring all the truth around them.

I used to think I could change the world, but instead the world changed me. Made me cynical, distrustful, and doubt everything about myself and others. I used to think there was a man out there who would love me with so much depth he would fight for me. He would break down walls for me. He would show me that love really exists. But sadly I’m starting to believe that I believed in a lie.

And now I find myself slowly, perpetually, going insane.

An Insanely Muddy Conversation

“It’s perfectly muddy.”
“What is?”
“The distance from here to there.”
“I see no mud.”
“But it is perfectly there.”
“Where?”
“Down at your toes.”
“There is no mud there.”
“But oh there is, if you just look from here to there.”
“I don’t see what you are saying.”
“Of course you don’t. After all, my voice isn’t muddy.”
“I see no mud. I see not what you are saying. There is no here to there, only my toes down there.”
“And there you have it. It’s perfectly muddy, if all you see are your toes down there.”

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