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[22 Apr 2007|07:03pm] |
I've been having the time of my life the past month which hasn't left me very much time for lj. Volunteering at the Women's Library is great fun as I'm reorganising and recategorising all of the books to make them more accessible. The problem with doing that is that handling so many wonderful books by radical women just serves to remind me how much I have yet to read. It saddens me that many of the most brilliant books and authors in the library have never been borrowed out even once.
I've also started volunteering at an early intervention centre which is fun but I somehow managed to get into a fight with one of the workers about racism which got quite heated and ended with me having to walk out of the room while she was still talking at me about how racism doesn't exist and that indigenous people are locked up because they deserve it. I'm just not the kind of person who can let a someone say something racist without pulling them up on it. This has got me into trouble before but usually the people I work with even though they may disagree with me they don't tend to fight me on it. But it is all ok because the director of the centre is Bosnian and I think she was quite offended by some of the things this particular worker said to me and she rang me to tell me that she had spoken to the woman and told her that her behaviour to me at that time was unacceptable. Which is nice. I was scared that they were going to have words with me because I was the one that started it by not allowing her comment to slide.
And then ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) dragort came to stay with me for two weeks which was incredibly refreshing to my heart and soul. We went bush walking and swimming in waterfalls and beaches. We spent a day walking around the Chinese Garden of Friendship which was beautiful. We painted and laughed and talked. The world makes sense when I am with her.
I dragged dis_senter and dragort to a women's writing group which was fun. But dis_senter and I were overshadowed by dragort's immense talent for writing. All anyone could talk about after the group was how good she was. Because of course she is good. Great even.
dragort told me a story of how when we were little our parents tooks the two of us to get an umbrella. We each got to choose which umbrella we would like. We did so. Then we had to walk to show that we were capable of walking prettily with the umbrella. Apparently dragort was incapable of performing this but I was. So I got an umbrella but my sister did not.
I sometimes wish that I cold go back in time and refuse to be the monster that my parents created me to be. But I was that monster for a time I still am that monster sometimes and I'd like to think that I take responsibility for her actions. The hard thing to know is what I must take responsibility for and what I have to let go of lest I drown in the guilt. Because I did gain a lot from my parents abuse of my sister.
Anyway, this was supposed to be a happy post. And it is. I'm loving being active and alive. Revelling in the fact that I am part of the continuance of life and love and sisterhood.
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| The Prophetess |
[22 Apr 2007|08:15pm] |
I'm not sure if this is finished or not. dragort doesn't think so. But I like it so I'm posting prematurely. And, by the way, the new user pic is me beside a waterfall 'cept you can't see the waterfall.
The Prophetess
by dani
In the night the prophetess told me of my fate. Beneath the sea, she said, beneath the sea. And so I searched and I searched.
But how does one get beneath an ocean?
And so I looked for the metaphor, perhaps a blue-green equivalent and the notion of the ocean. Beneath a wave or a crest.
It was here that she found me. Lost within a crest. Riding a gigantic wave. I had been swallowed whole.
My fate. It was a good one. Worthy indeed of being trapped forever, mangled in a dusty tome. But vanity always has been one of my strong points, that and an uncanny ability to appear beautiful although I’m not. Still there was this ocean thing that I had to settle. I must confess that having wet hair and pruny fingers was not my idea of lifetime.
And then she came. At first I thought she was made of water. But then I realised that she had no substance. It was all optical illusion her liquidity, her fluidity, her motion or e-motion. So now I wonder.
She said her life was on a timer. I think she set herself to time. Like a masterpiece, or a nymph in the wilderness dancing.
I’m not one for poetry but she had an inescapable rhythm. And it caught and I caught.
Like an old sea pirate I was tossed to the wind and I emerged back into my life soaking. And dripping with earnt ire, burnt through with her timing.
Before a tune was sent me and I was swept within its waves to another shore.
Life is verily like the ocean. I am once again lost within her depths. She draws me in and she draws me on.
It was then that I realised that the prophetess was right. I was already in the sea.
For a while I lived a subjective truth, believing as I did in morality. But all the codes have a propensity for change. Tidal. The way her world was slowly sinking beneath the sea.
And still I persisted in the belief that I change myself. A radical new faith deception. The truth was in the water.
And water it was. Like the glimpse of a floating note lost into the memory of sound. Play me again.
Though she was only water I can still remember the scent of her skin. Salt and sand. Hours wasted into her embrace. Captive in the smoothest of bars.
I loved her. As much as one can love like liquid. She came in with the sun and left by the moon.
Entrancing, disappearing into vapours and almosts and into the taste of silence. Until she comes again. Rising like a tempest. Rising like the wind.
Off the shore, pulling my soul into her eddies, sweeping across as many realities. Beyond the heat of fire. Beyond elemental ice. Unbecoming in intensity. Carefully chosen passion.
Who is she? This water sprite that haunts me. This untamed one that never lets me keep still. Shall I call her freedom?
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 License.
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