Perspective, Rebellion, and New Possibilities

 

I am a rebel. Have been for longer than I can remember. I am, for the most part, not radical in my rebellion, just fairly consistent. I do not like rules unless they make sense to me. And I question all authority until it proves itself to be worthy of acceptance, thus leadership. I have been known to break with tradition because it smacks of rules set up for inexplicable reasons. Just because a thing has always been that way, doesn’t mean it is good, or even worth doing.

It isn’t easy being a rebel. There are lots of moments when I question my own rebelliousness. It can be so tiring, the constant alertness, struggle and conflict wear thin with time. But, even when I decide that I no longer need this sort of issue in my existence, something comes along to smack me in the face and demand a rebel’s outlook. Just what is that outlook?

It is awareness, an openness that can be hard to maintain. It’s a different perspective from the norm. A constant struggle to stay alert to the fact that each moment is new and will not come again. And a willingness to act in that moment, no matter the feelings that attend it. It is a view that can be both exhilarating and exhausting. That’s the reason I said that I am not radical but am fairly consistent.

I get tired and recede back into my neat little comfort zone. But then, of course, the world comes crashing into my ordered existence, messing with this or that, and here we go again. No one will ever know how many times I have attempted to quash this bit of my personality. Yet, it continues to rise to the surface and make itself known, demanding acknowledgement, or out right action. Given enough discomfort, I will eventually respond to that call.

Which means of course, that I have not always been comfortable with this particular role. Perhaps, I never will be. That’s an exhausting thought all in itself. Can a rebel not rebel? Can a leopard change its spots? Did you know that a black panther is a leopard and that it does have spots? It’s just that the spots are so closely aligned with the color of its fur that they aren’t noticeable until seen very closely. And who, in their right mind, would willingly get that close?

I have a black panther in my Personal Mythology (see Personal Mythology at http://intuitivepaths.wordpress.com/ . His name is Jacob, which means: the supplanter. That one who supplants, replaces the normal order of things. Yup, a rebel. He is closely associated with my emotional landscape and has been for many many years. He is also the only panther I will ever get that close to, if given the choice. I have learned a great deal about rebellion from him, and he has learned a great deal about how to handle a rebel who rebels at rebellion.

So, why rebel at what would seem to be a given? There is this little thing called a primary need for acceptance and belonging. Rebels, like prophets and poets, or any other dreamers, are not easily absorbed into whatever community they find themselves in. They are loners, but that  doesn’t mean they don’t partake in that primary need to be a part of a group. Can you say frustration?

Think about that for a moment. Here is an individual who knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that he/she is different and will always be so. Yet, right alongside of that core reality is the definite inextinguishable yearning to be accepted and to find approval. Fine line balancing act and on occasion one of those whirling plates takes off in its own direction, crashing into whatever stands in its unwitting path. Of course, it becomes pieces and some of them can’t be glued back together again. Whew!

Like I said, it’s not easy being a rebel. Just trying to hang on to all those whirling pieces is time and energy consuming. What about all the rest of life? How does one manage all those other things while making sure all the plates stay up in the air and moving when gravity alone will pull them out of sync and down toward that hard breaking ground?

And there is the underlying point. We are all individuals. That means, we all have some pieces that are different from what others maintain. We all have a set of whirling plates that need to be kept moving and up in the air. We all worry about maintaining that balance and none of us want to end in a crashing and breaking into pieces that can’t be put back together again.

Which means that although I am a rebel and my plates might be a slightly different hue, we are essentially in the same boat. You might not be a rebel, but I’m willing to bet there are moments when you are aware that you are quite different from your fellows. What do you do in those moments? How do you handle them?

Do you kick and scream like I have done? Or, do you accept that difference and use your energies more wisely? Like keeping those different plates up in the air and whirling while you tap dance around all of life’s obstacles? Some of which, by the way, can’t be avoided. Ever.

So, what if anything does all of this have to do with journal writing, which is the essential thrust of this blog. This morning I had a waking dream. One in which I knew I was awake but the scenes from my mind, essentially in dream form, continued to play out clearly on the screen of my thoughts.

Seeing as my journal is the first thing I engage in each morning, I wrote out those scenes and was immediately reminded of a comment that was dropped on one of my other sites last night. It was essentially about what those dream images were actually saying. The dream was about a change in perspective that changes not just the mind of the thinker, but his/her whole view of life and the world he/she inhabits.

It was all about something I have been wrestling with for some time. Something I want changed, but couldn’t seem to see my way through. I needed a new perspective. And my dreaming mind provided that with a little nudge from an unknowing commenter. I need that rebel that lives inside of me. That one who supplants, replaces the norm with something different, something new, and maybe even a bit risky.

Would that have happened if I hadn’t sat down in my very normal fashion and wrote in my journal? Maybe, maybe not. I’m just grateful it all fell in place so smoothly and privately. As I said, I am not radical in my rebellion. I have a tendency to go about it quietly and with deliberate thought. This morning’s writing opened a door to just such possibilities.

Following The Signs and Symbols

In response to Claudette’s Writing Challenge #5: Fortune

51. I live my life by following the signs and symbols that surround me. In other words, I live my life directed by my Intuition.

That was supposed to be #42 on my list, but I conveniently side-stepped it altogether, deciding instead to add a few negatives to my list for the sake of balance. Sort of a logical decision, don’t you think? Except when you immediately become aware that there was no element of logic in the decision making process. What motivated the change in subject matter was just plain old fear, discomfort in the comfort zone, dis-ease at writing down such a blatant and telling statement.

I’ve said it before, and to hundreds of people (I was a teacher), so why the fuss here and now? Because this is different and also entails honesty and commitment. I have no idea how anyone will react to that statement. Will I automatically be dismissed for saying it? I live in a world that prizes logic and logical thinking, yet here I am saying that I choose to see things differently and order my existence through that different perspective.

Logic doesn’t dismiss intuition, that would be illogical. However, much of the time, logic has a tendency to put quotation marks around that kind of thinking, sort of admiring it from a distance, but still retaining the prerogative of dismissal should it prove less than concrete. And it does prove that a great deal of the time. Intuition is based in a knowing that doesn’t always have supportive evidence for its conclusions or suggestions. It simply is.

Intuition is based on sensory input, sometimes feelings, and logic doesn’t put a great deal of trust in feelings. They are subjective, not objective and thus, not logical. Feelings are not facts, therefore lend little support to any argument. So, saying that I live by the dictates of my intuition means I, therefore my opinion, might and could easily be dismissed. That means I could possibly go unheard.

So why am I bringing all of this up? Because I realized that I had side-stepped #42. By doing that, I was being less than honest and cheating myself out of other possibilities. I prize my intuitive abilities, right along with my logic skills. It doesn’t make any difference if others recognize them or even acknowledge them. Yet, it does, because I know that others sometimes see and define intuitive knowing right up there with fortune-telling. That makes it suspect, somehow not quite on the up and up, maybe even a bit of a scam.

In The Gift of Fear, Gavin De Becker writes about one of the most primary needs for intuition in the human experience, that of self-protection against the threat of violence. He gives copious examples of how it works and why it is necessary for the individual to listen to that small inner voice that alerts one to danger. But that is only one need and use of intuition, albeit, an extremely important one.

In writing about how one must be alert to whatever opportunities might arise to propel one toward ones dream, I am speaking directly to another use of intuition. Listening to that still small voice can allow one to make choices and decisions based in the reality of ones own experiences and daily existence. No one can possibly know all of that except the individual. It is all stored inside of us, each and every moment.

That knowing of each moment results in those nudges we sense and feel about certain things and people. And although I am using that knowing to direct my personal choices, it is still one and the same as De Becker’s gift of fear. If intuition is a gift meant to enhance self-preservation, then doesn’t it stand to reason that we must use it to make the choices that will allow us the best life possible into whatever future we have? Oh, oh, we might be bumping up against that fortune-telling subject again.

This week, I have been bumping up against a decision, a choice about how I want to proceed into my future. My intuition has kicked into high gear, and although I would really like to dismiss it, I can’t. The logic side of my brain is yakking about how much more time and energy this choice would entail. Am I really prepared to do that and make that commitment? My intuitive knowing says there is always a risk in moving through a threshold experience. I won’t know the answers until I make the movement. And round and round they go until I am just plain confused and exhausted.

There is no denying that the synchronicity has been high level through all of this. Synchronicity is an aspect of intuition. It is the intuitive energy that points out all the connective links. And it is definitely pointing in a very specific direction. Dare I ignore that and possibly invite harm to my own person and progress? What did I just say about the gift of fear? But dis-ease and discomfort are not good reasons for doing anything, are they? Yet, they are the very reasons this blog is being written.

Am I a fortune-teller? No. I am simply an individual exploring the paths opening in front of me, and whatever possibilities they might unveil to me. The final choice, decision still lies in front of me. I’m still gathering information. Which means we are still on the drawing board. That in turn means I am back to my journal and some more noodling. Wish me luck, or at least clear sailing?

Signature Strokes

 

In the world of Fine Art, such as painting, one can, if one has the knowledge of such things, know who the painter is without seeing a signature somewhere on the canvas. It has to do with the manner in which the artist lays the colors onto the canvas, sometimes the choice of subject matter is also a clue. That distinguishing mark is called a Signature Stroke. Thus, even an untrained eye can catch the difference between Michelangelo’s full three dimensional human figures, and Van Gogh’s brilliantly lit pastoral scenes, or Picasso’s cubism from Salvador Dali’s melting timepieces.

Each of these painters was an individual first, before becoming an artist. Each of them lived in a different place, time, and had very distinct individual experiences that trained their eyes to see in different and unique ways. And those differences were conveyed to their subjects and the manners in which each of them expressed what they painted. Each of them, during the process of expression, developed a very distinctly recognizable Signature Stroke.

That distinguishing stroke applies to most forms of expression. Frank Sinatra did it My Way, and although others might do that same song in their own fashion, it will always bring Old Blue Eyes to mind when it is heard. Fashion designers build whole careers, as well as fortunes, on creating a look that is easily recognizable by those who can afford their products. A Signature Stroke is simply that which marks the particular expression from others, makes it uniquely individual as such. And the competition to establish such individuality is extremely fierce in all fields.

We, as individuals, are each unique. I have been writing about just that for a long time now. We each have our own way of doing things, our own perceptions, and definitions of the way things work and their meanings. And whether or not we set out to do so, that means that each of us have been, or are, in the process of developing a Signature Stroke.

In the world of writing, which is the one I speak to most frequently, there is a definite Signature Stroke experience. No one will, or can, lay down words in the same exact fashion in which I do, or you do, for that matter. My words are shaped and formed by my individual experience, and so is the choice of subject matter. And the same goes for each of you who might be reading these words I am laying down on this canvas called a blog.

Someone else may very well write about keeping an ongoing journal, but they will do that in their own unique style and the manner in which they perceive it. We may even agree on the majority of issues that arise under the heading of that topic, but we will not choose the same exact words to do that.

Someone else might focus in on making rules to write by. I, obviously would see that differently. And that is absolutely necessary, because there are individuals out there who need to know the rules before they can begin, and then there are those, like myself, who balk at the very thought. And between us, myself and this imaginary other writer, we will cover a bit of the territory that entails a broader and wider view of the entire subject.

And, by the way, readers also have a distinct Signature Stroke. It can be seen in the choice of reading materials. There is an entire world out there that could care less about these words I am laying down and will never even think to read them. Just as there are worlds of words out there that I would never take a glance at, simply because they don’t particularly interest me.

The point I am trying to get at is that devilish issue of comparison. It stems from that absolute necessity to choose one thing over another, listen to one voice rather than another, especially where it concerns the development of that Signature Stroke we all have and use on a daily basis.

Comparisons, especially when made in the arena of creativity are deadly. They are extremely poisonous to the fragile creative element in all of us. Creative energy is a healing element built into the human psyche. And it can be killed off, murdered by one misplaced and thoughtless comparison.

Yet, comparisons are a daily, ongoing experience. How do we choose, if we don’t compare this to that? The problem originates when we apply those comparisons to our own person and the creative activities we engage in. We all need to engage in creativity of one sort or another. It is healing because it allows some form of release in lives that are constantly stressful and can often become overwhelming.

Creativity is an expression of ones individual self. Whether it is found in a well cooked meal, a delightfully told story, or the composing of an opera, it is all the same and provides the same things for the individuals thus engaged. My schtick ( I love that word), is encouraging others to write on a regular basis. It is an extremely cheap form of self-expression, therefore creativity. It is my effort to help heal the world I live in, while healing my own inner person.

But, if I compare my own writing to that of others, I will always first find fault with my own. We are our own worst enemies on this one. I am an expert on how many ways I do this incorrectly and could make a list, that might go on for pages, concerning how badly I do this thing. What would it prove? That maybe I should try cubism? It’s far too late for that, and I already know I wouldn’t have the patience for that kind of detailed work.

Nope, I will continue to stick with my schtick, even if I don’t do it as well as hundreds of others out there. They remain out there, while I am here, inside my own skin, doing this thing I love to do, and although I know I don’t do it perfectly, I do it well, on occasion. That, in turn,  lifts me up, it sings through my veins, and it makes me happy to be so engaged. That makes it, for no other reason, the healthiest thing for me to be doing.  

This writing might be considered square, even “cubic”, to others, but that doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. And as long as I steer clear of comparing what I do to what others do, I will find my own form of happiness right here on these pages. I might even find my own Signature Stoke, and wouldn’t that be something to write about?

In The Way of the Fox

 

The Fox is a very clever little creature, he’s had to be, in order to survive. One of his means to do just that is to backtrack, stepping in his own paw prints, to confuse whatever pursuers are hounding him.  And although I have never truly considered myself a ‘foxy’ lady, other than on a mental level on occasion, I intend to incorporate the fox’s behavior in today’s article. Which means I’m going to do some backtracking in my own footprints, sort of speak.

A while back, I wrote about the Masks we wear, especially in public. We do that so as to continue to belong within whatever society we find ourselves in, be that a peer group, fellow workers, friends, and yes, even (maybe especially) family. We do that by hiding behind a Mask that is, or so we think, more acceptable to the group, than the face of what we are actually feeling, thinking, and doing.

Like the fox, whose coloring is extremely noticeable in the often green and brown landscape he inhabits, we learn to be clever,  and quick about hiding our real state of being, especially when we feel or think that that state of being we are in is unacceptable, inadequate, or just won’t do for the circumstances we inhabit. Most of us learn, at a very young age, that a smile and accommodating demeanor will far more quickly get us through, and to, what we want or need, then a scowl, or howl, or an abrasive, aggressive appearance. And in that sense, we like the fox, adopt those demeanors which will allow us to preserve ourselves, keep our sense of belonging intact.

We wear Masks. Masks are fascinating things and have an intriguing history. There have been cultures that have based their entire belief systems on masks that are called ‘false faces.’ And by doing so, actually create a secret society for their members. Belonging means one recognizes and accepts those false faces for what they symbolize and act, react accordingly. There was a time when a masquerade ball was an occasion of intrigue and excitement, because the intricate masks participants wore,  allowed one to move within ones society of peers, but, at the same time, behave in ways that were outside of the rules of said society. And here, on the Internet, we use avatars to represent whatever identity we choose to display at any given moment. Which is to say, that things haven’t changed all that much over time.

So, what are we really hiding behind the masks that we wear? All those things that we have come to define as inadequate, inappropriate, less than acceptable, unseemly, or worse, just plain wrong. Our definitions might be skewed, unbalanced, or lacking in logic, or wholeness, but we will stick by them until we find they no longer serve their, our purpose. We do that because we learned a great many of them within our family unit, which is the most basic unit of society, and therefore the first, and possibly or often, the strongest influence as regards our individual socialization process.

What is the fox actually hiding when he engages in all of those clever actions to confuse and confound his hounding pursuers? Much the same thing as we are when we put on our Masks. He is hiding his true state of being, his wildness, and that often startling and  beautiful coloring that sets him apart from all other creatures. That which marks him as a target for chasing and possible extinction at a moments notice. And just like him, we understand that we too must hide those things that set us apart, might not allow us to go on existing within our families, our peer groups, our fellow employees, and so on.

And just what are those specific things? Many of them are the Wild Things I have been discussing. Like the boy, I used as an example. His interest and fascination with poetry wasn’t wrong, nor was it misplaced, or even inadequate for his age and abilities. But it created a situation in which his basic social unit erupted into chaos, anger, and misunderstanding. So, he interpreted that to mean it was unacceptable. He chose to ignore that piece of his own development, putting on a mask that was, as far as he was concerned, far more acceptable. He chose to suppress that Wild Thing inside of himself, which wasn’t wild at all, but certainly occasioned some rather wild results.

His actions and choices were based in what he knew at that time. But they gave birth to that Wild Thing inside of him that came back to haunt him on occasion with its desire to express himself in a certain manner. And each time he suppressed and ignored its calling, he, in effect, contained it, hid it behind what he had decided was a better face, a more appropriate mask within the environment in which he lived.

Furthermore, he actually defined it as a Wild Thing, a part of himself that didn’t fit within the boundaries of the piece of the socialization process blanket under which he existed. Talk about backtracking, hunh? That is what I said I was going to do. Which leaves us with the Fox, the Wild Thing, and a whole lot of questions.

Maybe only one or two. Is that a sigh of relief I hear? So, like the fox, it might be much more important, than we have so far realized, to backtrack on our own footprints through this journey we call life. Find and come to know those pieces and parts of us that have been kept outside, ignored as much as possible, and contained in that wilderness of the imagination. If you ask me how to do that, I will simply point you to the Introduction of this blog.

It is my intention to introduce you to some of the Wild Things I have encountered and yes, befriended on my own backtracking adventures. Who knows, I might even tell you about the actual wild foxes who seemingly, but very deliberately, crossed my path to help me know what I know about the extremely important messages they came to teach me. You didn’t really think this was the only one, did you?

Wild Thing II

 

The Socialization Process Blanket.

The day before yesterday, as I was finishing my blog, I realized that I would have to come back and add more in the way of explanation. Thus the title and subtitle of this present writing. Fair warning: there will probably be a few more same titled articles, so follow the numbers or risk some confusion.

A blanket, on a cold winter’s night is a good, even precious commodity. It can be a life-saving cocoon of warmth, a coziness that actually allows one to sleep with contentment and utter relaxation that might not be possible otherwise. However, a heavy woolen blanket is an absurdity on a hot and humid summer evening, causing a great deal of discomfort and maybe even a nightmare or two. Have you ever awakened, tangled inside of a blanket, struggling to untangle yourself to the point of actually breaking out in a sweat that you might never get loose, your breath coming in short pants of exertion? The solution seems very simple, get rid of the blanket, or, in the first example, if its that cold out, get one and wrap it around you.

The Socialization Process that we all experience as we grow and develop into full fledged adults, and continue to live inside of, is just such a blanket. One that is woven from diverse materials, with different naps, textures and colors. Depending on ones personal perspective and circumstances, it can be thick and densely knit, or as wafer thin as a sheet of paper, and anything in between those two. But whatever its makeup, it is there and necessary. The Socialization Process is often a silent entity that exists without actually being spoken of, or directly addressed. One doesn’t speak to ones blanket, one uses it or not as one sees fit. But it does exist, and one owns it, because it does have a distinct purpose and reason for said existence.

It exists because we need rules, boundaries which allow us to feel and be safe and secure, especially as children born into a world that is both dangerous and harmful to anyone lacking knowledge of those dangers. Our parents are the primary teachers of those boundaries, set to keep us safe, and they learned those boundaries from their parents, who learned them from their parents, and so on and so on. If we lack, through circumstances, parents to do that teaching, Society must take on that role through organizations and departments created to serve just that purpose. That sounds simple enough, but all things have an underbelly fraught with different and individual realities. Each parent, of the two we are in need of to come into existence, has been taught by and learned from separate entities which might or might not agree on the importance of any single boundary within the entire spectrum of boundaries our Society, as a whole, chooses to embrace at any given moment of time.

For example: one set of parents might agree that what is most important to becoming a full-fledged adult, therefore a good citizen of Society, is education, while another might firmly be entrenched in the idea that family, and only family, is of the utmost importance in maintaining a sense of security and safety and anyone or anything outside of family is dangerous to that ideal. It can be even more complicated if each parent holds one of those two examples to be the most important of boundaries to instill in their offspring. That offspring might end up in Northern Wisconsin with only a thin sheet of paper for warmth, while another could find himself in Florida dressed in fur mitts and cap, trudging around in an overcoat and galoshes. I did say this was complicated and complex.

The point, here, being that each of us is born and develops under the weight of that blanket in whatever form it takes in our individual circumstances. And all that means is that no two of us gets an equal share of the blanket. We may own similar parts and pieces of it, even quite parallel aspects, but they are not the same because each of us is in an individual container called our own skin. Yet, conversely, each time one of us makes a move, a choice or decision to move, everyone under that blanket is affected on some level. Some in major ways, others who don’t even feel it and whose sleep isn’t even disturbed. Now there is another major reason for that blanket to be in existence. It makes us aware of our responsibility and obligation to, our actual connection with, all those other containers. At least, it should.

This is where a habit of journal keeping might find its own unique value. Do you know which of those boundaries your parents, or teachers, felt obligated to pass on to you? What was stressed as particularly important to your own development? And how was that done? Silently, by example, and if so, how much or little did you absorb? Was it done with repeated key words and phrases? If so, how do you actually feel about those words and phrases now that you are grown or almost grown? Do you agree with them, or not. If you do or don’t, why or why not? Is any of this important for the individual you are, to even begin to sort out? Do you see any value or importance in doing so?

But there is also the flip side. What other teachers have you come in contact with? What was the importance or value of what they gave you in the arena of life? How did you personally interpret any or all of that? How has it shaped and formed the individual you have become? Where, exactly are you under that blanket? Are you cold or cozy? Do you find yourself wearing galoshes even when it isn’t raining, let alone snowing outside? Or have you always been barefoot and why? Do you shrug at the very idea of that blanket as sheer unadulterated nonsense? What are the boundaries you have created to keep yourself safe and secure in this dangerous world in which we live? Are they still working for you? Or have you become tangled, fighting for a freedom that makes you pant in exertion? Do you take your safety and security as one individual for granted, and feel no need to seek out answers to any one, or all of these questions? If not from yourself and your own experience, who would you go to, to get those answers?

Next time, we might discuss what happens when someone under that blanket decides to roll over.

Wild Thing

Writer’s Island Journals Prompt #7 Describe the future 

In the course of growing up, each of us goes through what is called the Socialization process. We learn, are taught to be good useful members of the group. Our teachers are many and varied, ranging through our parents and siblings, to school teachers, as well as our immediate peer group. In other words, we learn how to belong, how to conform our individual self so that we can be members of the group. We are taught, sometimes silently, sometimes through direct communication, what is appropriate behavior inside of the group. If we conform, we are rewarded with membership, belonging. And remember that the desire to belong is hardwired into our very system. We learn how to become social entities, taking on the norms of the society in which we find ourselves. We become civilized.

Each group, in turn, creates and adheres to its own set of rules, actually building its own individual personality. That is true across the board. And they, the group, must in turn, learn the appropriate behavior which allows it to belong to, and interact with, the larger groups of society as a whole. Sounds really complicated and complex, doesn’t it? It is. Especially to a five year old child trying to figure out his/her world and how she/he fits into that world, how it all fits together. Our ability to understand develops in increments throughout this process of socialization, and certainly beyond the age of five. Yet research tells us that each of us, by about the age of five, has created a worldview, a structure that informs us of how the world works and our particular place in it. What behaviors we must display in order to belong, both now and in the future.

Needless to say, we don’t get the whole picture, and we might never get that if we remain locked into that five year old’s incomplete concepts. Many of us do just that. We actually refuse to give up what we learned about how to cope in the world we find around us. Thus, I would venture to say, each of us, at some point in our existence, feels like we don’t quite fit in, don’t quite measure up to those rules that pertain to the world at large and a sense of belonging to it, or in it. That is when we come to know that we might possess a Wild Thing, a creature that remains outside of the boundaries and rules of the society to which we desire deeply to belong. That is also the point when we make a choice.

That choice is whether or not to allow that Wild Thing inside of us to go on existing. We may deny it altogether, simply cut it out of our realm of understanding or acknowledgement. If we can’t, or don’t allow ourselves to see it, it doesn’t exist, isn’t real, right? Hope you are smiling here, as much as I am. We may shut it away from our view, but that doesn’t mean it dies, gets lost, or goes away to live and play in someone else’s backyard. If only it were that simple, that easy. Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes that nothing is ever completely lost from the individual human psyche. So what happens to that piece, or part of us, we might choose to deny? It lives and breathes and continues to grow, albeit in the darkness to which we have assigned it, but it does continue. And, as often happens, when it grows to the point that it needs more room, space, light and air to breathe, it might very silently creep up behind us and bite us in the butt for keeping it in the darkness all of that time, for refusing it, thus ourselves, a foreseeable future.

Personally, I can’t think of a more persuasive reason for doing and keeping a journal that privately allows me to explore the possible inner wilderness that exists right here inside of me. Get to know what Wild Things might be growing in my own little garden. I know they exist, have felt them nipping at my heels on occasion. Does that mean I am suggesting that there might be more than one Wild Thing inside of that inner landscape? It certainly does. A Wild Thing is alive, and because it is, it will seek out other life, reproducing and recreating itself, building a group that then conforms to its own established rules, again, in the present, and for the future. Oh my.

Imagination. What is it, and how does it work? I have not completely changed the topic. Each of us has an imagination, the ability to see what might not exist in our reality, what might only be possibilities, the maybes and the what ifs that help us build, to even begin to describe, define a future for ourselves and our world. Our imagination, constitutes a large part, possibly all of that inner wilderness of which I am speaking. It is there that creativity lives and exists. And it is from there that we ourselves and our very souls are fed, nurtured, and learn what we must do to start building a future in which we can survive. If that is true, can you possibly argue against the necessity of exploring that wilderness and making, if not friends, at least some sort of acquaintance with its inhabitants?

This is an integral, as well as large portion, of who and what we are. Can we afford to ignore or deny it? Have you felt that Wild Thing inside of you? Felt its restlessness, its need to grow, its hunger for more of life with all of its possibilities, present and future? Does it push itself up against the fence built to keep it contained, restrained, captive? Do you hear, or have you ever heard, even an echo of its howling for more freedom? If you have, have you simply dismissed it, ignored how it makes you feel, think, imagine? That is the voice of self calling to self. Will you go on denying it and perhaps, you own future? Or will you learn, teach yourself, how to listen now and into whatever comes?