Why Facebook Sucks...

Well, it kinda DOES!

I just watched a powerful, ... seemingly innocuous, film today about a mother recording each day of her child's life via photographs. It was inspired by her own sister's project to be grateful for *something* for a whole year, and record it. That project is now to become a documentary called simply '365 Grateful'. You should probably check it out...its inspiring of course.

The film of snapshots is on Gregarious Peach blogsite (you know how to search...go surf) and it is poignant, simple, honest and the accompanying post is just gold. Gold. In her blogpost she describes how *life* is with young babies, with a head full of ideas, and little Beings asking for attention. She says quite pointedly that she gets angry at her children for the stupid things like interrupting her internet surfing waste time, and not being able to progress thoughts and ideas into any sort of fruition, and that just really struck home for me. I wept.

My life may seem like a glorious non-stop honouring of 'the child' and creativity, freedom and a sort of radicalisation of life in comparison to how other people are living it, and to an extent, yes, it is. Yet am I being honest about my life to Me? Am I understanding that *the dream* and the reality are two separate entities? Because to be honest, they sometimes combine, which makes coming out of *the dream* always a jarring and unpleasant experience. One moment I'm floating on a harmony cloud, children happy, contented, animated, loving, sharing, collective,... and then 'splat'...face down in poo! Can I choose to make *the dream* my reality and just stay there for the most part? occasionally popping into reality to pay the rent and a few utilities, travel some highway and fulfill a certain set of obligations?

'Tree of Youth' Pencil on cartridge, 1990-1991, Jannette Tibbs

 There's a crack in the wall made with time and age,... go, climb through it...

That's my Dream ;}

Facebook can be a time waster, and I thought as much about blogging at first, but now I use it as an online journal, and that just makes it flow so much easier. My children and their experience of me as their mother, helper, teacher and student feels like the most important and rewarding thing I can do as a Being. I can't think of anything; no career, vocation or belief that would surpass my commitment to their happiness, and yet, when I've been searching, looking, reading, writing or 'networking', I've somehow convinced myself that they don't require my attention. It's utter bullshit.

Not like I'm having *me time* with a candleight soak in a Lavender Oil and Oatmeal bath...in which case I'd probably share it with Angelina Petal anyway....BUT, you know? the video of Gregarious Peach just slammed home how fleeting this time is with the children and how very very very very very very precious it IS. I've constructed a life with my children, home-educating, radical parenting, etc... to allow me to completely immerse myself in the life I wish for, and then I go and piss a good amount of it away trolling the 'net. How stupid can I act?

So stuff it all, I'm signing off. I think I may give it all in, this 'social networking', and just Live.
Ciao!
Love you!
Bye!
xxx
Mwah!!!

Cellular Communication

ah yes, it is possible of course.

Last night/early this morning, I lapsed into a dream about the long dreaded suntanned dude that was in the 'historical' dream of mine. This time I met him at the campfire, early in the morning, the cold was biting the skin and he was sitting on a log next to the firepit, prodding the embers to life. I sit beside him, my arms crossed in front of me, hands under my armpits, gathering all the warmth I can from my body. He acknowledges me without looking my way, I just sense the hello from his innerself to mine.

He asks me without words to rub Cedarwood oil into the dreads, and his scalp. I can tell he's been irritated by itches. I begin, and can feel the rough yet soft texture of each dreadlock. They are golden brown with flecks of sun kissed bright gold. I love his hair, its so cool, and makes me smile. But I'm still cold and my teeth begin to chatter. My nose feels like an iceblock. The Cedarwood aroma fills my senses and I continue to massage it into the skin of his scalp.

Then my innerself begins to speak to his. A blooming of real Love, of complete acknowledgment, of...acceptance in Joy of being together. For a flicker of a moment, the human background intervenes and shows a danger message. 'don't get too close, that's when people hurt each other'. but it is now disregarded. Trust in my cellular knowledge is stronger. I know the inner whirrings of my electrons' language and mine are speaking to his, and his to mine. Language spoken out loud is not necessary, in fact, with us it seems it would break the continuity of comprehending who we are to each other.

I am drawn into the space made with his arms, as he sits in front of the fire. The blood warmth of his skin through the cloth of his shirt melts into my cold body, warming and soothing and comforting. I feel like I am glowing with heat and light and love. My back against his chest and his head beside mine, his chin on my shoulder, lips on my cheek. The world is perfect at daybreak. Our fire is growing and the heat from it is warming our legs. Upward there is a blushing sky speaking of rain that day and the birds are quiet.

We haven't spoken a word yet so much has been communicated.