Eclectic as hell, often confused, painting and writing for fiction to make experiences believable. Writer with a book in publication soon, Etsy shop, etc.
Because I am friends with a lot of spoonies, Death is a subject which comes up often. Every year at least one of us will dance with the Reaper and not come back from the waltz. Not that all of my friends are okay with that. Some of my friends are terrified, and that is just their truth. I pray for them to go quickly, preferably without really knowing what is happening to them, their fear is so strong. Truth is we offer animals more dignity in dying than people - and I don’t mean euthanasia as the only option. I mean we don’t even try particularly hard to make the -living- portion of an ill person’s life easier, especially now in the UK where persecution for illness is so severe, the United Nations is investigating under grave concerns of broaching human rights here.
As a psychopomp, I spend a lot of time in Death’s shadow, and I do not fear It. When my time comes, I intend on leaving a glass of sherry and a plate of cookies by my bedside, like some people do for Santa. However, that’s with any luck a long way off. It’s the -living- part which has become difficult, and for some reason we don’t argue enough about why care for the ill or vulnerable is so crap that society thinks euthanasia would be more kind…because that is what it boils down to. We aren’t talking about ‘survival of the fittest here’ because I can assure you there is nothing wrong with my ability to survive. I’ve forgotten more things about survival, homesteading, hunting and tending livestock than many a yuppie has learned on an expensive weekend course. There was a time we valued our elders and our disabled because they had experience enough to call upon when the community needed to know how to survive a challenge; disasters come in waves, and there is a good chance an elderly person has survived famines, floods, illnesses and bad years - and remembers tips and tricks to survive them. From our aged people I learned how to spin wool, thread a loom, fix a flooded engine, weld, empty a chicken’s crop.
The disabled and ill were the shamans and hedge leapers. Why this is so, I’m not sure. Perhaps with so much time left to do nothing but think, we’ve found more chances of being able to What If into Inner Worlds. Perhaps it was an escape from pain, or maybe we just know more about the value of health and balance, since the few good days are a gift, and therefore we seek to help In our own ways. Maybe for the ability to cross over, there must be a cost, paid in flesh. I don’t know.
What I do know is I don’t know a single witch, a single animist, a single crosser of hedges or explorer of Other Worlds who isn’t ill, disabled or neuro-atypical. Not one. And I’ve never met any who weren’t. The only ones I’ve ever met in over 30 years who were ‘norms’ were also frauds. Go figure. I have met homeless people who were mentally ill, but also who I suspect were just so filled with Woo they couldn’t function. Some sidewalk shamans are walking prophets who just can’t find their way back across the hedge.I’m pretty sure the Oracles of Delphi were anything but sane. But they were good at their jobs. So good, they became a threat and were destroyed. And that sort of scenario has been repeated since time out of mind.
The point of my ramble is we all have a purpose. It is society’s failing if it cannot recognise the worth of the purpose - choosing to measure worth with net balances of income, and judging ‘kindness’ by whether or not we should put humans down like animals when they’re no longer wanted, rather than working harder to make life enjoyable and comfortable for everyone. It’s not like the money or ingenuity doesn’t exist to make it happen.
My thowts on this day.