29 November 2009

The Fantasy of Praxis is Strictly Congruent With the Illusion of the Image.


Alone-ness.

Swimming the night lake.
Shallow and cold, fingers scrape the pebbles of ice.

Yet, I will swim.



It isn't so much the heart-wrench of one facet;
Rather it moves in noxious, choking vapor across many faces that smile steamily at you, all together.

Fumes that eviscerate the will and clamp mud blocks on slogging feet.
Then from nowhere, the place in your outer consciousness,
the projectile and shards fire at your soul and hit it like a sack.
The burst comes on impact and the spirit flows out like a drizzling river of
blood, pain and ooze effervescing from the place where solace resides.

Then there is no more. I know this.

I know that this is life.
I know that this is this life.
I know that this is life and the life in which we are on our own.

Grace knew it; they treated her "like a guest."
They are not equipped to make the promises real.
In their world, you must step quietly, or they will show you how little you are missed when gone.
Their frozen-ness does not shake the heart of those they have ensnared And like tin soldiers in a row,
those you once knew, those who lived in profound depths with you,
no longer remember. This is the part of them that does not recognize you anymore.
Like a drop of water on the desert, their tears fall in breaking voice,
but no nourishment comes forth.
The drop does not crack the floor of dry sand,
it is absorbed and forgotten in a finite second, a stroke of the clock's hand.
No more a thought than that held by the wind as it blows a leaf from the autumned tree.
The leaf once struggled, broke its casing bonds, and lived through the heat and torrent of summer rains.
Yet, in an emotionless breath, its life is snuffed.

You are that memory,
Your efficacy and legacy are just that temporary,
they are just that easily shed.
In the vacuous lie and the shallow pool of so-called fraternity
you dive and smash, break and crumple.

You are a mirror without silvering, a shadow in the moonlight.

I miss them and hope they know that I am still here.
I am whom I say I am.
No one need fear the reciprocity of vengeance or the forgetting of my words.

I will not return apathy. It shall not poison.
You always have a home, here. May you never know what transpires in my heart.
For as much as it now sears the soft bag that holds my beating essence,
it will not conquer and vanquish what I have to be in order to find my way.

That you will always see, even if I cannot see you.
I will sense your smile of dismissal and smile back at you with an open heart.

I hope they know I am the same. They are beings of my soul and
I miss the brush of fur in that spins slowly around to the twilight slip into dreams.

Home.
I shall find you again, soon.

-G.


14 July 2009

So Deep Into Nothing . . . then the Advent of Human Hurt


It still is fabulously terrifying and sorrowful to me that world-wide, so many women, men and children are enslaved every year and henceforth, trafficked across borders. I am, as part of my training, an anthropologist. Thus, alone and by itself, what I have witnessed in that training has been horrifying.
Tonight I watched the Liam Neeson movie, Taken. The film entails a father's unyielding determination to retrieve his daughter who was kidnapped and sold into slavery while on a vacation in Paris. I recommend the film for this reason if no other -- any parent worth their salt will find it gratifying in the sense that it echoes what we would all do, or attempt to do, if placed in a similar situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~>

Slavery is not the natural state of human beings. Time and history have unveiled countless stories of how far one person or a group will go in order to find a state of freedom, whatever that freedom may be. In those tales, some extravagant, most heartbreaking, it becomes apparent that slavery takes a toll on the whole of human beings, overall. It eats away at our sense of self, our sense of life, and our sense of existence. It shames the very notion that we are 'higher' mammals, and debases us no matter where we live or whom we think we are.

Moreover, I cannot dismiss the notion that fueling this most deplorable face of human bondage are both the male libido, and desire for sexual gratification from the youngest, most 'pure' girls and women. It may sound un-balanced and spurrious to argue this point but that does not, in itself, form a point of contention against hard statistical data. When taken down to the bare bones of it, there exists so much pain, devastation and loss wrought simply in the drive to attain an orgasm. This orgasm is obtained not within the bounds of healthy sexual activity, but in the twisted and gnarled sense of being that no longer demands and dictates decency and a modicum of feeling. It emanates from the notion that engaging in sexual activity with young girls and boys, especially virgins, makes one the most virile of sexual 'conquistadors.'

Perhaps it is because I am female that I do not understand the drive that men have, sexually. Yet, on the other side of this coin, one cannot overlook the fact that the majority of men do not engage in such despicable activities in order to achieve sexual satisfaction. Hence, I do not fault men as an entire group. That notion notwithstanding, it is undeniably clear that the vast majority of sexual slaves are young girls and children. Couple with this the fact that the majority of those who keep this industry lucrative are male 'patrons,' and you have an overall, and very sobering picture. To ignore this encapsulating image and the sheer overwhelming patronage of male solicitors within it is, in any attempt to end or even comprehend the survival of sexual slavery over centuries, absurd.

No matter the nature of the examination, I feel that any human being looking at the existence of sexual bondage, whose sense of compassion is still intact, will start to wonder where does that compassion end and such disgusting lack of care for other creatures begin? What does it take to make one truly let go of their senses, forebearance and humanity and ignore what they are doing to another person? Perhaps these sound like naïve and infantile queries, but are they truly? How does one begin to find an answer that points the way toward ending sexual slavery until they acknowledge the base, fundamental lack of humanity that allows it to exist?
For example, ask yourself how does one have sex with a girl who is inanimate and non-responsive due to her exhaustion, her compulsory drug-induced stupor, or simply because she is too fearful to resist? That is to say how does one do this without a shred of consciousness? Even more startling is the fact that FATHERS, yes, FATHERS do this. Men who have wives, daughters, nieces, sisters and yes, of course, MOTHERS engage in sexually abusing trafficked human beings.

What is more, how do the governments of the world turn a blind eye?
In taking in the loathsome whole of it, one becomes astounded, flabbergasted, bewildered and infuriated that this kind of apathy and comprehensive disregard for human life, exists. We pride ourselves on being in an age of modernity. Yet we are still allowing an industry to thrive that is supported and underwritten by our most base desires -- those of lust and unrestrained sexual conquest.

There are, of course, no swift or sweeping answers or courses of action. However, I will say for certain that it will continue -- sexual slavery, that is -- until it becomes more lucrative to disallow trafficking than it is to allow it.

With this as a guiding vein we begin to understand that humans are a species fraught with the diseases of mad hypocrisy and greed. In fact, we are the worst sort of hypocrites and avaricious beings for allowing actions against someone else's child, mother, brother, father or sister that we would never permit, were it our own families. But, until money and power are removed as the highest of goals, we shall never see an end to it.

Q: How much is enough? How much is one human life worth? How rich does one have to be before the bounds of avarice are reached? How much is a person?

A: According to statistics I have read recently on Meso-American and Eastern European sex slaves being trafficked INTO the United States? Anywhere from $12,000 to $18, ooo each.
This is less than most of us spend on a car.



A species of hypocrites, are we. If such a vast repository of pain as that engendered by the composite failure which enables human slavery, is not made null, rapaciousness will excoriate and eviscerate our very essence of light. It will dim and summarily snuff out that bright, shining gleam, first seen in the eyes of a child, the very one that illuminates our winter and shines the sun across the heart.



"No one shall be held in slavery or servitude: slavery
and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms."
-United Nations: Universal Declaration of Human Rights







Statistics courtesy of:
Rafizadeh, Elbina. "Statistics of Modern Day Slavery." Socyberty. Available from http://www.socyberty.com/Activism/Statistics-of-Modern-Day-Slavery.113351. Internet; accessed 14 July 2009.



Also, please see what you can do to help thwart and end sexual slavery by visiting this site:
http://www.soroptimist.org/trafficking/stopping.html

06 July 2009

Matriarchal Angst


Being a mother will do many things to one's heart. Among the most memorable and wrenching are making it leap from one's chest and causing it to break in the turn of a moment.

My daughter's problems have escalated since she was 11 years of age.

Yesterday afternoon she ran off away from us without telling us where she was going. At 17, she has a maturity barely passable for 12, yet, she is the most dangerous sort. Nothing is more wise than knowing one knows nothing. Likewise, nothing is more deadly than one who knows nothing but feels they know it all. At 17, this is whom she is, the state of being in which she stagnates.

She told us she had been abducted and raped. In the wrenching of my heart and gladness to see that my daughter was alive, for a brief moment, I believed her. Yet as her story unfolded, it made less and less sense. As its absurdity grew, I realized with a heavy and sorrowed heart that she had chosen the rape story because of the past, -- my past. She chose it knowing that this scenario would cut me to the bone. A vicious and perverse lie told to enlist my empathy, it was told with complete apathy.

I do not know her anymore. I do not know her.

Sorrow.

-Gypsy