WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH THE REST OF MY LIFE? by ORBWEAVER

Anonymous was a woman, and she still is. She's posted at Crone Henge before, but that was a short humorous piece. I'm giving her a name I hope she'll like: "Orbweaver", for the beautiful garden spider. 

This essay is opinion--rage and poetry, too. These opinions are not necessarily the same as the rest of us who contribute to this blog, but it's what Orbweaver ever so vehemently thinks.  Moreover, she lives in the U.S. of A. which guarantees freedom of religion, speech and thought. When these great freedoms are exercised by a certifiable, dark-of-the-moon crone, it has a place here.

Below is a reply to a best old "ex-friend" (as Jim Croce has it), who has written to take her to task about her beliefs. This particular blog entry deals with subjects which, in some quarters, remain controversial and/or inflammatory.  Hang on to your hat. ~  J.W.

What am I going to do with the rest of my life?

 

Here’s my Bucket List, in no particular order.

 

1.  Visit as often as possible a piece of beach I’ve found that is generally deserted; it is my place of worship, if you will.  And it has more grace and beauty than any organized religion’s rock and mortar real estate.  There is no one there to judge me or to assess whether or not I measure up.  It’s only me and Mother Gaia and her wonderful ocean.  And soon, the dolphins will return from their winter hiatus and I will continue to petition them for their strength to keep me keepin’ on, because very few creatures know more about survival than dolphins.  Elephants, maybe.  Certainly tigers.  And the poor rhinos.  But dolphins are my totem because I feel one with them when I dive into the waves of my beloved ocean.

                                                                                           

2.  Continue to separate myself from those who do not understand, who choose not to understand, and who will not even give me the right to claim the Ancients as my guideposts without rolling their eyes in disbelief and ridicule.  I fail to understand why my animal totems and ancient gods and goddesses are any less acceptable than your invisible friend in the sky, whose poster child is a young man being subjected to capital punishment.  Well, like my Dad, who was an avowed atheist, would say, “I don’t question your right to believe the way you want to; why do you feel the need to criticize me?  Do I tell you what to believe?  No.  So don’t tell me.  I don’t need your approval OR your acceptance.”  I am my father’s daughter.  Live and let live.  I don’t bust your chops, you shouldn’t feel compelled to bust mine.  Oh, yeah, you Christians call it being a missionary, bringing lambs into the fold.  No thanks.  I’m not much of a team player. 

                                                                                                                                      

3.  Quilt and sew and knit and hook rugs and do whatever creative thing moves me at whatever moment.  I am gifted by and guided by Arachne, through whom my talents flow through my heart and out my fingers.  To create something beautiful is to give love to the world.  I will be the Basquiat of fiber and thread, making my marks wherever I can and in whatever voice I choose.  And even if the world doesn’t notice, I will.  And that’s enough.  Except for giving gifts to those I think will understand the gift, and the gesture.  Those are the people I need in my life, because I would like to think they need me in theirs.  Most of the time, I’m right.

 

4.   Read as much as I can of as many different things as I can.  Read especially the rebels, the free thinkers, the writers who fear no one but themselves.  There is the real truth ... or at least, the most entertaining truth, and one can usually tell the difference between truth and farce.  Unlike in religion and politics.  I will also avail myself of good films and revisit some of the old ones just for their truth and beauty.  2001: A Space Odyssey comes to mind.  So does On The Waterfront.  And more currently, Beasts of the Southern Wild. 

 

5.    Immerse myself in music, as I have always done.  Allow the music to raise my consciousness to the highest levels possible, because that is where creativity lives and thrives.  It is also where memory adds its poignant touch, but sadness is part of creativity, as much as joy.  And I will continue to weep whenever one of them is lost to us, because the loss of such talent and beauty is really more than this world should have to endure.   

 

6.  Keep my hands dirty for most of the spring and summer, buried deep in rich soil from which I can coax surprising things, like my red camellias in the middle of a January snowstorm.  It appears as though, for many things, there is no season, judging by this one of camellias that seems to be an aberration.  Just my style. 

 

7.  Try to separate my life from the maelstrom that is “modern society.”  I will join no clubs, support no candidates, vote in no elections, nor voice any opinions outside my circle of co-conspirators.  It is all about pulling and pushing, one side to the other, neither side getting it right much of the time, and no winners, ever.  It is a masterpiece of manipulation that does more harm than good in the long run, with only the 1% reaping any harvest, mainly in power.  I will, however, volunteer where I am needed and support food banks and shelters, because those are the things that need the most care.  And while I will continue to be astounded at the rotten things one side can do to the other, i.e., the traffic in New Jersey at the GW Bridge, I will not let it impact my life, because it isn’t my life.  And I don’t care if the airlines are a week behind schedule due to weather, because I think people ought to stay where they belong, which is, the preponderance of the time, in their own back yards, tending to their own corner of the universe.  Other than family obligations, if one is happy is one’s corner of the universe, one really has no need to go elsewhere.  Or shouldn’t have.  Trips to Stonehenge are exempt from this edict, of course.  Also those to Easter Island.  

 

8.  And finally, I hope to stay alive long enough to be able to walk into a green pharmacy and purchase whatever amount I am able of LEGAL marijuana, thus being able to self-medicate my many aches and pains of advanced age without the addiction of opiates, which the docs hand out like candy.  This prohibition is exactly like the other one, last century, which was just as ridiculous and ineffective as this one.  And save the argument.  Marijuana smokers never crash vehicles at high speed.  They usually don’t have the incentive to even go out and start the car.  And I’d rather be on a highway with pot smokers than the 1-in-5 (that’s 20%) drunks that are on the road at any given time.  Pot smokers might find sobriety tests amusing, but they’d be able to do them.  And probably improve upon them.  Drunks just fall down.  As they should. 

 

And when all is done and read and watched and listened to, I hope to fade quietly away, into whatever beautiful place my Dad saw, and hopefully join him and my godson Michael, and all the well-loved people who have already left me ... And when the crematorium has done its job, I will join my dolphins, swimming into the cosmos.  As Bob Fosse once said, it’s not such a bad end to a musical comedy.

 

Don’t pray for me.  I’ve had quite enough hurdles to overcome, and dodging prayers is more than I have energy for.  Pray for yourself.  Pray for a little more understanding, a little more leniency, a little more ability to make room in the world for “others”.  Because there are an awful lot of us.  And it would be so much easier on you to just accept the differences instead of taking them as personal affronts.  Really, all this righteous indignation is truly unattractive.  And rude. 

 

And if any (or all) of this insults you, then my work here is done. 

 

 ~~By Orbweaver, related to the Fury of your choice.