Isolation is like a beauty treatment, paring you down to you base elements.
It is a sense deprivation tank where you are forced to look inward, until the realization comes that all the voices you’ve been hearing are your own. Declarations that you’re not worthy or intelligent and you fancy over why you punish yourself.
The babbling children sense your discontent and look up with bright blue questioning eyes. The digital scale says you’ve dropped 40lbs. This should please you, to be once again the slender angry wraith. The babes have spent 3 years sucking all the maternal fat stores, from your legs, stomach, hips, even arms and back until you see your former self again. Metamorphosis Kafka style; it feels strange to be thin again to fit into all my old clothes. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. But I worry that the inner self will return with the outer, that they are partners in crime. I think she’s back, the loner anti-social stoic, the rebel, the she-warrior. I feel like painting red paint on my face and sharpening a spear anointed with poison for my enemies. I know Christ would have me back; his grace is never ending, unlike mine.
I am that strange woman that scribbles furtive thoughts on wrinkled yellow legal pads in darkened corners. I still prefer handwriting to typing, something tactile, real and ancient about the handwritten word. I lost 3 dear friends in one year to the grave, lost my mother and former marriage a half a decade ago. My alter ego embodies Lady Lazarus garnering all her regenerative powers to arise from what seemed like complete defeat to total victory. I find myself surrounded by oak trees, upscale grocery stores, art museums, and white people so many white people with pinched faces and tailored clothing. The social X-ray Wasps that Tom Wolfe complained about in Bonfire of the Vanities; they are real and they frighten me, they really do. They feed their toy dogs expensive dog biscuits and turn their noses at the homeless. I am afraid what they might have is catching; they are the pod people who lack any true humanity.
A real douche once said to me “What are you going to do when you don’t have the money to live in Winter Park anymore Sandra?” In that moment I hated him, truly despised his countenance. He didn’t know it then but I knew I would prove him wrong; that I was a warrior, a survivor. I had been on the streets, I had had to live by my wits in way he never had. I wasn’t ashamed of “hoofin it” or biking; in fact I prided myself on my small carbon footprint. At several points I donated my plasma to eat, and sold all my furniture and belongings just to move to Orlando at 19 with almost nothing. I had no laurels to rest on, no family connections or past glory, only the determined and forceful will to keep going. Like my ancestors who survived genocide and starvation so would I survive fools and their narcissism.
The main Being I give credit to is the infinite impenetrable omniscient YHWH. On a lonely bike ride one humid summer evening in 2009 back from a lousy telemarketing job selling cheap vacations, we connected. Instead of praying for what I thought I wanted, I asked what He wanted for me instead. I said “What is your will for me God, what can I do to fix my place in the world so I can be a better servant to you?” Then back in the depressing hotel room where I was staying pending my inevitable marriage breakdown I pulled a dark green hardbound Gideon bible from the dresser and certain passages jumped out at me. “the sacrifices of God are a humble spirit; God does not reject a broken heart.” Psalm 51-17
Now that I’ve tried to see things through a more spiritual vision as a Native American and human being, I feel as though I have somehow arrived in some dystopic alien invasion postmodern fantasy.
It is as if real life is imitating art when I’m watching shows like Revolution, V, The 100 or Falling Skies. Because of the alien invasion of the white man around 300 years ago and the implementation of a monetary system that is both exploitative and dehumanizing; I feel an alien in my own land; in my own state where I am a fourth generational native. I feel this is a highly unnaturally sick society. Where to start? White culture or (WASP) is over competitive, hyper consumerist, deeply isolating, atomized and above all fake. With the advent of an increased secularized society that is not only anti-natal but demographically graying there seems to be a profound lack of any real family or spiritual life. Is it any wonder that minorities of all colors value family, religion, and tradition more than whites do?
For white culture the emphasis is on individual happiness and enjoyment of life. When the individual’s selfish needs are put over that of the collective i.e. family and community, as well as the society at large; here and now is given supremacy over a sustainable future. The Ego and Id rise hedonistically and narcissistically over the super-ego. Therefore Anglo-American anti-culture is at its very core self-centered, self-defeating, and values competition over cooperation. Indeed it is this very small minority of pale old oligarch yuppies who are ruining the world for the rest of us and who are war mongering pro-corporate worshippers of death and sterility. Those that follow them and try to emulate this sick materialism are no better. Who cares if you have a BMW? You suck if you truly think that’s what matters. To coin the phrase from the old days how very “white” of you.
So as I reflect on the true values of Christianity I understand truly why the love of money (greed) is the root of all evil. The Mark of the Beast by definition then is viewing this current system as having any value by showing loyalty to it. By letting it exploit people and the environment, by looking down on those who are homeless or who were born to a different station in life. The Mark is your mindset, not a chip in your hand, and many biblical philosophers agree with me. I’ve found Islamists, agnostics, Buddhists even atheists that agree on this one point with me; the current corrupt monetary system is hurting the earth and killing humanity. We need to fix it and fast, but maybe that’s just the Native American in me that hates living in the wake of an ugly alien invasion, the opportunist carpet bagger’s utopia, otherwise known as Winter Park, Fl.
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