Suicide didn’t really take her. Depression & Anxiety did. Isolation and the pain of pleasurelessness did. The tragedy of lack of community was her sickle. It’s what happens when our joy is strangled; when our Truth is ripped out from our skin. We die. In many kinds of ways. With some, it happens slowly over the decades, while in others, it tears in quick like a snake, all at once in that crushing soul-blow kind of way.
It came in like that with her, a swift and sudden venom. Only the last 3 or 4 months of life did the Fog of Lies descend to the degree that they did, to maul her Truth apart. But that was enough. She fought her big beautiful heart out, to the death. But they won. They told her that true, cozy, artful and yummy Joy was out of her reach. That Tribe was the thing of ancient legend and fable, not to be believed in this day, at her age. And if you want to know how it is I fiercely carry on, it is that I’m on a mission to avenge my mother’s killers. I’m out to invest the rest of my life telling depression to go FUCK itself on behalf of all its cheated victims by way of catalyzing the potent power of play and laughter to free all beings on earth, birthrighted to their Truth – which is to say we are none more than bliss and bone. A wild love incarnate.
On my watch, society will no longer regard joy-inducing things as an afterthought luxury partitioned for our leisure time, but will recognize them as lifesaving medicine. Or I will die trying. As long as I’m breathing, this world will have to deal with me on my fluorescent soapbox, shouting with all my might in a unicorn onesie and clown nose on, that the silly is sacred, that exploring is our mind’s air, that sock-sliding across floors saves souls, dance breaks at work need be standard and secret handshakes a modus operandi, intimacy in community is healthcare, sisterhood & brotherhood are as crucial to wellness as water, cuddling is cellular regrowth, music is a salve, making art, any art, is our spirit’s devotion to its maker, hand-holding is as natural as blinking, comedians, healers, shamans and artists are on par with doctors, games are as necessary as taxes, lightheartedness is the new heart surgery, grounding practices and belly laughter and ample time outdoors with our bare feet caressing the earth should be written into our medical plans.
The Puritanical reign is as OVER as it was murderous. Let the stuffy, buttoned-up kin suffer in sweetless silence, but let my people go. F..R..E..E..D..O..M is having its heyday now, and hey hey brethren, can I tag you in? FUN is about to rightly displace the stupidity of boring convention and all that is heavy will step down from its false throne. I hereby declare my life as a coup to overthrow the status quo, which never did know what the hell it was ever doing for us in the first place. The era of the carrot-chasing, the buckled-down, the disconnected, disenchanted isolated is going DOWN, for it is no match for me. For the Love Warriors who make up my army. We are the loosey-goosey, UNbuckled clowns. The wild ones who haven’t forgotten the bliss in our blood. The ones willingly swept up by sweet whimsy, intoxicated by life’s constant enchantment, for we can still smell the magic, our senses not yet punched out of us.
To those who smirk and speak of love and laughter as a cheesy cliche, like too-cool-for-school girls, you better RUN from me. I will call you out on your cowardice. I will make a mockery of your oh-so-serious systems. Your straight-laced, poker-faced, undergraced, spirit-sucking systems. Make way, all you nose-to-the-grindstone, pleasureless zombies. You got some trouble coming your way and it’s about to rock your stiff, dumb joke of a paradigm. The soul-suppression you subscribe to took my mother but forgot she had a successor, and it messed with the WRONG om-ie. I’m ushering in a new day dawning, and it means business about FUN and play. It has to now; it’s come down to a matter of life and death.
If you’re not with me, and I know many who aren’t, you can go take a goddam hike. And I mean that quite literally. It could very well un-chisel and change your mind.
Do it in a tutu, get a few long tree hugs in there, and it just might save your soul…
The Blyss Catalyst 