Scared Money Don’t Make Money…..

 

How do you feel?  Are you scared?

 

The thought was that we are swimming and consistently drowning in black times and I am by and large over the propaganda that accompanies it.  I suppose that I do want to know what is going on out there….far, far beyond the Wyoming skyline.  I do.  I am proud that “occupy” is a word on the lips of my peers.  And sadly, I am slightly interested in the happenings of our crystal tower entombed leaders.  I am just worn down by the fact that every stitch of news paper/news casting is a hooded, scythe-wielding harbinger of apocalypse.

You know that thing that happens when you hear some saying frequently it becomes apart of your fact lexicon?  Here’s one of mine…the human heart/mind can only truly feel one genuine thing completely at a time.  And if that emotion is sadness or fear or some other heavy thing, that is what you are in that moment.   I also believe that you can change how you’re experiencing life by insisting on contentment.  Changing things requires effort, patience, and guts.  But it also wants a bit of blind faith and unrequited love.  I thrive when surrounding myself with hopeful, brave people and things.  Beauty insists that I nurture beauty and delight compels me to share delight.  Perhaps if our needs were a touch simpler and our reach, though smaller than we had hoped, was a circle that can be seen from the comfort of our happy homes…shoot.  Who knows?  I just want to enjoy my life, not sightlessly, but clearly and without the fear that is piped into our heads every day by a people that’s only job is to scare me into voting/fighting/believing in and for men that can only call greed a friend.

We all contribute in our own ways.  We do this by letting our feelings show.  I come by way of fun, beauty, struggle, and language.  How did you get here?  Where are you going?  But most importantly, how do you feel?

I feel inspired.

I feel mystified.

I feel naughty.

I feel gangster as fuck.

I feel too big for this world.

I feel like an outlaw.

I feel angry.

I feel ready.

I feel a piece of the whole.

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Staying Warm is like falling in love.

Packing for this journey was a delicate endeavor.  I undertook it with an eye to glory.  This method landed me in a snow bound ice box with 16 pairs of zero traction cowboy boots and 7 capes.  Ever the romantic.  Never the wiser.  So now I close my eyes and imagine how I will stay warm in this town.

Gypsy

I will reside in a cozy shack swathed in bear skin furs and wild roaring fires.

Swagger.  I will definitely swagger.

Frolicking will happen.  It really loosens up the muscles.

I will wear lots of denim and I will seek men that do the same.

I will share my body heat, for the cause.

I will snoop and gather.

I won’t hide my body.  It is wonderful and warm inside.

I will find heat in the nooks and crannies.

I will stay gilded and golden.

 

Dear Readers,

This blog is the warm and honest center of my life.  Thank you for putting up with my hot and cold disposition.  I am grateful on the daily for having a voice and some ears to hear it.

Love,

M. Josi

Not scared enough.

Image

Now I understand the gravity of fear.  The allure of doubt.  How comforting it feels to moan into a creamy cup of coffee, into the bemused faces of your friends.   I know how weathered I sound as I offer up to others the stoic advice laid on me while I drowned in self-loathing.  I also know that nobody follows advice.  I ‘spose we try.  But there is really only one way to get over the hairball mountain pass.  One hand on the wheel, the other on the luke warm beer nuzzled between your legs. Eyes wide open to wildlife and rough terrain.   Silence, snow, cylinders locomoting into the sub temp black ahead.  There is no easy path. At least not for me.  I have spent the better part of my life volleyed between soul smashing doubt and hair raising bravery.  That dichotomy is the cornerstone of all card carrying depressive personalities.   There are a rainbow of meds and methods that dull the edges on it.  But still I ride.  Wave after wave of the same worries, followed by the calm that comes after all terrible battles.  Still the fight must be fought. The rusty old saw “today is a new day” keeps me moving towards the finish line.  And I tell you, I am scared, always.  Predictably, I will be the fool standing at the precipice preparing to die wretchedly and hucking myself outward anyway.  I guess I am not scared enough.  And for now that will have to do.  Someday fear will turn to bravery.  Until then I keep gambling and hurtling my anxious body at the uncertainty ahead.  I am hoping that out here I will find some peace, strength, and the weapons to fight the fear that dwells inside.

It is with this childish hope that I begin my journey out here in Jackson, Wyoming.  A place so wild and so free…

Girl From The North Country