The wind is walking

Oh, loves. The trees are in full flower. Not the flowering trees. The others. The wind was walking today. What is a walking wind, you might ask? A wind that is determined and brave. I notice, I notice, I notice again. It goes beyond sacred listening. I suppose it’s called sacred noticing. Or perhaps sacred bravery. Are you quite brave? It takes a lot, it really does. I wish to contact you about my life. Ha. Ha. I’m just joking really. Wednesday is shot day once again. I do wish to contact you about my strife. Take it all away peoples. Please. No. Here I go again. Just when I thought I had myself together. You walk right in the door, just like you did before and wrap my heart around your little finger. Just like Dolly Parton says. I guess I don’t mind you. Not really. We have a way after all. But those others? My god. They always want and like to give me a shot in the arm. Just because they know I am not capable of anything else. How do they know? That’s really a police or a magistrate issue. I digress. I do. Because I’m thinking ahead to Wednesday. Sorry. We’ve done it so many times before. We’ll just proceed and do it again, right? Yes, I know. But when the wind starts walking and the trees blossom fully and the birds and the vultures are constantly signaling and the houses are constantly changing of those so close beside me which am I? Which am I? I am this one? This one tells the stories, this one sings the song, this one knows the place where we belong. That’s a song I wrote myself. This One. Does this one always live in the world of mental illness and SSDI or does she actually heal? They absolutely know for a fact that I will never, never, not in a million years, not for the rest of my life, which is probably twenty to twenty five years shorter than average because I have a mental disability, heal. They don’t know if I’ll remain compliant on my medication, but they know, if I don’t they’ll see me for sure. Right back where I was. Right? Twenty years ago, four years ago, two years ago. Just me, the mental patient. The chronic, eternal mental patient. Wow. That’s my absolute prognosis. And I am well aware of this fact. Take it, Beth. Just succumb. You have no responsibilities. You are paid by the government. You have no future. Like Samantha says, “How is your mental illness? What other people would say is your mental illness? Is your mind functioning the way you want it to?” Yes, actually, my mind functions fine. It always has, Samantha. I wonder if I have a point with this post or if I’m just complaining bitterly about my shot. I think it is both. My complaining and my point. My point is it is hard to throw a human life away but nevertheless it has happened to me. And my other point is that I am protesting that fact. That’s about it, so close to the anniversary of another month of not being successful in healing anything of my story or my life. My body, my mind, my heart, my soul, my roots, my essence, still theirs. Still out with my children and the rest of my family, my life out of the sight still so small and limited and disabled. And yes, the wind walked right up to me. And yes, the trees are flowering red. And yes, the hawks are my constant companions. So, whatever, I guess. Whatever, whatever, whatever. I will do as I am bidden to do by the trees, as always. Do flowers make nuts or fruit? Who can say, really, I’ve never seen such a spring. I guess I’ll just keep on watching and listening. What will you do? Let the hawk tell you I guess. Dancing with the moon in her fullness. Flying with the hawk that comes to pray. Ask the mountain who loves her children. This is what the mountain would say. This one, this one. And who is this one? Well ask, Samantha Lucas or Dr. Bashir. No one? Beth Green? Well. Not really, no. I haven’t claimed to be Beth Green in a long, long time. Does it matter? Well, I guess not. I am who they say I am. Until something mysterious decides something different. Will that ever happen? I can’t say for sure. Can you? What about you? Who are you and who is saying so? Oh. Well. Yes, lovey. I guess we’ll wait and see, won’t we?