Rewiring the System


Posted in Uncategorized by rewiringangel on May 30, 2011

I grew up in a close knit neighborhood with in a side of town in a larger city in a region where we all sat in a bus together. The sections are strung together little communities. It is great to be part of a group.  I grew up with a sense of community that included all the various sizes shapes with each person sharing every form of thought from free thinking to the constricted controlled conservative.

Along my street were many houses, but inside each house every person was a member of one family. Our neighborhood Our Community. I knew that if I stepped out of line I would be reprimanded thrice.  The person who saw or inferred the act, the person she told about the act and my very own Parent and or Grandparent. Across the street my friends Mother would shout out, nice and loud, sooo there was nooo chance of my not hearing. Everyone on the street heard too.  She or he would shout at me to stop whatever I was doing immediately. Most generally it was a she though on rare occasions one of the shop keepers would get involved in the life of the street, in the thriving life of our street. I speak for the people from where I come from and represent all the caring community in my voice.

Usually it was some fight Bobby and I were having which got the attention of the eyes of our street. We were a good size group of kids from about three block circumference. We played on the steps and in the alleys.  Bobby was the really creative outgoing kid. He had ‘ideas’ and a TV in his living-room. These adults looked out for all the kids, the ones with a tight family and the neglected ones who did not have a Father living at home. They were people doing the best they could to support and strengthen the every person in the area, the friends from the street the visitors to our area. We were people finding happiness in our own back yard. What has happened to costal America?

Currently I live in a town with a well know name. Speaking for myself, I have not been given a chance to find my place here or find  interesting creative grounded people. I have not been able to find where they congregate.  I feel labeled as an east coast foreigner. Funny thing is that I like myself.  The weather here is wonderful but the quality of life is confrontational.  Right now I am focusing on my project. It is a great place for a writer because I can stay ‘in’ most of the time working on my projects and reading and venture out for an event. I am in a lovely apartment with all the pleasant physical surroundings. It is all just stuff.

This college town is known for some idea of ‘liberal’ community consciousness, this is far from the truth and is it is anything but caring. No one looks after anyone, other than themselves. I can’t figure out how people here manage to have children. How do they connect and in what quality of contact do they touch one another. How do people manage to reach out to one another?  I know what people are thinking: Almost any meaningless contact to keep the secret of low self esteem and self importance is the basic fact.  There is so much object denial of inner person. I am finding that all their confrontations are merry and all the songs sung are sad.   Life altering experiences let you never look at the world the same ever again.

I call back to my people from the Old Neighborhood every month. The phone is my lifeline. I have a present and a past that grounds me in sanity.  I would shrivel up and turn to dust without knowing and being known. Living in a bigger city though there is noise of sirens and such, the city is a very quiet place for an individual alone. Sometimes I return to that central place in my core, traveling with my thoughts, my imagination and look out into the flow of life. I think about recreating the community of caring one loving touch at a time.

Today I was in the Dog Park giving little black toy poodle Dutsi Bop a long free run. It is fenced in so all the dogs can have a ‘hookying’ like we did from Junior High School. A time to cavort without sanctions. My doggie runs around with all sizes of dogs. It is liberating as thought he dogs create games out of the energy of thought and movement. Dutsi is vibrantly alive this animal world.

A woman is playing with her dog by throwing a ball with a plastic ball catching and tossing divice. I notice she has one foot three times the size of the other. I am sure I am not the only human in this large active park who can see her suffering, but I am the only one who has the joyful interest and courage to talk to her. I start by commenting on her shoes. She tells me they are a gift and she is so happy since the style and color are as wonderful as the quality and comfort.  Some one gave her shoes that she could never purchase for herself.  I SENSE THAT THERE IS FINANCIAL LIMITATION IN THIS WOMANS LIFE. The economy has removed the safety net from those who have trouble taking care of themselves.  Then I ask about what happened to her foot. Apparently, she tells me that she fell.

I do not know what to believe. There are other signs of physical trauma over her eyebrow. I get the strong feeling that no one has ever shown concern for her all of her life. No one held her in tenderness of her very being, mind, body or soul. My heart cries for her. Somehow there is a baggy of ice cubes and an Ace bandage in her possession. She had been given this stuff as a way toward the ability to care for her swelling foot, but she did not have the energy or personal contact to find a way to put the ice to actual use.

I know so many people who have no one to ask for a helping hand in tumes of crisis. There are some who do not have the energy to care for themselves when there is no one to help them.  I look into her heart and see she tries so hard to cover up the fact that no one cares about or for her. I ask her to bring over a chair. Then I tell her she can put her foot on my knee that I might look at what is going on. She has a hard time relaxing her foot on my knee. I talk to her about her shoes and other socially easy subjects. We talk about the various anti inflammatory drugs and their overall effect for her particular injury.

I tell her about aspirin. I gently wrap her foot and as the effect of the universal Love in my heart reaches her she relaxes and allows the full weight to rest on my knee. The ice starts to melt and a little of the water leaks out of the baggie. She apologizes for the leak and wants to move. I tell her not to worry, that the water will dry. At this point she says the most heart wrenching sentence. She tells me that even her mother never did anything like this for her. There are abused people who have no patterning for pulling themselves out of the old patterns. I hope that someone comes into her life to lift and aid her.

Last night I spoke to a person in the area of the Biggest Tornado ever recorded. This person is staying in the area though we all know that the season of Tornados is a series of events stretching over a long period of time. People stay in disaster areas to give their abilities in service to others, to help where it is needed. He tells me about the Moment Of Silence today while The President and the eyes of the Nation were on the devastation. I cannot imagine what it feels like to stand with the mass of people in silence together in reverence for the horror of destruction. I want to find a way to let the people there know that here in another state people are praying for them all. The man I know ever so slightly,  this wonderful human being will stay to serve the Community.

Imagine what it is like to live in a community with the devastation as far as the eye can see.

Everyone who reads this I ask that you think of the children and what has been called the ‘new normal’ of their lives. If there is any thought you have about how to ease their lives Please implement it as best you can.


2 Responses to 'Tribal'

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  1. Arvind said,

    Glad to see you get in touch with other nice people. 🙂 🙂

  2. badthing1 said,

    This is so beautiful…so touching…so sad…so uplifting…Ilsa I loved, but LOVED this post.

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