Hello, my name is Pollyanna

I’ve often been called a Pollyanna in discussion forums and on message boards, and I agree with them.  I’ve been called idealistic, naïve, and unrealistic.  What they fail to realize in that moment is I am not entirely any of those things, but I am exactly all of those things, and their opposites.  In fact, I’m in opposition to myself all the time, and so is everyone else.  When I am idealistic, I am also practical; when naïve, I am wise; and when unrealistic, I am also planning.  All people are just as humanly hypocritical as we are purely divine.  It’s kind of a intellectual way to exist in two states concurrently, because we are not just humans, we are human beings.  And when you’re being, you’re being everything.

Considering my own traumas and accomplishments as well as those I’ve witnessed through loved ones, I value the fact that I’ve maintained balanced levels of naivety and wisdom, of curiosity and knowledge, of optimism and realism.  I understand that these traits (and those in the previous paragraph) may not be opposites which you commonly recognize, but they are most certainly plain to me.  I’ve found such acceptance of opposition, however one defines them, is what makes change exciting and exhilarating to experience.  This is quite preferable to how people tend to react to change otherwise; with fear and apprehension, for example.

This Pollyanna is not immune to darkness, and I sometimes find that my fear meters are reading higher than my love levels.  I’ve been bouncing between these two twitching clock-hands concurrently for more than half a year now.  Thankfully, my hopes have not fallen flat because my muse has returned (just in time for Imbolc season – thanks Brigid!) and poured some poetry through me in the past few days.  I’m revising and refining two pieces, one about depression and one about revolution.  The revolution piece came through me first and, though shorter than the depression poem, feels more complete, so I’ll share that now:

 

Revolution

Egypt’s blackout cracks the code and modes are shown to crack the mold.  Emboldened, end the old and start anew.  Be the few, and the many, be every true enemy of tyranny.  Anarchy adopted with compassion, for it is opted as the choice, but not the option, of the voices which raise up against aggressors who no longer serve their people.  Sheeple, shake the wool off and the wolf will howl your rage, engage yourselves, wage yourselves to war with power over, understanding our gift is power sharing, caring and daring to be different, yet the same.  Fame and money have no meaning, games aren’t funny when the joke’s on you.  Choking blue, they’ll shut our mouths but our screams resound, compound around, abounding profoundly and proudly, loudly, avowed through the crowd enshrouded in mystery.  But history’s misty, what’s missed and what’s caught, what’s brought to the forefront and stored in the basement, the placement of words, names, dates and places, erases the faces of stories untold.  Unfold the pages unwritten by hands, twice bitten, these lands, we have bitten the hands of those who feed us, so then when they starve us don’t bite them but chew, as if food for thought or all for naught.  Choose your words carefully, moreso your actions.  The factions, distractions are many, most any could act as a friend.  Pretend right along, sing the song, the tune whistled while listening to instincts inside you will guide you.  Decide to confide in yourself, your community, unity is an immunity to opportunities to operate with hatred, disgust, and lust disguised cleverly to the clueless as love.  Do not be those who I speak of.  Rise above.  Shove your head into the sand, or see what’s plain as your hand?  Demand peace.  A piece of your heart is the true peace of mind.  Don’t look for the path, do the math, peace is x.  No excess, not recess, not impressed or best dressed.  The distressed know it best, be a human being peace.