It’s a fucked up thing to live in exile. Jesus was born in exile. To be lost to your people and to yourself. Exile plagues me as a concept. The journey’s of no return. The no going back and the flickering tragectory, longing for hope that might see you reconcile yourself with the lived experience. In the upcoming weeks before Christmas I often come out talking abut Jesus as a refugee. That nothing much has changed in 2000 years and that the systems need for societal control is still figuring out the human species true nature. That we as a species are set for evolution and change. That it is in our nature to move. Of course Herod’s neuroplasticiy has a lot to answer to. The exile of Jesus is a human story. A human message that we have been living with everyday. That traverses imagined borders and defies the linear construction of logic with the love, passion and curiosity of the human life experience. As we all attempt to return to ourselves and detach from our geographies. Detach from the living Earth between us? As if we coud detach from the water within us. Our very bodies filled with the hope and dreams of our ancestors. We made another one.
What is it to live in exile? It’s an endless pondry it seems of what awaits you. Its the unfinished business of this lifetime. It’s anticipated histories and lived futures on both fronts. It feels torment to be split in two living twin lives in parallell directions and sometimes in a multiplicity of locations across space and time. Where people become portals to our living memory, or not. Then there is the moment of the release of any other path. The Way, The Truth, The Life. It’s a calling, not a choice and we must be of service of the path we tred. It’s the journey, the process, the living.
Maybe I’m being romantic to believe that there might me a life beyond the survivalism of displacesment. A life beyond terror. That to have freedom of mind, movement and expression. So trival are the riches so many of us are yet to experience, dependent on where we are located. We mistake ‘Western’ values for human ones and wonder why people don’t think the way we do? That progress isn’t built in to the psyche in the same way. When if we wait long enough life will come to you. People have been banging on about sustainability for a while now. Then five years ago we started talking about resillience. For me they are words that have weighed heavy in collective consciousness for a while. Women have stopped talking about strong, seeing it for what it really is; a homage to the toxic masculinity of patriarchy that no longer serves us. Instead we talk abour resillience with the deep acceptance of the onslaught of the system and the dynamic that it is creating in our everyday lives. The dynamic it is creating in our own bodies. That it isn’t enough just to exist sustainably. It is that we have to fight for the right to. That we seem to be in a slow corrosive war for the land rights that accompany any depth of humanity. We have to have the resillence to sustain ourselves. It’s another superdosing of resitance propaganda. Fighting for the right to exist. Fighting for the right to consume green plants. Our legal geographies in particular seem to beset us with endless forms of anti-human activity . Where control is there to undermine the living.
Every so often people l to me about entities. Lately I’ve been reading up on Greek Mythology and getting to grips with Pandora’s box. I wonder what poseses someone to want to control others? Of course it is fear. The fear of our own vulnerable humaness. As I wrote in my last post about boundary walls and who we might be indebted to when we have them? I wonder what it says about our nation states and the war games we play. Just as the UK ofically pull up the draw bridge from Europe. I wonder who might be the last ones across the dividing line. In or out? Get on or get off? How the once arbitary event of visting a loved one might define your future histories at an extraordinary moment in time. We talk about the last arrivals or the last departures. We won’t know until the threshold of empire has been passed. How will the Falkland Islands and Gibraltar remember us. What’s Jersey been up to? Will the Isle of Mann end up in Ireland? Will Scotland find the way home? I wonder how long people were devasted by the destruction of Rome? I wonder who will write the history ‘Empire in Retreat’. I wonder how much of our island will end up underwater behind those big imaginary walls. Has the emperor got new clothes on? The story seems like a grand narrative of master players as if Napolean Bonaparte could speak again and Elizabeth the 1st was still the Queen of England. A lot of people still get confused about that. Anyways there are big archetypal personalties at play. There is still time to get popcorn before the end of the show. The thing is though, that coltan. That colonialist history. That entitlement. Does anybody still have nightmares about Daenerys Stormborn and Nicolae Ceauseacu?
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