Pondered for JusJoJan 14 and SoSC 14 Jan 2017: write a stream of consciousness about a word starting with p which becomes your jusjojan for the 14th. For bonus points, start and end your post with the p word. Did it! (Still in maudlin, morbid mood)
Purpose, purposeful, purposeless – I think I have a purpose to be here given the number of times I almost died (can’t go before your time, my mother used to say) – but wtf is it? I used to have a sense of it, was steered in directions never planned. When I tried to stir and steer myself, usually lead to disaster, chaos, miasmic mayhem.
But now, I feel purposeless, a drift in a sea of doubt and remorse, pointlessly surviving to watch another dawn snatch night away. I can’t find a purpose, no matter where I look, how I use fate and faith to guide me. And, no purpose is pulling me. I mean I get sick, literally almost vomit, over the loss of the Artic and the rainforests. If karma is working, I must have been one hell of a capitalist, a robber baron, and land grabber in my past lives to have to watch with horror what’s happening now. What wasn’t supposed to happen in my life time. Is this my purpose then, to atone somehow for raping the earth? Is patting my back for memberships in the Sierra Club and the Nature Conservancy and such enough. An arm chair activist still, tho I swore I would get up and march this year as I marched, with purpose in the past.
Without a purpose, what’s the point? I thought it was to write – I’m still not sure it is. To prompt? I enjoy creating prompts and have so many more I’ve stolen and haven’t tried. Prompts as purpose? But that’s still on paper. Not a purpose like before – to march, write petitions, get photographed by the RCMP and local police as part of a quiet crowd of women. Women protesting. Taking back the night, taking back the streets, taking back our lives, our purpose.
But, as Tom Wolfe wrote, you can’t go home again. I can’t be the wild, wide-eyed protester of my 20s who thought we could change the world. Thought our feet mattered. Thought our slogans resounded. Thought our purpose would persevere and give power to the powerless, voices to the voiceless. Naïve and less jaded than I am now.
Now, a jaded cynic who expects nothing, or the worst. Purposeless in a time when we desperately need purpose. Need warrior princesses. Need fighters. And, I sit and soc about a p word, purpose. While the world falls apart and people scream and people die. Die for no purpose.
© Lorraine (publishing on the 13th as I don’t know about the 14th’s schedule)