Margins

“Those who use services shall rightly be called the consumers”1
I was brought to this path and abandoned. There were others barely seeing; barely seen. The mantle was jaded with lichen covered signs of life. I stumbled over holes along the way. The path dispersed as though there were no light. I gained new insight into nature’s forms. I dragged myself along the barren cliffs accepting the divinity abiding there. I reached out to the scragged trees that emerged as I descended. I pulled myself up on their limbs. I was filled with the light of love. I was not alone. I straggled behind in the bamboo. I could build a nest. But I was driven on. Unprepared. I met the night where the wild plays the shaddows of the brighter day. I had to depart the walls of thorns with a gouge deep within my blood. By chance, I heard a call. I wandered alone serching contact. I had no knowledge, but to prepare a new path. I encountered petrified footprints of those who had come before. The paths were decades, even older, of climbing. When I saw a field growing wild and free I stopped searching. It was then I saw a cordillera of foundation. I was driven, centred. I could see settlements along its ridges. I will do it for my light of love. One step at a time. We need many paths to the main road. In my mind were two realitites: The thinker and the consumer. The thinker leads me to the consumer as a means and a way. The consumer depends on the thinker to expression the need. I have two minds: The means need.

End Notes
1. Hardie, Shannon E., “The Consumer Survivor Experience: The Dislocated” January 2008

Margins

Shannonehardie

Caledon, Canada

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