Suicide and Small Hopes
I had gone to sleep with the peppy earth conscious talk of New Hope for a Small Diet for the planet ringing in my head. I was confused. Why did ideas I had at one time embraced now seem detached from my everyday life. A part of me wanted to believe that an individual act like vegetarianism and buying local did make a difference but I just felt pessimism.
The next morning because I was dogsitting, I went on an early walk. I called Amy to see if I could reconnect with her over coffee. As the conversation ended I looked up and noticed a group of men standing around a tree. I thought they were trimming tree limbs until I noticed the body dangling. I couldn't distinguish his face from where I was walking, he looked like someone I would have crossed paths with at an art show. The men looked perplexed staring up at this images right out of Nina Simone's Strange Fruit.
Who was this person? Did he have any one? Why did I have to see this? Why here in this public park? Why did he want me to see him?
I started to say little prayers for this guy. Growing up Catholic I had a few unexplained superstitions- like perhaps his soul was still lingering around clinging to his body. That night I dedicated my yoga practice to his spirit moving on. It brought up the most recent death I had experienced, my mom's friend Connie, in the Kirkwood shootings. I had been trying to paint her for weeks. I just kept creating this lumpy statue like portrait. Her death was still painful enough for me that I kept screwing up her picture. My mind wanted to make sense of these deaths. I was left with these questions.
Why do people hurt themselves and other people? What responsibility did we as a society have for people that did these actions? I didn't have any answers. That weekend my boyfriend Cam and I left town to get some space to think. As Cam drove to Indianapolis, I finished the Hope book.
I decided that I wanted to try to do something in favor of hope. Instead of competition I'd try collaboration. I thought I'd like to connect with some people out in these invisible lines of computer waves and honor some small things I believe in.
I'd like to write about places I go in search of art community and people I meet along the way. I think the journey could be small or large, hopefully it will be one about sharing.
I later found out from one of my friends that she knew this guy. This man had a community of friends around him that tried to help and support him. He had been struggling with depression for a long time. I felt peace knowing that he had these people, finally he was not an unknown.
I'd like to write in opposition to alienation and isolation, unless its joyful solitude. Hey world, are you out there? Drop me a line and let me know how you are. I've still got some hope in me.
The next morning because I was dogsitting, I went on an early walk. I called Amy to see if I could reconnect with her over coffee. As the conversation ended I looked up and noticed a group of men standing around a tree. I thought they were trimming tree limbs until I noticed the body dangling. I couldn't distinguish his face from where I was walking, he looked like someone I would have crossed paths with at an art show. The men looked perplexed staring up at this images right out of Nina Simone's Strange Fruit.
Who was this person? Did he have any one? Why did I have to see this? Why here in this public park? Why did he want me to see him?
I started to say little prayers for this guy. Growing up Catholic I had a few unexplained superstitions- like perhaps his soul was still lingering around clinging to his body. That night I dedicated my yoga practice to his spirit moving on. It brought up the most recent death I had experienced, my mom's friend Connie, in the Kirkwood shootings. I had been trying to paint her for weeks. I just kept creating this lumpy statue like portrait. Her death was still painful enough for me that I kept screwing up her picture. My mind wanted to make sense of these deaths. I was left with these questions.
Why do people hurt themselves and other people? What responsibility did we as a society have for people that did these actions? I didn't have any answers. That weekend my boyfriend Cam and I left town to get some space to think. As Cam drove to Indianapolis, I finished the Hope book.
I decided that I wanted to try to do something in favor of hope. Instead of competition I'd try collaboration. I thought I'd like to connect with some people out in these invisible lines of computer waves and honor some small things I believe in.
I'd like to write about places I go in search of art community and people I meet along the way. I think the journey could be small or large, hopefully it will be one about sharing.
I later found out from one of my friends that she knew this guy. This man had a community of friends around him that tried to help and support him. He had been struggling with depression for a long time. I felt peace knowing that he had these people, finally he was not an unknown.
I'd like to write in opposition to alienation and isolation, unless its joyful solitude. Hey world, are you out there? Drop me a line and let me know how you are. I've still got some hope in me.
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