Drowning In Existential Apathy
A Sort Of Poem By An Angry Person (Me)
(NOTE: During a recent session with my therapist, she used the term “existential apathy” to describe what I’m going through these days. I haven’t seen the phrase anywhere else, so I’m pretty sure it’s an original. And yes, today I’m still in the throes of existential apathy.)
How can you be shocked this has happened again?
How can you?
By now, how can anyone be shocked by this?
The rest of us are well past shock.
You had the chance — lots of chances — to do something about this, these things,
A long time ago.
And you did
And still you wait.
You only react.
Inaction oppresses and kills as certainly as any action.
Your thoughts and prayers are useless.
And still you understand NOTHING!
The other day I had a revelation
That not only do they (the other side)
They’ve been planning this for a long time.
They had a map. They strategized.
They PLANNED it to happen this way.
And they have more in mind, much more.
And they won’t stop until everything is ruined.
Until more innocent lives have suffered, have been lost.
They’re winning, you know.
They’re winning because you did nothing.
Because you are doing nothing.
We told you what we wanted.
We told you what we thought was needed.
What would be fair and humane.
You nodded your heads and listened,
but you didn’t act.
You won’t act.
This is why my spirit is broken.
This is why all meditations for peace and compassion,
For healing juju and love and white light
Have all been useless.
This is why I’ve put all of that spirit woo-woo work on hold.
Maybe I’ll never do it again.
The therapists and psychologists say in order to feel better:
Keep a gratitude journal
Put your joy in the small things
Talk to your loved ones
Work with a therapist
Join a support group
Look for more opportunities to be giving
Reach for the highest vibration you can touch
Shift your locus of control from the outer to the inner.
And here’s the crux of it…
None of that works anymore.
NONE OF IT!
Existential anxiety is my new refrain.
Existential apathy is my new mantra.
Disgust is my new norm.
It sickens me.
And so do you…
All of you who we once trusted.
Shakespeare pointed it out long ago:
There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.
More of your conversation would infect my brain.
Thy sin’s not accidental, but a trade.
For the love of the goddess, people!
For the love of divinity!
Grow a vagina and go out there and make things right!
Myself, I’ve had enough of you…and this.
I’ll be outside
Taking pictures of the storm clouds
And the mountains
The lodgepole pines
And the alpine tundra
The lakes and rivers and oceans
The birds of prey
And the frolicking elk.
Because after all is said and done,
I’m still a dreamer.
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