I'm still older than my teeth.

I think less of it, and do more to preserve it.

Getting carded is a fading memory.

I know not to eat too much rich food.

That I wouldn't want to be a teenager again.

I still look forward to many more years of living.

Mortaility makes itself well known.

I don't want to be a rock star.

I'm realizing that age is a state of mind.

I'll reconsider that rock star thing....

Down, down
so low.

So what's it like down here?
Who is this new
freind called the blues?
Let's get to know him.

What's he do
to my thoughts?
And then what
do I feel?
Could there be
a connection?

What color is
this funk?
What's it taste like?
What's it smell like?
It's time to know
because it's
going to pass.

It's going to pass.
All things do.

What? You want
to beat me up?
You can hardly
do better than I,
and I won't do
that anymore.
It's not nice.

What? You want
me to wallow
in the past?
Why? It's gone.
There is only now,
and making better choices.

What? Oh, I see.
You want me
to focus on
the future which
doesn't exist,
and realize I blew
that too because of
my past.
The future is
still mine to make
with my choices
of now.

You know funk,
you don't have
the best advice.
And there's someone
here
who loves me.

So I'm going to be
with them,
and my sadness,
and tears,
and see
whether or not
I need to learn
to make better choices.

Then when the tears stop,
I'll let go of
my past, and
face my now.

It's all I can do.

It hardly seems possible. But my dazed brain says it's so: another year, marked by the Fair, is only memory. Except for maybe the pound or two I might have gained....

I tried this year to mitigate the inevitable reality of eating fair food. The medical booth, which serves as Fair Command for us on duty, is also stocked with all the ususal belt busters: processed chips, candy, and pop. We do have water, and I drink it a lot.

It still amazes me how this period of frenetic energy is so exhausting. I came home last night after my shifts, and made like a vegetable. Then I realized I wanted away from it all, and returned to a book. But he fact remained; I spent two days essentially walking the fairgrounds as a Medical Responder, or standing at ease, whether at the Public Education Booth,  Safety House(a fire simulation experience), or the Fire Suppression truck. And I came home tired.

I'll let you know now exactly what it is that makes me and the rest of us tired. it's the same insidious reason that fire fighters and EMTs have shorter lives by 7 years on average. It's a little chemical called adrenaline. It makes you go from zero to "hero" in no time flat. It makes for fight or flight, and isn't supposed to be on allthe time because it creates stress.

So I can't walk around the fair at ease. I'm in a constant state of hypervigilance. For example, I'm at the Pub Ed booth, where we let kids spin a big wheel and then ask them a safety related questions. They get a prize no matter what. Even the little guy who was absolutely mezmorized by just spinning the wheel got a prize because he was so spell bound. It's a riot. I love it. However, kitty corner(any ideas where this phrase camer from?) from the Pub Ed booth is the dog kennel, and between the sight of people falling down and the sounds of angry dogs, I bolted into action. I can do so only because my adrenaline is already in mid-gear, just looking for a boost. And the radio on my hip....

Thankfully, the dogs were well groomed enough to be more bark than bite, and no one was hurt, except for the uncharacteristic display of their "well trained" dog. So it was back to stand by mode, and digging on teaching the kids and their parents little tricks that could save their lives.

And eventually eating. And since we have to reamin on the fair grounds, it means fair food.  Which I tried to control this year, and think I hit on something. Part of it is not wanting that "I ate the whole thing" problem. Because if I suddenly need to go, or am assigned to a call off the fair grounds, I don't want that feeling slowing down my body or brain, which in our heat this year, makes us do what the fair goers do: suddenly reverse the eating process.

So I didn't get a funnel cake this year. Or cotton candy, sundays, or any of the stick foods. I had a scone Sunday morning with coffee. And , the roasted artichokes were good, as was the roasted corn. And if I actually skip lunch, and eat mid afternoon, I then eat less over the day. And I don't hamper the ability to jump out of stand by.

On Saturday, besides the four patiente we had at once, two of which we sent via ambulance to the hospital, we had 18 non-Fair calls over the course of that day, including a marine call which was quite serious. That's a busy day. That's a day when we look for people ready to succumb to heat, or teens fighting, or unsafe activities of carnies around their rides, or people choking, puking, bleeding, passing out for whatever reasons that have culminated at this marking of the year on our island.

When Sunday night rolls around, I'm finally glad to be done with the dozens of smells, the cacocphony of sounds, the myriad sights, the fair food tatses, and I'm ready to go home to a quiet house. I'm ready to reflect on my shifts, and what we did and could do better. I'm ready to let my self get out of stand-by, which is sometimes difficult to do. I think I need to hit the training room this week.

Another year begins....

The smell of Karmel Korn and barbeque float in the air. The sounds of various musical acts blend together with the voices of the judges from tha animal arenas if you stand in the right place. Ears of roasted corn on the cob walk by, waiting to meet their fate with the teeth and stomachs of hungry fair goers. And I watch it all.

I see the single mothers with their kids, alternately looking for entertainment for the kids and a guy they can escape into. Some are just their with their kids. An altogether lovely thing to see. Some dads are present, some there in body only. The teen age girl asking their friend "Who else is here that likes me?" Their peer male counterparts in packs trying to out-cool each other, yet cognizant of the pecking order.

The older folk who remember when the fair was an agricultural attraction with the latest flowers, the big animals, the equipment, the canned goods, and what quilts were made by the ladies of the island. They move more slowly, sometimes with a lost look in their faces at the new fangled facade of the attention to musical acts, the carnival attached to the fair, and the availabiltiy of so many more food choices than when they were young. In the heat they start to look worn out before they crash. I watch it all.

People off their meds, or on too many or the illegal kinds, occasional drunks who make their way in, the politicians carrying on their own circus, the strutting teenage hormones, little kids with wonder in their eyes, the animal people in their own part of the fair and world with boundaries where the rest of us mingle with them breifly. People who eat too much, get too hot, and go for the rides anyway and end up in the medical botth complaining of nausea. We let them puke in private. The patient with an allergic reaction, a chest pain complaint, and all four at the same time. Sometimes lending a hand to the team to get these people what they need. I watch all this too.

I monitor the 18 calls we recevied this day while so many our our emergency responders are at the fair. An unusual day. And people walk by laughing, kids with stuffed animals, and people digging the sun, the music, the food, while an ambulance drives away to the hospital, someones truck is on fire a couple miles away, and the marine team is rescuing someone who has fallen into the water miles away from where we are, in lives completely separate from the fair.

Food on sticks, the flip-flops, boots, and heels, the skirts, tops, or lack thereof, hair do, jewelery, uniforms, decorations, long lines to get curly fries, the tired, overwhelmed, bored, happy, plugged in and dropped out, connected, young and old. I have been there, I will do that. Or not. This is my home fair.

I breathe in, and watch it all.

Ultimately, do we not
save ourselves?

Even if a loved one
may help us see
that our path
is self destructive

the hard work of
inner change
and disarmament
is ours
alone.

Giving away that
responsibility
is an act
of cowardice.

Opening your eyes
to the truth
of yourself
is the first step
of courage

Ah, no career,
no work, ah, the dream,
isn't it?

I think the do nothing
would kill me.

Always learn!
Then do,
and then teach.

It is the way
to pass on wisdom.

So I learn,
to play my drums
the fine tuning
of techniques,
and theory

and to write,
putting ideas to words
and fictional flesh
to bones.
"So nice to meet you,
Stevens Mann."

To build, to organize,
to rescue, to command,
to move away
from dependence
and open ever more
my own heart
and mind.

Ah, the dream.
Yes, pursue it.
Intend it. Plan it,
let your heart
soar
in anticpation
and take actions
towarsds that dream
even in the
midst
of your reality.

Mostly, learn to
see beyond
the labels
of dream and reality
and neither will
effect your
happiness.

It's changed over the last year or two. I first go to poetry and see what's up. Particualrly in used bookstores, because the neighborhood it's in will determine what books are there. I also hit the history section, some reference, I like certain authors, so I look for them. Dyer, Greider, Phillips, Whitman, Collins, and so on. I also cruise the Buddhism section. 

If you mean the Christian version, or any other monotheistic dogmatic god, by all means, NO.
There is no valid reason to. Otherwise, at this point, I believe Namaste: that we all have the nature within to be omniscient and omnipotent. It is our evolutionary movement to get there.

Nope.

All those thast respond to me are from far away: South Africa, Connecticut, Barbados, North Carolina, Michigan, and Colorado.

Someday maybe. For now though, I like them all, and appreciate all that has transpired with them.

Be that change,
yes.
it must be first
because ultimately,
isn't the core
of activism
about change?

We have seen
plenty of sleeping
acticvists.
Some even resort
to violence
to bring about peace
because they can't see
the lasting solution,
the peace they
themselves lack.
Or they fall under the
same corruption
they previously resisted.

We call it politics.

And why yell
"Awake, Awake!"
if you yourself
will not arouse?

This slow path to awareness
is not child's play.
This virtuous
transcendant path
will in the end
be victorious.

Be patient, and
awaken.