Disaster Refugee
All I feel like I’ve been doing is running to save my family. I think we’ve been mistaking our identity for a reality. I don’t have to measure who I am in my own eyes, but to be someone, possibly a representation of a model citizen, I seemingly have to accumulate order. But my circumstances are far from orderly. Even our bankruptcy lawyer has thrown her hands in the air, asking us, “well, what do you want me to tell the trustee?” as we got laid off a month after signing all documents. We repetitiously say to her that we don’t have an stable income after losing our job (no severance pay), texting her in the midst of Hurricane Milton. The systems that work for our society have cast upon us a big red letter, as my long dress blows in the firelight, my hands being tied. We’re balancing on the tightrope of if we matter. Nothing we do to remedy our situation(s) are ever enough. It’s as if we must cut our lifeline and float out of this universe. There’s nothing here that is salvageable. Our name is on paper but we do not own it, yet we’re punished because of it. And even IF we were to fully remove our Emperor’s clothes, being naked doesn’t bring any salvation. Our life is merely gassed rags. We are living on scraps, something most would never experience in this lifetime (thank goodness). I don’t want another to feel sorry for us, or to compare, or to question our choices (or inability to have choices), or to think they know how to solve these gigantic problems. That poisons our well, even when it’s dry. What feeds us is inquiry to understand that this isn’t just OUR problem. This is the Matrix. It’s as if I’m living abroad and trying to get back into the Matrix, except my passport is underwater.
I constantly question if I’m alive. NOT in a poor me, I don’t want to do this feeling, but I don’t know if that question on if I’m alive is necessarily trauma, or intuition? It doesn’t have a story attached, so it could be both. I’ve been so propelled beyond my body, at several points in my life, my whole job has been trying to return. Most spiritualists ask, “but why return?” And the answer is escapable. There is no reason for either, but just like the bird returns to the nest. Just like the butterfly repeats its migration. Just like the salmon cycles through their lives. We too, unfortunately, cannot stay in one place for very long, no matter how good it feels to do so. I suppose, in hindsight, living in two places seems limited in the natural world, but within the matrix it appears like luxury and you better be able to afford it. But this isn’t my dream. My dream was to ‘do my job’.
Everyday we talk about why can’t we just do our jobs? But the Universe gives us tarot cards of ‘deep healing and rest’. Why is life so hard, restrictive, sacrificing, beaten raw by the measuring stick? Why is this not working? I would love to be able to live my life, to have a real Sunday where you shuffle around your home, in your pjs, wondering what you should have for breakfast being your biggest concern. I’ve been trying to make it a point to put it on my Christmas list to own a pair of cotton PJ’s. Something so stupid, but also so frivolous. I want to be able to buy it because I have the money to pay for it. Someday I’m going to have that frivolous luxury.
Being a ‘Disaster Refugee’ means you must always be ready to be on the run. Just when you think you’ve saved yourself from environmental dangers (AK landslide) retreating to the very opposite on the map, we’re then forced to hunker down in the thickness of hurricanes and tornadoes. I spent practically my very last dollar going to Costco to get provisions for this hurricane. I’m living on God-change. I don’t complain about our temporary losses of no power, no internet, no cell service, flooding, no a/c (mind you we’re in FL), no use of toilets, no use of sinks, etc. I won’t complain about being stuck and hyper-alerted to kids’ horseplay because the likelihood of deaths happen AFTER a disaster, due to these loss of modern inconveniences. I shouldn’t think of how scared I am of more tornados that could develop out of the blue, and I don’t have cell phone alerts to tell me to ‘take cover’. This is my life as a Disaster Refugee. I’m shell shocked and not even aware of my freeze response because it’s so fucking humid.
I don’t know anything anymore about my life. There’s nowhere to run to, although I have every intention of running if need be. My bags are packed haphazardly, off the floor just in case of flooding, wrapped in black garbage bags stuffed in hiking backpacks. But there’s sometimes when we have to stay put, it might be even safer than running. Going through hurricane-tornado Milton was one of those times, for us. This is the state of my life – an emergency. And just when I think we’ve been rescued, the winds shift and everything picks up and moves.
Here’s my private Venmo account: @Vanessa-Wishstar (last digits: #5967)
or Paypal me or you can Zelle me, just contact me for that info.
Please don’t ask if I ‘need’ money because everything is gratitude. Thank you.
Note, you can personally contact me, to prevent $p@mmer$, as I would never ask you for money, unprofessionally. <3