That time of year where people gather
and create a buzz of busyness,
quiet in the office and so loud in the shops, bars and streets.
A time for seasons greetings,
which means to spend money.
While others make it, depend on it,
to boost the economy.
And perpetuate the idea that business success
is our basic human right.
Based on merit, make more money,
the only legitimate way to survive through the long dark night,
some call it life.
Some call it Christmas, with a capital C,
a time of year for compulsory good cheer,
a celebration of a man, a time in history.
It makes no sense to me.
It is a time of year where I burrow deeper
away from the masses,
and away from friends and family.
The different shades of the blades of grass
growing on the dunes by the sea,
are where I want to spend my time
and are what inspire me.
A quality time I find with plants, bugs and animals,
more comforting and more stimulating
than the trite and contrived time I find
that I am forced to spend with people.
A time where I am reminded of the loathsome qualities
that our modern society cultivate,
in the impressionable human animal.
I am deeply conflicted with despise and compassion
for the lost and so overcompensatingly loud children.
Who no one has taught tolerance, respect and spacial awareness.
We are all children,
waiting for our parents to tell us what is OK.
Waiting for our mum or dad to set our moral boundaries,
and then challenge them,
and then have a safe haven to return to again.
But there are no parents other than the establishment,
which only teaches us how to be good nation state citizens.
Do what everyone else is doing.
There are no parents to tell us that there are major problems
that need our care and attention to find a resolution.
I am conflicted criticising a culture and system
that I am so entrenched in.
Well aware that I am no better, no different,
certainly not above anyone else just trying to survive.
All I want to do is get everyone asking the questions:
Am I satisfied working nine to five?
Is it OK that my choices mean that someone else is deprived?
And are plastic decorations, barbecued meats and public holidays what it means to be alive?