Tomorrow We Dance To Freedom

More to Come - Still On the Worn Path to Liberty

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Lately it has been harder to get up the intuitive outside of work to write. No, it is not writer's block that is eating away at my spirit. Some insidious parasite, maybe a relative of the robber barons pillaging this planet, much smaller, an undetectable gorger is devouring my energy. Weakness has taken over my life; everything that can be done is undone. Brainwaves are diminishing in amplitude; they must be leaving their ghost of past dynamism behind for all to ponder what has caused the collapse in activity. Maybe my ineptitude is the result of some previously dormant psychosis come to take away what little sanity remains? First and foremost a writer, maybe it is my time to drop-off into a stupor of depression with the liquor bottle waiting not far off in some inner-city shanty? Someone told me the other day that if they had not known better, been unfamiliar with my unfailing constitution they could have easily come to the conclusion that my condition was drug related. How could anyone unknowingly ingest enough depressants to knock an elephant to his knees?

Since paranoia is not one of my many intellectually induced psychological ailments those who are suggesting that the government (aka - the 1% Corporate Dictatorship) is drugging me by poisoning my food or coffee most certainly must be wrong. Downing gallons of Columbian coffee brewed in an on the stove peculator until it is of the consistency of syrup does not seen to stop me from dozing off mid-sentence when writing - at least most of the time it is ineffective. Why is it that the only time this sneaky stupor attacks my creativity and productivity is outside of work? Wow, it sure would be shocking to find out that my pantry is laced with elephant downers. Of course, a government that in the past has thrown naked South American activists in the ocean far from shore is surely not incapable of drugging a home grown native of this 'freest' most 'democratic' of all nation-states.

Break time. Need to get another refill of Columbian coffee. Cannot imagine what my caffeine level is right about now. Just dozed off again. Napping is helpful but after just having a half-hour snooze only about a couple of hours ago maybe just fighting the stupor - sometimes works - sometimes it is totally hopeless - but today that extra cup of Java is where my hand is headed. Just poured this elixir into my cup after putting about 1 ½ teaspoons of sugar and a tad bit of milk on the bottom of its orange ceramic surface. Ah, after two swigs of this glorious potion my senses are starting to be restored, at least temporarily.

So there you have it, three weeks of no direction or fiery rhetoric coming from my virtual pen is the result of some overpowering grogginess. Damn good thing my written material covers approximately 2,500+ pages most of them devoted to our People's Movement revolution. Hell, if my flame was to flicker out right now someone on this planet with billions of human beings could undoubtedly take up the cause for freedom that we all hold so dear to our hearts. With weak and at times frail bodies that keep us from fulfilling our most important goals it is grand when we can touch the souls of so many just in case we as individuals are prevented from building the beautiful society of our dreams.

This time around it seems my siren call into the dead zone has been withdrawn. Caffeine is exacting its magic by perking up my mind and increasing my usually torpid breathing. Somewhere high on a mountain in Columbia farmers earning fair wages picking these gorgeous beans from trees have once again made it possible for this writer/activist/revolutionary to continue along with many others on that worn path to liberty.