Nature. Art. Yoga. Guns.

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Chipping away the bull shit and the masks that I have created to make others think highly of me in order to discover me. I am desperate to find my real self, what I want to learn, how I want to live, what I want to discover and see. I am excited as I have already began my journey. I’m learning what I really enjoy.

Spending a day in nature yesterday recharged me! Gold panning, squatting in a river, getting my clothes soaked while I dug in the underwater crevasses, immersed in the sounds, smells, and sights felt like I was home. Even the small cuts on my legs, earned while scaling up river, were welcome as they were created in a nature setting my natural vines, branches, and slippery algae slicked rocks.

Looking at  a rock formation and planning an ascent is the closest thing I can get to being a child again. I briefly look at the obvious hand and footholds then go for it. My momentum and healthy body get me exactly where I need to go. I am proud of my strength and the quick assessment of each movement to keep my momentum fluid and coordination seamless.

The day before, I attended the town’s art walk, some close family friends were featured artists. I wandered around while waiting for a friend to play in the open mic night. I walked into a studio where another featured artist stood vulnerably by his many large, vulgar and creative works. He was exposed, his hard work and wild mind constructed unique forward pieces, so large they felt like installations. I honored each piece as best I could, consumed by the detail and imagination.

I snuck downstairs, to the basement studio. There, an old man in an apron was covered in fine light grey powder. He stood next to his work in progress, a clay head. The expression on the piece was something I had never seen before. So raw and seemingly alive. The other finished and polished pieces surrounded him, heads of varying races, ages, and expressions were frozen in a time they never lived.

The old man and I were in the basement alone with the audience he passionately created. In the presence of art I feel safe. We began a conversation about his work in progress, he ripped a raw piece of clay from the mound on the table and showed me how he made each feature, the mouth, an eye, the ear, the nose. I thrived in his teachings as a student that couldn’t afford his class. The clay took on life effortlessly in his hands. I longed to have my hands covered in the clay, he saw my wish and gave me a piece to knead as I watched him.

Yoga makes me feel strong in every aspect of my being. I hold my femininity and creation privileges with a respect that many overlook. I am proud of my strength and flexibility, I love to challenge my mind and body. Uniting them creates a power that no one can challenge.

I am far from my extreme left generation as I live for my love of firearms.  I agree with the second amendment wholeheartedly. All of the amendment, read it. I am saddened by the reaction of many who see my passion as deviant or dangerous. Look at history, know what you stand for. I have never been one to try to convince people of my beliefs, I just encourage everyone to think critically and look at all of the facts. My love of learning has led me to hold this position.

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