Assault in a Perfect World

Recently, like very recently, my eldest son was assaulted. He was beaten up by a gang of 6 youths and his brand new bike was stolen. When I found out, after knowing my son was ok, I was angry. I was so fucken angry and I wanted to hunt these cowards down and I wanted to inflict severe pain on them. I wanted to take their possessions and make them feel vulnerable and scared for their lives. I wanted them locked up with the key thrown to the bottom of the ocean because to me they were the scum of the earth.

Eventually after these feelings had run through my heart and soul like red hot lava the sadness kicked in. Like deep, deep sadness where my heart broke and my tears flowed. Not only was I sad for my son and how this could possibly affect the rest of his life but I was deeply saddened to know these kids knew no better and quite possibly they never will. I was sad for them because they weren’t brought up in a loving family environment where they were taught right from wrong. I was sad they didn’t know how their actions affect other people for the rest of their lives – or don’t care. I was sad to know that they will go through the justice system and be in and out of jail for the rest of their lives and there is probably nothing anybody could do about it.

Then I thought how we could change this? How could we make things better before things get worse? How could we create a judicial system that helps make these kids, while they still have the chance, to be decent adults and better human beings – rather than locking them up with other trouble makers where they just learn new tricks.  So I created the perfect world. A world where these children were charged. Where they went before a court and their offences were made clear but then instead of juvenile prison they were instead taken to a remote village. A place where they were mentored, hugged, lived off the organic goodness of the land and taught good manners and morals. A place where they felt safe and could make the change to be kind. To be thoughtful. To laugh at funny things not cruel things. To be a person who they can enjoy being, to make something of their lives.

It’s crazy and naive I know. It’s a dream and a perfect world. But I do believe that some of these young ones could actually benefit from a place like this – it probably already exists. I think they could grow up and then they could become mentors themselves and start changing the circle of life for their families, their children. To some degree I believe in rehabilitation I am just not sure it can be done in an environment that is already toxic.

Just a “perfect world” thought.

One Love

DRK xxx

Heartless. Thinker.

When you’re a thinker, like me, you are also a forgetter. You have so much thinking going on in your brain you can’t remember the thoughts of moments before. You are always starting “afresh” with a clear purpose so lying around the house are plenty of journals, notebooks and files with clearly stated goals and how to achieve them, to do lists, to don’t lists but then you turn the pages and there’s nothing else written. Maybe a little doodling – those unmanifested thoughts – possibly some Day 1 dieting and exercise information all written with good intentions. Being a thinker means you can think about your hated weight all day long while still thinking about the worries of your children, what they’ll grow up to be, what the hell is for dinner, whether to go left or right at the intersection, if your friend is really doing okay and what you’d write a novel about if you had time.

Being a thinker like me means you don’t live in your heart. And when you do “go there” it’s for other people’s journeys, their pains, hardly ever for yourself and when you do it’s because you have “thought” your way there. Being a thinker like me means you can cry deeply when your friends are in any type of emotional pain, rarely for our own. You talk about it but you don’t feel it. Sure you can still cry after an argument. You can hyperventilate to a friend about something that fucked you off. You can sob when you watch a sad movie whether it’s a true one or not but still your own story is emotionless. It’s “just a story” that you put on repeat.

When you are a thinker you forget to breath because breathing would cause you to relax. Breathing brings an opportunity from the neck down to open up. Opening up scares you. Opening up means you have to feel real stuff and feeling real stuff is scary. What if feeling real stuff means you lose it and never regain consciousness, hell worse still you become completely conscious and everything you’ve known life to be changes. What if those changes aren’t what you thought they would be.

Being a thinker means this post is just thoughts. It’s talking about feelings but not feeling those feelings. Being a thinker means feeling those feelings is rare.

One Love
DRK xxx