Musings: To Migrate or Not?  By LJ Frank

Credit: Jean Philippe-Cypres, photographer

I awoke one morning realizing I was off-site from my heart, to migrate or not my conscience asked; social, political and moral constructs aside, it is an intensely rooted act, even if cursory in appearance; why do I flee from my birthing home or was I an orphan or something I wish not to understand, and is it merely a prologue to an obscure meaning of why I am;

 If money were no object where would I migrate to, there are moments when courage is easy to muster and to rebel against the politics affecting one’s life; how much daring and integrity does it take to say no more, knowing my temporary breath was gifted to me on purpose or mistake; at what point does inner strength outweigh the fear of retribution, for the existential is a shadow that follows me through the night; 

 I am surrounded by propaganda and hype on how to live amid childhood dogmas, narrow focused convictions and meaningless wars of machismo, survival and greed, while a production line of education handles me a piece of paper for my performance, little does the “other” know; and the masses increase in a shrinking world and who holds the key to the chastity device in which my mind is encased;

 At what point will climate change lead to a rise in violence to self and others, and the abuse of land in which a person resides; will I expend my last days in meditation…and pray for the best of all possible worlds, or if I have the credit, secure a piece of real estate in another location; but still knowing I have to live within my skin; 

The attention to armed walls and electric fences on a small planet is a paradox as the oceans rise and the future is subdivided by the owners, capitalism’s very nature is inherently cannibalistic with a proverbial “eat” thy neighbor more actual than love; domination requires submission by the followers of their cultish leaders, yet, what will happen when the dominant finds there is no longer anyone to dominate; 

 I’m like a blind man who sees only the peripheral activities or hears only a portion of the consonants as the noise of existence continues to elevate in tempo and speed, knowing something has occurred, as the owners increasingly embrace artificial intelligent beings to do their bidding; 

 To migrate occurs first in my imagination and is uttered quietly in my brain, once the path is initiated I have no choice but to act knowing that to cultivate my garden is no longer core to the quest, for such an idea perished in a war and a prison camp, for I know that my pain and touch is a symptom of life;

 My brief missions of awareness brings a smile to my face; the consolation being I do not lie to my heart, amid the journey I stretched the boundaries of my mind acknowledging my reality is sifted through the filters of perception and revealed that I still care.