lee maracle told me about myself. after reading her books in university, i was really giddy to be part of a workshop with her. this is what i wrote:
when laugh lines have come just from being around for a long time, they’re called wrinkles. proof of living by default, not pleasure. sometimes, she is surprised that she’s still here, that everything is still the same. how long it’s been that she’s been wishing that things would be different, that she’s forgotten that she can make a change. but the truth is, she can’t. it’s bullshit that you are the power of your own destiny and all that. everyone cannot be king because there needs to be subjects, only some people can make change, the rest of us have to stay the same so that others can notice. but she still doesn’t care.
her feedback was that i was waxing philosophical and nothing happened, that i was stalled with no engine.
she was also righter than she could’ve ever known-she told me to look in the mirror and age myself, or just go look at my mother.
it’s amazing that i was thinking of my mother, and apparently i came up with nothing.
i was able to tell her years later about this (she didn’t remember, of course), and i also realized that her daughters that i had read about in her books all those years ago were the ones that met first in this city, before i even realized that they were her daughters.