One thing I’ve learned pretty recently, about myself and life, is that all things natural are the ones I draw my energy from.
Let’s say we live in a big city, our window opens out on the street and our only social contact is with the people living across the street – because we see into their living room. If we want to enjoy outdoors we have to take a busride somewhere; just walking on the streets isn’t enjoyment, it’s agony. The noise, the smell, the people walking past, hurrying.
Let’s say most of the things I wear are made of atrificial materials like acrylic. They feel cold in the cold we inevitably get here in the north, they don’t last long, they wear and tear, they don’t feel good on the skin.
I mentioned that I bought a second hand silk nightgown. I couldn’t afford to buy one out of the store, but more to the point, there’s not much of a silk market there is there. The biggest department stores sell only artificial materials. They’re cheap, so people buy them, and they won’t last long – so boyfriends all over the globe have to buy new ones for each christmas. I got one, a nighgown, from Wonderboy last christmas. And you know what? I put it on, and the first time I wore it, one of the shoulder straps just flat out broke. I didn’t even put any weight on it, it just broke, when I put the garment on.
Now, the new one, the silk one, has already been used as a bondage item, has been underwear to a dress and used while sleeping. And you know what? It is warm against my skin, right now, when I’m writing this. It’s a silly little thing, with straps and a slit on the hem. And it’s warmer than any of my other clothes, not including the thick wool undergarments I have for the -20 degrees of winter. Silk. It’s a real fiber, like wool, it comes from real animals (well, aren’t butterflies animals?). And it makes all the difference.
Last weekend we spent away, in a smaller city, far far away. It was a work thing, a writer gig I had, and this time I took Wonderboy with. On our way back home we stopped at this B&B type of place that was situated on a beautiful lake shore. An old mansion stood there with smaller red painted houses huddled near it. We entered the place and found a theologian laying bricks on the yard. It was a commune of artists and the like.
We had tea with him and talked about sacrifices. How societies and cultures are built on the symbolical scapegoats. How Bible was the first book to describe world from the perspective of the victim. It was a revelation, and all the while Wonderboy played some guitar and we enjoyed the incredibly beautiful lake rippling right there in front of us.
After an hour or two we had to leave, but we carried something significant with us. It felt so right to be there, to live, even for a moment, at a smaller pace. I’ve been wanting to do things with my hands, and so started sewing again this summer. I even made, well, fitted, my own wedding dress. It was second hand, too. It is what I need. And living outside the demands of reading your emails every hour or so, spending your days editing someone else’s words, rewriting and copy-pasting texts that endorse something you can’t believe in? It felt good.
We realized that, what we need, is not a big house near the city for the fast and ecological commute by bus. It’s getting out of here. Getting out there. Living with less, but living more. Making things by hand. Repairing. Writing and playing. Working for money just so it’s enought.
I hear it’s the fad nowadays. But it’s not just about laziness. It’a about what’s important. It’s about not taking part in the ferris wheel of commercialism. I’m already doing some of it. Why wouldn’t I take the next step?