I am sick and tired of seeing so many people my age and older doing nothing to help our younger brothers and sisters, cousins, neighbors, nieces and nephews, sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters, and so on...do nothing to guide them into something other than the stale, rotten ways we found for ourselves.

When will this end?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Yeah, it is SOOOOO cool to get drunk everyday and smoke weed. That's cool. NOT. Do we not care about how our youth's lives will actually turn out? Are we afraid to embrace something different, broadening, open...alive???

To expect something different from youth is to admit to our own downfalls. SO WHAT IF WE FUCKED UP. We may even fuck up every day. We can admit that and do our best to lead younger generations away from that.

If anyone has a problem with what I say, then you best take yourself off my friends list. I'm tired of sitting back and letting the loudest most obnoxious people take charge of the atmosphere around me.

Last night I was in wading in shallow water looking down at an assortment of treasures that were lying on the bottom in the sand. There were beautiful stones, jewels, fossils, and artifacts. Although my body was at rest, my mind was still in ‘practical’ mode. I felt like a gluttonous, rambunctious child, eager to grab all of the pretty things I could manage to get my hands on. I submerged myself and resurfaced with two objects, one in each hand. I had acquired them and wanted more. Immediately I felt as though a door had been opened and an onlooker had been allowed access to my mind. I looked at my hands and felt guilty for following a drive of unknown origin, one that had caused a momentarily blindness to anything but this drive to obtain the objects. I looked at my hands again, and decided that the desire to have such pretty things was still within me, but with the guidance of the onlooker, I dropped one of the objects and expressed gratitude for the remaining one. I then looked around, and saw that there were other people around me, looking to find these things as well. I noticed that they were going about their gathering in a certain way. With each object they found, they would express gratitude, and then have something insightful to say about them before placing them in a special bag. I looked down at what I had in my hand, and started to think of something to say about it. Nothing came to me, and I found myself wanting to make something up so that I wouldn't feel like I shouldn't be there among the collectors. I was overcome by a feeling that I was being studied by a prying but empathetic "eye"; my intentions to lie were washed over by this and I knew that I must control my urges to act irrationally. I decided that I had no choice but to be an observer or I’d never learn to describe the object that I had obtained from the water.
As I stood watching and listening for some time to the stories being told, I began to understand the importance of being still and silent. With every story I soaked in, I felt a growing respect for the subtle ways I was being shown to cultivate my memory to be able to hold onto my surroundings; the people, the water, and the treasures within. The weird thing was, that this respect grew within me until it seemed to escape my attention and fill every other object and space outside of myself. I was amazed to recognize this feeling as the on looking guiding force that had startled me with it's intensity in the beginning of my dream, and in this way I understood my desire for the "jewels”--they were made beautiful to allow my mind, that is so used to reaching out for physical beauty and comfort, a place to start my investigation of the puzzling unknown; they were meant to be delicate fragments of the great mystery, and rich, like the seeds of growth.