The Last Bus Home

For me, life is about distraction. Whatever it takes. Last night it was a YouTube video of Louis Dunford singing The Angel at the Hammersmith Odeon. Enough to bring tears to my eyes. Arsenal have finally found their anthem. Stuff like this takes me out of the every day, the monotony of the regular drumbeat that courses through our lives. There’s beauty to be found in the little things. This time it’s the words and power in a song, a throwback to the old times when life was slower. The speed of communication has left us exposed in the face of constant interruption. Switching off is now a conscious decision. Work and people chase us. The news chases us, hunts us down, threatening to darken even the brightest of days. I have to remind myself that I don’t have to go there, that I can take a step back and choose to walk the other way.

A cup of tea, a walk, clothes shopping, a good book, pretending, forgetting, a film that sucks me into its core until it feels real, time spent speaking with someone alive to the possibility inhabitating a creative mind. A hop, skip and a jump into the space that writing brings. That sense of flow is all too rare. It seems to me like we are locked into one way of doing things. 9 to 5 is still the gospel according to the worker bees. Nothing is for free anymore. They drag us in until there appears to be no way back to the beauty of the first time the door swung open and we entered this world. Bit by bit it feels like we are sleepwalking towards a cultural abyss. The darkness that used to be on the edge of town now inhabits the center, brought on by a systems overload courtesy of power and greed. Welcome to our world. Welcome to the ties that bind. Welcome to hell as they like to say in Galatasaray.

But there is another way. We can resist the temptation of falling into their trap. We can choose to step away. We can still chase our dreams. We can still hope, laugh, smile, wriggle, and wrestle our way out of this mess. Thankfully there’s still a lot of good to be had, and there are good people everywhere. We’re not meant to know these things because control is built on fear. Hope is a precious commodity, and yet our leaders rarely reference it. With it comes opportunity. Maybe it’s because those in power see fear as a potent weapon when it comes to getting elected. Scare people enough and they’ll vote to maintain the status quo just in case there’s something even worse around the corner. I find it ironic that people march through our capitals protesting various causes demanding action and change from the very institutions that have caused the problem. It’s not in the interest of those in power to do so. Wars, pandemics, climate change, and economic meltdowns are the vehicles that fill the coffers of the few. The fingers in the greasy till are greasy still.

And yet they win if we do nothing, but what if we were more subtle, streetwise, clever in our resistance? What if we didn’t bang the drum to their beat? What if we refused to engage? Of course, we have to choose our battles, any dissent is frowned upon, labeled, and shut down. We don’t have to take the last bus home. It might be late, but dancing in the moonlight is still an option. We can choose to slow down. People do it every day. I’ve struggled, but I’m getting there, trying to untangle myself from the political wills and society’s ills. In the end, it comes down to what we can control. For me, it’s about going back to the little things I referenced above. It’s about reconnecting with our spirit, not what we’ve been taught to believe. It’s about finding the creative spark that makes us who we truly are. It’s about accessing the goodness, kindness, and empathy inside. It’s about doing the right thing over and over again, and not doubting it.

There’s nothing we can’t do if we put our mind to it. Henri Matisse once said, “You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.” Creativity is edgy and dangerous to the balance of the status quo. It niggles away at us, pulling us towards it. It’s forever in our midst. Our hearts beat faster when it comes out to play. Writing is the last bus home for me. A place I always resist until I have to go there and I can’t ignore it any longer. For me, it’s a journey into the very essence of self, into the beautiful and dark spaces of the forbidden mind. The parts of it we often deny. The parts we are afraid of because of the power that lies there. A power that renders everything else insignificant. The forbidden fruit growing there is Eden-like. The poison that pours from the poppies fills my veins with possibility. It is vibrant and hidden. It is the door I go through to feel my strength at its fuck off best. Here I don’t have to care about anybody else. Here I can truly be myself. Here I exist in flow. It’s easy. It is rock and roll. It is life and death I don’t question it. Ever. Here my spirit is finally at one with my actions. Too often we are driven by the urgency of survival. Here represents abundance. Here I can risk everything. It brings with it purity, separation, connection, identity, and best of all, it’s fun.

And when the time comes to hop off the last bus, I know I will feel better in myself, safe in the knowledge that I can go there whenever the night is crawling towards its natural end, ready for a new dawn.