Lift out These days begin in darkness and wet. We live in multiple layers of clothing against the cold damp of constant seeping rain, walk under umbrellas, and peek out from under shelter until some blue sky appears. Then we breathe the blue and the coloured leaves, and roll in the damp ones underfoot. We go to the flashing streams, the roaring falls, the pounding waves and we exult ..until the rain and the cloud and the pounding wind bring us under and in again. These times. Pressured, heavy, challenged, shifting. Some of us don’t have dancing feet. Some have not learned to swim. Two days ago in Ottawa a man died on Parliament hill. He suffered from serious mental illness – serious enough that he found himself a gun and shot another man who worked as a soldier there. I grieve for both men, whom we, in our culture, have failed to see clearly. Poem for Michael Zehaf-BibeauMichael Zehaf-Bibeau, for Cpl. Nathan Cirillo, a reservist, and for every single one of us who struggles with addiction and mental illness, in sorrow for this: Broken Voice September 24: studio Thought can re-write history, she says Meditative thought influences the order of things Orders them more neatly so there’s less damage done. and there’s the small voice the difficulty swallowing the closed throat mid- sentence, the little alarms shot with adrenaline the subtle gagging that no one notices but There’s no problem. Who …said there was a problem? Mental Illness is only addiction is only another form of terrorism- We just need more Security and I think I caught something in the subway – just a virus it comes and goes it’s not permanent. …something about bare feet, walking about not leaving prints behind, and if you do your feet print history I’m looking at them now, the prints but I can’t read I’m not sure what happened. Or how…? I just want to drink an ocean of alcohol passive-watch movies that siphon rage go to classical concerts full of fury, listen to poets who have found something to let somebody else do the darkness the refined, articulate hurt that they’ve managed to filter through all of their exhausted bewilderment how can I Impotent. Invisible. I just want to sleep. only sleep. it’s taking every ounce of my strength to resist the rampage, The terrible roar in me.