Thundertoot.

I went to this non-profit creative arts venue last night in DT atlanta called Wonderroot for an open mic in the hopes of making my spoken word debut, however there was words spoken, but not the ones I had in mind.

No entrance fee, which my gal-pal Lucy and I quickly realized the reasoning behind that as soon as the performers took the mat.

Ha, I wish I could teleport you ( the reader) back in time to the scenario, because no adjective could express the pure nature of the venue and its inhabitants, which seems to be kind natured.

However I can tell you this, If you have ever watched american idol auditions and seen the obscurity that makes it's way to our TV tubes then you have an inkling of the majority of performers. 

All you need is a little weed and some lack of showering and you pretty much got the full effect, easily. 

But it wasn't the intense stench or the short-falling of talent that caught my ears, eyes, or nose.

It was the committed performers and the boosterish audience that scraped my insides to the point of questioning my own opinions. 

The community they have at wonderroot is nothing I have really ever seen. 

They support each other rigorously and loudly despite the lack of substance in the performance or the impact it had. 

It was safe for performers and people alike to come and share a piece of their light weight minds and heavy hearts. The majority of the people that spoke, sang or played were not there for the claps or praise, but for the acceptance and fellowship from the community there.  

And the community willingly gave it, and gave it and gave it...etc. HA!

Once my mind got back on track and arrived at a station, I started scanning the room.

Staring at the misfits and schmucks pacing around, some mumbling the lyrics and bobbing their heads, others off in their mind-made universe.

The realization of happiness that came from all the eclectic, yet identical, beings in this basement room froze the very core of my processing and began to redefine itself within this atmosphere.

Besides the drugs, What if happiness doesn't originate with choice but with the identification of ourselves   to trust our circumstances? 

Unfortunately, I know the answer to this, but I couldn't help letting it pull a chair up next to my spiritual logic. 

I felt as though these cracked up, slightly homeless hippies had satisfaction and true happiness and I didn't ( don't). 

I can swirl myself in circles trying to under-analyze, overanalyze or just accept; but the truth is maybe I need to stray away from the norm and figure out the labels myself. 

-M