holy daze

Rosie 7.5.11

We went nowhere this holiday and did nothing one would call serious work with the exception of my painting and usual chores because going nowhere is the cheapest alternative to going somewhere as well as the safest.  Who knows what lurks out there in these times?  What costly experience awaits one in the hours to come if we actually put ourselves into one of those public scenes of the sweaty herds squeezed tightly into stadium seats watching whatever circus is playing all the while unaware you may well be the next act?  No, the real excitement is at home interacting with the animals whose intelligence continues to awe.  A new sheep has been added to the herd, Rosie, the Blue Ewe.  She looks very much the Suffolk, but under that blushing cream wool, her coat is black which means black lambs because Amos aka Ram-beau, has fallen in love.  Its no wonder, she's quite a classy lady with her skinny black stockings and thick ruff setting off her chiseled cheekbones, although since I've been comparing her closely with the other Ewes, Scarlett and Bella, undeniably classic Suffolks, they all have wonderfully sculptured faces with individual visual treats for the interested observer.  Rosie just arrived over the weekend and Monday any celebration was all about her immediate integration with the family.  What's more, she was given a new name upon arrival and when I call her to come using "Rosie", she comes right over.  She's picked up the whole routine.  There is something going on that tells her this is not a brief boarding situation, not a feed lot, this is home. 

You already know I can't talk about the animals without mentioning Stella, the Mustang Princess, ever watchful, giving us the love whinny whenever our kitchen door creaks on its hinges, day or night.  She and I are at that stage now, the one I've patiently waited to arrive.  That stage would be the one Pangolin suggested we go for when the moment was right.  We put our heads together trading breaths.  Thanks Pangolin.  A beautiful and holy experience for which there are no words in our language to describe.  A final word on the holiday, perhaps one of the loveliest, indoors, ceiling fans blowing off the outside world of chemtrails and Big Ag's smog snaking through the passes, the dogs were served vanilla ice cream and ice cubes in the water bowl.  Some might say what a dull holiday nina, I would say Hey, that's my idea of the good life well lived.

You can see why scheduled posting to a blog on a plastic flip top box takes a back seat.  Oh, certainly I put my time in just as you do.  Except there is nothing to know.  Mind you, I've looked.  Sure, there is stuff, hieroglyphics symbolizing spoken tongue, but there really isn't anything going on you don't already know is going on.  Its very wicked out there beyond our little enclave of peace and frequent joy.  Every time I look across the mountains past the valley, the mushrooms are bigger, more poisonous, and there are more of them.  These are not your nice mushrooms, no.  Just about everything and everyone is in the process of some kind of melt down, its not pretty nor is it in any way conducive to peace.  Perhaps once we are all on the precipice of extinction will we be able to see a vast expanse of absolutely nothing and call it peaceful?  As if the full, completed derealization of formerly heavily consuming consumers and imaginary enemies worsened by the unforgiving mass mind might we find freedom with nothing left to buy or pay for, nothing left to fear, never being forced into giving unwilling support to unnatural activity, the vanishing of usury for our very breath of life.  That once the entire promise of the corporate mission statement had been fulfilled there would be nowhere else for them to go but to evaporate, the gates of our corrals could open and freedom to live and love, appreciate and steward the Earth as it was always meant to be would happen naturally, season into season... that anxiety and misinterpretation, quarreling within our species, possessing, lying, guilt, petty deceits, perhaps that would simply disappear and we could finally get it on with other planets without the usual self-righteousness, claims staking, false glories and so forth, just as you are you and I am me and there is no difference between us in reality. 

A few years ago Visible put up an essay basically asking what we, the reader, planned on bringing to the table during and in the aftermath of Apocalyptic events.  This would of course, be the real proof of our pudding.  Therefore, it was especially heartening to see some of the residents of Joplin, MO, already rebuilding their homes as the light of dawn arrived to helicams and pundits and tsunami-style destruction.  They were not waiting for insurance appraisers nor some political celebrity to tell them they were in a state of emerge and see.  They were not spray painting the relocated bathtubs in day glow orange begging for attention.  Whatever happened to our species that we insist upon a self-appointed authority figure to tell us what we already know and when they do look to them as the coming of Christ Almighty?  That we caved ourselves into mewling accomplices by begging alms?  My response to Visible's essay has not changed at all, it never will, the more backwards, incongruous and impossible it becomes, the more intact my root position which is that of exercising the one element that can never be lifted, hijacked or co-opted from the Love Tribe, Nurturing.  That's all it is and it IS our saving grace.  One cannot nurture anything without pure, unbiased communication with that requiring nurturing.  All species and complex vegetable matter must know they are cherished to grow healthy into maturity whether it is us providing direct nurturing or the nurturing they provide one another.  This is the essence of the line in the 23rd Psalm, posted recently, Yea though I walk through the Valley of the shadow, our work is cut out for us.  A lot of our species, a lot of all species, are getting hit brutally and when this happens, there must be some of us around to heal and explain.  Otherwise there would be no point at all to having survived the journey, which is tragically the point we are supposed to accept and I object.  To accept is to say nothing has value.  Nothing.  To accept is to say we are born into consciousness where we flop around until we die.

The Lesson from the Plum Tree:
Last winter one of the Oriental Plum trees appeared lost.  The snows weighted his boughs and he fell to the ground where he lay frozen under drifts until spring.  The Fireteacher dug him out, I'd tried but needed more bicep, he lifted the scraggly guy out, redug his bed and sprinkled plant food where the tap root would be placed and tamped the Earth over the food and around the base of the tree, tying the trunk to stakes so the tree would stand.  That was months ago it seems.  I've been watering him delicately, chatting all along, encouraging, smoothing his wounds with my fingertips and over the past two weeks bundles of sweet little leaves suddenly appeared.  His spring buds are late, he probably won't do showy flowers this year either, but it matters not at all.

The World Beyond:
With the incredibly beautiful exceptions of those with whom we form mental connection, trust, lifelong love and appreciation, within any and all species, that other world, the World Beyond, is nowhere.  A huge meaningless void of false urgency on its way into oblivion.  Remember your job, its the only job that is worth doing because there is nothing else.  If you can possibly imagine anything more thrilling than living your true purpose, I'd like to hear about it.

A final word on the outcome of the TotMom Debacle, due you of course, since my last two entries centered on crude circus behavior - now that the object of hatred for the mass mind, fundamentally inspired by gnashing pundits themselves twisted by their own wishful thinking, seeking higher and higher ratings and vast acknowledgement of their celebrity appeal, stumbling over one another analyzing every facial tick and supposed legal trick delivered at ear-torturing volume with over zealous beached hair jobs, Korean nails, stark evidence of various youth-preserving cosmetic surgeries and an astounding absence of sensitivity toward their fellows has been found Not Guilty and will NOT be lethally injected, law enforcement has roadblocked entry into the family's suburban Orlando neighborhood, obviously the mass mind is clamoring excitedly for a little Strange Fruit.  But who are they angry with now?  Can it be they are suddenly left lacking an object of hatred, can it be they will now have to look to themselves and the absurd situations in which they exist, unemployed and underwater, facing diminishing resources and expiring incomes, empty dreams and giant metal pods sitting on dehydrating front lawns jammed to the gills with stuff they have no use for now and never did?  Oh, of course not...
Someone ought to figure out how to harness all that wasted energy.