Tales of frog man

I’m not sure, but the toad who lives in the yurt with us- and it is a Bufa, not a Rana- he seemed a bit upset with me the other night.  And it was HE who secretively crept up to the top of the bucket I was using to fill the small swamp cooler (85 degrees at 11 pm! This is the life!) and cocked his little head.  Scaring the daylights out of me.  Silly I felt, yes.  I emitted a bit of a yodel of surprise, yes.  But I IMMEDIATELY apologized, praised his nimble and handsome toadness, and set him down gently.  He escaped into the wine storage area, confirming my initial assessment of his intelligence.

The next night?  He flattened his growing and greener  body (and it is amazing just how flat these little beings can get themselves) in the middle of the red pad on the kitchen floor.  Thoughtful, really, because he’s hard to see on the blue and green.  Anyway, having lodged himself where I couldn’t possibly miss him, when I came around the corner he looked up at me, composed himself, and hopped under that same swamp cooler.  Looking at me coolly the entire time, he then deposited a very large and well formed toad poop.  Looking me right in the eye, casually hopping to one side lest a viewer miss the enormity of his production.  I found myself wondering, once again, if I haven’t just gone completely insane, as I stood there wondering if there was a meaning to this episode.  Was this little toad the possessor of hurt feelings? SHOULD I have kissed him last year like my neighbor suggested?  Instead I thanked his retreating form for not doing that in my frying pans.  Nothing if not regular, those toads.

And that, Gentle Reader, is pretty much how it is around here.  Barring the deluge of  “reality” which is of course ceaselessly mind boggling, my focus has changed.  Certain things have come to a head, we might say, and life is forming itself into something…unknown.  I’m remembering that that growly feeling in ones stomach can also be excitement and not just fear.  Right?  IT’S A GOOD THING.  It’s also, of course, funny how we cling to our patterns and habits and pasts even when we know a) none of it is happening right now (this is not San Francisco, for example) and b) it is not just over but not relevant to today’s situations (not slave girl to the divorce court anymore, either, thank you in fact very much indeed).  Partly of course it is also the acceleration of everything, time, tides, mankind’s headlong rush to extinction or sublimity.  We were watching a program about farming in rural America today and the same scenario is playing out everywhere.  Where a farmer used to be able to support his family by growing food for his community, caring for his land, working day by day, on a 200 acre plot of land? Now it takes at least 2000 acres, mechanization, and? No stewardship.  No ability to support a small family farm because you can’t make enough money to break even.  Who knows where the food you eat comes from anymore?  Not to mention what’s in it which is such a gnarly topic I can’t handle it today at all. BUT ANYWAY.  This scenario is played out over and over, and part of what happens, as we all do know,  that is really grotesque is that the small farm gets bought up by the forces of evil large agribusiness and Monsanto wins the day.  And, well.  Jobs?  There’s no way the numbers of jobs could be “created” that you hear we “need”.  And yet nothing is getting done and lots of things are broken.  I don’t get it.

As we move forward trying to make a new and improved and happy life for ourselves, the Partner and I, trying to grow vegetables and herbs and keep our little fledgling business and those it serves healthy I can’t help but wonder.  There’s such a push at the moment toward unreality, unsustainability, and staying asleep that at times it is just more than a person can really take in.   We feel alternately incredibly hopeful and positive and downright blessed and think how many wonderful people there are out there working toward an improved future, and simultaneously wonder whether that gaping, slavering mouth with the huge teeth snapping at our heels is going to get us any time soon.  We also wonder if that slippery saliva will remove our skins as it has removed much of all of our old kinds of economic viability.

The other thing that seems to be in the very visible spectrum now is the whole thing of swinging between…what?  Things that are said to be true clearly are not.  Things one might believe oneself are said to be untrue, but clearly are not.  The social preoccupations are enough to leave one’s mouth hanging open on a permanent basis.  If you love dogs, you’ll have to marry one?  Good heavens.  (Some may think that might have been a better choice to begin with but that’s another issue. Dogs are LOYAL, after all.) I guess it’s less a matter of picking your way carefully on the path than of simply letting go and letting the river and the wind carry you forward.   There are forces massing on the plain, I think.  I fully expect to see Krishna striding up the driveway any day, looking for Arjuna.  I’m hoping he has some Helpful Hints.  In the meantime, we’ll keep practicing.

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5 responses to this post.

  1. Reblogged this on Stupidityflowering.

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