harrowing tails

AS usual, Gentle Reader, the past “holiday weekend” was filled with excitement.

You may remember we were facing the looming certainty of no water.  Let’s just say that in fact, we did have no water for several hours.  It was over 110.  There were a few terse exchanges, such as:

“The water’s going to be off another two hours, OK?”

“No.”

Ultimately it got wrestled to the ground to a certain extent: not finished, but wrestled down.  I resorted to vodka and limonata and mystery novels, after the snake episode but before the posse of horsemen arrived on our driveway.   We were, perhaps foolishly, commenting at the end of that day on what a good thing it was that the ELECTRICITY wasn’t off at the same time as the WATER, which is most often the case.  Maintenance and all that.  As we were being all jolly about it, the Partner, who had been looking out the front window, suddenly grabbed his hat and the shotgun.  Gunfire ensued in the garden.  It turned out to be our Annual Dispensing With Poisonous Snakes.  A rattler, as usual.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t only the snake that bit it, our water hose was in harm’s way and sadly met its end.  This was the occasion for a challenging trip to the hardware store, but even that finally got completed.  We were both, in the end, able to remain calm.

Until the next morning, when as the sun began shining brightly and hotly through the dome, we heard the noise of a huge Harley Davidson, which drove up and down the gravel road in front of our driveway for about forty minutes at top rev and noise.  Nothing caught on fire in the brush and dried grasses, which was a good thing.   Shortly after that, once again pulling ourselves together, we look out the window to see?  A group of people on horseback riding up our (private) “driveway”.  They claimed to think it was a hiking trail, and, additionally, deposited a rather large amount of horseshit, LIKE THERE ISN’T ENOUGH ALREADY.  The Partner did his most imposing Crazy Bastard Impersonation and they finally left.  Given that we are several miles in country on a ghastly dirt and rock road, it’s hard to believe there’s all this activity, but there is.  Mostly it’s people who don’t have any business being back here which is strange enough in itself.

Often I wonder what WE’RE doing out here, although we know more or less how we came to travel through the freak wormhole of economic diaspora and arrive at our present agrarian setting.  It’s mysterious in a way how totally uphill things are here, but we’ve kind of decided it is a lot about the weather.  It’s beastly, in short, and we both think it contributes to loss of mind over the long term.   However, on the good side:  we have a lovely quail family in the garden.  This is, I believe, Mr. and Mrs. Quail who strolled so companionably up the driveway in the spring.  They have several small balls of fluff who never come when called.  Last evening, Mr. Quail led the brood up to the bluff after everyone had- well, gorged themselves it looked like,  and Mrs. Quail stood for a moment on a mound of soil in the garden.  She fluffed up to the point where she looked like a much bigger creature.  She stretched her legs.  She appeared to sigh contentedly and went off after her family.  It was a strangely moving pastoral moment.  I also bought a gardenia, which perfumes the dark nights, unexpectedly all around the yurt.  It’s really wonderful, and reminds me always that you really do have to stop and smell whatever’s blooming.

 

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oh yes it did

Snow, Gentle Reader.  It snowed here, about a half foot, and stayed icy for a week.  This was quite the adventure for me, since snow has not been a part of my experience until now.A time of incredible beauty and balance.  Also, wetness since one of us had to roll herself around in the snow and jump up and down a few times.  The Partner, pictured tinily up above, found all this very amusing.  Which was good.

Because what has happened since then has not been much fun.  In fact it’s pretty much been bloody awful in a way.  Except?  In spite of all the deeply troubling things that are going on, we found ourselves SAVED.  By duck fat.  DUCK FAT.  We got a duck in our ongoing ventures in culinary expansion.  Despite our trepidations, it turned out to be almost mindlessly easy to prepare two duck breasts in a deep saucepan.  They were unbelievably good- just skin side down, some salt, high heat for five minutes.  Then you move the breasts a bit to another spot, cook on lower heat for a half hour, and there it is.  With the spectacular corollary of duck fat.  Who knew?  The years I spent struggling to brown potatoes in lesser types of fat!! HAHAHAHAHAH!!! With duck fat, all is forgiven and possible.  You barely have to do anything!!  They come out, well, they come out PERFECT.  Needless to say this was a stunning revelation and we are going to move on to duck confit.  Ta da.

The other thing that happened was this.  As I was in the laundromat drying a gargantuan amount of laundry, and crying per recent events (a snivel fold, you might say), a very tall Caribbean man walked in.  This in and of itself is rather astonishing in this location.  But.  He looked at me, asked how I was, and then sang a lovely duet of uplifting Bob Marley songs.  Reminded me that if the sun comes up tomorrow, things will be better.  I know this, but for now I’m counting heavily on duck fat to fill in the gaps.  And miscellaneous angels.  Fortunately, we’ve still got the hummingbirds to cheer us up as well:  We figured out that if we take the feeders in at night, whaddaya know, they don’t freeze.  Out in the morning, and our little cohort is buzzing around like mad.  There is always hope.

Moving through the years

We’ve been going at our usual breakneck pace.  Serious injury has been avoided so far which really is something given the fact that all the knives have been deciding to leap off counters and out of drawers and dance around, landing between toes.

It’s winter here now.  We actually had a Fall this year, our very first one here.  It was LOVELY.  Several days of 70 degree weather, which usually one only sees at midnight in July.  Liveable nights in the low 50’s.  Golden and flame colored leaves against lion colored grasses- oddly, a new batch of tiny cows and goats as well.  We saw some tee-tiny newby lambs yesterday and wondered- it was very windy and very cold and they were just sitting on the ground like a series of tiny balls.   The two brown sheep who live by us on the road into town, however, are now looking like enormous fuzzy blocks.  Last year they simply looked to be a couple of hassocks set under a tree, but this year somehow their unshorn wool has grown into square shapes on each of them and it is pretty amazing.  Would I love to get my hands on that wool? What a color; intoxicating.  Maybe that’s why they don’t get sheared; it’s just too nice looking into that mass of chocolate.

In the meantime, I have arrived at a tiny bit of hope.  The world is travelling through perilous times and energies at present and everyone feels it, whether they know what it is or not.  But.  I realized that the things that seem the most threatening- the politics, the intense polarized stupidity, the nonsensical “statements” made by “officials”, and let us not leave out the religious fanatics and continuing loyal members of the flat earth society- all those things actually mean, I think, that the individuals holding these views and manifesting these actions?  Are doing so out of fear of the changes that cannot be avoided.  Since Nature moves forward, inevitably, this drag back group is not going to prevail in the end.  This gave me a very tiny measure of calm.  Which is much needed at this point, let’s just say.

In other exciting news, the frogs/toads are singing their heads off preparatory to going into their little holes and sleeping through the cold.  We have a mountain lion that rests for a time each night right outside our front door (by the woodstove, as it happens).  And!  The bear is back, judging from the frequent scat sightings.  It’s a full life, just right there.

Out of the ashes

Ahem.  Yes, we’ve been insanely busy and too pooped to write down All Those Brilliant Ideas We Have at 3 a.m.  Which is just to account for all the non-writing.

Anyway, the Partner has been down for a few days which has meant that the entirety of our, we really can call it, subsistence farming work has fallen to me.  This has meant five hours minimum in the gardens daily along with everything else that has had to get done. It’s working wonders for my triceps as it happens.  I’m thinking about launching a new Haul the Hose Total Body Makeover program!   HOWEVER.

I found a dragonfly yesterday which had apparently just stopped this physical incarnation.  For the first time in my life (really) I actually PICKED UP A BUG, Gentle Reader.  And what a bug!  Wings like golden lace, a turquoise and green back, deep almost purple long tail/body.   I’m going to frame him, I think.  Also, for the first time I made sauerkraut out of home grown cabbage.  The gardens have really come to life, too.  All the roses are blooming again, and I’ve even managed detente with a raccoon.  (This may be the most singular achievement of the week, to be honest. )  This raccoon is no dummy: it only picks the ripe tomatoes now, after the initial hideous assault where tomatoes of all degrees of ripeness where tossed hither and yon covered in tooth marks.  The next time was a bit more tippy toe and involved only ripe and ready to eat fruit.   We had a Serious Talk with The Big Raccoon in the Sky and so far, as long as I keep things harvested, no further predations.

I also made a mad dash to the bay area to see a dear, lifelong friend, and was reminded that there are indeed people who just simply spread joy wherever they go.  She is one of those people and truly, it is amazing what a bit of joy can do.  On the way down I passed a large field of sunflowers: YELLOW.  It was almost like having my heart aerated, seeing that field.  Combined with the joy and all,  it led me back to the initial premise of so long ago, which is this.  Miracles happen all the time.  We just have to open our eyes.  More to come on the Miracle front…..for now, back to the garden and the Hose Super ShapeUp Program…….

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.

It is what it is

Whatever that may be, Gentle Reader.  We’ve moved into rather spring like weather here, albeit with the usual 30-40 degree swing between day and night.  It was 38 degrees in the yurt this morning, for example.  Still and all.  As long as we can keep it all in Perspective, we’re doing just fine for the most part.

Our lives, the Partner’s and mine, now kind of swing between ever continuous Harsh Reality, and the Unseen World.  The Unseen World is that place where ideas and spirits live, and we attempt to do our work, divine plots and dinner menus, and pull weeds.  The Harsh Reality is, like, that speed trap I hit at night on the way home from the bay area and got a ticket in.   I found myself thinking gratefully in the moment that neither of us was a young black male, especially since it was pretty clear to me the Officer had stopped us (in the dark, on Interstate 5) partly because he, as an Older Officer,  felt safe in assuming that there were no automatic weapons, methamphetamines, large amounts of cash or knives, or other contraband, in our dusty Subaru.  I was very glad indeed not to disappoint him in this instance.  Even the Partner, who is generally quite open to seeing when I make an error, remarked that this particular episode was reminiscent of the sort of piles we step over between our house and the landlady’s.  Poop, in short.  Not, in essence, my bad.  Radar gun cheating.   So that was rewarding.  And besides, as often as I have to Go Outside, sheer numbers would suggest an untoward occurrence of this sort to be not totally unlikely.  The amount of the fine will probably make me lay my head down and moan, but there it is.  What it is.  See how that works?

Meanwhile in my continuing struggle to Learn English, I have to ask precisely what the word “entitlement” means.  Especially when it is connected to something like “social security”.  I am confused here, so help me out.  If I’ve PAID INTO SOMETHING FOR A ZILLION YEARS whether I wanted to or not, doesn’t that make the return of that fund which was stipulated to be for a specific purpose such as my retirement, not an entitlement?  But more like honesty?  Really.  These politicians need to be beamed up or something before they kill us all.

Also, I got so depressed about Syria, and the fact that we here in our little community or part of it are now being policed by the same sort of armed individuals (keeping us SAFE don’t you know? since the county sheriffs take too long to get here….but what happens to anyone they arrest?)  who presented themselves in the Trayvon Martin shooting, that I decided to spend a day in the kitchen.  Where, along with scalloped potatoes, I came up with a dessert.  I’d almost thought I couldn’t cook anymore but this little number, with its blood oranges in a honey-cardamom syrup, port and vanilla pastry cream, and toasty brioche underneath it all, was a happy reminder that progress can still be made.  Even though the blood orange tree froze this winter after a big harvest,  and looks very sad indeed, hope springs eternal.  A reminder that beauty and magic exist all around us, even in the murk of our current days.

 

Slipping on the ice

Yes, I did that, for extra fun.  Try as I may my mental state can often be characterized as….muzzy? And although I aspire to be awake and aware it just doesn’t happen all the time.  So the other morning, as I strode forth to pay the rent which I had actually forgotten about on New Year’s Day, it came to pass that my casual inspection of our entry way was woefully inadequate leading to a full length flip up and down, flat on my back on a slippery slope.  I must say it hurt quite a bit but no injuries were sustained by me.  The Partner, on the other hand, took a while to come down off his helium balloon in the corner of the ceiling ledge.   The poor man just doesn’t have the nervous system for coping with Miss Accident Prone for Reals- as I limped over to crawl under the ostensibly 7000 volt electrified fence wire to pay the rent, after all- he was exclaiming in desperate tones that he fully expected me to step on a land mine any time now.

But, HA HA HA.  Who needs land minds with all this?!?!  I lay in bed at night composing amusing paragraphs which of course have disappeared into the ethers by daylight.  The various upcoming Things I’ve Decided To Do Now (grow up! make money! write a book!)  have plunged me into the Bottomless Pit-Puddle of Quivering Yuck.  The echo chamber accompaniment features any number of disparaging words but Of Course We Know Better Than To Listen. Still it has been interesting, the countervaling force applied by one’s still present inner black holes.  There’s a great scene in the movie Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy where they’re striding toward a town and every time one of them has a thought, a shovel rises up out of the ground and smacks them in the face.  Just something we all have to get through, right Gentle Reader?

Still.  I’m off to town for assorted sticky notes to pull a plot together on, among other things.  I have the crazy idea that if I can…just…..figure out this plot…….I may finally be awake in a bigger way in my own life.  Anything could happen.  Because details and events do not a plot make, and it seems to me that we all, quite often, get lost in the action and lose sight of the direction.  Or something like that.  WTF, in short.  Meanwhile we seem to have an impromptu deer family camping around the yurt, and it has been pretty amazing watching them wake up in the morning and seeing how they go about their days.  There are an assortment of youngsters and, we think, a mother- but maybe not.   The remnants of summer whose parents and relatives got shot or run over, this crew is completely unafraid of us and seem quite often to deposit the younger members within eyeshot of our front door when they have pressing business to attend to.  We’re deer babysitters now.    There’s always a lot to do- even Tyrant the Hummingbird is back to buzzing the bedroom window in the mornings- although we can’t put the feeder up again yet because it freezes every night.  I hope he understands.  Spring is, somehow, in the air already, so I’m betting he does.

 

 

Gone viral

We have.  The bug that circled this hill all winter so far decided to land, with a thud,  on Yours Truly.  There may be a bit more radio silence upcoming as a result but nonetheless.  These viruses always make a person feel like they’re dying, or they’d like to, and the fact that we also had a snowstorm (!!!!!) of sorts….it took some time, as a result,  to actually get some cough medicine, and things were Decidedly Not Fun At Yurt Central.  I padded and swaddled myself enough to hit my Internet Outpost today, including nosewarmer,  since after all, one DOES have an on line business.  At present, I can report:

PINK mountains, since it’s snowed.

Some additional information on the eternal standoff between good and evil.  TBA.

And even some orders to fill!    However, with night falling and my own internal temperature rising, it is just to say Happy Solstice before heading out into the pink evening and back to bed, for the foreseeable future.

Sun and Smoke

EVERYTHING is on fire around us.  The smoke  made the sunset sky night before last look like a gigantic bruise, and in the days it muffles the line of sight to the point of nothingness.  We’re remaining calm, right? Everything is tinder around here and on our hill there being only one way out, we’re thinking positively.  No lightning due for a minute, anyway.

Meanwhile, my goodness.  I quit paying attention to the news for two seconds and look what happens.  Ryan as vice presidential contestant, the shocking revelation that the average Republican has apparently been exposed to absolutely no science or logic at all and thus have managed to drag the level down even further on every level where they are to be found.  As a woman, I must say their interpretation of human biology is…quite surprising.  Jumping nekkid into the Sea of Galilee on the taxpayer’s dime is another uplifting episode,too.

It seems to me that the eternal standoff between good and evil (just to TOTALLY OVERSIMPLIFY) is proceeding apace.  My own life is rattling along with pieces large and small falling away from it,  and in a world where cows are fed meat and fish eat chicken, and a country where it is crucially important that we be able to purchase assault rifles but can’t get medicine without an insurance company deciding it’s okay…well.  It’s all getting a bit apocalyptic for my taste.

Which made me think about how difficult we humans find change.  Let’s say you give up a long standing bad habit.  You know it’s bad, you know you feel better without it, but still….it follows you around trying to lure you back.  The comfort of old thought patterns, even if negative, exerts a pull. People can get “stuck” in these situations.  The future is a complete unknown except that what you DO know is that bad habit really, really needs to go.  Like fossil fuel, for example, or codependent relationships. We KNOW we’re destroying the earth and we keep doing it.  We KNOW we’re doing violence to our own hearts and souls, and we keep doing it.  The funny thing is, though, that however terrifying it all is or may be, once you actually do step into the supposed unknown which is really more like the unadulterated present, somehow it’s not quite as frightening as staying in the old tied up position.  One may still be afraid but it is a different ball game, different situation, and ultimately the fear can become guidance rather than leg irons.

Still.  It is difficult to be in such a different part of the journey from what was known before, and to be in such a different part of it that some people can’t even see you any more.  This is where, I think, real faith comes in.  Faith is about inner knowing, inner trust in things unseen and ungrasped perhaps.  Faith comes from spirit.  Faith does not, in my estimation, come from authority, from people telling you HOW IT IS.  None of us on some level really knows doodly about how it is, why we’re here, what’s going to happen next.  In order to have control, feel important, have power, structures have arisen that feed upon this “authority”, and in our world they masquerade as “religion” or “morality”.  In fact they are nothing of the sort, and more like blinders that get attached first thing to keep people from thinking for themselves.

So, to all of us here on Earth, everyone everywhere- start thinking.  Start being curious, start simplifying.  Start with simple, direct talk to yourself.  Start from love- and this also means not accepting what is not good for you, in having compassion and love for yourself along with everyone else, and every THING else as well.  It really isn’t easier not to do this- we just think it is.

Don’t Look Back

Words to live by, Gentle Reader.  Orpheus didn’t listen and look what happened to him.  I’m not sure exactly why it is better to keep going without looking over one’s shoulder once you’ve embarked on the journey, but from personal experience I can say it is so.

The days melt into each other around here.  All the things I meant to write about recently:

-The smoke trees appearing by the river and in clumps among willows and oaks, with their diaphanous rose fire color.

-The goats, of course.  The babies on the main road discovered a tipped over stock tub last week and the triumphant climbs! The racket inside!  Our older goat friends, the Chub Group, have full beards and longer horns now and as they lounge around their yard or equably share paper bags between them they are indeed splendidly parliamentary.

-It’s hot again, which on the positive side means we can hang laundry on the line to dry instead of trekking into the dreaded laundromat.  Yesterday’s foray into clean clothes was rendered quite exciting indeed, first involving disrupting a frog household atop the washer.  While I was trying not to step on any frogs, Tyrant came zooming around the yurt at eye level, making full bore hummingbird buzz sounds and facing me so his red gorget was right in my nose.  For some odd reason I thought “ambulance? fire engine?” at first and then got to wonder for the rest of the day if I haven’t totally lost it at last.  Instead, I’m just being bossed around by birds, since it was his subtle way of telling me the feeder was empty.  FINE.

-The green of the trees is unbelievable and changing by the moment.  But at the beginning, the green on the new oak trees is sublime, unimaginable really.  Indescribable, like being in the middle of a big green heart.  You can feel it in the dark too, underneath the sky which seems more full of stars than ever lately.  Also, there’s an owl.

However, about not looking back.  I suppose it may be a big part of being in the “now”, ?.  I had to give many of my plants away when we came here, and was a bit taken aback when I saw the orchids a few days ago at the friend’s where they now live.  They were blooming, spectacularly, and the chartreuse one, which was always my favorite, looked amazing.  I burst into tears, and it all really hurt.  A lot. Even though I couldn’t really put words to the pain.

Life is full of loss, but you can’t focus on that.  What’s gone is gone.  What is, is.  That’s pretty much it, and if you’ve got anything to do in your life that’s pretty basic operating system.  It takes energy to maintain focus, and wisdom to maintain balance.  So if lately I’ve been feeling like an exhausted dumbbell, that’s just part of what IS.   Things are fitting together more, at the same time, and perhaps the only comfort is looking at what I’ve managed to accomplish in the ongoing Whole Catastrophe.  And the way I can look at that is to look at what I’m actually doing NOW. This puts the past where it belongs, really: In the past.   It’s hard to describe this sensation of flux; it’s like waking up every day a different shape and finding out what that does.  As long as I can stay “in” that, I’m ok.  But when things creep in from the past and say, hey! remember how it USED to be?, it still gets pretty wobbly.

When I think about the complexity of being human and living, along with how “simple” it is in essence (in terms of if you really live by “do no harm”, things are much more straightforward), I wonder how any of us make it at all.  Everyone is moving at their own pace, subject to their own pressures and elations, and we’re all doing it at the same time, and sometimes?  The directions get a bit switched around and oppositional and then?  There is inharmoniousness!  The ability to navigate through this comes with time and a lot of practice- it has to be second nature and not something you look back to remember.   You have to be able to let go of a lot of stuff, on the spot.  How important is this? What really needs to be done?  Where is the truth of the situation instead of the glamour?

Confucius said comparisons are odious, and at times I agree.  Comparisons place things squarely in the field of opposites and that isn’t always the way it is.  One person’s story, although they think it is truth, may be just a figment of their developing issues.  People have all sorts of ideas about who and what they are.  They’re just not always true.   What is true, perhaps, is that the more you learn, the more there is to know and the more you realize you don’t know much at all.  Every life skill you master leads to another level of difficulty needing to be learned about.  I guess the thing of it is to greet it with joy and acceptance; I think you see more clearly when you’re not compressed and afraid, in any event.

In that spirit, I’m going to continue my epic Bring Feng Shui To The Yurt efforts.  Back to sorting boxes in the storage shed, one more time.