Like all old couples we’ve adopted and ameliorated plenty of bad jokes and even worse puns Amusement becomes more challenging as one ages
Where once you could or might like to party all night
eventually to party for an hour seems more in sight
And so, De-Nile is not just a river in China, or Idaho, or Guadalajara And, never let the truth get in the way of a good story so I hurt my hip, my toe, my heart, by flyingand not by showing off Let’s just agree to disagree
That history, from wherever it comes
for whatever we pretend it doesn’t matter still we know it does
we cling to old phrases like, from where do your kinfolk come
we know we’ve decided collectively, it matters, so why do we continue to abandon our land to them, why do we bow our minds and sully our soils, to
THEM?!
That lord has more in common with their lord as I have more in common with their peasant master and slave,
I’ve been, native and queen, I’ve been, conquerer, conquered and conquering, I’ve been through all these things and seen life terrorizes all on her own no need for extemporaneously expressed self-righteous assigning But, let’s carry on, nonetheless, in this copious never ending river of
denying
Oh my, I suck again. Of course I already knew goats are notoriously mischievous. And as a habitual novice, I expect mistakes and steep learning curves, but a nearly fatal accident before my new kids are here even a week?
Don’t worry, the story has a happy ending or I wouldn’t be writing it right now. I’d still be sobbing, watching chick flicks, eating popcorn, and overindulging in kombucha cocktails, like I did all afternoon yesterday.
I don’t handle this kind of thing well at all. In fact, even that expression ‘to handle it’ is too generous, because I barely do. What actually happens is I panic, get hysterical, panic some more, act out of sheer desperation, and then sob, whether or not I was successful. I have so much awe and admiration for real farm folk, the kind that grew up with livestock, so that all this life and death drama is second nature to them. But I grew up like most Americans, very sheltered from death and the other common dramas of nature.
I woke up yesterday morning and went directly to the corral where I have the new kids penned up, for their safety, of course. No, not at all of course. Phoebe, once the tamer and more exuberant of the two, had wedged herself in the feeder, she was on the ground not moving, I thought she was dead. Panic ensued immediately. I left the gate open as I rushed to her, and out bolted Chestnut, who then also panicked as the dogs began pursuing her eagerly around the corral.
Guard or chase, we’re getting mixed messages?!
Phoebe’s neck was twisted in a horrific way, but she was still breathing. And I couldn’t get her out. I struggled for what seemed like 20 minutes but was probably more like 2, absolutely beside myself. I thought for sure if her neck wasn’t already broken, I was breaking it without a doubt.
I did at last get her out, she tried to stand, head and neck terribly deformed, and fell right back down again. My mind was racing and whirling and the very thought that I was going to have to put her down had me collapse in a heap of sobbing.
She barely moved all day. Miraculously though, she’s now recovering. She doesn’t have her voice back at all, she’s more skittish, but she’s eating, and I am so grateful, and so lucky that my ineptitude and panic didn’t cause nearly as much pain as expected.
Something good in fact came out of it—I realized the wild grapes are ripe as I tore at the vines to bring the kids. Today’s a new day and there’s no time to keep crying over milk not even spilled.
Grapes for the adults and vines for the kids. Now get busy crushing, woman!2 huge tomato plants found dead, mysteriously, full of unripe fruit. No time to cry or wonder why!
Have you ever known anyone to
come down off their high horse to
greet you
when you’re
in the mud?
Or to, stop
for even one
nanosecond to
disengage from their
routine agenda or
lies to Look you in the eyes and Reach out their hand?
Have you ever known anyone who
was there
the moment you
were down?
Even from foreign soil, tongue or town
even without sound saw somehow
you were really down?
And so decided
without a second thought
not to
take the shot and instead to Reach out his hand?
Have you ever known anyone
who saw you melting in tears
and was not scared away
who saw you
grasping at straws
and still somehow
refrained from
slipping away?
Did you have a mother who stood strong
and a father who played long
were you of that lucky sort of duck
who
Left it to Beaver
before
Gilligan’s Island came along?
I did once and now
still I
thank all my lucky stars I
had the uncommon sense to
marry him
because somehow I knew
how very rare that is
to sing along
in such a sad slow song
Please sir, show me how I can serve you better
bowing is not enough
taking a knee, no sir, not nearly enough
even the mask, still, it’s just not, at all, enough
I long to serve
I love to grovel
Your hot car, wife, house, boat, plane
just make me marvel
and drool
I so long to be your tool
Might I lie prostrate
gagged and tied
oh my, how I try
to shame all pride
I know you do it, just
to make me better
I take each lesson
adding one more letter
Stars and stripes
accolades, well-crafted shades, fancy shoes
celebrations so to
as avoid any
accusations
You won’t ever owe me
I promise
Cross my fingers
Hope to die
Stick that needle
in my eye
I long only to serve
No matter what Just give me guns, spades and devils By hook and by crook We’ll rule this nook
My Lord, false God, thou not in heaven Just guarantee me
I’ll never have to take
a second look
The only social media I follow are YouTube (which I’m happy to replace with D-Tube or whatever-comes-next-Tube) and this site where I post this blog.That’s simply because, I’m not forced to spend time on any others.
I don’t like it enough to spend many hours daily in cyberspace, but I know loads of folks are all over many social sites.So, I rely on a few trusted channels to inform me on what’s informing our shared reality.
James Corbett is a major one, for a very long time. It’s been so long now that I’ve lost track of how many years I’ve been following his work.James and I have a lot in common actually.We both studied literature at university.We both taught English in countries outside our own.And where I’m something of a ‘word NAZI’ he’s something of a ‘fact NAZI’—something I adore about him.(Do I even dare to make NAZI jokes these days?!)
Anyway, it’s clear in these ‘days of our virus’ (aka ‘Best Apocalypse Ever’) that facts have run amok, manufactured chaos has crowned himself king, and discernment is on death’s doorstep.
I can hear poor discernment knocking on this door, pounding actually and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Hey, anybody in there who wants to come out yet?” He’s just found some extra room in his balloon and he’s rescuing yet-undead prisoners by the dozens.
I expect that it’s a limited time only offer.
If you’re ready to join him, here’s a great lesson on facts.
James sparked a profound memory for me during this video: The first time I remember Mom saying to me: “Look it up!”
She was talking about the phone book, which from the moment when I pulled one of the enormous yellow volumes from the hall closet, it felt like the most fascinating book I’d ever seen. I remember trying to figure out the phone book not long before I tried to figure out the dictionary, then the encyclopedia, then the Bible.
I remember my huge frustration at wanting to look up so many things, but I didn’t even know the words for them. So, ‘look it up’ became my first seemingly insurmountable challenge as a child. If I wanted to ‘look it up’ I had to first know what it’s called.
Lifetime mission begins.
Here’s going to be a great lesson on fiction.
I’ll admit, I haven’t read it yet. But, I’m about to start it today. Since we’re on a James theme I figure, why not advertise it, just because I trust it’s going to be excellent?!
And here’s my life: a great lesson on making your fantasies into actual realities. We did this, from scratch—raw land at first—mistaking our way to this point like the one-eyed man leading the blind lady.
I can’t help but wonder sometimes if I would’ve had the courage to do it if Grandpa hadn’t thrown me in lake before I knew how to swim.
While I still mostly suck at it even after a decade, at least I can trust it’s real.
Our newest addition to the wee homestead, next I learn to milk!
I’m something of a stickler for words, but what can I say, when you teach foreign languages for two decades a fetish for ‘le mot juste’ just comes with the territory.
Furthermore, when you love being a student as much as I do, it’s expensive to disagree with your teachers.On the other hand, it’s far more expensive to not disagree when I think a disagreement is in order.
Which brings me back to a recent post where I disagree with my current favorite teacher, James True.I don’t think I was persuasive enough in my argument, because he tried to shame me with group-think in front of the whole class (by class I mean his YouTube audience).It didn’t work though, because my love of words is far stronger than my capacity for shame, or group-think.
I lie awake at night thinking about such things.In the wee hours, that is usually between 2 and 3 am, I often get inspiration in the form of annoying insomnia.It’s a fairly small price to pay for what occasionally turns out to be a spectacular insight.
So, I’m trying again, Professor True, to convince you to shift your expression ‘Compassion is not consent’ because I think it’s not accurate.Embedded in the word compassion is consent.Its etymology is ancient, unlike more modern words like empathy.But, I already mentioned that in my first failed attempt to persuade.
And, I don’t want to just negate the expression, because I think I understand what is meant and the sentiment behind it.Instead, I’d like to offer what I think is a more precise phrase in order to refine it.
Consider instead, if you please: “Compassion minus consent.”
Here’s why.
Understanding is based in intellect.Empathy/sympathy is emotionally-centered.But compassion comes from the core. I think so far the good professor would agree, because he talks often about the importance of being seated in one’s pelvis, though he uses more colorful expressions for that fact.
I believe these subtle differences in expression have considerable impact and can be used by nefarious powers against the greatest intentions and wills of man.A couple of examples:
“We are all One” or “We are all in this together” is a kind of bastardization of an absolute truth: Everything is connected.We live in a holistic system.I believe this means that in the mind of man is buried the ancestral wisdom of all ages.I believe this is true because I’ve experienced it personally.Someday I’ll have the skill to express it.But I don’t yet.
I believe this is also what NDE (near death experience) is about.There is an ‘extended consciousness’ realm and I do believe some folks are able to move between these realms (sometimes against their will or comprehension).We used to call it shamanism and try to cultivate it, now we call it schizophrenia and try to control it. Professor True has several excellent posts on this topic.
Another example: “All we need is love” or the myriad variations that have bombarded us for several generations through art, film, books, music.I’ve already said my piece on this a couple of times, so I won’t rehash it again.
I’m all for love and compassion.I just think to saturate the culture with it or suggest it’s the magic bullet to end our social woes is actually undermining it. True love and compassion should be earned and dished out sparingly.Empathy, sympathy, understanding should be extended as far and wide as humanly possible.Kindness, care and concern should be liberally applied, perhaps even where it’s not deserved.
And compassion, minus consent, is something awesome I could aspire to—I know it won’t be easy—but it seems to me a worthy goal of an enlightened social order.
In any case, these men are totally crushing in this best Apocalypse ever, and are so much more entertaining than this post. Do something both fun and healthy for yourself on Father’s Day and check them out!
A warm thanks to those kind souls who click like on my weird poetry. I really appreciate that, because I consider them like word salads. I love making salads, but I’m consistently better at the edible type. Both of these salad varieties I make from true love of craft, which is really the only way to go for me, because then failures become almost meaningless. I can’t imagine what might stop me from always trying again.
But poetry is just fun for me. What I really do for (a) living is create delicious beauty and abundance under pretty tough circumstances and often alone.
What I actually mean is: I coax and nurture nature to feed our bodies, minds and souls!
What’s your super power?!!
Welcome to my office!
I’ve had loads of failures already in the garden this year, and it’s still early. Under the constant attack of man in the way of weather warfare and in the terms of nature, who feels the assault as well, of course, but takes it out on me, personally.
Mexican sour gherkin, normally a heat-lover and such a cute plant to grow, but showing stress already.
Just as the first crop of melons were coming ripe voles or moles took out 6 of 7 plants. I out-smart them this time by planting melons in a few locations, and at different times, but some sort of mite has just found the second patch and their population is exploding practically overnight.
Then they took over the cucumbers and are feasting on the eggplant leaves too! Greedy pests out to torture me vicariously.
I always avoid spraying any manufactured chemical in the garden. Sometimes I have to do something though, or it will all be dead in a fortnight, and right before harvest after so much hard work. The bees are all over these same plants too, which is why I tend to wait too long and hope the problem will just go away.
When I do finally cave, I go for an oil/dish soap mix that’s actually pretty effective on the mites but gentle on the bees. I do it early in the morning on an every other day schedule between overhead sprinkling. We do not (but will, I hope!) have a well, so that is treated water going all over the garden constantly, because the weather terrorists have stolen our rain, again.
Someday, when there are more folks growing their own food, weather will matter to them again, and they will realize it’s being manipulated and they will join me in finding this practice completely unacceptable. That’s my big dream anyway during this best Apocalypse ever.
My current nightmare is the drip irrigation and the grasses. We will be evolving our design, again. Boxes lined with heavy duty wire mesh everywhere. Probably no grass at all, eventually. Those damn rodents also got a bed full of jalapeños, the parsley and some lettuce. We’ve lost countless young fruit trees to them, too.
It’s a really good way to teach and learn strategy and problem solving, and it never ends. Gifts of Ba’al, as James True likes to say.
My current paradise is in the salads—growing them, crafting them, sharing them. I’m getting a bushel full of cucumbers every day. I got so sick of processing green beans I’m letting them go now for fresh and dried beans. That’s another reason I love these gorgeous ‘Blue Coco’ beans, they are so prolific and can be eaten for months as young, mature, or dried. Unfortunately they are also showing signs of great stress, which considering it’s in the 90s every day and there’s been no rain for about a month, it’s not surprising.
I always let some of the greens and herbs go to seed. Not only do the bees love the flowers, but the tips have loads of flavor and add an attractive addition to salads and soups.
The blackberries are still coming in heavy, and, drum roll please, we’re days away from salsa season!
My new favorite garden addition is Trombetta squash and I haven’t even tried the fruit yet. I love it just because it’s so beautiful and it’s still flourishing, even though all the zucchini and yellow squash died before producing anything. I’m convinced after years of failure that they cannot be grown here organically without far too much headache than they’re worth. That makes it all the more thrilling to find a squash that just might make it into the rotation.
If you’ve never experienced going grocery shopping in your own garden, crafting it up your own unique way in your kitchen, and sharing it (even if it’s just with the pigs because it didn’t turn out that good) you’re missing out on what I consider the most satisfying work I’ve ever done. I’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming back into the office, or the classroom, ever again.
And that’s another reason why this is the best Apocalypse ever!
For any of y’all who want to talk real weather, meet Mike Morales.
If you think those rioters hate you or
those others
whoever they may be hate us
you’re confusing hate
with desperation
Similar to watered down compassion
Similar to love and sex
When you give it out to everyone just willy-nilly
What value is then left that’s not just silly
If you hate the man who’s desperate
He covets your life, your wife, your gloves
So much so he snuffs through strife
Your very common sense or decent fool’s lament
You might see
Hate is just inverted love
As fear is just inverted heart
Courageously
You think you destroy their art
And history
Jacking monuments and sucking tears
Striking down all meant dear
So Blake has never met your ear
The iron hand crushed the tyrants head
and became a tyrant in his stead
Hate has only passion
For you to fear
Don’t confuse hate with desperation
Hate like love has everything
Yet nothing
For you to fear
Passion, word of the devil
Come and take it, with me
very deliberately
Our sacrament
I need your consent
In case some day
we need repent
Let us hold it
Together
Compassion
The bravest only
Or the most clever
That I withhold
I do
Because my passion comes
Then lasts
Forever
