Waking up
I take my lumps
But what seemed precious
Soon becomes a pale reflection
Of the greater All that glitters
And reflects throughout Creation
Until I am blinded I
Mistake mere signs for destinations.
Breathless wonder is its own
Reward for looking after years
Spent wandering in dark deserts
I, most willful, have created
Desert has a beauty of its own
And retrospection is a trap
I lay to hold on vise-like
To the toys and baubles, shiny objects
Garish city-lights beneath
A starry, starry night.
If I would just look up
And then within.
The gift I have is not for words
But tears and laughter
Inarticulate; holding in my hands
And over-flowing, plentiful
I stand amazed
Walk forward like a Child.
So begins another day. I woke up with a tummy-ache this mornin from overdoin it on the fudge'n divinity last night. Neither was a great success, but I still got more sugar and mess than I cared for.
The garden is overgrown and out of control. This weekend could be pretty critical in getting it cleaned up and in order, and I'm just not feelin it. I'm dreading getting started, just because it's a tad overwhelming thinking of the totality of it. This is still perhaps the best garden I've had yet, but it is quickly becoming so weedy that I'll never get caught up.
I reckon the thing to do is stop whinging and steel myself to the notion of spending some real time and effort getting things tidy. Perhaps I can find volunteers. That'd be fine, except that I don't want to divide up my harvest. And I don't care much for company in any case. Besides that there's dad. He and the house are in such bad shape that neither bears much scrutiny anymore. I know he's a tad self-conscious over all that, though he plays it off as misanthropy. If he had his druthers, he'd still be entertaining people at dinner and showing out, and I wouldn't blame him. I miss that guy. I see his ghost several times each week when I go out to work in the garden.
I've felt a pull in my gut over recent months. I want to know the processes that sustain me. I want to participate. I want to know where my food comes from and what's in it. I want to know where my money goes and what effect that has. I want to know what I have, and I want to know how much of it I really need. I am a reef. Over years I form accretions of material to hold me in place. These attachments usually take the form of books, but it can be as simple as scraps of paper that reference some event or circumstance - a ticket stub or receipt for something. It doesn't matter. I am reluctant to turn loose of them.
Alternately, I will on occasion throw out loads of stuff without paying much attention in what I think of as the "Royal Douche" on my environment. I'm not sure how some things continually make the cut, such that I have scraps of paper and little odds and ends that have followed me around for decades in some cases.
I'm not looking for a sense of control so much as simply an awareness. Perhaps I can document that. There seems a sense of proper proportion, simplicity and, well, my own sort of righteousness in living within the bounds of my own awareness. It would seem natural that I should know where my food comes from, as in, which animal or set of plants. No, really. It would seem natural and just that I should know what I am purchasing, what choices I am making above and beyond my immediate needs, simply because of what and where I trade. I know in my gut that I talk more than I walk; perhaps everyone does that to an extent. But in order to make it to another place, I should first determine where exactly I am right now. I have many times sought to make change in my life without first accepting where I was as a starting point, because the humility involved in that sort of operation was more than I was willing to chew. It always works better when I can swallow where I'm at in order to get to where I want to be. I'm better about that than I used to be; it's the size of the task that seems daunting.
Once I accept that this is a mindset, a process rather than an event - a new method, then, perhaps, it will prove easier. It is an ongoing inventory of sorts, in order to discard what does not work and bring my actions more in line with my talk. To perhaps gain a little integrity in my structure.
Every morning I wake up around 5am or a little earlier. Every morning I tell myself that I'm going to cook myself breakfast. Every morning I sit and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and do a wake'n bake and have a wank and shit, shave'n shower and discover that I'm almost late for work. Then I stop at Kim's Donuts at Zang and Centre and get six sausage rolls (three with jalapeno and three with just cheese) and a dozen holes and a chocolate milk. I eat the three jalapeno rolls and one of the regulars and a few of the holes and then put the rest on the table in the office for whoever wants them. That usually carries me until after work, so lunch is free for cleaning house or burnin a bowl and watchin the news. Today is just like every other day, except that I've done this instead of goofing off on Facebook or the Dallas Morning News blog (I should write something about that soon and then stop bothering those people. My participation in that forum is not productive of anything worthwhile).
I'll gather up my stuff and head out for Kim's and the soap mines now, there to scratch out a decent last day to a pretty good sales week.
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