45

,

I went out to the farm today with my third cousin who's kind of like an uncle figure, which is sweet, being that I inherited the farm from an uncle. And, it's pouring rain. My car is at the shop attempting to pass a Maryland inspection, which I thought, well, of course she would pass, then failed for three reasons. But I didn't know that then. And we're out at the farm, and we're driving, and he's like: I'm worried we're gonna get stuck. It's really rainy. And I'm like: We're not going to get stuck. And then, right as we said that, we realized we were stuck. So he calls his son, who happens to be in town, and I call the neighbor. I have neighbors on both sides. I know the one neighbor better than the other, and he's a landscaper, so I figure he has something, as we're not that stuck. And he comes over with his tractor. [A cigarette between his lips.] It's so funny — the men — they don't say anything to each other. They don't even make eye contact. My neighbor has a tow rope thing. It's not a rope, but I don't know what it is. It's like a band. Not a bungee — a canvas tow band? Hands it to my cousin, who just buckles it up. And they just, they just do this thing. And I'm watching them and I'm videotaping it because I'm still so tickled that it's a Tuesday and this is what I'm doing. So he just gives a tug and the car comes and they're not talking and they're not saying anything.

I don't know where it came from... old programming, most likely... but I say to my neighbor: Well, now I'm going to have to cook you dinner. And he says: And I don't have a problem with that. And he gets back in the tractor and we get back in the car and we go on with our day.

l
a
t  o  d  a  y
e
r  e  p  o  r  t  I N g

Hey,

I guess I'm just really, I'll say the word realizing, but what I really mean, is settling into — accepting — the fact that I'm always going to love you. I always have and I have to accept that I always will. Until, maybe, I won't? But that love — there's nothing to do with It. I'm a doer, and there's nothing to do. It's not broken. It doesn't need to be fixed. And It doesn't need to be experienced. There's nothing to do with It. It just Is. It's almost like Its own entity. It's just being It, and accepting that is pretty fascinating. 

And I find myself wanting to tell you: I love you. And then I say: Why do you need to say that? You know that. And I don't need to hear 'I love you' back, because, I know that. And so there's this big thing that just Is. And it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean that we're supposed to be together. It doesn't... It doesn't mean anything. It's just being what It IS. !

I think that's pretty cool. Cool, as in, actually * what * is * happening * It doesn't matter what I think of It, It just is being what It Is. Isn't that wild?

caretaking

 vs.

stewardship

 4

land

 &

men

Detaching the It from you, reignition, sparking alive, remembering. Worn into acceptance when striking It from my To Do List, ticking off my previous belief that I am the one who needs to fix big things previously perceived as unworking — when clearly they work because they Really R Real. Three. How do you react, what happens, when you believe that thought?

I want to make love for days, like Four (in-a-row). Who would you be without that thought? But I don't care to deal with the before or after. There is nothing I need / want / care to say, besides sometimes this feeling of (heart-felt (feels)) expression: I love you. Meaning, I love Love. Allowing, Love.

This really is true: As of today, I have no desire to make two cappuccinos tomorrow morning, unless they're both for me, spaced about ten minutes apart. Without that thought, I might be like my client, who checked-in after farm-stuck and car-fail. We talked about land * illness * ♡ * embryos. She desires nothing more than to make a second cappuccino, or a sandwich (a bottle). I don't think it's a *grass is always greener* thing. It's about energy, excess energetic reserves, and over on the other end — depletion.

1. Conventional vs. not ?

2. Is my soil depleted ? 

3. Is my nervous system ? 

4. 5th grader, pinkie-nursing babies, drinking drip coffees. I think I've told you this before, but a mom up the street would french braid my hair before the school bus came. Almost every morning. I would trade her mother's helper time after school 4 my fix. It's the ritualized aesthetic that gets you through trials (of being your mother's live-in helper?).

   

whoremoans
+  
lived experience