Effectiveness

Performance appraisals. I am really questioning my ability and desire to continue working. I do not think I could in good conscience give myself a good performance review based upon the established criteria, but it seems to matter so little when the whole ship is going down and I am just struggling for survival.

In my heart of hearts I want a home. I want a farm. I want to be off the grid and self-sufficient and I want to teach other people how to do the same.

It seems a permanent job is not an appropriate avenue to achieving my personal desires, so why continue to strive for that? It just brings me grief and frustration, yet I still feel like I have failed as an effective human being.

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Peaches

She sallies from the porch drenched in sunlight, her hat down, hanging along her back. Her hair is plaited and shimmers like some ancient fresh mined metal. Not quite gold, not quite copper, it is almost like a field of wheat, and a late summer breeze catches loose ends to bring wisps in a halo about her face.

I am standing against a support pillar on the porch admiring God’s fine handiwork at the way her waist nips in where her apron is tied. I am lost in this reverie as her face lights into a smile, and she makes a break for the orchard. I amble along behind her. Leaving the lawn, I go through the tall grass toward the orchard, keeping a distance so as to observe her delightful movements toward the trees.

This song completely goes with this story. I like to think that we were writing it at the same time because this is exactly what I was hearing when I wrote it. ~Love~

These will be about the last of the peaches and nectarines we will get this season. Already, further up the hill, apples are beginning to fall. This week we will need to start picking. My mind wanders to pressing cider and watching her in the kitchen peeling seemingly endless bushels for apple butter, pies, turnovers, crepes.

She is up on a ladder reaching for a perfect golden-hued Augustine. These are her favorites and we were lucky to get a graft from a friend in Grenada. The air stirs her skirt and it clings more tightly about her legs, hindering her somewhat. She reaches down to disentangle herself and descends, peach carefully cradled in her right hand. Her joy is effervescent and infectious. She turns in profile as she bites into that peach.

I move closer, smiling, and notice juice dripping down to her elbow. Her eyes are a mellifluent cascade of enjoyment conveyed to me through the angle of late afternoon sunlight, and as she takes another bite and another her transmission of utter ecstasy only grows. As you can imagine, by this point I am nearly overcome with desire to tumble her to the ground, kissing and licking all that peach juice off of her buttermilk soft skin. I, however, wait until she flicks the pit away.

Grass and dirt stick to the wet spots along her fingers and arms as I tackle her in a frenzy. She pays no mind, still smiling, knowing her seduction was successful. We are overcome by the indefinable energies of the farm, the mountains, the basin, the sunshine, the orchard, the grass, the ants. Every living thing breathes and beats in our rhythm. Our union is a simplicity and wisdom lost from the world for so long. We are blessed to return to these moments of singularity and the organizing principles of life on Earth. Paradise is found in the confluence of all these factors and the perfection of a single peach whose abundance lent us genuine love.

The Alltime Saloon

We were standing on the corner, Castle and Oak, looking up into the big, big sky, slightly blocked out by big, big trees. The power was out again, it was 30 degrees. My breath was like dragon smoke and my lungs ached from laughing 20 seconds prior, but now there was a starlit stillness, a general holy hush. Frontier talking, where were we? No, I mean, I knew physically where we were, but how did we get here, I mean, from where we’d been. We’d been reading poetry, the Word Virus, slightly drunk and up all night. The light about the washer fluorescent and flickering just like the time before when I’d been tripping in another life. My back’s against the washer, my laptop’s on the dryer, electronic pulses of words illuminated. He’s close, too close, but I surrender to this starchild. In the morning I want to run away. Sure, i am grateful, but my life is falling apart, or so it would seem. And I know, just know already it was exactly what I needed and I can’t hang because I want a future to continue. And I know he is done giving. Mistake. Regret. Ego. Banish them and this polarity paradigm too. Oh if loving could truly be beautiful outside of my angel would I ever know it?

Here we are on this hill. Winter a blue moonlit haze around us. This is where I was going when I came back home you know baby? I was going up this hill with you, on the solstice, power out, moon washing out stars and reflecting on snow. Breaths big, so big, they reflect too. Clear enough to get a view of heaven on earth, compassionate creator.

If you want to be anywhere else, please go, I’m fine on my own.

All the things and games we played, costumes we wore, whether or not I’ve mastered them, still, I’d like to play some more. That balance between ego and lust. Should I leave here, I will break apart, but should you leave, I’m sure you’ll leave my heart.

We were alluding to this union, but the magic of geography stopped us dead in our tracks. One moment we are again the center of creation. Every time this happens, I want to hold on, hold on.

You twinkle your eyes at me, “Just let it be.”

With increasing frequency. Moment to moment they come closer together. I find no need to cling so closely to the perfection we are experiencing now. Outside of it, I am amazed to be able to appreciate a winter landscape.

Our eyes are locked in secret understanding, us, creators, makers, world shakers. But I blast through fear and stillness fingertips against the back of your hand. We’ve been here too long. Let’s go home. I run up the hill until I feel my purchase slick and my boots slide, skidding to a stop a few houses up. Your smile is a beacon as you reach my side.

The key’s in the door.

I figure I’ll be heading out alone next time.

The joy in trysts lessens as my play becomes world creation, awareness spread out to different nodes, each to each. I find myself an echo, but the ache has ceased.

There’s the memory of the anti-hero, some Godfather of punk that old Billy dreamed up. The Kip Kasey and Cody… Calloway. How frustrating. 70… 80… years later my sister and I find some old balls of yarn and begin knitting these scrap tales together again.

I’m knocking on your door now. “Hello? May I come in?” The charm of mason jars as drink conferrers has increased my sensitivity to picking up your energies, but the Daphne still hasn’t quite worn off and so I leave some tea at your door and dart back to the forest.

If not for trees, I do not exist. Trees are all that I am? If trees, then me? How could I ever leave again? Or is this the beginning of another test.

Knowing there is a home to come back to, or at least a mirror of a home. I want to stay. More than anything, wondering if winter will bring wanderlust again. Creeping in, the thought of my sphere of influence being unaffected by outside sway. I think you no longer feel that motion in my step, hips swaying like trunks in the wind.

My content is lost on solitude. If no one else is in on the game, why play at all? But for movement, for in movement is dance, and all is dance.

Jesco White, William Burroughs, Jack Kerouac, Cab Calloway, Anais Nin, Henry Miller, and Neal Cassady are apparently hauling in for an old style shindig tonight at the faerie bower…. I think Coleman Hawkins might drop by with some orange sodapop later.

Who are all these strange ghosts rooted to the silly little adventure of earth with me?

What’s your story Morning Glory?

Big Changes

So it’s really true, at this point, he is coming, possibly in as little as two months. We’ll see. We have yet to buy the plane ticket.

Work has not been going well, in my opinion. I feel like I have backslid and I’m not even up to par with where I was a year ago. Clearly, something is wrong, to be adding experience and failing to apply that experience? I should have stayed here, no doubt, but I just feel like I am lacking something

We’ll see what happens in Eureka, but I am thinking about doing something different, even though I was convinced that this is what my whole life had been built around and was leading towards, maybe it was only the foundation for the next thing.

Suddenly I feel responsible for someone other than myself. I have to do better. I want him to be able to transition here, and if my life continues to be the chaos it has been, I refuse to drag him into this tornado.

There must be peace and serenity. It has been gone from me for nearly an entire year. I had a few peaks of fun and joy in July, but since I left Mt. Shasta, there has been this CONSTANT PRESSURE. Enough! If there is something I need to do, then let’s do it. Yet, it feels as though I were waiting, waiting, waiting on the rest of the world, on all of creation. Here I am, ready to go, the longer I am made to wait, the more uncomfortable I become. I do appreciate being here. I love my job, I think. I used to love my job, but maybe it was just being here and getting away from the Milwaukee mess and the people I was working with. It’s hard to work with someone so much younger than you that has it so much more together. It’s like a daily reminder that I am an immature flake and that I can no longer operate in that world.

I meet strangers and they are amazed at my experience, tell me I will have no problems, but I think, “How can that be? My life looks as though I were some alcoholic drug addict. The more I try to be responsible, the worse it gets. I’m trying to hold everything together with staples. I have no foundation and if I miss a step, spin, or turn, my house of cards comes crashing down.”

I have no excuses left to make, and yet, I cannot find the fault lies within me. I am doing everything exactly right. I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now. Why then am I miserable? Why then do I feel hopeless about the future? Why does happiness elude me?

It’s everyone else, no one in specific, but collectively.

I realize that my job right now feels pointless. I feel I need to be back working with children and doing habitat restoration, even wildland firefighting. Something that is more immediate. It’s kind of like a photo album. I feel like I am protecting photos or heirlooms, stuff, garbage and none of it matters, because we’re done, with it all. I had this dream before. The dream when I got to the point at which I had gathered all I could from archaeology. It has been a fruitful endeavor, but maybe, I will soon remember the other side of conservation and I think my experience and education and being in Humboldt could be the perfect combination to get me to the next step. Something along the lines of sustainable timber harvesting – using GIS to track different stands of different ages. Doing this here, possibly transferring to some work in South America at some point. If we lose any of these artifacts, so what? But if we lose even one more single virgin grove of redwoods…. Living systems take precedence over dead people’s garbage. Archaeology has been only about me understanding what life could be like in North America, trying to figure out where everything went wrong. I am still working on translating, but I think I have a good enough idea of the energies at play. I wish we could be like the French fur traders or Lewis and Clark in a 5-D contemporary sort of way. Even my idea of scientific observation is being shaken down. I imagine, if I were the first one here, well the first one reading and writing English, how would I describe this, so that people reading what I wrote, looking at my documentation, could know what it is that I am seeing? Now I wonder if it matters. Back east, do they need to know? If they needed to know, wouldn’t they have been called here too?

I think of Carter, how science and spirit go hand-in-hand, but feeling like he was the only other scientist I ever knew to not discount his spiritual experience of God. One can never out-weigh the other, but I am waiting for science to catch up. I am waiting to be validated. I am reliving the X-files mythology.

The faith of a tiny mustard seed can move mountains.

If I have seen far it is because I have stood on the shoulders of giants.

And I am in love, and he is coming home, and I somehow need to manifest that home in the next 2 months.

It is so amazing. And yet, it is all on me.

Every morning I see the star that is not a star and I ask for help. “Please help us,” I say. “Please help me to know what to do, when to do it, how to do it. I am lost. Help me find my way. Please let this work. Please let this be okay.”

No one else sees them, those stars that are far too bright to be any planet. They are here, not trapped in human shells. They are here among us and surely, that is a great blessing. Yet with all the blessings, why do I still feel that is it not enough. I wish to hold the future off. If there were only one mountain to climb but I’ve got a show kitchen full of projects on the burner and I have lost the dance between them.

In the stillness I find my brothers, and for a second there is just me smiling in the sunlight.

It all began with a smile brought forth from pure love.

Break On Through

Oh it could be beautiful! I fall in deeper in delight, wonderment at how I got from there to here. Love blossoms. I wish we could talk like that every night. Come what may, but we look toward the same horizon. 4 more months, and maybe, finally we will be in Eureka together dreaming a new world. Bless us. I need some miracles to make rent and get plane fare.

And there’s something just beyond knowing more precisely right now and I’m excited and anticipatory about getting there. You think you’ve gone as far as you can go, and then you are just sittin’ for awhile and then, BAM! You’re unstuck and you never may have even realized you’d plateaued and then this whole new vista begins to open up and come into view and all these latent energies start to confluence and you’re like, “Whoa dude! WTF!?! THIS FUCKING ROCKS!” It is beyond awesome, beyond amazing, and grace brings you to your knees and then you’re off to play in this wickedly delightful astoundment state of astonishment because you are here. You made it.

New Moon

All I am going to say is that I am glad my cycle is back in sync with the lunar cycle. I am also thrilled that I am not working today. Pain management is easier when you don’t have to pretend like you’re not in pain. I am still concerned about the premenstrual spotting, but I keep hoping that when I have normal length cycles that are in sync with the lunar cycles, I just need more time to readjust after having been on birth control for ten years and after having my body fat percentage fall below 20%.

I wish I could summon the energy to go pick blackberries. I probably ought to cut the grass at some point today too. Maybe I will make an omelet and make muffins later. I want to go to the farmers’ market in 6 hours and I bet it will be a zoo because of the holiday. I also have a few more hours worth of forms to type today. I wanted to balance my checkbook and pay bills. It seems like such a lot of work when I just want to rest. Today is one of those day I wish Andy were here to make me breakfast, such a sweetheart. I strive to be so sweet, not just to him, but if I start being around people again if I move to the coast. Sometimes it’s difficult to have that energy.

Time slips away, through my hands like wet sand, but not knowing the future, this does little to excite me. I watch the sun speed across the sky and wonder how I let the time fly by. Hoping, hoping that before I know it, he’ll again be by my side. 299 has become a familiar jaunt. Its exploratory magic is replaced by a sense of belonging. Siskiyou, Shasta, Trinity, Humboldt, Del Norte… here at the end of the earth, timelessly captured, sun and sea and stars and mountains, forests and lagoons, valleys and rivers I find myself home. A seasonal round begins to establish itself: summer in the cascades – winter near the ocean – some springtimes anywhere the ground has thawed and there is work.

My soul sister was married this weekend. I love the glow that love lends! Sister, may your marriage be rich and blessed and you and your beloved be light keepers and bearers for the Milwaukee hearth. I think of all the children that are so blessed to have you as a teacher. I strive for your grace and kindness.

I’ve been having thoughts about the Eureka genesis and the Humboldt Bay massacre. There are things that keep resurfacing that seem profound. Frank Black and the Pixies… 707… Humboldt… Fortuna… Again, it’s feeling like here is where I was meant to be my whole life. Maybe not to stay, but right now, working on transmuting the tensions between those who belong to the land, those who had raped the land, and those called to the land, reaching a tipping point. There is something very special about Eureka. MY job is to protect that inherent energy and take it positively to the next level. We’ve been in port towns most of our time here.

It’s funny how we all spent the summer in isolation. We may not be together in the fall or winter, but I think we will be among those we need to be among and be making an impact in service. Even I realize, it makes sense for us to remain separated, although I prefer this to not be, because if we are spaced out, we can reach larger numbers. Even though were, one or both of them to come be with me in winter, I would feel stronger and more focused and be able to accomplish more.

If you reinterpret these lyrics, it’s not about two lovers, but the subtle energies at play in a triad. I’ve wanted this since I could see how much in love Adam was still with Emily and yet had grown to care for me, could see always she will love him, even having forgotten. One love is the only thing that makes sense, and the triad is an emotional consciousness experiment, but how difficult it is to find resonance! When my boys and I are in harmony, I get the chills. It is so beautiful! I am so blessed for this love.

They are one person

They are too alone

They are three together

They are for each other

North Coast

More and more I believe love is something that just happens. It is in the ether, the formless essence that structures order in nature. You can meet a new person. You can make new friends. You can enjoy someone’s company. You can experience varying degrees of physical attraction to someone, but you cannot will yourself to fall in love. It just happens, and it is magical! Love is like stargazing. You are witness to the vastness of the universe and the opportunities therein. Love is the falling in of the vastness into the grain of sand, or a seed blown on the wind, all factors flowering into new creation and life.

The same can be said for the future, you can plan, hope, wish, dream all you like. You can have vision and mission statements, but the future is what is unfolding right now, and you can only know now, right now.

But right now it is too soon to do what will need to be done. I have good thoughts for this shaking out, very good thoughts.

Right here is the soil he needs to flourish. Eureka genesis.

I wonder, if Jesus were fucking Christ, would He be masturbating?