Texas Sky, 1st Edition

I find myself on a beautiful evening in South Texas admiring the sky and all of the everchanging wonders it holds. My soul is quieted by the beauty...for a time my existence, and the existence of those in my general planetary vicinity, teeters on the edge between darkness and light. It is breathtaking to ponder.

The sky is an impossibly enigmatic mixture of grey subtleties...cloud formations float and also float against each other in relative movement that makes one wonder about the power of the air and how we usually don't notice it at all. Like breath, we take this visual masterpiece for granted on a moment-by-moment basis. Our atmosphere is always dynamic, showing off with or without admirers. There's a lesson there.

Now as the darkness wins over I'm seeing colors that I never thought possible in a sky...the new moon hangs in its inconstant constancy with Sirius or Venus or whatever the only visible star in aspect is...the perfect circle shadow is visible in its bluegray backdrop...all the clouds are - and this is true - burnt pink orange and yet not neon but harmonious in hue and pitch to the pollution-influenced grey-blue of the horizon...gradating subtly into the midnight blue perfection that defines this rare time of night. As the clouds dissipate around my viewing of the moon and her satellite, they brighten and are suddenly diamond-encrusted in their luminescence. It's as if they know I'm documenting my awe of their mysteries.

As is magical about Texas as the season grows warmer...a cicada is serenading me as I sit in suburbian solitude, somewhere North of Austin and South of Round Rock near I-10. My boyfriend rents one-quarter of a McMansion near Braker Lane. His gardening efforts and my assistance are ongoing, as our attempt to worship the earth and its timings and what it promises to offer with some effort on our parts are symbiotic and harmonious and perfectly timed and ordained.

My thoughts are generally of the spiritual, whether I am rejecting or accepting them. I am tuned that way. I've been in disquietude spirutally for what seems like, and upon review, actually is, months. Floating.

"Undeciced."

I realize tonight that life is so full of choices that we are bound to drive ourselves crazy with all of the things we do not choose. It's an inevitability.

Choice is our ultimate downfall in a country of abundance, agression and apathy. We obsess incessantly over what we do not do and rarely acknowledge what we have consciously chosen. We rarely acknowledge the wisdom accessed in our past decision making and instead berate oursleves mercilessly with the "hindsight is 20/20" adage.

Mistakes are a given, aren't they? We're flawed; it is an essential component of humanness...and beautiful in the precise moment we acquiesce pride in favor of humility. I think we're rarely gentle with ourselves because life just never fucking stops and the choices just keep on comin'. There is a equal negative reaction for every positive one. There is another side to every coin toss. And these "what ifs" I think can drive us crazy.

WHAT IF we recognized that we're making the best decision possible in every moment with the information we have at the time? WHAT IF we acknowledged our history...not as baggage but as vital information that gets us through every day a little more smoothly than if we were still 17? WHAT IF we gave ourselves a break and took a moment to acknowledge that where we are right at this moment in time is a composite result of our moment-by-moment negotiation of a volitile, no-rules existence?

You're doing well, Grasshopper.

Guerrilla Gardening

I miss blogging. I've been really busy. And sick. Damn. For the last week or so my entire drain has slowly been dripping out of my nose. Now my chest has decided it wants its own view of the outer world as well. Yummy. Bronchitis.

I have a lot of cool things to write about...life is good and groovy. Mostly the T person has been guerrilla gardening and I have been participating on various levels. It's intensely beautiful to plant a seed and watch it sprout into existence through an expert's loving care. It's also neat to gather a group of people together for the purpose of a common goal that requires a lot of hard work. A couple of weekends ago T and I went to John and Patricia's house and helped them till their front and back yards and then spread 6 cubic yards of compost. If you don't know how much work that is, it's a lot. But more importantly, there was good food, good beer and good conversation. There's nothing like breaking your back for someone else's benefit to bring about a true and strong bond.

This past weekend they returned the favor and we got to re-experience some of the chicanery. I found it poetic to listen to the men as they toiled with pitchforks in clay-hard Austin soil. Just the repetitive sound of the tool against the earth...the truly manly gutteral emissions expressing both frustration and delight. Since Patricia had a baby, uh one freakin week ago and I am (as I mentioned) in the midst ye olde bronchitis bout, the womenfolk mostly made food for everyone and constantly cleaned the ever-renewable supply of dishes. Inevitably when we are in the midst of this pattern, Patricia, who is Tanzanian, will proclaim that we all need to move to Africa and buy a farm together. Wow. There's a thought.

I love how this labor naturally divides into gender roles...even though I am normally rebellious of this kind of division. There's a connection to the past that is filled with beauty. But I love more the fact that when I am feeling well and when Patricia is neither about to have nor just had a newborn, we enjoy the hard labor just as much as the men, and the men have an equal proclivity to care for the needs of the children or attend to the food.

What I'm most excited about is witnessing the 2007 gardening season from its beginnings. Looking at my raspberry bush that I bought at Lowe's in January...T has nurtured it and it has sprouted beautiful leaves. I can't wait to taste the berries. Talking together about what kinds of veggies we want to grow...and thinking about all of those fantastic late summer salads. Gently pressing a tiny seed into the freshly prepared tray, and anticipating the Daisy or Nasturtium that will be born.