Lesson Learned
The morning could not have known…
Did you know dragon fruit is like a cactus and will set roots against brick and concrete. One of mine stretches above the head of a gargoyle like dreadlocks caught in mid swing. This is a testament to what I have done, to what I have created, to the art I choose to see, but sometimes, the brain takes great glory like this and says, “It’s nothing.” Sometimes the brain takes change and endeavor and wants to shut these down out of fear, wants to return to the familiar.
I am embarking on a new endeavor, one that might be approached with wonder and curiosity. If and when I say that I don’t know what I am doing, I create the very results of not knowing what I’m doing. Doing takes time. Doing takes focus. The brain, my brain anyway, wants to take off on different projects in the middle of an unfinished project, a self fulfilling prophecy.
Today I will stick with the bicycle rim pergola. I will consider what I might plant around the edges. And maybe, already this morning, butterfly pea and Thai soldier long beans have climbed the string I tied to the rims last night.
I will carry a notebook for thoughts and possibilities. I will carry a notebook to write down what I want. And what I will first write are things that I already have, that I definitely want, but in thinking of this what comes is he need to do, for my first thought is longan, these plants i started from seed. These plants I want to place on the Southside of the house below the papaya. You see, she might be like an umbrella to hold in heat in the evening.
I consider the squirrels I hear during my morning meditation. I consider the sunflowers, the black locust tree, the popping of guavas, the figs, the persimmons, how and why I want to have what I have here to spread.
Consider the difference between condition and possibility. For instance, somebody says, “He’s ______.” I take that condition, filter this through what I know about that and try to grasp onto a certainty to a definition of another human being. The squirrel does not do this. The squirrel seeks and buries and eats and prepares. The squirrel chases his friends, maybe a lover sometimes. The squirrel does not wonder what i’m thinking when I watch him. Only to consider danger.
In our DNA, that’s what most of this thinking is, a washed out way of surviving in a world of lions and tigers. A world which no longer exists.
Beyond danger there exists the need to find a tribe, for those without that gene did not survive, and so when I attach the bike rims, I realize the lean of the posts, I realize why God made levels and tape measures. I work until it hurts to bend my knees, for they scratch against the soaking wet cotton pants.
Inside I consider design and why some people create sketches and blueprints before they start to work. I consider a cross hatch. I consider whether that is even an expression. I consider the need to be accepted and how often this blocks me from learning. I consider picking up the phone and asking somebody who knows better than I do.
The above paragraph I wrote at one in the afternoon. At five I walked outside. On the phone with Jason Murphy. The bicycle rim pergola had fallen into a lean. Why I tried to stand atop a ladder and push it back? I don’t know. The ladder (I would learn) was what held it up. I got worried. I moved too quickly. But I did survive, hopping to the side before the entire thing came tumbling down.
Everyday is an opportunity to learn, to grow, and I am becoming everything I am meant to become. And if you have an extra hand and a knack for design, come around this weekend and join me at CRISP Farms.
