eckhartquote

"Greatness is a mental abstraction and a favorite fantasy of the ego...The great arises out of small things that are honored and cared for."

-- Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth

dream: the book canyon

We're all walking, slow and single file, along the tops of the books that form the edge of the canyon wall. It is a still and starless night. This path is the only route to wherever it is we all have to go. And these are large books. Much taller than normal ones, and wide enough for our feet to fit between the covers, in the groove the pages make. Most of us are carrying different heavy things, which makes our careful balance --one foot in front of the other, out of one book and into the next -- an exquisite challenge. Since accompanying our every step is a deep blue vertigo swirling up out of the 200-foot drop immediately to our right. It's dingy dark and heavy-shadowed down there in the canyon. I can't see the bottom. But as far down as I can see, the cliff on our side, the one whose top we walk on, is made entirely out of books. Long, incomprehensibly long rows, sitting one neatly on top of another just like in any library, only without the shelves. Different sizes and colors. They seem to be supported on their left side, the direction in which all the spines are turned.

Most of the walkers seem supported, too, or able at least to hold themselves up. Except for me. For some reason, the gravity coming out the canyon to the right is becoming more than I can handle. It reaches for me, tugs at my clothes like gusts of wind, bends me sideways at times til I'm teetering onefooted on the verge, almost losing my balance. As the others trudge on quiet, without complaint, I'm flailing around like a leaf at the end of a branch. It's getting harder by the moment to resist this precarity that wants to blow me right over the edge. Finally, leaning out impossibly right over nothing, then an overcompensating stagger left, and I fall off the bookroad. And land on soft ground, only a few inches lower, and completely stable. Somehow I thought the fall would be more precipitous this way as well. But I'm safe here. Bowed over on my knees and gasping for air, but safe. And I decide just to hug earth and breathe easy for a few minutes. To my right, all the others continue on, apparently oblivious.

nothing

"Knowing I knew nothing, and nothing was exactly enough.

...I wondered how I would write when I knew the words for nothing."

-- Mary Sojourner, bonelight: Ruin and Grace in the New Southwest

Nothing's happening here. Really. Nothing changes much from one week sliding into the next. Nothing appears on the page, or finds its way into coherent words. Nothing comes to mind. I'm doing next to nothing in the way of work, or of service to the world. There's been no time, either, for that matter. For about a week, at least. It stopped, dissipated, disappeared. I'm not sure. It probably went down the same river as all the thoughts that didn't surface. In all, I've accomplished next to nothing so far this year. Almost. Maybe if I can only work a little less - struggle a little less - try and want and need and expect a little less - that achievement will truly happen. And then, maybe, I'll be able to write something that's really worth anything.

garden photos

The two neighbor kids and I threw together this 'lasagna compost' (covered with straw, at right), at the end of April. We layered cardboard, newspaper, straw, and food scraps, and wet it down when we were finished. In just over a month it got no attention at all, except for being watered two or three more times. The space to the left is the way all the soil on the site looked, originally. Here I've dug down a couple inches (the most that's possible in this clay and rock) to move the compost over and start again.

I only meant to try and do the job right this time. But when I moved the first effort, this is what I found underneath:

Beautiful, dark earth that could be dug about 8 inches deep. Well-hydrated and ready for the tomatoes and jalapenos that will need a home soon. They're in the little greenhouse right now. You can see it at the back of the photo.

As soon as I saw this success, I started two more sections of compost. By the time they're ready in a few weeks, we should have enough plants to fill them all. At that point we'll be using about 50% of the site. I thought we'd be lucky to make use of 20%. Thanks again to Raven for the idea. I really didn't believe it'd work til I saw the proof.