Friday, June 9, 2017
Beyond Guns and Appetite
Going out early to study the gourd-and-pumpkin garden - two hundred or so square feet of upended pasture, ready to be tilled. Why else allow for bodies? As a child, swallows were a kind of totem, although any animal we didn't kill or eat was worth studying. Divisions abound, each hinting at the whole from which it was rent (and the whole to which it will return). That which exists beyond guns and appetite intimates the sacred, or at least its possibility. Cycles are relevant as a model though they offer little consolation to the pigs who so clearly do not want to die. It's possible this is the resurrection. One wonders at their obsession with consent, how it becomes precious in a way that suggests something else is at work, perhaps a subtle - almost unnoticed - plea for forgiveness. Reading a recent interview with Volk, puzzling (appreciably) over his point about the visual field being an "organ" within the total field of one's consciousness. Having learned I will never learn enough, I have begun to appreciate sipping again. The last few hemlock branches await disposition, a last uprooted stump stares stubbornly at the sky where a few weeks earlier its limbs gave form to the wind. My resistance to chainsaws is legendary around here but my body is beginning to protest this insistence on sawing by hand. In the end it's like nothing matters but love (and its kin - contemplation, clarity and service). Therefore, be intentional, attentive. "It is written, that man shall not live by bread alone." The garden becomes us - our bodies, our prayers, our promise. And swallows have to eat too.