windthread

as we used to say in the 60's,  Trippin.  I am trippin with the thing of Compost,  the thing of Time,  the thing of seeming to be just waiting.  The thing of seeming like nothing is happening.  So many thoughts that they arise so fast that they never become complete,  like,  a full sentence,  they appear and are "seen" and before they might have a period at the end of their sentence, they move on.  Compost.  They are compost.   I don't even know what to say about it all right now, except it's just Great.

GREAT.

remember a while back when i said i should be in therapy now?,  well,  Wish Come True,  my dreams.  Oh, my dreams.  How i have always said i should donate my brain to science because of how i dream and now…how great,  here i am,  70 two or three, i'm not sure,  but my dreams have stepped Up to do the work…no longer are just crazy,  but  crazy with Purpose.  I can't try to make sense of any of this here,  it would take up so much SPACE and unnessasarily so,  because it's all just COMPOST,  but  all the stuff, the partially conscious baggage,   that stuff that's down in the corner of a deep pocket like Chogyam Trungpa  talked about,  or was it Sun Bear?,  no Chogyam Trungpa,  that little ball of stuff that we reach for now and then through our lives, the little ball of shit with lint all stuck to it,  that Wendy Golden Levitt and i talked about being there,  the small shames….

anyway….COMPOST.   ……~~~~~*COMPOST*~~~~~  I LOVE compost.  Literally and figuratively and spiritually….LOVE.

Jenny and her man came today to put up the fence around Campsite B.  Half of it is finished.  I really like working with them.  It's Compost.   And she brought that compost that i saw on FaceBook,  the woman who had horse, goat, chicken, duck and guinea pig compost….a year old…bagged in feed bags.  I'd asked her to get 10 bags,  she brought 14.  Ten for the Wall Garden and then i got 4 for B.

and they left and i had time left to stitch some of the kantha kantha kantha on this Cloth and to look under that flap now and then at the "thing being born"  and FEEL it….how nothing is ever wasted.  Nothing.  It's all compost.  Everything we label good and bad,  everything we label worthwhile and not ,  something or nothing,  it's just labels and it's all just Glorious COMPOSt.

and the cauliflower.  the  Bless~ed cauliflower.  Here it is.  January.  We direct sowed seed in May.  Late.  The plants grew.  and grew and grew.  Leaves.  Leaves that we harvested over the months for those stir fry mornings.    When did i stop watering down there,  in the Wall Garden?,  September?  i don't know,  but thinking the "season" was over…..and i didn't look for a while.  How long?  maybe 3 weeks?  And today,  as we brought those bags of compost in….oh!  OH!…like OH in neon,  Cauliflower.  Only this ONE,  modestly sized,  but many little ones,  and how i'd given up on them but they did not quit,  but continued toward their Becoming