Revival

Dear blog,

It's early in the morning. I’m in my tent. I feel quite liberated, writing in this cool, little hut.

I had a solar light I was using. But I was worried that I might wake up my sister who is in a tent a little ways off from me (I got her a tent like mine, but blue) and set it up while she was gone to a play practice.

She came back, and was so very happy that she had a new house. She calls it her mansion.

Now our backyard really looks like the gypsies moved in.

I just turned the low light on my laptop. So hopefully I’m not disturbing anyone.

My brother migrated to the middle room of the upstairs for the past year and a half, so if I go into my room to type nights or mornings, we don't like to wake him.

So it’s all just dance. Trying to figure out how wave and turn, and use blocks as a directional.

I love to feel the morning ambiance. My own hum.

 Now I’m very aware of how noisy my computer keyboard is. It sounds really mechanical, like heavy rain coming down on a plastic roof, that stops and starts. Some keys sound louder than other keys.

Odd. That. Rattling, and clacks.

I hope I don’t wake my sister from my writing rain sounds. But this rain might. If someone based a rainstorm off of my writing rhythm sounds. It would be an unpredictable rain. A weather forecaster would have their hands full.

This rain would start, people would take out their umbrellas, only to suddenly have the rain stop.

And start.

And stop.

Much like how I've been writing.

And then burst out again, rain for a while, and then pause. Only to rain for, hopefully a longer duration, as my writing juices get primed.

Other times, there would be light showers, off, and on again.

Some days it would really just come down, and that would be a good, nice rain. We need more of that kind of rain.

              
One of my kittens keeps jumping onto the tent, climbing to the roof and peering in, watching me. I keep trying to get it to stop, as I’m concerned for the welfare of my house.

The crickets are humming. The stars are shining above me. The air is cool, fresh, alive.

The eastern horizon is starting to light up, as the sun makes it way up.

There’s an owl hooting in the distance. A moon dove.

 Dogs are barking.

The roosters are crowing.

Truck’s engines are roaring. I can feel the hum of people waking, and the feeling of urgency to get everything in order so they can take their children to school.

There’s this beautiful patch of clouds above me, glowing from the light coming from the horizon.

It’s an interesting thing how the sky is black at night, and gradually blue, and yellow, and purple, and red in the mornings.

I had to look up why the sky is blue in the day, and dark at night. As I don’t ever remember asking the question, so I knew the answer.

               The answer. Basically blue particles scatter faster than the other colors. At least that’s how I understand it, and the earth’s atmosphere helps create the color. When it’s red at sunrise or sunset, I believe it’s because the way the sun’s light is hitting the earth. I can’t remember exactly why--something to do with the distance of the sun and earth. I thought it was interesting.

               This is something that makes me wonder about my own self.     

               Is my soul much like the blue sky?

               Does each one of us have a unique atmosphere, so some of our sky is black with very little light. Some always red, and fiery. Some blue, easy to scatter out of the way.

               Do we reflect light, and color when it is shined on with the right light?

               Do my own stars come out when it is dark only?

               Am I just a mirror that reflects light, and darkness?

               Are we all just little canvases?

               Sometimes it feels like that.

               Someone hugs me and I can feel their darkness, or light. Sometimes I can shine on them.

               Sometimes they can shine on me.

               Someone walks into a room, their weight, their energy sometimes feels so loud, It’s difficult for me to want to stay, especially if they want to keep their load.

               Last week I felt like someone handed me something quite black. My heart burned, and burned after interacting with them. I felt so off. It felt like they handed me codes, ones they had believed, codes that were not true.  It was so strange, and difficult to understand, I felt really offline for a couple days.

               It sounds weird. But I think this is why sleeping in a tent is so nice. You can let mother nature sing you the truth of you are, and who you are not. It feels like the more time you spend with real things, like your own heart, and your own natural rhythms, the more you can discern what good feels like. What love feels like. What being at home, in your own little tent, feels like.

               So when you do come out, you know when something feels off.

               Speaking of which….the Billy goat is now trying to break into my spaces……give me a sec.

               What turds.

               Now they are tap dancing on top of a place where I keep grain. Loud enough to wake up everyone.

               Ah…gee.

               Morning ambiance. Hmm...

               The cats are leaping, leaping, one grabbed my scalp and really nailed my head with its claw.

               Is it me, or does it feel like everything feels magnified?

             

  Oh…but the sunrise is fantastic!! Wow…

               Ah I have seen many beautiful sunrises, this past couple of months. So many starlit nights, appreciated...

               Wait a sec...Had to go chase the goats again!!! They got inside the fenced area.

               They have been behaving extra badly since my last post.

               I think I need to write a retraction.

           

    The day after my last post, one goat jumped through some mechanical belt from a car or a tractor, (don’t ask me how) and got it wedged around its belly. It wasn’t the kind of belt that stretches. It was tight. Like a weird, tutu. We had to rope, and wrangle it down, to pry it off of it…

  It got itself through a loop.

 Oh dear. I have to stop again, the goats are into trouble again!!!

 I may be back…sometime…that’s the trouble about being outside. You become a watchman, and you become aware of so many things. You know when the chickens are in trouble, and all these things you would not be aware of if you were inside…

               Many hours later….I am back.  The goats were getting into the outhouse. I knew they were turds.

    Despite the goats, I had a very good, fabulous, deliciously, beautiful mornings. One of the top ten good mornings of my life. A kind of good morning everyone should have. Easy, and fun, and slow, and loving. I got to watch the clouds bubble past me in my tent. It seemed, when I stopped writing, the goats settled down. Sheesh.

Then my sister got the urge make a fire, and cook on our little cooker, and made eggs and pancakes outside. The smell was so delightful, like being in the woods, and smelling smoke, and frying onions.

My mom even joined us for a bit, which is good, because she walks not so good these days. We ate, and watched the cats, and then after wrangling the goats again. We decided the morning was too beautiful not to go swimming first thing, so we just took of on our bikes to the canal, and floated down a couple times.

There were bazillions of crawdads in a ditch that just had water going down it, and one little fish, with a yellow spot on its top. My little-kid self was having such a good time, I decided to go back to the house, get a bucket, and a net, and save the wee fish, and a few of the crawdads and put them in a container so the birds didn’t get them.

As soon as I got them into their new home, my cats thought them great entertainment. The crayfish/and fish show.

I’m hoping it will distract them from jumping on my tent.

I have so loved sleeping outside. It is my happy thought, seeing the sun rises, and sleeping with my purring cat, and watching the stars, and seeing fireballs streak across the sky, and listening the sounds of water in the ditch as it flows past. I’ve enjoyed it to such a level, that when you love something so much you want to share it. My sister and I brainstormed how to get my mom to enjoy the benefits of this. We are certain it is good for your health, mind, body spirit.

Someone gave us a hospital bed that wasn’t in use, so I wheeled it out, de-spidered it and put a mattress on it.

 My mom was in pretty low spirits, so we coaxed her outside. And I brought all her blankets and pillows, and a lantern, and her ipod, and her cd player, and set up a little table. She was a good sport, and decided to give it a try. She surveyed the bed area, and sat down, and I got it so she could watch one of her shows on her ipod. I could feel a happy hum float off her. She liked the mattress, and said she’d try sleeping outside. When it was dark we tucked her in bed. She lasted till five in the morning. And seemed pretty happy. I don’t know if she’ll try it again. But I’m glad to have shared a bit of it.

My tent is too hot now. So I'm in the house. Hoping the goats behave.

               Good goats. Sheesh.                  

                              Hah!

                              Good ones?

Whoot? I'm wondering about my own words. Good ones? Maybe If I say it over, and over again, it will make it so.

                              They are like terrible-two year olds, and tweens with horns, that can reproduce, and eat anything in sight. They will loot, and pillage, and smash, and eat, and move through your yard, and your neighbors yard, and harvest anything that can be swallowed.

                              If there is a fence, or a barrier, they’ll find a way. I don't know why the army hasn't utilized their special their abilities. They could just turn a herd of goats loose on a country, and come back, and everything would be goated.

                              Good ones? Who I kidding?

                              My goodness. They are goats!

                              They can't be anything but goats. Not unless they evolve.

                              And if they are good goats, that means they are good at eating.

                              Sheesh. I think I need to refine my writing, so they aren't listening in.

                              They broke into my garden, and ate that giant sunflower---that same flower the picture I just posted a week ago. It's like they knew I'd posted it.

                              Rubbed their cloven hooves together. And said.

                              Yes.

                              We are good goats.

                              We eats things.

                              Perhaps I should have said. They are obedient goats.

                              They stay where they should. And come when I call. They only eat weeds.

                              I did manage to save some giant sunflower seeds, which is one good thing.

               But they also ate an apricot tree I had planted, and they ate all the leaves on one of my apple trees, and stripped down a row of my sunflowers, as if the shredding hail wasn't enough, the poops!

                              They couldn't stand one day not having pasture, while the hay was being cut.

                              I don't even know why I own goats.

                              They were here when I arrived on this planet.

                              And I have never not owned them.

                              When my sister's moved away, then me and Bess took care of them.

                              It was just something we did, for pretty much my entire life.

                              We keep them because the milk is healthy. We live on it. We make this most yummy goat milk kefir. I even made goat milk ice cream. And it was really yummy.

                              Maybe I should own sheep. Sheep milk has to be just as good.

                              Or zebras. Zebra milk.

                              Or a butterfly garden.

                              Or cute alpacas.

                              Something fluffy, and soft, and good, and doesn't eat plants.

                              The last time they got out, they tipped over the pen with baby chicks in and my cats ate them.

               The chicks. Not the goats.

               But that would be okay with me right now.

                              Goats.

                              Seriously.

                              Why?

                              Who would like some pasture stripped down?

                              These devourers respect no thing.

                              They are so unconscious. Like strange alien children with no compass except their ever moving mouth.   

                              Can anyone vouch for them?

                              The other day, my sister told me emphatically that she thinks that God put us on a babysitting planet to take care of all the children.

               Kids, goats, humans.

               "Oh, God, why! No!" We both howled.

               "Did we do something wrong in a past life?" We wondered.

               "Where are all the nice ones?"

               "Where are the wise people?"

               "Are there only just wee strange, hungry, weird children here?"

                              Children.

                              The scriptures say that we are children.

                              And it seems accurate.

                              And entire planet full of them.

                              Children running the county.

                              Children, mommies and daddies.

                              Children teaching children.

                              Children feeding children.

                              Children pretending they know something when they don't.

                              Scared, hungry, bossy, wandering kids, everywhere, looking, wanting to eat sunflowers, I guess.

                              Will eating sunflowers bring them to the light?

                              We don't know.

                              Children, kids, Goats running churches, and universities, teaching us how to eat faster, how to consume more...

               I put them up for adoption ASAP.

                              I think Mary Poppins would have her hands full, even with her bag of tricks, parenting this load children….

                              I hereby release any attachment I have ever had to these wandering creatures. To the goat nature that seems to be running this planet. And ask that a new nature be put into all creatures, from the fruit fly, to the chickens. To mothers, and fathers, and kids, and children.

               This is my prayer, an asking for a renewal of spirit in a world that feels so like my goats. So devoid of any soul compass, that deep feeling and knowing. To revive the heart of every soul on this planet to remember a time when no soul was hungry.

               For eyes that recognize what beautiful, green pasture we all have, and the wisdom to care for it and each other, better.

               To better live. To better enjoy life. To better follow bliss. To better be in heart. And if we must all be children, to be children of divinity, and have that blueprint downloaded into our being.

                Yes.

                It's long overdue.

            Let all unconsciousness dissolve in the love and light that is flooding our planet.

            Let our goat natures fade away into an angelic truth, that can change the fabric of the universe.

    Let all mouths that take, be confounded. Let all who rob light, never rob again.

    Let everyone's true oil burn brightly.

    No one need be without light. Or oil. If you just follow those who hold up their lamps.

        Let there be a revival of all that is good, and fun, and loving, and honest, and whole, and healed, and right, and living, and flowing, and peaceful, and powerful, and wise, and abundant.

        Let the good ones, the truly, good ones, finally, have a voice.