waking lives

Little squids, rained in across the map. Bored bunnies, yellow leaves.
The distance separating each raincloud is so much smaller than the distance separating our dirty fingernails.
And every transient farmer dreams of setting up their own place, their own friend-sparkle commune where love puddles transpire by the fireplace. I am living on one person's dreamland: hundreds of plants the first year to pay back the debt, and then a decreasing number every year. An experiment in taking raw land and turning it into abundance. I feel admiration, awe, but also yes readiness to move on. My dreamland, see, would sift out bad comedies.

"We are freaks. We follow the code of freaks." - hedwig

We fired up the sauna and hot tub Wednesday night for some deep cleansing. Lucky ducks, lucky me with a fire raging in my dome, warming my yoga-ing body, my reading body, my resting body, my warding-off-desire body. I am soaking in these last couple days of material comfort before I move on to a new farm a bit farther north (near willits), where we'll be milking goats and making djunn. Trading out a bed for a new community. We'll see how I deal with sleeping in my car for a month in the cold and rain. Lucky I'm young and undemanding. But it makes me wonder-- what, materially, do I need? The lower chakras crave sex, food, comfort--- but can't I get past that and move on up to the heart? (Then to knowledge, transcendence.) Well here's to experiments.
And here's (raising a pink lady) to friendship. And to friendship being political.