Not that it bugs me mind you, or hurts my ears, it's just so close, so distinct. They're normally very hard to hear, if not completely silent. So to hear one at all, let alone so close to me, is a bit of a treat though I'll admit I was a bit startled at first.
The world is absolutely alive tonight. Cicadas have joined in with the chorus of frogs and crickets. Some neighbor, about three or four blocks away is setting off their leftover fireworks. A neighborhood dog barks in response to each crackle and boom and the other dogs in the neighborhood quickly join in. My dog is inside, silent and sleeping.
She's been sick these past few days, but is recovering quite well. She even felt like playing a bit last night, which is a good sign. I was sick with worry about her. She's still so young and strong. To see her slow, lethargic, it was scary. It really struck home how much she means to me, though I'd have been more than happy to come to that realization without her being sick.
The older I get, the more wonderful things come into my life. My wife and her family, my friends, my dog, my car. I worry about them and their well being, selfishly sometimes. Losing any of them would be too much to handle. I don't think I could let go. It's a problem I have. I worry and I think having so much to lose gives me so much cause to worry.
Lately I've been looking back at the days shortly after I dropped out of college more fondly. Times were hard, I had so little, but at the same time I felt so free. I could lose my job, my place could burn down, and I really wouldn't be that much worse off. Over the years though I've worked so hard, collected so much stuff, comics, books, music, movies, antiques. On and on. With the exception of what I give away freely as gifts, I cling so tenaciously onto what I have, not wanting to let go.
I'm changing that though. I recycled three dusty old desktops the other week and it felt good. I have three more to get rid of once I dig them out and I look forward to getting rid of them too. I have friend who I've been trying to get together with this past month or so, I want to give him some of my old comics. Plans keep falling through, but every time we make new plans I add a few more to the table. They're not all A+ must have titles of course, but his collection is small and could use a boost. Just thinking about finally giving them to him feels so amazing.
This is going on too long. My wife poked her head out, asking me when I'm coming in. A minute. I have more I want to say, about jobs, about moving, simplicity, poverty, honest living. I'll leave it alone for now. Typing in the phone is hard.
Besides, the frogs are putting on quite a show tonight. It'd be rude not to sit still and listen for a bit.
... Besides, the frogs are putting on quite a show tonight. It'd be rude not to sit still and listen for a bit. For a while I lived on an abandoned farm on a small island. No electricity or running water. It was awesome. A major pleasure was going to sleep at night - each day would have a different combination of creatures often with one taking the lead, louder than the rest. I came to love listening to those natural concertos. The world is absolutely alive tonight. Cicadas have joined in with the chorus of frogs and crickets.
Such an inspiring place. I was thiking of wrting a little essay about my time there, but it seems a bit self-indulgent. Edit: I forgot to mention - when you said about waking up there - it reminds me first arrivnig. A 45 minute walk from the nearest village where we hadn't arrived until just after sunset. Stumbling around the hillside and entrance, making makeshift beds and noticing for the first time how mysterious it is arriving somewhere new in the dark. No idea really where you are until daybreak - waking up in a completely new environment.
I've been away for almost six weeks. I'm afraid to go home because I'll have to deal with the stuff.I cling so tenaciously onto what I have, not wanting to let go.
It sounds like you're starting to realize this: We spend the first 50 years of our lives accumulating stuff and the next 50 years trying to get rid of it.
If you ever have a thought to share on the matter for us youngsters, I'd love to hear it.It sounds like you're starting to realize this: We spend the first 50 years of our lives accumulating stuff and the next 50 years trying to get rid of it.
I'm aware that this problem will not exist in the villages of Laos or the favelas, barrios, and shanty towns around the world. We hang on to things when we can, because we can. When we can't anymore, the stuff has to go. Make room for new stuff. DEFAULT SETTING FOR MANY HUMANS: "Why clean up old messes when I can be creating new ones?" I'm moving into a new self-definition. The stuff will have to go, including the boxes of old vinyl records. When? How? No idea yet.If you ever have a thought to share on the matter for us youngsters, I'd love to hear it.
If you have walls and a roof, pretty soon you'll have stuff too. It will fill every corner. You don't need the stuff anymore. You may have never needed it, but it spoke to you. It spoke to a memory of childhood or of futurehood. It spoke to who you were or who you want to be. Now it owns you.
The younger you/me/anyone is initially defined by our stuff. It helps us understand who we are. When you move out for the first time, you look at your stuff and ask, "What do I need to be me in my new place?" or maybe you say, "I don't need any of this. Like a snake shedding her skin, I'll fill my new place with a new me." Eventually you become sufficiently fascinating (or sufficiently impoverished) to define yourself by your presence alone. You become "unaccommodated man." King Lear in the heath when he comes upon Edgar: Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.— Off, off, you lendings! Come. Unbutton here. (tears at his clothes) King Lear is a play by Shakespeare. flagamuffin Mostly you realize that you can no longer haul all those things (books mostly) with you on wheelbarrow behind you and you begin to shed. It's awful at first. And then it isn't. As for me: I've been living in a tiny apartment for six weeks, 5000 km from all my stuff. I came here with a knapsack and a carry on. But in some ways, I've been richer than ever before.Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.—Is man no more than this? Consider him well.—Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! Here’s three on ’s are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself.