I have too many books open currently. I was happy to be reading again, but my focus has diffused over too many titles. I have The Spanish Anarchists, Merton’s Ascent to Truth, Ram Dass, Rudolph Rocker’s intro to Anarcho-Syndicalism, and another I can’t remember offhand. This will never do. This is also a nice problem to have at the moment.
This is the first year in many years in which I have planted no trees at all. I regret that a great deal. I’ve planted nothing this year. It is the time of year when I would otherwise be planning my garden for winter and spring, and the lack of that activity is suddenly a void I’m noticing. It may be a long time before I am able to once again have my hands in the dirt in a substantial way. I was unsure if that desire was even authentic to me, but I’m beginning to see that it really is. I was walking the dogs this morning pre-dawn and began sculpting the vacant lot behind the Days Inn next door in my mind and filling it with trees and swales and landscape features to optimize its potential. It is a smallish plot of just a few acres of adobe clay and scrub, but I had it teeming with growth in a few short minutes mentally.
I may have no gift for accomplishing any of that. I know other people who dive right in without a second thought and achieve much where I only imagine it. But I can’t help imagining it everywhere I go. It’s where my mind ventures automatically when I’m not overwhelmed by anxiety and dread or regrets.
I miss gardening with Josh. I miss building with Chris and tinkering around with things. I miss the act of using my imagination and seeing things grow. I miss my sandbox. I miss having Big Plans all the time.
Maybe I fucked everything up. I was lost. I’m still lost in a very real sense. I’m in limbo at the moment. But I have an inkling of a sense of what is real for me now that much of the clutter has been wiped away or tossed for good. I have something to want again that feels authentic to me. I can be happier wanting than I ever could dreading the future. I can endure anything if there is a kernel of desire in my mind for once again feeling dirt between my toes.
It’s possible that I could do all of that right here in the Uncompahgre Valley somewhere. I suddenly have the urge to play again.