The Third Way
“It’s a little cooler tonight, and that’s welcome to my body. I think I remember Vermont when it had a true spring ... but I could be wrong. All the controversy around climate has me flummoxed. I can only listen to the pundits, from all sides, for so long. I greet my plant friends the same way each season, regardless. I try to imagine a world that is not driven by headlines, & a relationship to the natural world that comes by actual interaction with what is in front of me, rather than what I’m being led to believe. Maybe I long to regress, perhaps I am a fossil. Anything is possible, and so each day I must attempt to engage while disengaging, from influencers who seem to know more. The same is true in the music industry, in which I’ve been deeply engaged, for as long as my history is far. This habit of being concerned with and guided by questionable, expert intelligence, is grating on my nerves. I’m wired to be creative, and can only do so much. I don’t really care for markets, or trends. There seems to be a third way, which is to work with what you have, in cooperation with those who value what you do. I seem to know what art is, despite myself. My daily flow values weather reports, and feelings, & people, more than statistical data. If I let myself become emotional, a huge liability, I will lean towards love. The reward for this focus butts up against clients who are suspicious, miserly, or shallow. But more often than not, this weeding process brings me closer to my true soul mates, and for whatever that means, in the long run, I would rather be with them. My recent days have been long, and arduous. I’m probably not in the best of moods. I’d like my life to be easier. I have a library of books, I’d like to read; a novel, I’d like to write. But no one is here, to bring me ease, and if there ever was a period in which I felt such ease, it was a bomb, waiting to explode and destroy everything I thought I was working for. Earth to earthling: there is no such thing as a free ride. How this flies in the face of the beauty I see around me. As much as I’ve steeled myself against desiring too much, I find I’m completely enslaved, by today’s wild cards. Let us live to be free, contradictions, be damned. This once was a world of grace. May it be so, again. One man sits by a pond, wrapping his lure. Another is trapped in his apartment, unable to move into society. Two tradesmen linger on a bench, relaxing on the porch of a general store, readying themselves for a day of hard labor. A few miles away, a young woman makes coffee in a camper, too involved with her own struggles, to know the usefulness of her talents. Many houses lie empty, 2nd homes kept up for occasional use. The levels of disconnect in our state, are hard to fathom. Which is why I keep doing what I do, in an effort to bridge gaps, and be real in the face of the odd chasms that divide. I have friends I’ve never met, and friends, I never see. I have clients who trust me, and clients who don’t really care. Which is why when I text one, asking “What colors do you & Phyllis like”, and he answers “All colors” and then “reds & blue”, I feel happy. The human psyche is not rocket science, nor is the human biology. We’ve been taught to fear, and expect a dire diagnosis. From where I sit, we are not so far from perfection. Apple blossoms might be a cure all, given half a chance ... but who am I to say?”