On a porch in Independence, California, America, Earth, Universe, et cetera...
Writing is good for us, right? So, I've decided to write. I'm not sure about what. I think that is the point -- to just write. Write what you're thinking, feeling, experiencing.
It's good. Life here on the East side. I'm glad I'm here, and am looking forward to the days ahead. Being transient with the field biology way of life can be strange, but, at the same time, it is the uniqueness of continually putting yourself in novel situations that makes moving around so often fun and interesting.
A black-chinned hummingbird is at the feeder right now. His tail is wagging to and fro - a trade mark, I've learned.
I was down yesterday evening, and a bit this morning. It doesn't matter about what. People could tell that I was down (they said so). That surprised me. I told myself not to get down because of trivial matters. It's not "don't worry, be happy" (that's like being dumb and content), but just try to be happy. It is fine to worry, or think, or ponder the unknown and troubling matters, but try to do so with good sense and peace of mind. The future doesn't necessarily work out perfectly, but it does work out. And, if I try hard and do good things, it usually works out pretty well.
That last phrase, "do good things", reminds me of karma. Karma is not bound by time or space or situations at hand, but invariably wraps around to cross our personal paths again and again. At least it's nice to think so. I try not to do good because of karma, but just for the sake of goodness - to improve a circumstance or better a person's life.
Eliza will soon be on the East side to visit me. She laughed once when I told her that I sometimes do good things just because I know she's out there - because she exists. It's true. It's not that she can see my actions, or will ever hear about them, but that she is such a good person and that I know she would want everyone to be as benevolent as possible. You know how they say that someone's ear itches or tickles if they are being talked about. Well, I guess I hope that my sister's heart warms a little every time I do something good.
Shit, a bird just shat on my computer screen. Right in the middle of the screen! It was mostly green, and rather runny. I think it was a Starling. Ok, a little TP cleaned that right up. Quite an experience. I've been shat on before (by a bird, that is). On my head, on my shoulder, on my windshield. But never on my computer screen. I guess I should be happy that it didn't land on the keyboard.
Let's see if I can write a poem. That, I think, will prove to be difficult. But I will try:
I thought about being a vulture,
So I could soar high in the sky.
Or maybe an old tree -- an old bristlecone;
Then I'd use centuries to measure time.
How about a bee, a little fuzzy bee?
I'd alight on flowers so delicately.
Instead, I could be something inanimate,
Like a rock, that rolled and cracked and sat.
I could be even smaller, and more simple,
Be just a speck of dust, or a mere molecule,
It's possible that I be a single Carbon
atom,
A thing so small it is hard to fathom.
As the carbon, I'd exist and eventually
be,
A part of the rock, the bird, and bee, and tree.
It's unlikely, but possibly true,
That Crow the Carbon is now part of you.
To achieve a happy and meaningful life, I think it comes down to just two basics:
1. Be genuine in how you carry yourself.
2. Don't take yourself too seriously.
The Crow Native Americans' territory covered today's northwest Wyoming, including Jackson Hole and the Wind River Range. These are some of my favorite landscapes in the world. The Crow thought so too.
A Crow chief once said, "Crow country has snowy mountains and sunny plains; all kinds of climate and good things for every season.
When the summer heats scorch the prairies, you can draw up under the mountains, where the air is sweet and cool, the grass fresh, and the bright streams come tumbling out of the snow-banks. There you can hunt the elk, the deer, and the antelope.
In the autumn, when your horses are strong and fat from the mountain pastures, you can go down into the plains and hunt the buffalo.
And when winter comes on, you can take shelter in the woody bottoms along the rivers; there you will find buffalo for yourselves and cotton-wood bark for your horses. Or you may winter in the Wind River valley, where there is salt weed in abundance.
The Crow country is exactly in the right place. Everything good is to be found there. There is no country like the Crow country."
(see p64 in Give Your Heart to the Hawks, by Winfred Blevins)