Once upon a time in a land all but forgotten and lost in the vastness of
space lived a grizzled old coot and his mangy cat Rufus. Rufus mostly
slept all day and at sundown went lookin' for trouble. He'd come back in
the morning with a little piece of ear missing or a new patch of fur
torn away or leaking blood. The grizzled old coot would patch him up and
feed him the breakfast leftovers after which Rufus would curl up in a
ball and sleep it off, dreaming dreams of sashimi and retribution and
sashimi.

It was a barren and childless place, fit only for rodents, figs, stray
cats, olive trees, fire ants and hot dry winds. A few scrawny feral
chickens ran around in a dither pecking at rocks and thin air and on the
rare occasion dropping an egg. This would bring a frenzy of rats
forming what looked like a rugby scrum around the egg moving it here and
there until the shell started to ooze.

The grizzled old coot, having witnessed this national geographics moment
was at the ready with his favorite intervention technique. Piss on em'.
Thats right. Piss on em'. They scattered in horror as he lashed his
cooty hose this way and that, because the scent of human piss is their
kryptonite and to be stained by it is to be made an outcaste for life.
Might as well just go over to Rufus and start yankin' whiskers. The
grizzled old coot crouched down, and keeping the side with the puka up,
cradled the small egg in his palm and carried it in an unhurried manner
to his humble digs.

The land was his by right of passage. He had beaten the snot out of the
last old coot that lived there, peed in all the corners (to keep the
rats out) and closed escrow. It was a prized package in this rock and
scrub terrain because his stone house sat next to the only fresh water
spring for miles in any direction. His house was really just one big
room and big enough it was. The kitchen window looked out at the
anomaly. A bubbling spring which trickled water constantly fed both
irrigation systems and storage tanks and punctuated the landscape with a
riot of color and sustenance.

There was a meander of living fence made from mulberry and bamboo and
thick fruit bearing shrubs that kept this edenscape safe from the
occasional smarmy invader and defined the stark contrast with the
encroaching desert. The grizzled old coot, with egg in hand felt a tear
forming and his throat swelling as he looked into his outer life. He
cracked the egg and let it sit in the bowl while he warmed up the
skillet. Rufus cracked his eyelids, stretched like only a cat can, yawned
big and fell back to sleep. A solitary salty teardrop fell to the
counter.

As the egg hit the skillet it formed an almost perfect circle
surrounding the yolk, floating and bubbling there on the olive oil
coated surface. The grizzled old coot pulled some fresh picked greens
from the chill box and chopped them up. They hit the fry pan and danced
as they wilted around the egg. He sprinkled some spice and zested a
lime. His nose, the scent, dare I say sublime?

He carried his plate over to the thick wood slab table, sat down and
looked out at another view of his life's passion. Fruits and vegetables
grew everywhere. Herbs and spices crept and crawled. Trees crowded yet
content. They hung with passion fruit and grape vine and yielded all
manner of useful things. As he ate he recalled both heartache and joy in
his travels through life. It was as though each moment reminded him of
where he had been and how his future was thereby shaped.

But now, on this particular morning he finally knew that his work was
finished, that he need do no more or less than watch and listen with
focused attention and appreciation. That in his minds eye was the vision
of things perfected and in his heart, peace. No doubt he would find some
reason to kick the cat from time to time, or fly a few rocks at the
feral chickens invading his green garden, but this sense of completion
washed over him like the joy in the eyes of a baby who just figured out
that he could play with his own toes.

Life is routine wrapped in chaos, and the grizzled old coot had long
since understood that the holy trinity of working the land was: I make,
I break and I fix. He was centered in solitude and would follow this law
in order to give expression to something uniquely human, the growing of
a soul. As he forked the last of his meal from plate to mouth he watched
Rufus' hind legs kick out and twitch a bit as if re-living a chase
scene. The grizzled old coot just smiled down at his longtime friend and
stroked his patchwork coat. Rufus purred in his sleep.

And so, as the world moved along at breakneck speed, whizzing by Rufus
and his master like a hellhound riding a summer squall, they rested
content, awaiting the moment when some grizzled young coot would come
along, beat the living snot out of them, piss in all the corners (to keep the rats out)
and close escrow once again.

The more you show, the more we'll grow. peace, Jp