My summer vacation

Pretty sure nobody noticed i’d slipped away for the last few months. No texts inquiring as to my fitness. No, “we miss your blog mmhhaaan.” No unsolicited advise on writers block. No more nuttin’, li dat.

You will be pleased to know that while devastated, I’m also o.k. with it. This is my new “quantum” outlook in which opposing notions are not differentiated. They simply Are, and that’s all there is to it. Nope, that’s all. NOpe, that’s all. NOPE, that’s all there is to it.

That’s just one of the things i learned this summer while allowing stream after stream of goofy juice to slowly ooze from Amygdala Town and translate into an emotion-egg hatching out as a blog post. Resisted all that in an attempt to see if its just a passing fancy. Something I could simply toss aside like last years iphone. Something I could just leave behind, like the image of Trump hair. But like the image of Trump hair, it seems I can’t, ’cause I’m watching myself write this which means summer break iss kaput.

Observation has led me to suspect that “quantum” thinking is trending these days. I often see people presenting opposing viewpoints in the course of conversation without the least sense of contradiction. Nay, in vehement defense of this hip new Vedanta-ish look.  I can dig it, if for no other reason than that it’s nice being right all the time.

One of the other things i learned this summer is that if you Look better than you Feel, you’ve had too big a hit of hash oil and are suffering “balloon head”.

We’re in the midst of a “dry” spell, meaning that there hasn’t been a major downpour in about five or six days. I do believe that the mosquitoes are beginning to panic. There’s a frenzy of mid flight mating going on and word has it that the ones making a nuisance of themselves are babies with limited blood sucking abilities. It’s odd, this sense of living on the windward side. Starting to get used to it. Not quite going with it though. I feel like i’m clinging to a vision of browned out hillsides, golden blue skies and impact sprinklers slapping banana leaves, and every time we have a week of clear weather I cling, like a junkie married to delusion. Nope, that’s all there is to it.

Having hit the equinox (happy one, by the way), the bulk of the mid season mangoes are coming on. Always a nice time, even if menacing rats and ravenous tweensy birds make themselves at home, eating and pooping, pooping and eating. I do the same with a side order of language induced head noise. Nice life.

Had my first Palmer mango the other day. This is a tree that was given up for toast as a result of multiple mutilations at the horns of many a deer. It’s about 24 years old and still not as tall as me. Held a good many fruits this year and aside from some pecker head chicken beaking a couple, the one i tried was superb.

Mangoes in this neck of the woods are subject to a slew of problems largely due to altitude generated moisture. Overnight dew will collect on the bottom of and between fruits and encourage spotting and fungal growth which can be anywhere from disconcerting to the eye, to the fruit being spoiled rotten. That having been said, the harvest this year has been moderate in yield but outstanding in flavor and size. Had a golden globe that weighed in over four pounds. Like a big baby noggin.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it is impossible to have a favorite mango. Fickle is the taste bud, and settling on anything simply speaks of being satisfied with being in a rut. Fiber-less, sweet, juicy and melting, and that’s all you’ve gotta know. NOPE, that’s all there is to it.

Now, just to show that i am no one trick pony, capable only of producing fruit, preaching the gospel of Permaculture and pickin’ and grinnin’, I am pre announcing the pre arrival of Maui 365. Huh, whut?

Another thing i learned this summer is that if you Feel better than you Look, you’re on Oxycontin or Ativan.

In part, due to this surge of “quantum” thinking, an onrushing dytopian future hurtles down the mountain of despair with little to impede. There are many ways to describe this disconnect with a reality based on kindness and selfless service and a “pay it forward” meme, brought to you by the good folks at COCA COLA. See what i mean?

Which brings this blather to its primary insignificance. Nothing we say or do by way of preaching the gospel of whatever shines a light on the brilliance of simply Being, of simply Knowing and of simply living There. All the rest is just a bunch of demons run amok, searching for the mommy that never breast fed them but served them Similac out of a plastic bottle initiating the cause of all their trauma and neurosis.

My meditation these days has been to see how long i can go about my day before i utter, either internally or out load the phrase “whatthefuck”. To date, i’ve made it to seven thirty four a.m.. I’m shooting for noon before i croak.

The flock of young feathered goats, numbering 53 gave me 42 eggs today. I’d say that deserves a moment of silent thanks. The strategy of buying young chooks at such time that you will be having eggs through “molt” season is something that only took me three years to figure out and put into action. Figured it out in ten minutes. It’s the action thing. Damn you cannabis dream spirit and neo hippy time poachers.

There is no blame, there is only action unfulfilled. In the end there is only one thing, and while it is not “all good”, it really is all good. NOPE, that’s all there is to it.

The more you show, the more we’ll grow. Peace, Jp

 

 

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