Dogs Dig

Back where I grew up was this park in the town of Hempstead; “Hempstead Lake State Park”. It sounds pretty, right? Wellll, it was green. Greenish. It was the most greenish area around us for a bit, so there was that. And there was a lake. And it was pretty from a far. Prettyish. And then when you got up close, not so much. No one swam in there. Not a chance. It was filthy. And there were probably dead, bloated bodies in there. And it stunk.

The park ran dangerous and once we grew older and had stashy parties in the woods(ish), we would go, but be in big masses when traversing through and around. Lots of creepy stories came from here.

Anyway, one day it turns out that there is going to be a drum circle there. What?! Yes, a drum circle there, in the day, with… hippies. Unbelievable. Well, we had to go, as a matter of course, and see the turn out with our own eyes. I repeat, this was not that kind of park. Not even almost.

The day came. It was cool and crisp. Bright and sunny. We blazed some and walked through the woods. We could hear the drums in the distance and I recall joking about little wood elves banging sticks together around us because of the way the sound echoed off of the trees. As we got closer and closer, we heard the most peculiar sounding drums. I mean, it sounded decent and it/ they were definitely keeping the beat. We heard it for a while and the sound was so different than that of any other percussion instrument any of us had ever listened to before. Finally, we had ascended upon a clearing, closing in on the drum circle in the adjacent field from where we had emerged. There, in the field before us was a felled log with four dogs tied to it, that most likely belonged to some of the drummers… There they stood, barking at random and without panic, appearing relaxed and content… adding their own barking rhythms to the sound cloud. They were 100% on point with the drum circle. It was absolutely astounding.

I thought of that today when a friend emailed me this little cute diddy.

Dogs man, they get it!

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Spanish Town

I want to live where the wild Ginger grows.

I want to set up shop amongst the racket of howler monkeys that shriek at the warm, sleepy, star dusted dawn. Everyday. Reliably.

I want to look down at the ground and kick at fat grubs with my barefoot feet, and feel the virile earth give just a bit; just enough to let some air out and give the worms some work to do for no good reason in particular.

I desire the smell in the air of mysterious and magnificent, unnamed tropical flowers that are very red and robust,  screaming pinks, bold charming candied yellows. I want to pluck them for my tea after humming a new tune of gratitude that I just made up because the inspiration is so damn thick that it is simply oozing- wet and juicy all over the place, where I stand drenched in the generous gifts of rhythmic cobalt full magenta golden song and hot spellbinding aqua haunting ocher poetry. 

A place where art is never dormant. The spark of creation ignites and burns burns burns, creating an absolute ruckus of overturned firey beauty.

Where I just can’t get any sleep and no- not because I am unrested but because the jungle hums and churns and I know to listen, as I am actively learning secrets of the ancients and what it is like, and what it takes to live housed and homed in the middle of la selva.

Little green snakes will slither clear and not slip into my favorite shoes.

A place permeated with the scent of  fresh tortillas. Todo fresco. Tierra local. Harvest practices relied upon for generations. Methods of sowing and reaping on dial with the waxing and waning of the solar system  itself. Stone ground and pounded with experience, hardened hands, hardy laughter, crows feet on faces for days.

I want to bathe in tepid waters of mineral pools, cleansing my mornings in mud and waterfalls. I will run my fingers through my hair and let the little pieces of leaves and sticks stick around like they picked me on purpose.

Let me live in Spanish town. Some where, somehow, someday. Where colors are brilliant, where the plants dance along, where old stories are revered and passed on, where we feel exuberant and incredibly alive because home is where the carazon es.

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Todo es Bueno!

Here. It’s a gift. For your gut, and your brain ,and the memory part of your brain, which is a different part of the brain than I was originally referring to. Do watch- I guarantee happiness. Or your money back.

This lil’ video is one of my favorite comedians helping us to remember how good we have it. Holy shit we are blessed. It’s just easy to forget when we have it all over the place.

This is the major foundation for my… Theory of Abundance… A theory that I have developed that is based on both observation and direct experience; that we take for granted what we have in our lives when we have it too much or too often. It’s the classic wanting what you can’t have until you get it, orrr at least it’s bastard cousin. It’s in the same family also, of the grass is always greener. Don’t worry, you’ll smell what I’m cooking soon enough.

In support of this, I present you with my very favorite example: the Pigeon. Yes, obviously I have a thing for them (always have). Maybe you were curious as to why? And so here it goes. The pigeon, ladies and gents, is one of the top most resilient creatures. What other birds do you see during all seasons? What other creatures that we live in symbiosis with are totally independent and resourceful to boot? They can survive nearly anywhere in an urban setting, which is not some thing that most birds can claim. They will eat what they can find, be it bugs or garbage. They are opportunists. They can casually exist in harmony with the passers’-bye. Yes, they are known as ‘rats of the sky’, but mind you, they will not infest a home, nor are we in danger of transmitted diseases from them. They are also quite beautiful. All iridescent and sh*t. I like to think of them as soiled doves. And everyone has a soft spot for doves. The bird bearing the olive branch of peace was also a white pigeon, err, dove. Right. Dear reader, they are the last of urban wild life. We take them for granted because they are every where. Now, in Australia, kangaroos are invasive pests. They view their kangaroos in a similar light that we do with pigeons. Is it because they are used to their presence? Would you mind terribly seeing a kangaroo hop by your abode tomorrow? I think not! You see? We are a bit spoiled and must remember to give thanks for all we have. End of pigeon defense. In conclusion, let us take note of the abundance and rejoice! And be kind to pigeons (:

Click to purchase on Etsy*

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