Delusions

So much for viral.

Home, watching video of my performance at the Riverview Cafe, getting drunk on the Frontenac wine I made last year (which is mellowing out quite nicely), I realize, holding a pair of deer horns doesn't make me a better dancer. There is some polite applause. Ho hum. I have to remember, I'm more shaman than dancer. The horns translate better in front of a fire. I brought the swords too, but I didn't pull them out for lack of time. Maybe in a couple of weeks.

I sent an email to a friend who has read my book, asking, "What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think of my book? No filters please." He replied with a list:

Big
Bold
Authentic
Arrogant
Visionary
Service
Mission
Needs editing
Won't sell
Start a Revolution

It's all that. He forgot Purpose, which is a word I like in place of Mission. The "Arrogant" and "Won't Sell", are of particular importance. Reading through my manuscript for about the fifteenth time, recently, it came to me that a particular arrogance of mine is the idea that I might make enough money on the sale of this book to pay for this house, soon enough to prevent the property from changing hands. I forget that society is not in the habit of supporting revolutionaries, even peaceful ones advocating awakening and reverence for the Earth and all its creatures.

The only thing to do at this point is finish the book and make it available as a PDF, for free. Everybody loves free stuff. A suggested donation, if you think it worthwhile, helping me keep writing. The second book is taking shape. It will be considerably more accessible than the first one, if more direct and no less compromising.

My last hope, that video, for keeping the house. An absurdly long shot, and it missed by a proverbial mile. Damn. Service to the Goddess and to the Earth is no simple thing, in a culture that can't conceive of the first and sanctifies the ongoing exploitation of the other (they really are the same thing, the Goddess and the Earth.) Making money is a grand difficulty when you see the bulk of Trade as legitimized plunder. A true art form, which apparently, I do not excel at at all.

Food for Thought

Lunch and dinner from my yard, yesterday. Browsed through the snap beans like a rabbit. Yellow cherry tomatoes, dinosaur kale, four different kinds of basil, arugula, purslane, mustard greens, radish, Anasazi spinach, nasturtium flower, wild black cherry, western sand cherry and a pepper. Supplemented with organic kefir, bagels and peanut butter, from a nearby food-product outlet. Soon there will be potatoes, and eggplant.

It's about fifty-fifty, what I eat from the yard and what comes from somewhere else. That percentage isn't likely to change much, as long as I'm making a little money here and there. Forty from the consignment shop, forty-five from a friend I did yard work for, eighty pulling sod for a neighbor. That's the past two weeks income.

It looks like I'm going to lose the house. When I returned to Minneapolis, I was hoping a community would coalesce around my manuscript, in support of what I'm trying to do with the house and yard. The reality is, more than half the people I've given the manuscript to have not responded in any way; several of them are not returning my phone calls. Those who have read it have been less than excited. I am aware I have written a book that is a challenge to read. I am aware there is something in it to offend just about anyone. I didn't realize it would alienate me from my friends.

I'm not sure if it bothers people more that I call them Children of the Earth, divine beings and sacred, or that I tell them the way of life we have all grown accustomed to is coming to an end.

The second book is begun. Not much else matters at this point. The house, if I lose it, could go to a worthy family and the healing I have brought to the land would not be undone. It is a transition I support.

There are limbs further out than the one I've chosen, but this one's pretty far out. I'm as far as I can go before I have to leap. Tonight I'm bringing the swords and the horns to the Riverview Cafe open mic. Two new dances I'm not really comfortable with yet, but it's time. No point in putting it off. If it translates well on video, who knows what could happen. I'm hoping for viral. It's about the last hope I have of keeping the house.