Friday, August 28, 2009

An Unearthed Appreciation for Water

Today I took a luxurious two minute shower, turning off the water while scrubbing with soap.

It was much needed after scraping mold and rat poo from the vintage trailer we are remodeling.

The other day we loaded around 150 gallons of water into the water tank, bucket by bucket by bucket, hand hoisted. That's not the usual routine, but we didn't have the water pump.

I thank the ground and the rain for every drop. And thanks to the monkey who invented pumps. It sure does take a hell of a lot longer to move water without them.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Settling in for the Season


August 2009 011
Originally uploaded by Billy von Raven
Yes, the time has come to land for the winter. After much deliberation and procrastination, I have decided to stay here in Candy Kitchen, New Mexico. I will be coming to Portland for one weekend only to get my books and musical instruments. My brothers have been so kind to hand me their beautiful 1950 Spartan trailer they are living in now. We are moving to a larger piece of land on a hill. They have just bought a fifty foot mobile home and our autumn project will be restoring it.

The winter here is like some place in Narnia: snowy, starry and frigid. I'm very excited to spend it here, making books and drawing. I will be keeping in touch through mail primarily, because the land we are moving to will not have electricity and I no longer have a cell phone. There is very little reception out here anyways.

Seeing the Milky Way every night keeps me sane and joyful. When told my dear friend Amanda the other night about the stars, I finally understood myself, in saying it out loud, that much of my survival of childhood depended on sneaking outside at night just to look at the stars and know that there was something bigger out there, something expansive and beyond all the pettiness and cruelty, the confusion and claustrophobia. Something without judgment, something that merely is, without definition and pretense. The stars are my mother and father.

Today I walked through the oak grove in the sun, through the red rocks and barrel cactus and let myself delight in being now, without being caught in ideas about what I should be doing and producing or the future. Just living. It is so beautiful that it hurts.