Directives in life are but chapters in the book, with a curious way of flowing, rivaling that of the seemingly insignificant streams transforming into vast river deltas that feed our oceans. Stories told of insignificant moments define the quality of the whole. My life directive was changed significantly in the recent past, and instinctually I began to focus on rudimentary, seemingly insignificant components of life, and the stories they tell. My dialogue with you is in hope that my experiences, and failures, will enrich your life and empower you to engage with your surroundings, your passions, and yourself, so that you can propagate awareness and action. I begin this story with a component of life that we are all inflicted with - dilapidation and chaos.
Beauty is assigned to impermanent objects, those that have not been weathered, beaten, molested, or discarded. What if there is knowledge and resiliency that can be learned from these objects and people? Why are we so quick to consume, driven by aesthetics and popular demand? This cabin to me was the epitome of trash, garbage and poor planning. In retrospect, this is a representation of my weakness, my inability to allocate value to things that I don't understand. The untreated logs, railroad tie foundation, imperfect log junctions, and the retraction of the structure, as the earth slowly tried to consume what was foolhardily resurrected, represents resiliency, and at the same time, degradation.
In all things, as you separate away variables that make the whole, shifting the focus away from the inextricably symbiotic system - into details, what is gained as knowledge is quickly lost in application. As I explored my surroundings in this beautiful ecosystem, I quickly became trapped in the cluttered details which remove passion and bring about disengagement. I was not the only inhabitant in this system, it was within the confines of another creator of clutter - pack rats.
The process had been initiated, my quest for control spurred my actions, the sight of the clutter had destined my summer to be spent toiling in the heat and foul smell of my cohabitants' fecal matter.
The process of removing the urine soaked, tattered furniture with innards occupied by packrats was not enjoyable. Several weekends were spent on this endeavor, but my appreciation of this place continued to grow. The progress was slow, but the idea of having an inhabitable abode, removed from the drone of unnecessary, necessities of civilized life was enticing.
My nights were spent sleeping in the meadow, within the confines of an abused, retired forest service wall tent. The experience was reminiscent of a Thoreauvian lifestyle, with time to allocate towards diversity within the landscape and appreciation of simple accommodations. The dew welcomed me each morning, flowers blooming in the meadow became my distraction in the heat of the day, and the deer demanded to know my intentions in the evenings. Appreciation for shelter, in connection with nature, was taught by the smell of plants singing their appreciation, as symphonies of rain danced on the metal roof of the cabin.
As I worked to organize the structure, which contradicts the symbiotic network of life that we yearn to interact with, I realized that my previous intentions were obscured. My interest had shifted to the life that had defaced the cabin, and the forces that had sculpted it's imperfections. The interaction between human life and symbiotic life is an art, one that I had not been taught or taken the time to learn. There is a dichotomy between land for human inhabitants and other life - wilderness is preserved so that we cannot impose our organization. Is harmonious, cohabitation an art that can be taught, can humans learn to tread lightly and live with the cycles of life? My experiment to live more closely to life that also calls this place home, and to educate others of my findings, had begun.
