What Shall Come

Avoiding responsibility or surviving insanity?

When I grow up, I shall be a hermit. I am more convinced of this as day by day I recognize the counterfeit of the culture around me, and realize that the war on reality is one perhaps I am not obliged to take part in. For what is “really real” around me? My family, real flesh and soft cheeks I can hug and kiss (does that make me a more personal hermit?); my home with its solid cedar walls and four-legged companions; my gardens, which pay no attention whatsoever to anything other than the air, water, nutrients, and pests. My friends, my knitting, my jars of fermented foods, and the coffee in front of me. And Jesus. Always my Jesus.

I had no idea when I wrote Present that later on I would discover that being present meant, amongst other things, eating food from the ground and not from a lab. Or that supporting my innate natural immunity would not only be wise, but controversial to even admit was there. I’ve learned about music (thank you, Rick Beato…I think), but now I’ve become a literal snob that desires only to hear live music. It doesn’t even have to be that good…just Real. I want to be with my friends and clients face-to-face because I want to share body language, comfortable pauses, and microbes. I am sick of algorithms and gaslighting and triggering and other vocabulary words I never wanted to learn, much less have to decipher what they mean or how to apply to my life. I find politics of all stripes based on deceit, treason and hypocracy—it is truly the blue flame that draws us now because that false fire (fanned by media) is the “light” that continues to draw we gullible moths straight into the electrifying experience of burning our life force via taxes (I include inflation under “taxation”), regulations, and straight up injustices.

Bah!

I want to step outside in the morning sunshine and breathe deep the salt scented air from the Puget Sound as it weaves through all of the cedars and firs. I want to pull a weed or two, check on how my garden soil feels, and feed the chickens and ducks. And sit. And enjoy. And make plans for more (oh, the plans!): aquatics, compost systems, fodder trees, whee! I want to eat my homemade sourdough bread with my homegrown goat cheese, and to serve slices thick with herbal tea to whomever will make the slow gravel road drive to get to me. And dabble on herbal salve to scratches and read scripture to the broken hearted.

When I am a hermit, I will throw away my dishwasher. I find them gross, harbors of wet slime and damp corners, noisy things no matter how “quiet” the brand claims to be. Noisy, that is, unless someone (usually moi) forgets to run the thing. And then I have to wash the (now crusted) dishes by hand anyhow. If I end up kissing my washing machine goodbye, my closet will decrease to less than half a dozen items. Which might be a blessing and allow me to continue making (and repairing) the clothing I truly need.

Of course, doing all of these things will mean I need to Stay Home more. What would it be like to leave my home only twice a week—once for necessary shopping, and once for Sunday preaching and fellowship? I might fill my pantry to the rafters because I’m actually home to grow, harvest, process, and preserve. I might read more than a few books a month (needless to say the TV would be gone yesterday). If someone needed me, they’d have to either call the landline, join me on my HAM radio, or just show up (ready to work, of course, but I’d serve them cake afterwards).

I’d light more candles at dusk, answer my letters sooner, and listen to the radio while preparing my dough for tomorrow’s bake. I’d listen to the frogs outside and watch the bats, maybe even pick my teeth.

Is this a picture of escaping corruption, the sword, the world systems? Or is it living in the here-and-now, shunning what is every opposite of what is good and lovely and true? Is it avoiding responsibility or is it surviving insanity?

I don’t know. Which is why I’m not a hermit yet. But the seeds are there, and yes even today are sprouting up on my kitchen counters, in my wee garden, at my dining room table, and within the hours I spend happily with my children. As I age, we will see what shall come to fuller fruition from the Master Gardener’s hands.

If you’re looking for a simpler, more purposeful life outside of the rule of technology, perhaps you can glean from my experimentations in seeking a more present life. Learn more about the book (and how to get it) by clicking on its image.