The vegetable garden contains
satisfactory gloom. It is just too wet and cold for constructive
activity. And this is that mood which gives credence to an idea that
soil is sleeping.
The new me could
assert dominance by drawing up plans, writing lists, remaining active
while soil sleeps, so that when seasons change he is prepared. This
Ancient Egyptian view of preparedness well defines a nirvana for the new
me, but winter habit for the old me is to drift off into dreams, otherwise
things get dangerous.
It is that secret
place that exists between a person and purpose. So much easier when
the relationship is defined by the power of others, put there by whips and
chains and want. Then all that remains is a contented disgruntlement
that passes for unabashed cynicism and accepts nothing as given, except a
monotony occasionally relieved by an angst only pills or large quantities
of alcohol can cure. Which is a position the old me sees as quite
reasonable, as he waits in ambush for the mistakes of others.
How good it would be to forge alliance
with purpose. Follow the advice, join the cacophony, march with the
band, become one through acceptance. But this is what happened to
Heidegger, when he joined with the Nazi party, shook hands with Hitler, and
lost his crown.
The new me would argue Heidegger's
participation in those awful moments belonged to misplaced "enthusiasm
awash with wishful-ness" or some other courtesy. The old me long
ago dismissed Heidegger's participation in absolute folly as the inevitable
consequence of following the sloth of career and ambition, and after all,
thinking is the occupation of conniving arseholes.
However, the old me knows the vegetable
garden is far from asleep. Rather it contains no element of that
permanent quality, sometimes uttered through the confusing adage "fish
or eat ice-cream", which is so apparently necessary for orderliness and
purpose amongst those increasingly dreadful elements that comprise the new
and busy, yet oddly generous, me.