Boundaries

The edges of things are often the places where we find the most ambiguity and least certain boundaries. And, yet, we are obsessed with identifying and demarcating edges in this culture. But where does the ocean end and the shoreline begin? Return in an hour and look again. What marks the boundaries of tree and soil and air? Each thing blends into the next at the same time it stands with its own identity. Life, it seems, consists of negotiating the vital connections, participation in the vitality of webs, and the maintenance of independent identities. Those are spruce and fir trees, poplar and pine. I am one being. But all of our one-nesses come from connection - what we eat and breathe and transpire and think and hear and say, who we love and care for, the product of our labors, the results of our energies. Everything matters in composing the individual and no individual exists without the web. Our culture does not appreciate this truth. We embrace the mania of the one, promote the mythology of singular accomplishments as if a person could live without food and air and love. We do not trouble ourselves with the true impossibility of separateness, we draw arbitrary lines in the sand and congratulate ourselves for a job well done. We ignore the nuance and ambiguity of edges and in doing so, lose something of ourselves. Our ignorance of the webs devalues our individuality.

The hot sun burned off a fog this morning only to lift the humidy into the thick air settling against my skin. Tomato plants are bursting forth with delightful sweetness, followed by zucchini and melon, carrots and lettuce. Our little cultivated section of ground will provide a number of meals in the weeks ahead. We are grateful to it and it is grateful to us. We cannot always easily sidestep the major trends of our misguided society, but we can take the moments of true connection and revel in them nonetheless. I will feast upon joy at lunchtime, I will dine upon vitality.