Ideas

Last night I cam home from a weekend of working out at the ranch with a half gallon of fresh goats milk, a carton of 18 eggs, and a lot of ideas.

A few weeks ago I ran across a web site that has really stuck with me. Unfortunately I didn't save the link and now it has disappeared into the vast landscape of the internet. It was talking about what you need to do and know before you decide to start a farm. It talked about practical matters of knowing what your land, mineral, and water rights are before you buy a property, and it talked about the biggest pitfall being people buying a farm for it's idealism without knowing first what they are going to produce.

I've been wracking my brain ever since. There's been a lot of talk among the group of running a dairy. We've considered livestock for meat. We've looked into harvesting fiber, but the take on that everywhere I've read is that it's a tough sell. You have to produce a huge quantity before you can make any kind of a meager living on it.

Bryan grew up a wheat farmer, and Brandie grew up a cattle rancher - so there is a lot of practical experience in the group as far as dealing with machinery, animal husbandry, planting, growing, harvesting... You name it and these two seem to pull information out of their brains in a deluge. I'm always so delighted when Bryan starts spouting off information like an old-time almanac. Early last fall I commented that the locusts were singing in the city. Without missing a beat or taking a breath he replied that the first frost would be in about 6 weeks. I didn't have the wherewithal to mark it on the calendar, but I'm sure he was right.

This weekend my body started waking up to the fact that it is spring. We rose early to milk the two goats that have freshened, fed the little guy, ran errands in town, and cleaned the corral hauling tons of horse manure to the compost piled in the garden. The sun was shining and with temperatures in the 60's I bared my shoulders in appreciation and was paid with a wicked sunburn. This is a ritual I'm familiar with. I just don't usually get my first sun of the season in March. We finished up the day building a dresser/desk for their 8 year old daughter out of discarded water bed parts. We filled our bellies at dinner with no guilt for the calories. We'd burned our fair share in the work of the day, and after making a half gallon of milk replacer I moved on to the late evening feeding of the little guy before sleep came fast and hard.

The weather turned chilly on Sunday. I had help with the early morning feeding of the little guy and we headed out to milk goats again. The hard sleep was still heavy on our heads and Maggie eventually grew tired of my in-experienced tugging. Bryan took over and while trying to get the last dribbles from her she decided she'd had enough and stuck her foot in the bucket.

After some expletives we released the babies to their mother's milk and headed inside where I was given my first lesson in pasteurization. They heated the milk to 161 degrees in order to make the milk safe for consumption. They only do this when they get a foot in the bucket. The rest of the time we just filter it and refrigerate.

With a spring chill unwilling to lift and the urge in our bodies to move, the spring cleaning bug bit into us and we scrubbed the kitchen down. In the middle of this, and I'm sure spurred on by the foot-in-bucket incident, Bryan took a break from cleaning to go fix the milking stand.

While many missions were accomplished - we unfortunately did not get around to starting the dig for the cistern. Perhaps next weekend the weather will hold long enough to get through more of the work at hand. Still with my skin stinging from the sun, my finger cut, and a splinter embedded deep in my hand - my body is glad of the warmth and the movement and the productivity.

After getting home last night, though, I discovered quickly that I miss the crying of the little guy, the warmth of his body in my arms, and the sound of his quick breathing in my ear. I miss the way he would find me in the kitchen and try to nurse on the leg of my blue jeans telling me he was ready for another bottle, and his antics as he leaps and pronks about slowly but proudly conquering more of the living room furniture.

On returning home last night the room-mate pulled out a movie he had found and thought I would enjoy, "The Real Dirt on Farmer John". I thought it was going to be a theatrical account from the write-up, but it turned out to be a documentary of one man with unusual ideas trying to save his family farm, succeeding, failing, and succeeding again. Repeat as needed I suppose to get the full picture. I laughed and cried. I was delighted with his efforts, and then horrified at the obstacles pitted against him. I highly recommend watching it if you've got any bit of freak inside you that seems all too entwined with the love of dirt between your fingers.

Life Happens

Frito and Agnes

Friday I took some time off from worrying about the state of the world and my own little part in it. Instead I headed up to Steamboat Springs with Brandie and Bryan (the ranch folks). Both of them are fire performers and there was a gathering arranged at the hot springs up there. After a three hour drive and a fine dinner with friends we headed to the springs.

The pools are lined with rock and the water hot and steaming. It hung in the air thick until disturbed by the eddies of air that would breeze through from time to time. In a main performance area the performers cycled in and out spinning poi and staff, dancing with their fire hoops, and there was even someone with a rope dart. That was entertaining even if a little frightening as he shot the flaming dart out over my head.

So, with the full moon shining on the vernal equinox it was lovely to be surrounded by such strong representations of the four elements in the company of dear friends.

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Bryan and I spent some time discussing again our distaste for money. Bartering has been a frequent topic of conversation. Recently Brandie was approached by some folks that wanted to trade pigs for fiber goats. Bryan was gleeful at the prospect. I started thinking about the fact that I don't have many assets to barter with. It's interesting how much crap we can collect that has little to no value in trade. I've been looking around for the sorts of bartering deals that are out there. Turns out that craigslist has a designation for bartering deals. I've only looked in Denver so far, but it was educational. There a lot of people willing to trade services for services, and some services for goods.

This all has me thinking that I really need to brainstorm some ideas on value. What value can I provide? Not just in trade, but in a community. What do I have to bring to the table?

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On Saturday my husband returned from a week in Atlanta on business. I experienced what I can term palpable relief at his return. He takes care of so much around here that I tend to forget about. Having him gone was a good reminder and I've been working hard the last few days to make sure he knows how much he is appreciated.

Saturday night my daughter had several friends over for a slumber party. Her birthday is coming up on April 1st and she wanted to celebrate now as the begin Spring Break. They CALL it a slumber party - but really it's a we're NOT going to slumber party. They were up all night and had a good time. It was nice to meet some of her friends and to see that her choices in people aren't exactly conventional. They all showed up dressed funky with crazy hair and good attitudes. They exhibited their talents in theater in and music and the TV for the most part was the furthest thing from their minds. I love that she is drawn to people who aren't trying to fit in, that are also respectful of each other and can speak intelligently.

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Annie's Kids

Sunday was slow getting up and about. Brandie and Bryan had spent the night in town with us. Their daughter was at the slumber party and Brandie had to be to work downtown at noon. Around 2 pm we got the call that Annie (the goat) had given birth to twins. One of them was a little small and not keeping up with mama. We needed to get out there quickly to take care of him.

I rushed the girls home and doubled back to get Bryan, his two daughters, and my own (who desperately wanted to see the baby goats). It's a 45 minute drive and sure enough - this little guy was half the size of his sister. I was, of course, overwhelmed by the cute factor of the babies. It's my first time seeing baby goats - new baby goats as opposed to young ones - and they were even better, and tinier, and softer, and cuter than I imagined.

Maggie the Goat
Maggie (the milk goat) birthed her kids on Monday. I'm hoping I can make it out on Wednesday to see them!

Last year - knowing my dream of owning goats - Brandie offered me the opportunity to go in halves with her on Agnes and Frito (photo at top). A little more than a week ago Frito miscarried her first kid. It affected me more than I had expected, but she seems to be getting along well enough. We are hoping that Agnes has been bred. She and Frito have been in with Forrest (the buck) all winter. I'm hoping to see some babies soon. And MILK.

My goodness! My first experience with fresh goats milk last year was dreamy. Agnes was freshened when we got her, but that ended quickly. Not quickly enough to keep me from developing a craving for fresh goats milk though. I can't wait til we can start milking again.

Of course, Annie is producing like crazy - so Brandie is considering starting to milk her this season again. Mmmmmmm.... I can't wait.

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There's more - oh, so much more to talk about. But if I wait til I have it all down I'll never get anything posted. Drat.

Pleased To Meet You, Mr. Thoreau

Sometimes my own ignorance astounds me.

One cannot, evidently, make a single lap through green-living and sustainability on the internet without running into some reference to Henry David Thoreau. Much to my own embarrassment I must admit that until today I had never read anything by this man. Not one word. While surfing some random blogs this morning I ran into this post. At the end she quotes him:

"Let your life be a counter-friction to stop the machine."

I stopped dead in my tracks. There was that damned machine again, and this man Henry knew about it. He knew about it more than one hundred and fifty years ago. How could it be that I have never read anything written by Thoreau?

Procrastination.

Years ago, my freshman year of highschool in fact, I had some passing interest in reading his work. I asked for a copy of "Walden" for Christmas. Under the tree, wrapped in pretty paper and hardcover bound was "Walden and Other Writings of Henry David Thoreau". Somehow, though, time slips away from me. I got busy with whatever it is that girls get busy with in those young days, and Mr. Thoreau was relegated to the bookshelf and my ever growing list of books I'll get around to reading someday.

This morning I was overcome by my interest in this man again. I looked him up and read a little about his life. Amazingly it all felt incredibly current - incredibly relevant. I followed a link to read his essay Civil Disobedience. I felt like this man was in my head - expressing thoughts I've had no words for.

At lunch I went to the bookshelf - determined now that I should read this book that has languished for so long. I opened the cover and saw the inscription in my mother's hand - "To Sasha. XOXO. M&D. 1988"

1988? 20 years? Madness. Could it really be? Have I been on this earth long enough to say that I have been carrying a book around for 20 years? Let alone without ever reading it? Suddenly the list of books - the stacks - the piles of books that I have been putting off reading seem tragic. Their dust covers are just that - covered in dust. What in the world have I been doing with my time?

This world exhausts me. By choice, by ignorance, and finally by procrastination I have given the last 17 years to the machine. All of my energy, all of my spirit, all of my days - each minute that I could have spent in the open air among the leaves and grass standing in the sun - they wail at me for the loss of all this time. My life, each precious moment, each breath that I should have treasured I have instead spent feeding the machine.

I have spent countless hours in contemplation of my misery. My thoughts towards happiness - "positive self-talk" - telling myself that it is me and that it is in me to find happiness in the place I find myself in the world. I've told myself time and again that where I am and what I am doing is only incidental the breath I am breathing and the life I am living. I have told myself that I should be happy to be alive. I have made lists of what I should be happy for. I have made lists of the ways in which I am serving the world. All of these things I have done in an effort to persuade my spirit toward silence and acquiescence - convincing myself that some peace could be found if only I could find my resolve in this life to just "be".

RUBBISH!!! All of it. Wasted time. That is all that is has been.

I will not deny that from these years I have gleaned some joy. That joy has been mixed with the sorrow that life brings. Existence is not a flat-line. There will be bad times to go with the good. Still - those times that I recall have all to do with family and with love - with life and death... none that I can recall with any pleasure are tied to the machine. For the machine I have hog-tied my spirit and thrown it in the closet and made my way like a zombie through days of misery - all the while my spirit crying in the closet for want of wind, and sun, and rain...

and freedom.

The words that I HAVE read - those of Walt Whitman, Joseph Campbell, Richard Bach, and others - are in my head this day. All of them cry out against the machine. All of them tell me that it is my choice. All of them tell me to live my life and treasure my moments. All of them speak of freedom. Let me be reminded this day that freedom is a choice, and that the way in which I spend each moment of my life, my energy, and spirit is up to me.

How then does one reconcile integrity with misery? There are debts that must be paid and therefore work that must be done. Please hear my heavy sigh as I resign myself to this fact. There is no escape today, but perhaps fuel added to propel me towards the door.

The Dream

I'm not sure if the dream is in my head - or if the dream is beyond the door. It is incredibly detailed, and yet hazy in my mind. The details exist in a construct with fuzzy edges and filled with uncertainty. I figure there is no time like the present to figure out exactly what I do know about the dream - about what I think is beyond that door.

I know that I don't want to live my life in a box (aka office). I miss the sunshine and the sweet air outside the city. When the sun is shining it takes everything I have to push past the door to the building I work in. I have no windows in there. There are only a few in the entire building. It's a converted warehouse.

I know that I want to continue being productive - perhaps be even MORE productive. It's not that I don't want to work. It's that I want my work to have meaning. This doesn't mean it has to be on a grand scale of making the world a better place, although I believe that somehow it will. It means that when you plant the garden you know that the purpose it serves is to feed your family. When you shear a goat - it is so you can spin the fiber and knit a hat that will keep a loved one's head warm. When you are hauling hay to the sheep it is to fatten them up to fill the freezer. When you are digging the hole for the new cistern you are working towards improving the quality of life for those using it.

True that writing is my passion, and has not necessarily been all that productive. It is work that feeds my soul though - like sunshine and air. My hope is that someday it will be an asset to me. Until then I will keep doing it regardless.

This post feels a little hazy and ill-defined to me. There are snippets that I can convey, but the big picture is a difficult one to tune in sharply.

When asked I used to say that my dream was to move to the mountains, build an earthship, raise milk goats to produce gourmet goat cheese, and write books. This still isn't that far off from the truth. As life progresses though, I meet new people, learn new things, see new ways of existing and these all incorporate.

Right now - and I suppose this could change - but right now...

My thoughts have been turned towards intentional communities. Life becomes easier when you pool the assets of the group to accomplish a common goal. This is - in my mind - another expression of communal living. I've seen it work on a small scale at Burning Man. I've seen it working in a different aspect out at the ranch. There are two families there that work together to keep that place going - to create a different life. Still - they are working hard and the progress is slow. Spending time out there and working beside them has given me a taste of possibility mixed with the bitterness of reality. They are all still working jobs in the real world. They are all still fighting to make ends meet. What seems different is that at the end of a day of shoveling, or shearing, or butchering, the feeling in your soul is that you have made progress - that you have taken care of you and yours in a frame of reference that most people just don't experience anymore.

My dream starts to clarify a little more as I write.

I know that I want to own some land outright. Not necessarily on my own - but barring other options I would settle for that. I would prefer to own it as a group - perhaps in a coop capacity. One of my deeply held beliefs is that as long as there is still a mortgage hanging about the machine still has it's hooks in you. I don't want to be in debt to the machine anymore.

I know that I want to produce all of my own food. I was a vegetarian for a year when I realized that I shouldn't be eating anything I wasn't willing to look in the eye. This isn't anything that I apply to anyone else, although as an experience in connection to your own life and well-being, I highly recommend it. Spending time at the ranch have given me the opportunity to connect in this way. I want to feel the land and understand it. I want to have a relationship with it. I want to feed it and care for it and in turn have it feed my family.

I want to get off the grid. Part of this is yet another separation from the machine. Part of it is an act of conservation and sustainability. I want to know that my power and water needs are not dependent on the machine. I want to know that my power and water needs are working in harmony with the natural world around me. I want to exist in a place in my own mind where I appreciate every day where the power and the water come from. I want to be connected to it.

I want to spend my days working beside my loved ones. I want to see the happy face of my husband as we accomplish the tasks that will take us to the next season, to the next year. I want my children to feel the earth between their toes, and I want them to go to bed tired after working hard, and to feel good about themselves, their abilities, and their accomplishments. I want them to know that their work directly impacts the well-being of their family. I want them to have the confidence that comes with those things.

All of these things seem pretty conceptual to me. It is a vague construct of a life I hope to be living sometime in the foreseeable future. Flushing out these ideas into a workable and livable reality is going to be quite a task. For now, the dream will just have to live inside of me. For now, I must attend to the practical matters that will eventually get me there. For now, I'll have to settle for the smaller scale dreams I think I can accomplish - things I can do in the city. Start composting. Buy angora rabbits to harvest their fiber. Grow potatoes in the giant pots that have gone unused since my ficus trees died several years ago. Start getting rid of "stuff".

Oh, and did I forget? SELL THE HOUSE!

It figures that the minute I finished writing the last post my mortgage guy called me back. He needed a little more information. He is working on the refinance that would pay off my bills. My concern is that a new mortgage deal might require me to stay in the house for another two to three years. I already know that my answer at that point is a definitive no. I'm not tying up any more of my time or money in this endeavor than I absolutely have to. I guess we'll see.

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Afterthought

My horoscope for today made me laugh:

"It may feel as if you are being split in two as home issues pull you one way and the Moon-Saturn conjunction in your 10th House of Career lures you the other way. Even with this heightened emotional tension, you still have the ability to know what needs to be done and you can do it. Don't waste time dreaming about a better life; make it happen now."
(By Rick Levine)

Dreams Meet Reality

“We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.”
- Joseph Cambell

While my mind is busy reeling with ideas for land, subsistance, getting off the grid - I am having to fight for control and reign it in. Always in the past the dreams have overwhelmed me and I have grown frustrated, despairing at the distance to the mark. With any project, any goal, we all want to get to the fun part. I'm not saying that living a different life is going to be easy, but getting rid of this one really is the hardest part.

The temptation is to dump it all and walk away. Unfortunately, I realize to be successful in this endeavor, the practical matters have to be dealt with first. My brain is reeling with dreams of the future, but my hands are tied to matters of the present. This is where it always gets sticky. This is where I always end up sitting down and giving up. It always seems too daunting.

Ahhh, grasshopper. Do the words of your father sing in your mind?
"How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time."

The first step is really difficult. I've known what needs to be done for a very long time. I've hesitated for many reasons. One of them has been the emotional state of my husband. It's not necessarily that he disagrees with me, but every time I see the fearful look in his eyes I hesitate - my wish not to bring him any discomfort leaving me in a stale-mate.

We have to sell the house.

With a mortgage near $245,000.00 at 7% fixed our total payment every month exceeds $1,800.00. Any time I look at the math my spirit crumbles under the weight. Then the questions come - as I've been told they should. Where will we live? This one binds me consistently. How are you planning for your future? How much will you get for it? Do you even have any equity to get you through to the next step? Scary questions.

Then, as if Congress has taken up residence in my head, I start getting bright ideas. Well - why don't you pull the equity out before you sell it to pay off the other bills? Tying into this task a whole other twist that seems to have crippled the horse before it gets out the gate.

I've tried with three different mortgage brokers over the last few years. As if the universe has other plans I can't ever seem to get them on board with my idea. True - our credit is trashed. We have a bit of debt - it's not insurmountable though. I believe it's actually well below the national average for a U.S. family.

Still - I keep getting all twisted up in the details. In fact, I've spent the last week waiting for an answer from a mortgage broker - he won't return my messages. I wish he would just call and give me that monosyllabic denial. "No," would be better than silence.

So - at some point over the weekend it dawns on me. Quit it. Just stop. Stop worrying about what comes next. You KNOW that nothing else is going to happen until you sell the house. You can't move, you can't pay on your debt, you won't get any closer to the door until you remove the noose named mortgage from your neck.

Again - an urge from the deepest parts of me to commit an act of faith. I know deep within that even without a house I will wake up tomorrow. I will take another breath. I will find a way to go on for yet another day. Life kicks and screams to perpetuate itself. In the deepest parts of depression when people pray for death the next breath still comes, the urge to eat and drink conquers that dark desire and we persist. We go on.

The minute that my mind latched onto this idea - that other part of me - the one that is tied to the machine began screaming at me. The house is a mess. There's a hole in the ceiling. The yard is a disaster. The paint is peeling. These things must be fixed before you can sell.

Coldly my spirit offers a reprieve. "No," it says. "You don't have to do any of those things. You just have to call a realtor and put it on the market."

I suppose that I don't even have to do that. I could just put a sign in the front yard that says, "For Sale." It really is that easy. It's mine. It's my property. I know that the value doesn't belong to me, but the right to sell it does. Still - a realtor does sound like the easiest way. I have to start somewhere. I just have to start. I just have to pick up the phone. Will I do it today? Will I start the ball rolling forward? Will I tell the door in no uncertain terms that I am approaching?

This is the first step. This is the reality. Perhaps it's scary because it does bring me closer to the door. It brings the unknown into my life. Uncertainty makes me uncomfortable. But there is no other way. This has to be done before anything else can happen. I have a lot riding on faith here. I believe this single act will bring a measure of momentum that I might not be able to stop. Am I sure? Am I sure this is the direction I want? Do I really want to walk through the door? There is a beam of light coming from that direction and sweet wind that smells of life outside the smoggy world of the machine. It calls to me.

I choose to follow it.

A Little Light

Two years ago my husband and I stumbled into the Burning Man community. Most days I would like to think that this is a side note to the journey I've been on. Our experience has been tumultuous at best. This isn't to say that it has been without benefits.

The path to Burning Man is different for everyone. Ours has been fraught with both joy and intense sorrow. We found the community we thought we were looking for, and then found that like all communities it has it's dramas and issues. In truth it is a lesson well learned. The utopic community that we want to believe exists doesn't. Every community has the same demographic disparity of good people and people that you'd prefer you didn't have to deal with.

Burning Man extends beyond the event itself. It is a living morphing idea that is carried into the world and throughout the year by a handfull of it's participants. I would say that a large percentage of the people that attend are there for the party. It is that. But that's not all. Some of them participate as a community year round, and bless them for being able to live at that level of intensity. Some of them, like me and mine, carry this idea in our hearts and souls year round, living at a level below the crashing waves of the communities surface.

"To me Burning Man is" - you hear this a lot among the participants who all realize that BM is what you make of it for yourself - to me the most pervasive benefit of BM is the shift in paradigm. Black Rock City is a social experiment on the grandest of scales. It is a gigantic village formed of small pods of people. Each pod (called a camp) is a working community on a smaller scale. Each pod is a fully functioning and self sufficient village of it's own - ideally speaking. They all really do try their best. It's a lot of hard work on a very temporary scale, but it does show you a different way to live - and that you can live comfortably and happily without many of the conveniences we have come to believe are necessary to daily living. That you can benefit from living and working together outside of the nuclear construct that is so familiar. That working together outside of that construct is necessary to survival outside of the machine. Everyone has their own internal assets that they bring to the table - and only working together does this become joyful and easy. It can be done alone - but it would be much harder.

Last fall was my first trip to BRC. I remember on returning that I stood in my own bathroom filled with wonder as the water ran freely from the tap. After ten days filled with travelling, camping, and pumping my own water from a barrel - the miracle of running water overwhelmed me. I quickly shut it off having come to view it as the precious resource that it is.

This wasn't a new concept to me. I lived in Alaska for a short time where we had to have our water trucked to the house. Conservation was imperative. But after years of living in the city where the resources seem to appear like magic through the fuse box, through the faucet, through the gas lines; you tend to lose a little perspective.

Our journey to Burning Man took us ten years from first hearing about it. It took 18 months from our introduction to the local community. In the midst of this journey, and at a time when our lives were in the largest flux my husband and I have known together, some very special people appeared in our lives.

For years now I've had this niggling nonsensical dream of moving to the mountains to raise goats. (My adoration for these creatures is a story all it's own that I will have to tell at another time.) At our local "Burn", Apogaea, we met a woman who had brought horses to the event. The novelty of course drew us in, and again the developing friendship is a story all it's own, but it was the goats that got me. She and her husband live on a small ranch (if 42 acres is small - it seems a vast expanse to someone used to living on a tiny plot in the city), and she has a herd of fiber goats. This was indeed the initial motivation to making the trek onto the plains for a visit.

I was working on a self portrait project at the time. She had her daughter go fetch a baby goat and bring it into the kitchen so that I could make an attempt at capturing my portrait for the day with the wee creature. Trying to get livestock to cooperate in a busy kitchen proved challenging - and after getting to know this woman better I understand that this was as much for her own entertainment as it was for my benefit. This act, however it was intended, won my heart. Somehow, in the weeks and months that followed, she and hers became my own. They are as close to family as any that I share blood with, and the experiences that follow that moment have shone more light on the doorway than any others.

(Idlewild Ranch has a it's own blog that I contribute to on occasion. While it is an integral part of this journey, it's only part of this story.)

It's important to me to share all of this as part of my journey. I believe the thought process that has led me down this path, closer than even to the door - the way out - is necessary to understanding the rest. At heart I'm a writer. It's a compulsion that I can't escape. So here I am, putting my thoughts on the page. So, please, excuse the backstory. I've started capturing this mid journey really. The last 34 years of my life have been leading me on to this point, but most of what pertains to finding the door has been going on inside my head. I'd like to think that now - we are at the exciting part. This is where the action begins. I'm at vantage point on a hill where I can actually see the door. I fear the huge chasm between between myself and it. I fear that as I cross the dark valley of uncertainty I may lose sight of the door. I'm operating on a lot of faith here - so I'm going to take a step forward.

The only way out is forward.

Looking for the Door

For years now I've felt a longing. I look around at the world that I'm living in and I feel a deep dissatisfaction with the way it's working. I see the people in my life struggling to make ends meet, struggling to make their marriages work, struggling to raise their children. Every day it's an uphill battle against a system that is in collusion to keep us struggling.

We go to work every day performing what they would like us to believe are important tasks. They are important only to the machine, and the machine has a purpose that they would like us to forget. The machine is feeding only itself, and it's using our souls as the power the grid to do it. The machine exists to perpetuate itself. Debt is the ball and chain, and it keeps it's hold on us through our own desire to consume. The machine feeds us information that keeps us in debt. It gives us credit cards and mortgages and uses the laws of supply and demand to keep our rate of consumption at a level that will drive the prices higher, driving us to incur more debt so that we can keep up.

This longing that I feel is my soul crying for departure from the machine. My soul has known for years what my brain couldn't quite latch onto. My emotions waned as I spent years feeding the machine. I kept wanting and consuming and digging the hole that would keep me here - wanting, consuming, and feeding the machine - perpetuating a life that I will eventually pass on to my children.

Somehow some light snuck in. Somehow my soul spoke loud enough for my brain to hear it. I don't have to keep doing this. It doesn't have to be this way. I don't have to keep feeding the machine. The machine is lying. There is a door - and I can walk through it. Others have. There are possibilities outside of the machine.

And so my brain began struggling against the machine. Dissatisfaction set in leading me down a pathway to depression; leading me to want things that are directly contrary to the needs of the machine. My brain began looking for the doorway - but the paradigm beyond the doorway is so foreign to everything that I've been taught that though it's right in front of me, my eyes just can't seem to focus on it.

Lately - glimmers of reason and understanding have been sifting through the smog of the machine. Ideas are running through my mind about taking the leap and making it happen. I'm realizing that the only way through the door is to start walking towards it. It's location is vague but I CAN see it up ahead.

I can put one foot in front of the other. I can trust my intuition to guide me and begin taking steps. The trouble with the door is that you can't get to it in a day. And it's work. I know that there will be physical labor in the future, but the labor now is mental. It has less to do with figuring things out as it does with overcoming everything I know - everything I've been told.

I realize that right now all of this sounds like it was written by a crazy person. Perhaps I am crazy, but no crazier than the woman in the office next to yours. I'm no crazier than the woman that you will pass in the aisle at the grocery store later today. We've all gone a little bit mad in my opinion. Madness is the only justification I can find for continuing to live this way.

I keep wishing that there were someone to take my hand and lead me through these steps. I haven't found anyone. I see alot of forums on self-sufficience and sustainable living out there. I know people who are giving it a go that are perhaps only a step or so ahead of me. I haven't found the guidebook yet. Perhaps I will as this search begins in earnest.

Until now this has been mostly in my head and in the ears of my loved ones. I think often that they are tired of hearing me go on about it. I know that some of them are afraid of what it means to pull away from the machine. My dear husband seems to be drifting slowly after me. He is at a point now where he at least seems willing to hear me. His soul must be speaking louder, too. I know that he feels as stuck as I do, but the way out is hazy for all of us. It's hard to step forward when the footing isn't sure. It's hard to risk falling. It just seems like I'm risking so much more by sitting still and continuing on this path.

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
~Albert Einstein

It's time to do something different. I have some ideas and I'll be jotting them down as they come through more clearly to me.

For now - baby steps. They may be small, they may not get me far, but at least I won't be in the same place tomorrow.