How slowly these things work. How deep and steady the true things are, yet how easy it is to get used to constant quiet urgings and suppress them. Now I’m finally completing the circle: little Johnny has come home.
All my life I’ve sought out open fields, woods, streams, mountains, any kind of natural, unspoiled place. It’s a theme that’s been consistent and unwavering. That’s why our old place in Maryland meant what it did for me, because we had a goodly portion of that in our hands, right underneath my feet. But I had work to do, soul searching of the most excruciating kind, and had to leave that life. Afterwards it hurt like hell, something I thought came just from homesickness, and so I beat myself to pieces with the guilt stick. But that wasn’t it! I wasn’t evil, mean, or stupid, just confused–and I absolutely had to get away. Now I’m 10 years older, with a few more ducks in a row, and guess what?
I want a farm!
Take that in the broadest possible sense of house and land, but I want a farm. I don’t care where it is, that’s what I want. I don’t want to be famous or rich or have a lot of toys, I want a good roof over our heads and dirt to play in. I want all my tools back. I want space to “make things.” I want chickens and a garden. I want fruit trees. I want to plant things and watch them grow as my own body fades away. I want a farm! A farm, a ranch. A place to make a stand. A refuge for family and friends. An “art ranch,” if you will–with chickens–because that’s what our lives should be, works of living art. My wife and I have talked about two studios and a house. Why not there?
Last night I remembered an old dream of mine from way back in 2003. SEVEN YEARS AGO I dreamed about this–not a farm specifically, but about the inner confidence to realize my dreams. At that point I was most concerned about survival, how to make a living and take care of us. Now I know I can, even if I haven’t done it yet the way I’d like to, but the direction was still missing until now. This morning I discovered an old blog post from January, 2003. where I not only talked about the dream but did some interpreting as well. The father symbol actually tells me to my face, “You can have a farm with that.” Whoa! Not that this should be taken literally, but still.
Here it is, in case you’re interested. This is me. This is who I really am:
I am walking past a field of corn. The corn is planted tightly packed and the edge of the field has been harvested like I used to see all the time back in Maryland. A farmer is checking the crop. He is older than me, wearing overalls, quite intent on whatever he is doing. Without noticing me, he plunges into the corn and disappears. I’m a little afraid of him.
I continue walking around the “block” of corn (a square area of planted crops) and come to an area where harvested ears have been stacked like cordwood alongside the still-growing crop. At least four different kinds of corn are stored here, each type of ear a distinctly different color: orange, blue, yellow, white. At the back of the field I pick up one of the orange ears. It is very, very fat, at least three times as fat as any ear of corn I have ever seen, and the kernels are large triangular pyramids. Viewed from above, the ear is covered in rows of triangles. The ear I hold has been at least partially cooked and has been seasoned. I take a bite. It’s very good.
I carry the ear around the corner of the field and come across the farmer building a fire in the harvested area of the field. He is roasting more ears of corn. I walk up to him and tell him that this ear (the orange one with the triangular kernels) is very good. “Yes, ” he says. “You can have a farm with that,” which I take to mean that an enterprise centered on growing this particular variety would be successful and self-sustaining. He is very friendly and warm to me at this point and I am not afraid.
In this particular dream, the triangular kernels of corn are stunningly relevant for me personally. The corn itself is a remarkable archetypal symbol, relating to Demeter, Mother Earth, nourishment, etc., and as such is hugely valuable to me in my present situation. But as I thought about the ear and what it looked like, I drew little triangles on a piece of paper, and suddenly I remembered something from early childhood. I was floored: I hadn’t thought of this for decades!
One of the things my father brought back from Okinawa with him in the late ’40s was a wooden puzzle that I used to take out of his dresser drawer and play with. I played with this for off and on over several years when I was a small boy. It always fascinated me. The puzzle consisted of three small painted TRIANGULAR PYRAMIDS, red, white, and blue. The trick was to put the pyramids together so that they formed a cube. This always seemed impossible, and each time I successfully put the three pyramids together, I quickly forgot how I had done it. Every time I did this, it was new.
The adventure continues. Have a great Sunday!
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