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After Zendik - April 3rd, 2005 [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
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April 3rd, 2005

The Beginning [Apr. 3rd, 2005|06:50 pm]
Hello everyone. My name is Emerald. I will live in the Emerald City, when we build it--that's New York, with all the ugliness erased, and roof gardens everywhere. That's the vision I saw, on my first journey home from Zendik Farm, five years ago. I looked out across the East River from Brooklyn at that godforsaken island and saw it with new eyes. I had just begun to awaken to my imagination.

I dreamed two nights ago, of the shirt I wore, the day I left, to make that journey home. It was pink, with long sleeves--in the dream I wore a soft pink dress, and sought that shirt, to tie around my waist. In the dream I returned to Zendik Farm, and Vie told the others I was there "to help make this place bloom." I just smelled pink tulips the other day, for the first time--and for the first time I am dedicating mySelf to learning how to help things grow. I believe the meaning is, when I return I will be a different kind of person, with a different kind of meaning--I will come with a concern for the earth, and fragile things of beauty--the most fragile of which, are other humans. And need most love, to grow.

I no longer live at Zendik Farm, and I'm through wishing I did. The story of that heartache is over, at least for now. I do desire, with all my heart, one day to be a Zendik, who lives at Zendik Farm. To live there, and help create the first Ecolibrium culture. That's what I said, the last time someone asked me what I want to be when I grow up.

But now I am here, in Chico, California, and this is no easy Life, to be cast by the wayside, as trash in shadow of the future. This Life requires all the vigor I can give it, and of late I have not given it enough. I dig milk thistle, and I do it well enough--but the Psychic Compass said today, that all work, all relationships, are of worth only in proportion to the artistry brought to them. Why should I not become an artist, at digging thistle? What else is there to do, those long hours in the fields?

Nina says she likes it when I joke--I do also. I have a tendency to become tragic, and believe Life is terrible. This usually happens when I'm lonely, or haven't heard a joke in days. Except the cosmic one, on me--that one I'm constantly--and bitterly--aware of. But I did laugh today, while reading a book about Australia--"Moo, bang, sizzle," the man said--such is the Life (and quick death) of an Australian steer.

Well, it's time for me to go now--Nina has requested some description of Zendik--what "a typical day" is like, what it's like to go on a selling trip...that'll come next...and I promise, no tragedy.
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