Elevation in Whispers For the Masses

I sit in the loft of the main cabin, desk scattered with love, poetry, and paintings. There is something equally sad and beautiful about orphaned art. It is what creates an atmosphere of timeless love in any given place. It creates layers of foundation for a home, just like fallen leaves eventually create fresh earth for new things to grow.

I am looking out of the windows toward the mountains and valleys below, all aware that they are only a tiny piece in a grander scheme. Two old dogs and a Burmese Mountain pup named Burdock provide a halo of unfettered emotion around this place. The chickens chatter neurotically as they wander about in search of food. One hunter of a cat, one lazy cat, and one once feral kitten remind us that we are all wild.

As always, however, what makes this place is the people I find here. I don't know how, but hippies never seem to change much. The women are 18 - 30. The men are 25 - ancient. They are kind. They care deeply about their food. They like drugs. They tend to believe what they are told, regardless of the source. They are intensely skilled at one or two things. They believe in conspiracies. They have expensive tastes and little money. They are resourceful. They are spiritual. Their disdain for most technology is nearly amish. They are smart. They smell bad. They are patient. They are balanced. They are slow. They are happy. They are equally reverent and resentful of rules and laws. They are skeptical of modern medicine. They are idealistic, and driven to follow through on those ideals. They are disorganized. They are passionate above all, and therefore, beautiful.

The idealism and passionate nature are both things that I value above most. When I came here, I had lost my faith in humanity. I felt untrusting and somewhat dead inside. I was DETERMINED to fix these things, but ignorant as to how. I know that coming here will always fix me, but I ALWAYS forget how. How can I forget each and every time?

The answer is so simple.

Be. Happy.

Doing so is not a matter of willpower, it is a matter of action. Play music. Give. Sing. Meditate. Love. These things take not just determination, but also time.

Since I've been here, I have cooked, written, cleaned, built an outdoor oven out of slate, sang, hiked, climbed, invented, cared for animals, watched lightning roll in, had quality conversations, napped, neglected to wear shoes, and learned to throw a hatchet. This is wonderful.

There's just one thing I haven't figured out. It's so easy to be happy here because no one wants anything from me. Not money, time, attention, sex, or my stuff. They want nothing. I'm not sure what to do about that when I return. Perhaps I'll figure that out today.