Saturday, July 9, 2016

Garden Song




As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.




As I sit here and type this on a Sabbath, working, I am contemplating weeding a row of beets, which is a dichotomy, because all I do it seems is work now at 15 hour days, and I never have time to do the things which are work that I enjoy.

That is the thing in this in I actually like working. I am not joined at the hip to it like my neighbor in all he does is work, even though he has plenty of everything, but I work in a phobia to have a place of our own, and I keep telling myself incorrectly that if I just work hard enough, that a big donation will come in.

I like weeding the garden though, because the plants have a resonant frequency which cleanses me of this blog and the world. Plants to me feel like cool succulent sap, in a neutral and refreshing washing and regeneration to my soul.
TL has been helping in weeding as I am too far behind. I did get the carrots weeded which were a complete disaster in weeds on on one end. It always though looks so pretty to see a row of vegetables all as they should be, and free from the weeds of the world.

My Bible reading from the Holy Ghost was the directions of King David to Solomon, to clean up his political adversaries by executing them. Donald Trump is going to have to come to terms like that, or find out like King David the traitors will be out with the long knives the moment he steps into one of their traps.
Politics have to be weeded as much as gardens. The problem with the Argentine Junta was they did not kill enough liberals, because having compassion in leaving a few alive, made news stories, and installed a criminal Marxist who ruined that wonderful land.

Weeds in dry weather always choke out the vegetables. They also root into clods so you pull out the good with the bad. In politics, you just have to lose a few good people sometimes to get the noxious weeds out.

Weeds like plotters, are always in some corner of the garden, just waiting to reseed their coup back in to taking over the garden you have worked so hard to keep clean.

Weeding can not be done with fingers alone, but require sometimes a cultivator, but when the weeds get too big, it takes a bigger hoe to cut them off at the root.

It feels like being led by the Holy Ghost to do the Lord's work is acceptable on the Sabbath, as I contemplate all of those weeds in the beets which are going to have to come out, and a nice hot day is the best medicine for them.

Droughts make good gardens, as all that rain, keeps the garden growing weeds. There has to be a way in politics, in drying up funding, drying up employment, making penalties stick, so the opposition does not sow the weeds back into a Trump Garden.

I see it is not going to rain here. It is all kaput, but the weeds keep on, but in a few days, the weeds will all be kaput, and then with some selective watering, the plants which will produce the intended crop will flourish, as even the kittie has been eating baby bunnies who might have nipped a few things.......like my shooting a raccoon, to a bulging eye out, has kept the corn crop safe and the nesting hens safe as that is where that state manifested weed would have appeared next.

Weeding is work, but it makes my garden sing. I have so many different things, but they all grow together to make a nice garden. I like my singing garden, but I never have enough time to just be there and soak it in. To listen the the cat bird mew and the thrush sing. It really is a fantastic entertainment and rest, in my little slough bottom, adorned with willows, and looking at the world of noxious weeds just a few feet away, always looking to reclaim  what I have won.

If you do not weed a nation, the weeds take over that nation, and soon the most noxious weeds have seized power and they have choked out all the dainty plants who thought everything just appeared in rows and grocery stores.

How can work be forbidden, when my Spirit sings to God while weeding on a Sabbath day. The fool though would see it as a license to work and profit, and miss the Garden Song.




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