Bully For One and All

I found out recently that I'm an anarchist. I'm actually a pacifist anarchist. I have been one for many years although I didn't realise it. Perhaps because the punks kinda hijacked anarchism and my first true love was a punk complete with mohawk, ring through the septum, ripped jeans and jingly jangly chains. I much preferred him when he was a sweet little indie kid.

Mum feels more soothed now that I have identified myself with a political stance. Though it hasn't stopped her from saying "That's why you should vote..." It's different every time. She just wants me to vote. She wants me to care. I do care. I just do it in a different way. I'm still telepathically organising a revolution. It's exhausting!

To be honest, I don't know enough about anarchism to truly identify with it. It's like Buddhism, I like what I know about it but I can't claim to be Buddhist. Sure, I killed a fly last year but it haunted me in more ways than one. I do have a political stance though, or maybe it's just a stance in general. I truly believe that the natural world is our teacher, protector and leader. Humans thinking that they know better than the ground beneath their feet is just ignorance and arrogance.

I have been spending a lot of time down the woods with the dogs. I am sure that when I talk about them people may imagine a proper little forest. The truth is that the trees are teenager trees and most of my trekking through the woods involves walking half the size of myself and getting pine needles in the face. I came back the other day to discover that I'd been ravaged by some kind of woods critter. I don't mind though. There's a part of the woods where the ground is all uneven and mossy. I'm sure if I sat there long enough the fairies would come out to play. Or the swamp witch with her doo doo pigs. Gus and I have a woods song which goes "Off and off we go, through the thick of the woods, bully for you, bully for me, bully for one and all". This is sang in posh ye olde English accent and we sing it with great gusto.

Cinderella

What a difference a day makes. Last week was a wobbly one. With just a couple of months left of my course (the class side of things anyway) I was on the verge of giving up. It just so happened that a fairy godmother waved her magic wand and decided that I deserved a fighting chance of making it to the (graduation) ball. Faith was well and truly restored.

Last Sunday I watched a 15 minute old calf bullock being licked tenderly by it's mother. She was, of course, licking all the goop off it because there tends to be a lot of goop when a cow gives birth. It was still magical and beautiful. The girls decided that the calf should be named Little Gus. Big Gus says he can never go to market. Unfortunately, Big Gus doesn't have much authority when it comes to the fate of calves. What is more likely to happen is Little Gus will go to market and we'll write a very sad blues song about it.

It feels a wee bit like spring and it would be a mortal sin not to don some wellies and take the dogs for a walk. Might do me some good as well being amongst the trees. Every day I say I must do some coursework. Every day I find something else to do, like go for coffee with a friend or, y'know, sit there staring into space. Or write blog posts that never get finished. Or, attempt to get back to my writing project and write lots of words that get immediately deleted. I am certain that a book will never be written unless I go to live in a hedgerow in Connemara. Today I have it in my mind to listen to Moby and dance. But first...a walk!