Mark it on the calendar. Tonight's supper will include a salad made not just with store-bought lettuce but also the first tiny thinnings of the garden greens. In there are newborn kale, lettuces, arugula, and collards. Also two types of basil. And a few leaves of mature bonsai arugula which I planted in a pot where they have not, to say the least, thrived. But each piece of each leaf will add its own peppery goodness to the bowl. I love that when I pinch the almost microscopic roots from the arugula babies I can already smell their essence. It's almost like human babies who have their very own self-ness from birth, just in infant form. Anyway, aren't they beautiful, those clean, wet wisps of living green life? Sometimes it occurs to me that those people who believe that they can live on sunlight are correct, in a way. Plants take sunlight and turn it into food that we can eat and thrive on but the sun-eaters do forget that there are other elements (quite literally) involved and that trying to forego those elements and the steps that the plants go through to produce the calories and nutrients we need is a bit ridiculous. I don't care what certain yogis have claimed to do, the human body just doesn't work like that.
I just looked it up. People who believe that are called "breatharians." Good luck with that!
Why must humans always want to go right on past the true miracles of life on this earth like the Krebs cycle and evolution and sunrise and sunset and gravity and tides and physics and love and oak trees and octopuses and Keith Richards and eggs and butterfly migration to believe in bullshit like living on prana and psychic healing and walking on water and there being a god who only managed to have one son despite the fact that he's a god, who sends that son to earth to be tortured and killed for the tenuous purpose of saving the very people that the god supposedly created from the original sin that he supposedly allowed those people to become infected with so that those people can go to a supposed eternal life which will be perfect when they die their earthly death?
If I live to be one hundred and sixty-six, I'll never understand that. Show me a newborn baby and I'll show you eternity in genetics. Show me the stars and I'll show you infinity and beyond. Show me death and I'll show you how death does indeed lead to life as it breaks down and gives up its essence to the dirt, nurturing the plants that grow above it. Show me a laboring woman and I will show you the miraculous ability of a human body to create and deliver life. Show me the Rolling Stones and I'll show you the miracle and ecstasy of dance.
Well. This is not what I set out to write about today. Not that I ever set out to write anything in particular.
Here's another picture.