20 June

Poem: Wow! Where Does Inspiration Come From?

by Jon Katz
Inspiration
Inspiration

Where does the real inspiration come from?,

the real poetry, the real painting, the words that sing,

and hop off of our fingers,

and paint the feelings, in brilliant hues, threads that flash in

blue and red?

Where Does Inspiration Come From?,

from the longings for love, the heartache and pain,

of loss, and disappointment, from

the awakening of the  soul, the stirring of the spirit,

the reaching out to the stars and sun and moon,

hand outstretched, pleading…

Where does inspiration live?

In the listening mind,

In the voice that says, “Wow!”,

in the soul that comes to life, in the overpowering joy,

even splendor,

that every being knows, when we open our eyes, that our dance

is over in a flash, that we have only a few magic moments,

there no time to sit down and wait for the next dance,

and we rush out onto the floor, to stomp our feet, twirl our skirts,

kiss life right on the lips, in the moist dark when we make love,

dare it to kiss us back

When is inspiration here, nibbling on our ear, seeding our dreams,

luring us away from the raging waters of the world?

You there, sweet thing, listen to me, listen to me now.

Inspiration is here,

when the heart is saying, shouting, screaming to the skies,

“I am alive. I am so damn alive.”

20 June

Frieda’s Character

by Jon Katz
Frieda's Character
Frieda’s Character

For the photographer, Frieda is a gift, her face has so much character, her eyes so wide and expressive. Frieda has seen a lot in her life and done a lot in her life,  from her work as a junkyard dog to her abandonment in the Adirondacks to her long time in a shelter to her pursuit and capture to Maria to Bedlam Farm. She is faithful and diligent, she make sure the many trucks driving by do not come into the house or near it. Except for the UPS and Fedex truck, the mail carrier and the occasional work trucks for the farm, she has succeeded. Like Red, she is always working.

20 June

Stay In Place. Working Close.

by Jon Katz
Training
Training

Things have gotten a bit out of whack lately, the sheep are crowding us when we come near the donkeys – we give the donkeys treats, but not the sheep and things have gotten a bit unruly. So I’m working with Red to keep them away from us while we are with the donkeys and brushing them. Crowds of animals running into together isn’t a good thing, the donkeys get upset and the sheep can plow into us and knock us down. So I’m working close with Red, something we haven’t done too much of before, lots of short directional commands to head the sheep off, push them back and then hold them.

It is working, Red has picked it up. He works well close up as well as far away. More later.

20 June

At Lulu’s Crossing

by Jon Katz
At Lulu's Crossing
At Lulu’s Crossing

At Lulu’s crossing, time is changing the landscape. The grass is getting tall – Ted Emerson is coming to brushhog the pastures this weekend. The water is drying out. Lulu is usually the first one over into the new pasture. Like most donkeys, Lulu didn’t do what the humans wanted, she did what felt safe to her, a survival mechanism that is unique to animals like dogs or horses. It is difficult to even recall the mud and blog that blocked the gate. I have learned to listen to animals, to be careful about imposing my will.

I have learned to cross muddy bridges, to figure out how to get to the other side. You come to something blocking you, and you either surrender to it or you don’t. Why were so many people all over the world rooting for this donkey to make it across? Because they stand in for us, we identify with them, they are our surrogates in life sometimes. Lulu got across.

At Lulu’s crossing, it feels like an old pasture now, an organic place, it fits right into the farm as if it grew there, and of course it did. It was our bridge to get across too.

20 June

Farm Fantasies

by Jon Katz
Fantasies
Fantasies

When I moved to Bedlam Farm in 2003 I did not realize the powerful lure of the farm fantasy. A farm, in many respects, conjures up the very things many people feel they lack in their lives – a live with animals, a connection to the natural world, independence, a sense of autonomy, the feeling of list values returned, friends, family hard work, meaningful chores, a feeling of freedom and of being valued and of great satisfaction. A family farm with old barns and acreage is a very, almost purely, American thing, a foundation of the American dream. In the corporate world, the one taking over more and more of American’s lives and work, these feelings are often lacking. People have a sense of doing work they don’t love, of struggling to keep up with the costs of the things, the need for health care and insurance, education. They are often isolated from the natural world, from the animal world. A part of them is broken.

I learned in my own life that fantasies are dangerous, often illusive. I learned not to covet anyone elses life, other lives are rarely what they appear to be on the surface. Working as a reporter teaches that quickly. In a sense I market the farm  fantasy – the beautiful vistas, the photogenic donkeys and dogs, a sense of being separate from the fragmented and intense world on the other side of the pasture. I love my farm, but I do not see it in any longer the context of a fantasy, if I ever did. It is the very real world.  A farm is life itself, with all of the good and bad things like has to offer.

A farm is not freedom, it is intense responsibility that never ends. Chores that are never done. Animals that never stop changing, buildings that never stop being needy. There is the God thing, you are the God of your farm, the absolute ruler. All things bow to your will.

Fantasies are powerful elements in our lives. I fantasized about being a writer, and became one. I felt a strong call to return to nature, and so I did. When people began telling me I had their dream, the perfect life, I began to see the awful lure and danger of the fantasy. It turned out the farm was the right place for me, a place to write, take photos, share my love of animals with Maria, who was always drawn to the farm. It was also a good place to let my worst impulses run away to with me, to be isolated from my world, to run away and hide.

Sometimes it is good to pursue a fantasy, it can take you places you need to go. Sometimes it is a dangerous illusion, a place to hide and escape from the reality and truth of one’s own life. Every life is different. I have learned to stand my ground and face up to my life. Otherwise I just kept bringing me with me, and that was no fantasy.

Mostly, I learned this about myself. Authenticity means being honest with myself, owning up to the true motives behind my fantasies and inspirations. I have lost the capacity to bullshit my way through life, lost the ability to be around people who do. It is not that I am pure or noble, quite the opposite. I would like to be. I can see it up there on that shining hill, even if I am not yet there. Whenever I fall into the dreamy realm of fantasy now, I stop, pause and ask myself some difficult questions: what is missing from my life, that I want someone else’s? What magic does a farm bring me that life in the other world cannot?

Fantasies are a rich part of any writer’s psyche, sometimes his friend, sometimes his enemy. I think a farm fantasy is one of the most powerful of all.

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