Mickey’s World is bounded by corners and shadows, it is so simple to drive by him every day and not see him at all, I hope my meeting him and photographing him will show me the human being he is and the true boundaries of his world. People are entitled to be noticed, heard, seen.
Maria and I raked the leaves behind the farmhouse today, and it might seem such a small thing – everyone rakes leaves in the Fall – but it was not a small thing for me, it was the first time in my life that I have raked my own leaves, someone else always handled it or was hired to do it. At the first Bedlam Farm, there were just too many leaves.
Today, we each got a big red plastic rake out of the barn, we raked the leaves into big piles, raked them onto a big green tarpaulin, hauled the leaves out to the pasture for the donkeys, the sheep, the wind and the elements to scatter. They will be gone by Spring. The dogs sat and watched intently, their heads moving back and forth, like old geezers in the bleachers at a baseball game, all they needed was some beer. It’s taken me and Maria two afternoons, it is not a big deal, yet only a couple of years ago I would have found it unimaginable. It was tiring, but a beautiful day to be outside, a respite from signing books.
Let me be clear, I was not born wealthy or spoiled and have not lived that way. My family had no money, our lives were hard, no one did things for me, I had to pay for my own clothes, walk miles to school, cook most of my own meals. There were times when I thought I was rich and acted as if I was rich, but I never was and am not now. It is more complex than all of that. I struggled with mental illness for much of my life, from early childhood on, I lived in fear and confusion, I did not take responsibility for my own life, I did not know who I was, I did not understand the truth about myself, was not authentic.
Fifteen years ago, when I bought a cabin upstate and wrote “Running To The Mountain,” I began the long and arduous and glorious process of seeking a spiritual dimension to my life, facing the truth about myself, of taking responsibility for my life, of finding the balance between reality and passion and fantasy. Thomas Merton’s caution has always rung in my ears: you cannot live a good life without faith. It was my hero journey, it is still underway, it will never end. But the recent circumstances of my life – therapy, spiritual counseling, Maria, the recession, the changes in publishing, our inability to sell Bedlam Farm, a long struggle with fear, my near total breakdown at Bedlam Farm – have all worked together to bring me to self-awareness, to take me on the road to health, love, responsibility and authenticity.
I don’t know how much further I have to go, I will never quit on this work, or fall into the complacency and denial that marked so much of my life, I suspect I will never be done. Truth was something I didn’t know how to find, and more and more, I see it is something I cannot avoid or run from.
Many of you have seen me take on task after task that I always gave to other people – from wallpapering to treks to the dump to painting walls and ceilings, stacking firewood, caring for the garden, cooking new and nourishing meals, shopping intelligently, mowing the lawn, fussing over bills and income, confronting my own health, juggling money from one month to the next in the way my parents had to do all of their lives. Initially, it was hard for me, then I realized how good it was for me, how much I was learning about my own life, how wonderful it is to manage your own life, to take responsibility, to walk on the path towards authenticity.
Maria was annoyed with me this afternoon, she said she was glad when the raking was over, I said no, don’t complain, this is great to be able to do this ourselves, and she looked at me as if I were crazy, in the way of someone to whom leaf-raking is not a new idea, and we ended up laughing about this, or at least I did.
But it was great for me, yet another step, another foot forward towards knowing who I am, another light on the path to authenticity, knowing at last who I am and might be.
Every time I look around the farm, every time I pay attention, I see something I did not notice, did not see before, did not know. Minnie, I realized over the last few days is using Red to help her come out of hiding and into the world after her leg was amputated. Most days she hides in the woodshed, underneath Maria’s studio barn, on her hay pile in the barn, we don’t see much of her. But Red has a habit of sitting at the pasture gate when he is outside, he is waiting – hoping – I will take him out to the sheep, his true purpose in life.
When he is sitting there, Minnie creeps out of the barn and sits alongside of him, takes in the world, explores the terrain, she once roamed so confidently and murderously. Red seems unaware of this role, oblivious to it, although I imagined if he really didn’t like it, Minnie wouldn’t try it, she is very sensitive to the dogs.
She feels safe with him, his presence gives her strength to come out. When he goes into the house or out into the pasture, she vanishes.
This reminds me a little of the way Red guided Rocky around the pasture in the past few months of the pony’s life. I have no idea what Red’s motives or intentions are – I doubt he has any here other than acceptance of Minnie – but I see she is using him as a steppingstone back into the world. Red’s professionalism – I don’t know any other word – has won him the respect and acceptance of all the animals, even the notoriously grumpy donkeys.
I am often reminded to pay attention to the animals, I never regret it.
I love to see women in friendship, they make friends openly, warmly, so differently than most men, than me, than most the men I know. In their friendships, I see the hearts of women, they seem so strong and powerful to me in that way. Yesterday, at the Round House Cafe, Maria met her friend Athena Burke the singer, I don’t k know what they talked about it, it seemed to me there was a light around them, you could reach out and feel the connection between them. I have not yet been able to take a photograph of men in that way.
I think of friendship’s light, I see the hearts of women.
From Post Office Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. A glass donkey.
