I passed through the patch again today. Just looking. No more pride of ownership or wish or will to associate. Just some passive spectator not quite sure what to do about the patch. The maize grows taller, and lovelier to look at. The weeds, finally, seem to have been told to behave and yet, my heart is no longer in the patch. Sort of like love gone bad.
I cannot, in all sincerity, donate the patch to someone and bless them with my harvest, because that would be bad. Neither can I take my troop to go down and harvest for consumption, knowing very well what I know. Yet, for all this hullabaloo, only weeks ago, I had submitted to poverty to the level where sharing food with roaches was agreeable. I slept no better than a street dog, and watched my children do the same. Such is what becomes of have beens in this our fourthworld. When the downward trent begins, we offer apologies and pretend. As it spirals out of control, we become verbose and argumentative. Once we hit rock bottom, we are the know it alls, because we have been and no conversation is complete without us adding our expertise on how or why life should be lived our way, correctly or wrongly! This whole week, I continue with this story, for it has to reach its logical conclusion and that conclusion is within sight. Stay tuned.
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