Qui sommes nous ?

Qu’est-ce que se définir ? Qu’est-ce qu’une identité ? Qui sommes nous ? Voilà un article, plutôt un témoignage, très intéressant sur le lâcher prise.

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Recently, I read some words, in an inspired novel, late at night, when everything was still and my hands were in danger of falling asleep (having held the book up to my eyes for far too long). I read, “hands are for holding fast and then letting go..” and for me, for some reason, on this half-moon night, this little phrase was layered with meaning. Meaning that comes, bit by bit, the way flavours do at the first taste of wildflower honey or good wine. Upon reading those words I was struck with an initial hit of meaning, closely followed by subtler layers, each one profound in it’s own right. And so I found myself there, under layers of feather blankets with tingling hands and an epiphany I was not expecting, of course, epiphanies cannot really be expected though can they? The very nature of an epiphany is its spontaneity, like shooting stars and breaching orcas, they come when they come. Anyway, those layers of meaning, well, they walked themselves right into my bones and for a few short moments, I was overtaken by ah-ha, and this was followed by Ha Ha Ha, because you see, there is always something funny to me when the human experience actually makes sense for a second.

And you may be asking yourself, ‘good heavens what is she on about?’ Surely such a late night moment has nothing to do with farming or bees? But I beg you, bear with me a moment longer, and you will soon see that indeed, it does. And it goes like this. It has been 6 months today since we packed our things and moved to this little clearing at the edge of the woods. 6 months since we found ourselves here because of a dream we “held fast” and held fast we did for year upon year, without losing hope or sight or inspiration. Of course, beginning a new chapter in one’s life always involves turning a page, and so although we held fast to one part, we had “let go” of another. With heavy hearts we let go of our community and our well defined city roles. We let go of our careers and those definitions of self that we had so carefully carved and maintained both consciously and unconsciously for a decade. Arriving at Honey Grove, we had to hang up our nice clothes, put on our gum boots and start digging. If I am to be honest, I would have to say that our egos might have suffered a little then, although we denied it in the beginning.

You see, we left lives that gave us permission to believe that we knew things. We did jobs that involved directing others, we managed and we taught, and we felt “in charge,” for whatever it’s worth. I would say we did what most human beings do, and we held fast to those identities. When we got to Honey Grove however, we found that we were the ones needing direction. We did not have much knowledge or skill when it came to farming (and this is not to say we know everything now, eh eh, but we know a little bit more than we did). We did have a dream though, a fine golden luminous dream, and a whole pile of books with beautiful photographs of hobby farms and biodynamic gardens and healthy chickens roaming free.

But once all our boxes were unpacked and winter settled in and the good people down the road began asking us what we did for a living…and we said, “well, we’re hoping to……and no, we have never done anything like this before,” well, it was shall I say, a humbling experience. Yes, to let go of who you think you are, it is humbling. But you know what else, there is also something profound about letting go, something I can only describe as relief. Relief to not know. Relief to not be an expert. In this you have the first layer of meaning that struck me.

The second layer of meaning is one I did not know before I came to Honey Grove, and this has to do with physically holding on: holding on to fencing, to fence posts, to power tools, to chainsaws and drills and sledge-hammers…

…to the 100 feet of poly that we put on our greenhouse on a windy, windy day…It has to do with holding on to your vision when your hands are cold and your feet are frozen and you can’t stand the sight of the person who you live with for another second, because he/she is the only person you have seen for weeks (how much you love them, is irrelevant).

And then, just when you’ve done nothing but hold on and hang in, once your poly is on your greenhouse, and your fence posts are in the ground, and your garden is dug and it doesn’t look exactly like the one in the picture book, you have to let go again. You have to say, well shit, we did our best and that’s that. And this is an art, and like all arts, it’s not always easy. Sometimes the only option is to pour one of Mark’s fine ales, or to take a good long walk with Guru Gus, or to drop down on the meditation cushion and just breath in and out in the name of acceptance. Sometimes, a good old stomp and shout puts the world right. The secret though, I think, is to practice this art with a combination of respect and humour and even faith. And, while we work out the meaning of life, spring is sending up her tender shoots.




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