farm-human-dog relations in the piedmont of north carolina
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
House of Flowers
I've been thinking a lot about death lately. Fear. Worrying. I don't want to fear death, I want to embrace it. Lately when I go to sleep I've found myself alone on an ocean shore, just looking at the horizon and listening to the waves, comtemplating whether or not I want to die there, to dissolve myself as I look at the ocean, to become the ocean. It's not really cerebral thinking, just a passive way of wondering. If it gets too cerebral it loses it's beauty and appeal and fear begins to creep in and I must desert this place of solitude before my mind ruins it for me. I want it to be a safe place if this is where I'm going when I die. Flowers do that for me, they take me to a place of safety and beauty; they are a living art that nourishes. I've been thinking about an art project I want to do sometime, it might have to wait until the girls get a little older, but I want to start trying to dye pieces of wood with natural dyes from plants from the farm and make a collage, then seal it with beeswax, keeping it a pure process with as little off land input as possible. I'm searching the libraries and internet for information, but so far haven't found a great deal on dying wood. For now I'll have to be content with our flowers and my vision of death's enigma to keep my soul at rest.