When there is no way, you have to dig
This is an entry from my journal.
It is early Autumn now. Average day temperatures in Cyprus still hover above 25 degrees Celsius. The mountains are always cooler, especially at night. Even during the peak Summer days, one needs extra clothing post midnight. More so during the colder months. The drought continues and with it the undoing of many of my plantations. I am powerless to affect such magnitudes and thus accept my fate. Though “fate” is three-fold: choice, chance, and inevitability. I control one third of it and consistently choose to fight and to do things my way.
“He is a little bit anarchistic, no?” said a prospective employer to a friend regarding the option of recruiting me. This I learnt years later and was not surprised. The phrase is a euphemism for pointing out that I cannot be tamed and will only conform with whatever establishment if I want to. “Loose cannon” in other words.
When the world tells me that there is no alternative, that the authorities have all the answers, and that any question is anathema to the powers that be, I respond with determined industriousness to become the counterpoint. I do not always succeed, sure. This is not some self-help gimmick to win all arguments. It simply is the constant in my behavioural patterns. Tell me to obey “just because” and you might get a forceful challenge, if I care enough. It is how I got Oreeon from the vet earlier than I was instructed to, for example, or how I built the hut against the conventional wisdom against such “madness”.
Two years of living here, I know that every patch of land around me incorporates hours of my labour. I have been injured many times over to make things happen. I continue to do so with grit as I witness the progress I am making every week. The place is fairly safe from floods and wildfires. It is becoming more comfortable in general. Though no comfort can ever change the disposition I have to live under a rock, if I must, and to steel myself for another long day of hard work. Comforts are for my dogs and whoever else might live here.
My bane and blessing is that I am a lone wolf. I do not ask anyone for validation and do not seek advice on where to head next in life. If somebody says something reasonable, I do listen and will change my mind in the face of cogent arguments. For example, I did revise my plan for the materials I would use for the hut upon consultation with relevant experts. My original idea was okay, but would not be as cheap as I had hoped. I do not pretend to know everything and will not argue for the sake of arguing. This is where education comes in and my philosophical disposition shines. I just know what I want for my life and then put in the effort to understand how to acquire and wield the requisite means. My plans are flexible; my values solid.
Being a lone wolf is not something you cosplay at. Yes, I have met posers who do exactly that. I guess it makes for a good show to not have a single scratch on your body, to enjoy those silky smooth palms, yet to assume the role of the rugged individual while living the opulent life by some swimming pool. My experience is not something I enjoy or celebrate. I just accept it without fanfare. Like the wolf in the wilderness, I have to employ guile and vigour to cope with the ever precarious environment I find myself in. The cost of failure is prohibitive. The plan B, then, is for plan A to continue to work. There is a “wow” factor to that, if you think this is a show. But when it is the real thing, it is unnerving. Words cannot communicate that which is visceral.
My blessing is that I have the skills to survive, especially the mental fortitude of not relenting in the face of improbable odds. One way or another, through highs and lows, I am still going from strength to strength, now at the age of 37. I do not even feel I have ascended to the peak of my abilities. I push the boundaries in everything I do with ceaseless enthusiasm. My bane is that I live too close to the danger zone where realistically no-one will come to my rescue or join my pack in pursuit of normality.
The work I have been doing these days is on a piece of land that was historically used as a dumping ground for leftovers of some construction work. Large piles of broken concrete have over the decades been intertwined with grapevines and roses. Digging through this chunk of near impervious terrain is extremely taxing on the body. Without experience on how to use the pickaxe, and absent the combination of strength and stamina, I would be risking serious injury (e.g. to pull a muscle in the back). But I have been doing this sort of work for a while now. My body is conditioned to the rigours. I just start and keep going until I need to quit.
Today I did four hours of digging plus two hours of moving the dirt and rocks away from where they were. Clearing this spot provides the impetus for the next project: to set up a grill and build a shed around it in order to shelter me from any potential rainfall while I am making food. I do not know when this will happen. I do what is within my power and then wait for favourable circumstances to make my next move.
I cannot tell if there is a way to go from my current state to a new normal. In the past I tried to slow down, as it were, and suppress my feral spirit. That ended up being the lowest point in my life; the “darkness”, as I call it. It is no viable option. Perhaps by digging I am setting the conditions for a new state of affairs in which the wolf remains such yet also finds his pack. Or I am just digging deeper into the abyss where nobody will find me. Who knows? This is the best I can do, anyway, so these are idle thoughts.
As I am typing this, I feel minor discomfort in parts of my palm’s skin. It is due to all this business. It reminds me of the only truth I have ever believed with every fibre of my being: the pain of doing things in earnest. The discomfort will go away in a few hours. I did what I had to do and am content with the results. It is tiresome yet invigorating, for I am galvanised to continue.