the compost here in my Alameda kitchen smells the same as the one did in Mexico. Not really in the individual smells exactly (the one here fills with potato eyes and moldy bread while there we dealt mostly with mango peels and pineapple cores) but in the smell as a whole, general odor. No matter the longitude, compost food smells brown, it smells low, it smells wet and ground and earth; heavy, thick and growing. Compost food smells like butter churned with soil.
Maybe what I'm trying to say is that in the end, no matter where, we all return to dirt. The garlic peels and the watermelons, the corporate lawyers and the agave farmers; all of the world's people and all of the world's problems are destined to dust. (I think someone famous must have said this a long time ago.)
So wait, what does that mean for us?
1 comment:
i think it has to mean nothing.
While true, the reality of our returning to dust is so far away it can't have a real bearing on our day-to-day lives. Making decisions based on the fact that our world will eventually erode into nothingness is unfair to the present which, no matter the future, is what we are responsible for taking care of.
Having said that, if thinking of all pressure and stress and indecision and painful limbo eventually blowing away into the wind is comforting, by all means go for it.
I know I do.
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