The question has to be asked

586

Why do dogs lick their balls?
Because they can.

Now why would I, in my yogic state, ask this awful question? Simply because I have had to sit here and think about how to approach the woman who is currently working in my garden.
What could she be doing? Such a delightful soundscape of sweeping, cutting, scraping. The sun is shining, the sparrows are washing and arguing. The dogs are basking. I have lovely mantra playing. And all of a sudden.

She starts up a machine to blow away leaves. It is an enclosed courtyard surrounded by houses and flats. All the house doors are open and she is wearing earmuffs, smiling sweetly as she hacks the peace of the day into the sound effects from A Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

I must confess that I am now grown up enough not to run out into the garden screaming at her, despite the hysteria of both dogs who thought it was not quite loud enough, and I go and sit in the kitchen to ponder how best to approach the situation. I was partly a trifle worried about my husband’s reaction to hearing the machine, plus trying to get over the stench of deisel all through the house. I thought about progress and about how the things we most love, or certainly I most love, are the images of the olden days. Women milking buffalos, traditional costume, things being done by hand. Who are we to stop progress? Especially when it is loud, smelly and noisy. This is the big ecological dilemma being played out right here in my garden. Why does she use this machine? Because she can.

I thought about her thinking me mad, insane, odd, wierd, out there. I am used to people thinking that. I thought about her thinking I was bossy. Well that happens all the time. So nothing new there. I thought: How can I do this differently?

I am not sure I suceeded, but I went and asked her not to use it. Simple. She told me it was a machine she hated using………………

So now we have stopped progress, temporarily, peace reigns and she thinks I am a wierd, bossy cow.

All is fine.