I was going to write a big long blog about how Jesus is no different than Zarathustra, Muhammed, Buddha..etc. By that I mean virgin births that go way back to many different belief systems, including some “pagan” ones that Christianity has stolen dates from (ie. Christmas/Easter). I’ll sum it up and get my point out of the way. I don’t think some dead Jew was the son of God. We are all sons and daughters of god, whatever “God” may be. The whole gist of the post was going to be how I’ve never been able to comprehend the worship of one man from a patriarchal Jewish society who’s been dead for 2000 years. In that I can’t fathom worshipping any other man, especially when the historical facts don’t point in their favor. If Jesus is the son of God, I am too. He might have been a much better person than me, but that was his journey, and this is mine. However, I think if you took the New Testament by itself you’d have an entirely different and better religion, if there is such a thing. Be that as it may, I will now focus on fact that not having the change of four seasons really throws my internal clock off.

In Wilmington, NC which happens to be located on the eastern coast, the leaves don’t turn any shades of aspen yellow, or brilliant orange before they fall to the ground. This area seems to just fade from summer to winter without any acknowledgement between the two. Mostly longleaf pine, the eastern seaboard doesn’t lend itself very well to a beautiful autumn from the get go. It just amazes me how attached I am to the changing of seasons. It doesn’t seem natural for me to go from summer to winter without the autumn, full of changing leaves, the crisp air and morning frost along with a slew of fresh cider and donuts from the mill down the road. Instead I’m dealing with a drought and 80 degree weather at the end of October. I hate it. If I could be anywhere for two weeks out of the year it’d be home in the Allegany mountains when the leaves are changing. Maybe not for sheer beauty, although I do rank it up there with what I’ve seen in my short life, but because I’m so attached to the memories and the vibe of the place. Fall brings back memories of playing football, putting away the shorts for the jeans, walking in the woods and most importantly the reminder that we are part of something greater than ourselves. Nature’s wonder and beauty are playing out right in front of our eyes while the earth starts tilting away from the sun and the trees prepare for the long winter. There’s something magical about that time of year. Maybe it has something to do with Halloween and the spiritual activity of the place awakening. Or maybe, the area has a spirit of its own which I’ve grown so fond of. It’s not something you can appreciate until you leave. The part of North Carolina I live in now is devoid of any type of “magic,” instead its full of condos and traffic. Maybe it’s all the negativity from the people that’s in the air. Or maybe this place doesn’t embrace the people like the land does back home because of what they’re doing to it. I know I speak of the land like a living being, and that’s because it is. This time of year it’s exhaling, and preparing for a long sleep until it’s time to awake and push life back to the surface toward the returning sun. I walk outside on a Thursday evening and I hear kids who drive Volvo’s and BMW’s screaming about how drunk they are. I should be in a small village or in a cabin where instead of pushing nature aside you can embrace it. That’s what fall is for me, a time to embrace the waning moments warm weather and a myriad of colors before the onset of a usually harsh and unforgiving winter. Wilmington, North Carolina doesn’t know the first thing about that. Instead they’ll have Halloween costume parties at bars and see who can dress the sluttiest and win the $100 prize. I doubt anyone even thinks about the origins of Halloween, actually I know they don’t. There is no reverence for the natural world here. If it doesn’t pertain to the sandy shores of the beach then you might as well forget about it. Give me a gallon of fresh pressed apple cider, an Edward Abbey book and a day in forest behind my Grandmother’s old farm any day over the “luxurious lifestyle” of the beach. Anyway – to compensate I’ve made 4 loaves of pumpkin bread which I would post pictures of if I had my camera’s usb cord. The cider in the fridge is hard even though it was pasteurized and I have three store bough pumpkins with two growing on the vine on the backporch. So, all in all I guess it’s not that bad, I just picked one shithole of a city to call home.