Community

I have heard that time is the currency of life. But I prefer to think of friendship as the currency of life, and time as the currency of friendship. What good is my life, spent alone? And what good are friends, if you do not share your time with them to experience this world together?
My friends are my community. Yet, I believe that when we typically discuss community, we think of neighbors. But, in Los Angeles, oftentimes neighbors do not know one another. We silently observe one-another in passing, hardly glancing to meet each-others' eyes. Eye contact is brief, and "Hello" comes as a surprise. We move into a new residence and we know that nobody will knock on the door to introduce themselves as "the guy that lives across the street from you."
See, I don't think that what I'm talking about is that strange to someone that has grown up in this city, or perhaps another big one like it. But I grew up in a town of about three-thousand people, and well, your neighbors want to know you in small towns like that. I remember Mrs. Henkel, who came over to pray with my family for my father's health and well being before he went in for back surgery. I remember our neighbors behind us, and also the ones across the street, because I played with their kids, who were close to my age. I remember my neighbors and I trying to figure out which neighbor baked the brownies for us that they anonymously left on our doorstep, as part of a holiday tradition in that area. It wasn't so weird or uncomfortable that everyone was nosy and in your business, because it is actually nice when people care about who you are and what you are doing.
But people in the city, for all I can see (and this is my generalization of city-folk), want you to stay out of their business. Privacy is more important than God to us. We have gated communities. The walls are built too high to see yards. We keep our blinds closed tight, and tint our windows. And it's not because we fear the sun, but because we fear each-other. We think, "Who is going to rob me today, while I am away?"
Yet, it is not unwarranted. Most people I know who have iPods and cars have at some point had their window smashed out for their iPod to be taken. Every bike I have ever owned has been stolen, save for the one I currently possess (which was purchased to replace the last one that got yanked). There are many thieves amongst us. There are many people that have little, who are willing and unafraid to take from one who has more. There are fewer jobs than people, and there are stronger vices than virtues. We have a lot working against us in this society, and so we all lose a little bit because of it.
What saddens me though, is that for the minority of dishonest folk that are out there, we wall ourselves in from everyone.I wish that fear was not such a strong element in how we relate to one-another in this society. It saddens me that, when I knocked on a neighbor's door the other day, a scared old woman answered suspiciously, and was even more suspect when I asked if I may pick her orange tree. She refused my request, and yet it was not because the oranges were to be eaten. It was because she was afraid of the idea of me, and whatever she thought I was. Needless to say, I went around the alley later on, climbed up on one of the city's garbage containers, and picked a satisfying amount of a particularly sweet navel orange from her tree.

Let's get back to what I was beginning to say about community, though. My friends are my community... that's what I was saying. And this is true. The people with whom I share my life's experience are ones that I consider friends. Some are near, some far. Some I only interact with online, due to geographical circumstances. Some I see infrequently, some often. Some I see too often. But my friends are the reflection of myself, which I see through my interactions with them. My essence is defined by those whom I share my company with. Take this blog, for instance. I would not be a fig thief, were it not for being perceived as such. I can call myself whatever I want and live in my little fantasy lala world, but it is the nature of being perceived by the other that manifests self-awareness.
And so, it is natural that on some level, my values will be shared with those whom I keep my company. There are several friends that I have, who appreciate the fruits of nature as I do, and are eager as I am to pluck the sweet and tender morsels of life from the trees and bushes that inhabit this valley. Similarly, there are friends of mine that are glad to have me over, so that they may share with me in their overabundant harvest of goodness, from what may be growing in their yards.
Though I may label myself one such thing or another, I am no one thing. A fig thief I may be at times. But a lover of good friends and good conversations is someone I may be at others. The majority of my oranges in this past month have come from such friends as I have mentioned above. I have had the pick of the sweetest and juiciest Valencia oranges that have never made it to a market, thanks to these people. And when I cut open the bunch of them in half, press them onto my citrus juicer (the little star-shaped protrusion with a grate and trough surrounding it) and make myself a fresh cup of orange juice in the morning, I remember how good it is to have friendship, and to have community.

I do not particularly wish to be a thief. I decide my actions in this life, but I do not decide what I am, really. So whatever I may be to someone else, so I become. Though the nature of things in this world is often different than what we perceive and label them as. We often label and define the world around us as a matter of simplifying truth. To get at the root of truth is perhaps complicated, but to whittle it down into simpler concepts makes for a digestible reality.

Anyway, on another note, I have spotted about half a dozen fig trees and pomegranate trees in the alleyways that lie east of my home. I am excited for them to ripen, because they are sufficiently large perennials to produce a wealth of sweet fruits. I also walked into Whole Foods the other day, and saw about twelve ounces of freshly picked figmeat on sale for $4.99, and balked at the price. I should pay no such price for such a thing, when there are more figs than can be picked by a dozen people within walking distance from my house. We'll see if the neighbors let me in their back yards when I ask...

-ft