I'm Capricornus Ed your schizy gardener, with a fair bit of Hobbit ancestry. I spend my days tending a four-acre monastery garden surrounded by tall hedges. We do need to shut out the big bad world to some extent! When I am up the ladder trimming said hedges I have many lofty thoughts. When I come down to earth I shrink before the workload. For sixty years I have had one foot in the grave. I did not actually know this, though I think many have tried to point it out in their nicest possible ways! I know now that for long years I have wrestled with a near-death experience which I had as a three-year old. My deeply inquisitive nature would not allow me to let go of my reservations until I understood them. Even now I would find it difficult to express this but this is what I try to do in my scribblings.
I have resisted computing and the internet all the way like a true Luddite, but here I am as schizy as ever. I can see now it is just another pathway. I can also see that that there are as many pathways as there are people. There is much to learn if we are truly open with each other,regardless. It seems that this ideal is alive and well at h2g2.
I am very happy to comment on Life the Universe and Everything from my perspective. I am not qualified apart from a couple of dusty old A-levels, Botany and Zoology. Of course, I've a lifetime's experience of gardening with a keen interest in the natural but also in the supernatural as you would expect.
Come on in, I'm pleased to meet you.

It seems to me.....
We are all hamsters in a cag'ed treadmill,
Chasing round for all the wag'ed bread will
Us survive.
Then sleep,some fleecy bed will
Compensate the dead-alive.

But fishers of these dreaming sleeps
Must we become,divining rods,
To hook from seeming deeps
Some flounders on the reely real,
Some balance for the see and saw
Of sleep and treadmill.

This cage is but the cryptic clue
Of our evolvement
Safe-keeping, the night lock,
Til our involvement
Makes it plain what we must do,
Turn inside out.

Then mourning's dawn, once filled with dread will
Us compose.
A song at once to fill our head will
Take to air and wake the dead, will

Those floundering prophets who have said will,
Whilst those their words have read will,
And the Man who bled well,
With all of those he fed, will
What's inside doubt.


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