Last night wasn't so cold that a person had to wear shoes to smoke his cigarette. He could walk around in his socks, and found himself listening to Owl and a peculiar noise that could have been Fox or something dying. Sky was clear, and a stare into the stars produced in me a momentary sense of awe that allowed me to briefly make sense of the cleric who had arrived at a conclusion which made it against God's will for Muslims to sign up for a one way trip to the planet Mars. The Fatwa was quite clear about it, and the response from Mars was equally pragmatic. Going on and on about the voyaging tradition of Islam, the magnificence of the Universe and the wonders of God's sometimes eccentric plan for us. So apparently if you are a Muslim, you are allowed to train for a one way mission to Mars, and you're allowed to get all excited about it, but you're not actually allowed to get on a space craft that might end up going to Mars.
Then I must have been taken by some form of madness because I decided that of
late I have been remarkably negative and overly pompous, so in order to refresh
my relationship with the positive I would do well to spend seven days and seven
nights living as the Ancestors might have done. Out there in the wilderness, at
the end of the field, where Coyote have babies, and where a little bit of sun
brings up a damp breeze from the river that can sometimes smell like rotting
Fish, or Beaver, or maybe Coypu or more likely the spores of Black Mold. I
pictured a bivouac, a glitter from a camp fire. I muddled a little bit over
whether the Ancestors had Instant Coffee. I collected dry wood and leaves and
sneaked in a Bic lighter, a flash light for emergencies, a blanket or two, and
by the time I'd made the list, I reckoned I'd have to take the truck as space
craft, otherwise I might get cold or bitten by something. And I think it
sufficient to say that this morning I woke up with an even clearer understanding
of the Fatwa against actually going to Mars.