V i n t a g e   M u s i n g s  -  Two

There is this thing, this state; it is called 'fire in the belly'.
I'm not sure if it's good when it comes to growing up fine wine.
But I'm sure it was part of my growing up.
I was trying to get right what I thought was wrong.
Righteousness has go-power.  Particularly when you or I,
or when my any of my friends were wronged,
or what I hold to be my most prized thoughts and feelings were wronged.
It should not go-without-saying that right and wrong are slippery slopes
and totally depend on my conditioning, and how I see and value the world.
But, be-that-as-it-may.

There is some place that we can all reach for where
there is greater certainty that what we want to be right, will be right.
This is a different place that we experience when the belly is full of fire.
It is a place where the nature of right is not burdened with righteousness.
If we are lucky, this tends to happen as we grow older, more mellow, perhaps wiser, etcetera.
I know that being able to have a reached-for-place is good for growing-up really good wine,
particularly when that place stays noble and loving with our own bottle ageing.
The trick, the luck, is to have issues when we were younger
that turn out to be the ones we think are the ones that are
still worth making right out of wrong when we examine them as we age.
It's lucky when the fire-in-the-belly gives something other than indigestion.
                                                                                                              
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Well, as you can guess, I thought I was wronged by certain aspects of how I was taught
to make wine.  I can't say there was a raging fire in my belly about it,
but I can say there was some damn good smoldering going on about it.
I couldn't articulate what was bugging me upon graduation.  But where it really
settled in with me, what really made me smolder was what I realized later....

We had been taught about wine in a context of reductionism, not wholism.
The reductionistic context was one that holds that if you take a problem,
and you keep reducing it to its component parts, then you can study that reduced
crux of the problem in isolation and get the 'right' answer ( read
reproducible answer).
And that is where the wheels fell off the wagon for me.

There is nothing in winegrowing that happens this way.  Nothing happens in isolation.
That is why the whole winegrowing thing has such sacred potential.
It is because it is all interrelated.
So the learning about wine, bit by bit in isolation, ignores that wonderful
swirl of that moment when you can glimpse that it
is all one.

And if your neurology can take it, and your ability to appreciate stories that are
coming from a totally different place can take it,
that glimpse of the
oneness can last longer;
it can turn into a gaze.


That is the musing.
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