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In the Zone

There is a new Mcmansion going up in the hood, taking up the entire square footage of its lot, blocking the long time ocean view of some of their neighbors, but that’s their right.  It is grey blocks, sky now showing through huge, as yet paned, windows. The pouring of the concrete for a third floor deck  is happening today. The Haitian in a Safari hat is hauling, one by two, the pipes of metal, that look like lolly columns, off the truck. They are to hold the deck up while it dries. On the island we cut long bamboo poles to hold up the wood that holds the wet concrete ton.

I say “Sa Passe?” to him. Most Haitians answer, “Na Buille!”  “I’m not burning.” (And they don’t mean from the sun.) He just lets out a huge guffaw.

In Dominica there is no zoning.  There are the towns, the rest is left up to the people who live there.  In Maine on my ten acres the deed says I can do anything with the caveat, I cannot have have oil rigs!  The sale of our largest guesthouse in Dominica is almost complete, sold to a family with four children  The parents, unmarried, are going to live together for the first time and need a big house. I hope he is not a car mechanic and we will have junks all over the road waiting for repair.  I don’t think they are going to drill for oil.  Maybe when the children are grown they will open a bar or a shop or a nightclub with rooms upstairs for the couples who might want an overnight.

Being in the zone, all is copacetic. I am moving smooth with yogic breath steady and nothing is going wrong.   In the zone  you can do anything you want because you trust yourself and know your choices are right for you. It is the place for success but also one of rules that must be followed, as a guided missile system that will reach its target.

The neighbor is building their fat house on all their property. No room for a flower it seems, no free space to surround and buffer.  The are legally zoned and yet so not in the zone of spacial relationships. It reminds me of the Fat House sculpture by Erwin Wurms,Image He had the aesthetic to put his out in a big field.  For ocean view, the poorer folks squash together.  The rich have Mar a Lago’s

Getting into the zone used to be a safe bet that you would get perks, a liquor license from the Irish in Boston, protection from the family in New York or Providence, better profits in the high end business zone.  One could live in the slums and still be in the zone, if you were a political organizer in the sixties.  What  a perfect cover for your middle class roots and working class heart, to live in the inner city. . . .



to be continued


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