Well, what the hell.
I've pretty much decided to keep on going and have started the process of looking for work in the Middle East. I have turned down a 3-4 week house-sitting gig in Tofino. Funny, I could stay here in this place that many people would kill to live in, and do meaningful work at the same time. As I said in a previous blog - I'm riding two horses, I suppose the way Bono put it is one way of saying it, "between the horses of love and lust" - we all have spiritual needs, we all have physical needs.
I've often, over the years, thought of myself as a Bodhisattva, in a teasing way, and with some humility. People have said it to me a few times over the years, but not all reliable sources ;) The highest compliment was, "bodhisattva-warrior" - I wish I could claim that title, it sounds cool!
I've read / been told that you're a Bodhisattva if you have already reached enlightenment and you have returned to earth to serve, instead of hanging out in Nirvanna. I don't feel particularly enlightened, I keep having to learn some pretty basic stuff, over and over. But ever since I was a kid, particularly since a calm clear moment when I was 13, I've wanted to help others, above all else.
This is what Wikipedia has to say about what a Bodhisattva is;
The Sanskrit term Bodhisattva is the name given to anyone who, motivated by great compassion, has generated bodhichitta, which is a spontaneous wish to attain Buddhahood for the benefit of all sentient beings. What makes someone a Bodhisattva is her or his dedication to the ultimate welfare of other beings, as expressed in the prayer:
May I attain Buddahood for the benefit of all sentient beings.
That definition is easier to sit with - 'still learning'!
If that is true, I guess it explains why I can walk away from a place where I could do good stuff, and go somewhere I may do work of questionable value. Riding two horses takes personal power, takes deep energy.
I have to get my finances straight, and my energy is in travelling right now - all paths point towards keeping travelling. The wave I'm surfing right now is washing me out to sea - to the mid-east or ... somewhere.
My 'service', whatever it is, lies out there - beyond the tried and true of what I know or what others think. It'd be easy, and I do it sometimes, to say: 'you want to help people and yet you...?' or - 'one should be a pure-bred eco-warrior, not wandering around driving a car - become king or dedicate yourself 24/7 to your passion...' Maybe.
Maybe I'm just justifying self-indulgence. Dunno. This is all I got. Maybe travelling and getting my debts straight is my path to Buddahood today, my way to sharpen my sword and make myself ready for the next thing that needs to be done.
A friend quoted one of my earlier blogs this morning - that if you turn away from someone before you who needs you, in pursuit of a distant goal, you will surely fail. Or something like that. I've worked on this project off and on over the summer, I've done what I can here, like my job in Ontario - it doesn't feel like my destiny to stay for every detail. I will continue to work on protecting Catface Mountain while here, and then via the internet / phone etc. I know myself this well - if I am untrue to me - I become useless pretty quickly.
Do I care about Buddahood? Not in the least. But if learning and growing, like money, helps me help others - great. Travel - is an accumulation of a different kind of money. Inside wealth.
I went to the beach the other morning, Florencia Beach, for an 'hour'. I ended up staying all day. It was cold and rainy and sunny at times, I had a fire, meditated, wrote in my journal, wrote a letter to God/the Universe. Relinquished some old vows, so I could move into the future unhindered. Realized that they have been pillars that have shaped my life/lives and that in giving them up I am, like with my travels - moving beyond the known. I siezed that day as mine, knowing I'll live in places again that are not beautiful, work long days, be under stress, this is the life I've embraced - moving, travelling, taking on new challenges. Those days, long days alone at the beach, they go inside your heart and they stay there, like gas in a tank, to get you through times that are not as glorious.
Go beyond the pillars, the moon and stars say to me - 'we know you and your passions, your answer lies out there, beyond what you know, beyond your safe zone where you can call yourself a "_______" or whatever else you choose as your identity. Go out there, beyond the pillars, into the desert, serve all of Creation by being who you are. A yellow flower that tries to make itself a red one is neither, and never complete.'
Are there others out there?
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
I have struggled with this blog, with how people see how I see myself. But I had some inspiration today too - friends who have said I've inspired them on their paths, to speak more openly, and to be productive in their creative ventures, in the pursuit of their highest ideals. I love writing this blog. Thank you for reading.
May the road rise up to meet you.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Ahousat / Singing up the hills
I've found this trip, the last few months, has taken on a musical, nay - 'lyrical' quality. How has poetry become such a huge part of my writing? For those who know me, it hasn't been that important in my life before now. People always said my Dad had a lilting quality when he talked, almost musical. Maybe it's the Irishness. He wrote beautiful poetry. I find that in myself sometimes these days, as days and days creep into a magical quality for me - things like "sunday", "the seventeenth" - all become irrelevant. Instead, my days are concerned with, "sunny" "down the road" and "wow, isn't that beautiful?"
I remember a show I saw on televison when I was young, it was about the Aborigines of Australia. It said that when they travelled, they would "sing up the hills" - sing about what they would find over the next hill, and thereby create it. They believed, the program said, that if they didn't sing, there would be nothing there. And they were always right - they always found the beautiful land they sang of; the creatures, nights, days, and community.
I thought, "yeah, that sounds right", and I always practiced it. When I have travelled, I have always sung songs that were meaningful to me, songs I knew and had grown up with. I think music is an amazing source of energy, you put it in, and it turns around and comes out as more, and better.
I read about a man's trip to Ireland years ago, he was at a pub in a small town and ended up talking to an old man. The old man recited a poem for him, didn't know any modern music at all. He knew a handful of old poems, and had sung them to himself all his days; out working in the fields, cutting peat, labouring, it brought light to his life, reminded him of the ones he loved, of the blood of his fathers in the ground beneath him, and the stars in the sky above.
I went yesterday to Ahousat. I didn't practice my singing; I thought nothing. I didn't know what to expect, but despite what people said, deep down I looked forward to the meeting. And instead, maybe having created a gravitational attraction by long habit - the music rose up to meet me.
Ahousat is supposed to be one the poorer reservations in Canada - third world conditions, people said. Well, they're making progress. There was an air of looking-forward, people are busy. We were honoured to attend an elders luncheon, and were well-fed. It is 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, and I was there with the Friends of Clayoquot Sound, in relation to the possible copper mine on Catface Mountain. This is a place of new ideas, of leadership for Canada, in forestry, and from First Nations. Maybe there is a potential here for new ways of doing things, new ways of recognizing First Nations special place in Canada, new kinds of relationships between First Nations and environmentalists. Hope springs eternal? It does in me. For hope -"is only the love of life". How can we ever get to the stars if we don't adore them?
There was no music. It was in the voices, the river of culture and history, wrinkled smiling eyes, warm, unsure about me and who I am, all I could do was smile back. And there it was - the same music I grew up with, a lilting warm current underneath everything, of love and family, hardship and history. I felt more at home on the Ahousat Reservation, 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, than I do in town, any town. Strange, what is this music I hear?
I remember a show I saw on televison when I was young, it was about the Aborigines of Australia. It said that when they travelled, they would "sing up the hills" - sing about what they would find over the next hill, and thereby create it. They believed, the program said, that if they didn't sing, there would be nothing there. And they were always right - they always found the beautiful land they sang of; the creatures, nights, days, and community.
I thought, "yeah, that sounds right", and I always practiced it. When I have travelled, I have always sung songs that were meaningful to me, songs I knew and had grown up with. I think music is an amazing source of energy, you put it in, and it turns around and comes out as more, and better.
I read about a man's trip to Ireland years ago, he was at a pub in a small town and ended up talking to an old man. The old man recited a poem for him, didn't know any modern music at all. He knew a handful of old poems, and had sung them to himself all his days; out working in the fields, cutting peat, labouring, it brought light to his life, reminded him of the ones he loved, of the blood of his fathers in the ground beneath him, and the stars in the sky above.
I went yesterday to Ahousat. I didn't practice my singing; I thought nothing. I didn't know what to expect, but despite what people said, deep down I looked forward to the meeting. And instead, maybe having created a gravitational attraction by long habit - the music rose up to meet me.
Ahousat is supposed to be one the poorer reservations in Canada - third world conditions, people said. Well, they're making progress. There was an air of looking-forward, people are busy. We were honoured to attend an elders luncheon, and were well-fed. It is 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, and I was there with the Friends of Clayoquot Sound, in relation to the possible copper mine on Catface Mountain. This is a place of new ideas, of leadership for Canada, in forestry, and from First Nations. Maybe there is a potential here for new ways of doing things, new ways of recognizing First Nations special place in Canada, new kinds of relationships between First Nations and environmentalists. Hope springs eternal? It does in me. For hope -"is only the love of life". How can we ever get to the stars if we don't adore them?
There was no music. It was in the voices, the river of culture and history, wrinkled smiling eyes, warm, unsure about me and who I am, all I could do was smile back. And there it was - the same music I grew up with, a lilting warm current underneath everything, of love and family, hardship and history. I felt more at home on the Ahousat Reservation, 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, than I do in town, any town. Strange, what is this music I hear?
Thursday, October 21, 2010
10.) Guy LaFleur and the Wheel of Fortune
My tenth posting. I didn't really expect this blog to take off, either in the way of my being inspired to do it, or in people reading it. Turns out I was wrong.
These are happy days for me, simple days. I have decisions to make, theoretically, but don't feel any pressure to do so, or any sense of time closing in. It's more like it's opening up. Every time I refuse to be panicked, about money, work, or my next move, time seems to open up a little more. I keep meeting great, interesting people, and getting interesting offers, good work, places to stay, friendship.
Catface Mountain is proceeding well, although it's like two blind trains heading towards an intersection, neither knows which will get there first, and the slower may not be able to stop for the faster. For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, it's the proposed copper mine on Catface Mountain in Clayoquot Sound. See my earlier posting "Tofino and the Thunderbird" for more info.
I was at a party last Saturday night and someone said they thought the best solution was to get the highest level of environmental assessment (EA). I said, "really?" He said, "yeah, what do you think?"
I said, "a - help the Ahousat see that it's not in their interests so they withdraw support, and b - Imperial Metals does not apply for a permit at all." He said, "wow, that's an aggresive stance." I said "really?" ;)
'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
What new world are we making? As a homeless person, who is wandering around, making people laugh, helping them out, doing what I can to protect the green world that we come from, not just at birth, but that every day remakes us through our food, air and water, and trying to take care of my own needs at the same time (they are few, the biggest one right now seems to be to write and to travel and to experience) part of the deep peace I feel many days seems to be attached to some sense that the world I'm contributing to is a good one. One where people have time for each other, where money's not so important, where some friends, laughter and a bit to eat are the most complex needs that have to be met, where creativity and passion are valued.
Maybe all of our number's are coming up. In the lotto. Some days I feel like I've already won.
The moon is full
The night is very still
My heart beats
Like a bell.
I always knew that I would step out and travel, wander, not lost, and that it would be part of 'becoming me'. I remember taking a vacation with my Mom, her friend Barb, and Barb's son Jason, who was a few years younger than me. I was fifteen or so, had already seen what I think of as my life purpose, and being young and free in spirit, saw it clearly. We stopped at a store somewhere in Nova Scotia, it was an early or late summer afternoon. They were in the store. I was with Jason. He went in the store too. I was alone. In the car, I got out. Stood around a few seconds, could hear a voice, not a voice, but a pull - from within and without. I turned and walked toward the road, down from the store. It must have been late spring I guess, the deciduous trees hung over the road with a wet weightiness in their leaves, full of moisture, moving in the light breeze, creating dappled shadows. I stood in the dirt and gravel by the side of the road, the cars dissappeared. I stepped out onto it, looked one way, and then the other, slowly, off into the distance. I knew.
I knew that one day it would be part of my destiny, and that it would be the only way to really be the person I am. And I knew that it may not, that I could choose otherwise.
I have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.
As I mentioned in a previous blog - this point came around before; I was 21, very different, and ready to travel the world. I didn't. I am so very deeply thankful that the Wheel of Fortune(10th card in the tarot) has come around again to this point. Instead of the eight or nine which I chose to be before, let me be a ten this time - a Guy LaFleur of 'living my own life'.
I still struggle at times with what to do next, to stay here and serve, do good work, or to go further abroad. Both have risks. I trust that I will make the right decision. The greatest risk, of course, is turning away from myself, the greatest path - that which is true to my heart.
An eagle flew overhead this morning as I chatted with a friend in his backyard, about work, debt, life. A reminder - "keep your eyes to the sky."
Upon his shoulders
he places boulders,
upon his eye
the high wide sky.
These are happy days for me, simple days. I have decisions to make, theoretically, but don't feel any pressure to do so, or any sense of time closing in. It's more like it's opening up. Every time I refuse to be panicked, about money, work, or my next move, time seems to open up a little more. I keep meeting great, interesting people, and getting interesting offers, good work, places to stay, friendship.
Catface Mountain is proceeding well, although it's like two blind trains heading towards an intersection, neither knows which will get there first, and the slower may not be able to stop for the faster. For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, it's the proposed copper mine on Catface Mountain in Clayoquot Sound. See my earlier posting "Tofino and the Thunderbird" for more info.
I was at a party last Saturday night and someone said they thought the best solution was to get the highest level of environmental assessment (EA). I said, "really?" He said, "yeah, what do you think?"
I said, "a - help the Ahousat see that it's not in their interests so they withdraw support, and b - Imperial Metals does not apply for a permit at all." He said, "wow, that's an aggresive stance." I said "really?" ;)
'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
What new world are we making? As a homeless person, who is wandering around, making people laugh, helping them out, doing what I can to protect the green world that we come from, not just at birth, but that every day remakes us through our food, air and water, and trying to take care of my own needs at the same time (they are few, the biggest one right now seems to be to write and to travel and to experience) part of the deep peace I feel many days seems to be attached to some sense that the world I'm contributing to is a good one. One where people have time for each other, where money's not so important, where some friends, laughter and a bit to eat are the most complex needs that have to be met, where creativity and passion are valued.
Maybe all of our number's are coming up. In the lotto. Some days I feel like I've already won.
The moon is full
The night is very still
My heart beats
Like a bell.
I always knew that I would step out and travel, wander, not lost, and that it would be part of 'becoming me'. I remember taking a vacation with my Mom, her friend Barb, and Barb's son Jason, who was a few years younger than me. I was fifteen or so, had already seen what I think of as my life purpose, and being young and free in spirit, saw it clearly. We stopped at a store somewhere in Nova Scotia, it was an early or late summer afternoon. They were in the store. I was with Jason. He went in the store too. I was alone. In the car, I got out. Stood around a few seconds, could hear a voice, not a voice, but a pull - from within and without. I turned and walked toward the road, down from the store. It must have been late spring I guess, the deciduous trees hung over the road with a wet weightiness in their leaves, full of moisture, moving in the light breeze, creating dappled shadows. I stood in the dirt and gravel by the side of the road, the cars dissappeared. I stepped out onto it, looked one way, and then the other, slowly, off into the distance. I knew.
I knew that one day it would be part of my destiny, and that it would be the only way to really be the person I am. And I knew that it may not, that I could choose otherwise.
I have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.
As I mentioned in a previous blog - this point came around before; I was 21, very different, and ready to travel the world. I didn't. I am so very deeply thankful that the Wheel of Fortune(10th card in the tarot) has come around again to this point. Instead of the eight or nine which I chose to be before, let me be a ten this time - a Guy LaFleur of 'living my own life'.
I still struggle at times with what to do next, to stay here and serve, do good work, or to go further abroad. Both have risks. I trust that I will make the right decision. The greatest risk, of course, is turning away from myself, the greatest path - that which is true to my heart.
An eagle flew overhead this morning as I chatted with a friend in his backyard, about work, debt, life. A reminder - "keep your eyes to the sky."
Upon his shoulders
he places boulders,
upon his eye
the high wide sky.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Sea. (it's warm and it's safe here)
Hiked all day. Drinking beer and listening to the Tragically Hip. The greatest loss in America - they have no idea who the Hip are. I drove to Radar Hill, south of Tofino, about 15k. Parked illegally. I always do. I don't have to pay park fees - that would violate my constitutional rights; it's my religion.
I hiked down the trail to the sea, half an hour, very steep and wet. Kinda like Dagobah, but wetter, and with cougars. I was alone, so I strapped on my hunting knife. I might be a hippie, but if something tries to kill me, I will kill it first. Or at least wave my foot around menacingly...
Got some nice clay, about halfway down the hike, it's supposed to be special. I used to have some runes I made with it, 18 yrs ago, with a 'friend'; a loveley 42 yr old disney cartoonist. Of all the women I've had crushes on, I think we had the most fun (no offense to anyone). Hung out for about a week; swam, hopped in puddles, explored, skinny dipped at night in bioluminescence, made a lot of dumb jokes, laughed and acted like little kids.
As if the wolves of Northumberland themselves (were rumoured to be enroute). Or maybe a green star. I got to the beach and it is gorgeous!! Absolutley XY, Z fabulous! Picture a nice sand beach in Tahiti, except surrounded by old growth temperate rainforest, and - you're the only one there. Peace.
Miles of beach and shoreline all to yourself. No cell service, so don't 'break a leg'. But cripes, a person's gotta have fun.
I called my friend Maya tonight. She said she's bleeding like a stuck pig ( having her period) - painful, but healthy. How do men get that? For the most part, in our culture, they don't. I risked my life about 5 times today. Cut and scraped my arms and legs a lot. Bleeding is good. The risks were - jumping over things, chasms of sharp volcanic rock with a thirty foot drop to crashing waves and ice-cold water. Why? Because it was fun. I reserve the right to risk my life. Tonight, how do I feel? Alive, Fantastic. Rushing by the machine revving tension. Maybe that's a bad reference. ;)
So, the hike - must be done at low tide, or it's virtually impossible. East coaster's can't concieve of this. It's not your fault, I couldn't either. The first time I set out on this hike, in 1994, and failed, I had thought - I'll just go into the woods and crash through if I have to. Nuh-uh. It's just really not possible. Thorns and thick brush, with sudden drops, muck, and more thorns. Do it at low tide. So, I was rushing, being alone, and having slid down the muck slope from Radar Hill, the last thing I wanted was to get cut off and have to go back, and climb it.
There are two sea-caves. I couldn't get down, even at this low tide, but it would be worth it. There's a 10-15ft sheer wall on either side, waves coming in, and then the cave goes into the rock face out of sight. Too cool. Next time I go I'd like to take a companion and 50 feet of rope - to clamber down into there and check it out.
Ok, really: next time I go I'd like to take a lover and spend the whole summer, so we could have a week on each gorgeous private beach to frolic, sunbathe, read, drink wine, and eat fresh fish. An adventurous lover that wouldn't mind scaling into the mercy of the sea.
Siren,
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And make my fortune there.
I must be won, that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not won;
For beauty hath created bin
To undo, or be undone.
Hope springs eternal. There's nothin dead down here. I'm not sure Persephone would agree. I walked, I talked. To the eagles, the sea, the imaginary cougars. I jumped. I walked across fallen logs over the rocks. I prayed to my God, in my church. I forgot my camera.
I saw Schooner Cove - the north part of Long Beach, a ways away yet. Stopped and ate a peanut butter and jam sandwhich, a swig of water, some grapes. Hopped along. Over rocks and seaweed, past joy, hope, rebuilding, smelling the salt, the sea, the kelp, hearing the waves, the rhythym of my breath and blood. The thoughts in my head; memories, forgotten hopes, voices, people, the myriad pictures of the great unknown of the future.
It was in Tofino, on Long Beach, at Schooner Cove, where I saw the constellations reveal themselves one star at a time. I was 20, 21. 19. Formative time for me, life-changing. I had (as I've mentioned) hitchhiked across Canada, both summers. These were coming of age rituals in the modern mythic tradition. I don't know what possessed me to do that. I guess I did.
On the last point, of course, I hit a cliff. No way around but in. Entered the jungle. With great fanfare and dissapointment. I didn't get far before turning back also sucked as an option. I did it anyway, thankfully. I got out and saw - it would have taken me a long time to travel that 300m stretch of bush. Backtracked, took a shortcut, on the beach.
My beach. Where a seal once invited me to swim. Where a kid from Nova Scotia ran every morning for two months, skinnydipped alone, and ran back to camp, started to see that the world is limitless; that he could do anything, absolutley anything - he put his mind to, started to see the stars reveal themselves, the awesomeness of nature, the tinyness of me, and the power that lies in that; the gift shop of life.
I got to the beach, took off my shoes and socks. Walked, splashed, sat down. Ate lunch. Terry came along, from Esowista. A nice young guy. He carried a golf club. In the other Long Beach(LA) there's a pretty clear use for that. There is here too. I had already put my knife away and was just carrying a solid stick. We chatted a bit. He was cool. He mosied on.
I finished my snack and mosied on too. I said, "whatever I find is for my brother". I immediately found an eagle feather. In the mail. It was neatly nestled between parallel sets of bear and wolf tracks. The wolf was alone, or so it seemed, and had been by recently. His tracks dug in deep, after the water had been out of the sand from the receding tide for a few hours. The bear tracks, no bigger than the wolfs, barely imprinted. He had walked along right after the tide had left that stretch of sand, when it was still hard like pavement. I saw his poop later, lotsa berries!
Why wasn't he salmon fishing right now with everyone else? Because he's young, stupid, and young. And he'd get the crap beat out of himself. So when everyone's fattening up for the winter on rich fish, he's eating berries and scouring the beach I'm on.
Sketchy. But fine. He was already by and I kept moving. Stopped and read for a while, saw a person in the distance, approached. Not a person, just a peice of wood.
Climbed French Girl Island - the little grass covered island with no trees on north Long Beach. Good view. Stopped at Dingo Cove, walked through the sacred rainforest and hitched back to my car. Rob picked me up in a 1972 triumph. My year. Drove me right to my car. Asked me if I'd help him tomorrow take his soft top off and put the hard top on. I said sure. Yes to everything.
I spent the day with the sea, the holy sea.
Being set on the idea
Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
Are predicted, and that you
Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
To pass for one of the Boys,
At least appearing to love
Hard liquor, horseplay, and noise.
Two buckets of chicken and a drive to the liquor store?
Deal.
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.
I hiked down the trail to the sea, half an hour, very steep and wet. Kinda like Dagobah, but wetter, and with cougars. I was alone, so I strapped on my hunting knife. I might be a hippie, but if something tries to kill me, I will kill it first. Or at least wave my foot around menacingly...
Got some nice clay, about halfway down the hike, it's supposed to be special. I used to have some runes I made with it, 18 yrs ago, with a 'friend'; a loveley 42 yr old disney cartoonist. Of all the women I've had crushes on, I think we had the most fun (no offense to anyone). Hung out for about a week; swam, hopped in puddles, explored, skinny dipped at night in bioluminescence, made a lot of dumb jokes, laughed and acted like little kids.
As if the wolves of Northumberland themselves (were rumoured to be enroute). Or maybe a green star. I got to the beach and it is gorgeous!! Absolutley XY, Z fabulous! Picture a nice sand beach in Tahiti, except surrounded by old growth temperate rainforest, and - you're the only one there. Peace.
Miles of beach and shoreline all to yourself. No cell service, so don't 'break a leg'. But cripes, a person's gotta have fun.
I called my friend Maya tonight. She said she's bleeding like a stuck pig ( having her period) - painful, but healthy. How do men get that? For the most part, in our culture, they don't. I risked my life about 5 times today. Cut and scraped my arms and legs a lot. Bleeding is good. The risks were - jumping over things, chasms of sharp volcanic rock with a thirty foot drop to crashing waves and ice-cold water. Why? Because it was fun. I reserve the right to risk my life. Tonight, how do I feel? Alive, Fantastic. Rushing by the machine revving tension. Maybe that's a bad reference. ;)
So, the hike - must be done at low tide, or it's virtually impossible. East coaster's can't concieve of this. It's not your fault, I couldn't either. The first time I set out on this hike, in 1994, and failed, I had thought - I'll just go into the woods and crash through if I have to. Nuh-uh. It's just really not possible. Thorns and thick brush, with sudden drops, muck, and more thorns. Do it at low tide. So, I was rushing, being alone, and having slid down the muck slope from Radar Hill, the last thing I wanted was to get cut off and have to go back, and climb it.
There are two sea-caves. I couldn't get down, even at this low tide, but it would be worth it. There's a 10-15ft sheer wall on either side, waves coming in, and then the cave goes into the rock face out of sight. Too cool. Next time I go I'd like to take a companion and 50 feet of rope - to clamber down into there and check it out.
Ok, really: next time I go I'd like to take a lover and spend the whole summer, so we could have a week on each gorgeous private beach to frolic, sunbathe, read, drink wine, and eat fresh fish. An adventurous lover that wouldn't mind scaling into the mercy of the sea.
Siren,
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And make my fortune there.
I must be won, that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not won;
For beauty hath created bin
To undo, or be undone.
Hope springs eternal. There's nothin dead down here. I'm not sure Persephone would agree. I walked, I talked. To the eagles, the sea, the imaginary cougars. I jumped. I walked across fallen logs over the rocks. I prayed to my God, in my church. I forgot my camera.
I saw Schooner Cove - the north part of Long Beach, a ways away yet. Stopped and ate a peanut butter and jam sandwhich, a swig of water, some grapes. Hopped along. Over rocks and seaweed, past joy, hope, rebuilding, smelling the salt, the sea, the kelp, hearing the waves, the rhythym of my breath and blood. The thoughts in my head; memories, forgotten hopes, voices, people, the myriad pictures of the great unknown of the future.
It was in Tofino, on Long Beach, at Schooner Cove, where I saw the constellations reveal themselves one star at a time. I was 20, 21. 19. Formative time for me, life-changing. I had (as I've mentioned) hitchhiked across Canada, both summers. These were coming of age rituals in the modern mythic tradition. I don't know what possessed me to do that. I guess I did.
On the last point, of course, I hit a cliff. No way around but in. Entered the jungle. With great fanfare and dissapointment. I didn't get far before turning back also sucked as an option. I did it anyway, thankfully. I got out and saw - it would have taken me a long time to travel that 300m stretch of bush. Backtracked, took a shortcut, on the beach.
My beach. Where a seal once invited me to swim. Where a kid from Nova Scotia ran every morning for two months, skinnydipped alone, and ran back to camp, started to see that the world is limitless; that he could do anything, absolutley anything - he put his mind to, started to see the stars reveal themselves, the awesomeness of nature, the tinyness of me, and the power that lies in that; the gift shop of life.
I got to the beach, took off my shoes and socks. Walked, splashed, sat down. Ate lunch. Terry came along, from Esowista. A nice young guy. He carried a golf club. In the other Long Beach(LA) there's a pretty clear use for that. There is here too. I had already put my knife away and was just carrying a solid stick. We chatted a bit. He was cool. He mosied on.
I finished my snack and mosied on too. I said, "whatever I find is for my brother". I immediately found an eagle feather. In the mail. It was neatly nestled between parallel sets of bear and wolf tracks. The wolf was alone, or so it seemed, and had been by recently. His tracks dug in deep, after the water had been out of the sand from the receding tide for a few hours. The bear tracks, no bigger than the wolfs, barely imprinted. He had walked along right after the tide had left that stretch of sand, when it was still hard like pavement. I saw his poop later, lotsa berries!
Why wasn't he salmon fishing right now with everyone else? Because he's young, stupid, and young. And he'd get the crap beat out of himself. So when everyone's fattening up for the winter on rich fish, he's eating berries and scouring the beach I'm on.
Sketchy. But fine. He was already by and I kept moving. Stopped and read for a while, saw a person in the distance, approached. Not a person, just a peice of wood.
Climbed French Girl Island - the little grass covered island with no trees on north Long Beach. Good view. Stopped at Dingo Cove, walked through the sacred rainforest and hitched back to my car. Rob picked me up in a 1972 triumph. My year. Drove me right to my car. Asked me if I'd help him tomorrow take his soft top off and put the hard top on. I said sure. Yes to everything.
I spent the day with the sea, the holy sea.
Being set on the idea
Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
Are predicted, and that you
Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
To pass for one of the Boys,
At least appearing to love
Hard liquor, horseplay, and noise.
Two buckets of chicken and a drive to the liquor store?
Deal.
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Travelling to the END OF THE WORLD.
As I mentioned, I started this trip on July 1st, Canada Day, 2010. Clyf came up from Halifax and we drove across Canada together. We took our time and stayed with many friends and family; we had a great time. Clyf flew home from BC and I continued the trip. Through the west coast states and back to BC, which finds me now in Tofino, with time to write. I had prepared myself to travel forever; for the rest of my life. Now Clyf's travelling again, that may be his intention too, I'm not sure.
As I said before, I'll stop and work here and there, a year here, a month there, five years there (ug, really, five?). Whatever.
And, yet again in this blog, I am exploring over the rim - going a little further in what I am willing to share in an online forum:
The END OF THE WORLD?!?!!!? Holy crap, that sounds pretty final. But what is it really? When I die? When tsunami's and earthquakes and climate change wipe us all out, us human parasite on this earth? Either, whichever comes first.
My friend Maya said today, over sushi, a friend had said to her - "you people figured out 500 years ago that the world is round, but you're still living in one that's flat." Good over here, bad over there, and a straight line in between. Sad but true.
So I guess, inside, I am exploring to the end of that world, - to truly be who I am, an idealist, passionate, but also going beyong good and evil - to simply me. Whole. So you can be simply you, when you're with me. That's one world that's ending.
It was funny, travelling in the States and Canada, to see how many people believe in the end of the world stuff. I kinda do, not on the precise moment of December 21st, 2012 necessarily, but really- you can only rape the earth for so long. You can only kick the grizzly bear in the corner for so long, shove 'core tubes' in it and cover it in tar and crap, before it gets up kills you.
The disturbing part of this common belief is how people are reacting to it: with so much fear and hostility. All over North America I have heard the same thing, "my cousin Bob's stockin up on guns, canned tuna, and water". Mmhm. And how is that gonna help with a tidal wave? And if it's not a tidal wave, maybe you moved inland to be away from that risk; how is that gonna help with an earthquake, 40 days of rain, a year of darkness?
Maybe the essential difference is our belief systems. I believe in an orderly universe, for the most part. Whether it's God, or the Creator, or just math, I think things happen for a reason. Here I need a quote from "The Master and Margarita" (I love that book), that I'm pretty sure I can't find, so I'm not gonna look. I'll find it later, I have it on a piece of art I did years ago (the day my Dad died), and it's in storage in Vancouver.
Pontius Pilate tells Jesus, in trying to get him to capitulate, "you realize your life is hanging by a thread", and Jesus says, "and you think you can cut it..?" Pilate bristles, says, "my patience is wearing thin, you know I can, with an order." Jesus responds, "I'm pretty sure the only one who can cut it - is he who has hung it."
Let's pretend the world really is going to end, or - let's pretend we're all going to die.
Wait a sec... ;)
Either I'm going to die or I'm not. Each day. Whether it's the end of the world or not. What determines that? In my universe - it is being of some value in my round world. Or - simply being on my path. Whatever that is. If 2012 comes and I get fragged by an earthquake - cool, whatever. Sounds painless. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time). Or, if I live to 81, and my life, my "world," ends - at the bottom of a cliff in the Himalayas - cool, whatever. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time).
I am travelling to end of the world. I hope people will put down their arms, share their cans of tuna in a big potluck sidewalk dinner for people we don't know, and believe - that if we simply fill our place in this world, day-to-day, we will die when we're supposed to die. Let's live when we're supposed to live.
As I said before, I'll stop and work here and there, a year here, a month there, five years there (ug, really, five?). Whatever.
And, yet again in this blog, I am exploring over the rim - going a little further in what I am willing to share in an online forum:
The END OF THE WORLD?!?!!!? Holy crap, that sounds pretty final. But what is it really? When I die? When tsunami's and earthquakes and climate change wipe us all out, us human parasite on this earth? Either, whichever comes first.
My friend Maya said today, over sushi, a friend had said to her - "you people figured out 500 years ago that the world is round, but you're still living in one that's flat." Good over here, bad over there, and a straight line in between. Sad but true.
So I guess, inside, I am exploring to the end of that world, - to truly be who I am, an idealist, passionate, but also going beyong good and evil - to simply me. Whole. So you can be simply you, when you're with me. That's one world that's ending.
It was funny, travelling in the States and Canada, to see how many people believe in the end of the world stuff. I kinda do, not on the precise moment of December 21st, 2012 necessarily, but really- you can only rape the earth for so long. You can only kick the grizzly bear in the corner for so long, shove 'core tubes' in it and cover it in tar and crap, before it gets up kills you.
The disturbing part of this common belief is how people are reacting to it: with so much fear and hostility. All over North America I have heard the same thing, "my cousin Bob's stockin up on guns, canned tuna, and water". Mmhm. And how is that gonna help with a tidal wave? And if it's not a tidal wave, maybe you moved inland to be away from that risk; how is that gonna help with an earthquake, 40 days of rain, a year of darkness?
Maybe the essential difference is our belief systems. I believe in an orderly universe, for the most part. Whether it's God, or the Creator, or just math, I think things happen for a reason. Here I need a quote from "The Master and Margarita" (I love that book), that I'm pretty sure I can't find, so I'm not gonna look. I'll find it later, I have it on a piece of art I did years ago (the day my Dad died), and it's in storage in Vancouver.
Pontius Pilate tells Jesus, in trying to get him to capitulate, "you realize your life is hanging by a thread", and Jesus says, "and you think you can cut it..?" Pilate bristles, says, "my patience is wearing thin, you know I can, with an order." Jesus responds, "I'm pretty sure the only one who can cut it - is he who has hung it."
Let's pretend the world really is going to end, or - let's pretend we're all going to die.
Wait a sec... ;)
Either I'm going to die or I'm not. Each day. Whether it's the end of the world or not. What determines that? In my universe - it is being of some value in my round world. Or - simply being on my path. Whatever that is. If 2012 comes and I get fragged by an earthquake - cool, whatever. Sounds painless. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time). Or, if I live to 81, and my life, my "world," ends - at the bottom of a cliff in the Himalayas - cool, whatever. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time).
I am travelling to end of the world. I hope people will put down their arms, share their cans of tuna in a big potluck sidewalk dinner for people we don't know, and believe - that if we simply fill our place in this world, day-to-day, we will die when we're supposed to die. Let's live when we're supposed to live.
Retirement vs. surfing - how to afford travel
A cool ex-girlfriend from Ontario texted me while I was in California and said, a -"wow, I love that you're so full of life", and b- "how can you afford to do all that?"
The short answer is, to misquote Kris Kristofferson; I am spending my tomorrow's on today. Instead of the other way around. I'm not knocking retirement, if that's your thing - go for it. I think if I retire at 60, and get to travel some, that might be ok. On the other hand, if I'm still working at 66, 86, and can look back and say, 'man, what a great ride it's been!" that sounds good to me.
I just turned 38. Pretty old. Pretty young. Young enough to bunjee jump, chase girls, take huge professional risks, skinny dip, miss sleep, and dance all night. I'd rather take the time off now, have adventures now, and work later.
I went and watched the Canadian Coldwater Classic surf competition this afternoon. Hung out with friends on the beach and talked about life, Plato, the conundrum of today. Watched surfing. I posted that I was there on my fb page. A friend asked if I was surfing, I said 'no - only the seas of fate.' ;)
I still haven't tried surfing, no rush. But it was great to watch those guys today, twist, turn, really working to feel the wave, and stay on top of it. That's kinda how I feel sometimes.
In short, but other words, this is how to afford to travel - go. Sort it out later. All within the boundaries of personal power, of course. Do I have a poem for this one? Not sure, let's see..
Beyond that sandbar is the river's turning.
There a new country opens up to sight,
Safe from the fond researches of our learning.
Here it is day; there it is always night.
Around this corner is a certain danger.
The streets are streets of hell from here on in.
The Anthropophagi and beings stranger
Roast in the fire and meditate on sin.
After this kiss will I know who I'm kissing?
Will I have reached the point of no return?
What happened to those others who are missing?
Oh, well, to hell with it. If we burn, we burn.
It's not about where you are or how far you've gone. It's about going past your own limits, past your known world, past your previous safety net of friends and family, beyond your known realm of financial comfort. We all have our comfort zones, and we all have 'explorations over the rim.'
These blogs are connected, or I think so, even if it seems like they're not that much. 'Contemplations on personal power'. I think that is what lets us go further over the rim, into the wasteland, to cross the desert, and that leap, I believe, is the only way to get to a our new world.
I'll return to that theme in another blog.
A few friends have suggested that with my fb page, and now this, I might inspire some people to do the same. Great. I hope so. The world is changing, life is changing, you're changing, I'm changing. The "On the Road" beat generation preceded the sixties, there was another 'on the road' generation in the 20's, a very different one, also a huge time of cultural growth. It's part of steep shifts in changing culture. Forget about the money, who cares? It'll work out. Maybe there'll be a bunch of really happy, interesting people in the bankruptcy lineup. I might see you there. Today, I am Alive.
Since I mentioned it, here's an ever-so-slightly-pretentious Kerouac quote, "There's nothing nobler than to put up with a few inconveniences like snakes and dust for the sake of absolute freedom". In the course of finding it I think I found another which brings me back to the point of this little essay: "Vagabonding is not a lifestyle, nor is it a trend. It's just an uncommon way of looking at life-a value adjustment from which action naturally follows. And, as much as anything, vagabonding is about time-our only real commodity-and how we choose to use it." - Rolf Potts.
I choose to use this time in my life this way: to travel, to do work of meaning as it is presented to me, to make new friends, explore new horizons, have fun, and learn about myself, to explore my inner and outer world. For me, that is the best use of my time right now, better than socking away a pension plan, buying a house, or adding lines to my resume. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna regret it. I know that because I've never regretted the things I've done, but those I haven't done. I'm not saying travel is the only way - whatever your passion is, whatever makes you feel alive. But travel's pretty damn good for that...
I'll close with a quote that goes out to my brother - "You either get busy living or you get busy dying" - Shawshank Redemption.
The short answer is, to misquote Kris Kristofferson; I am spending my tomorrow's on today. Instead of the other way around. I'm not knocking retirement, if that's your thing - go for it. I think if I retire at 60, and get to travel some, that might be ok. On the other hand, if I'm still working at 66, 86, and can look back and say, 'man, what a great ride it's been!" that sounds good to me.
I just turned 38. Pretty old. Pretty young. Young enough to bunjee jump, chase girls, take huge professional risks, skinny dip, miss sleep, and dance all night. I'd rather take the time off now, have adventures now, and work later.
I went and watched the Canadian Coldwater Classic surf competition this afternoon. Hung out with friends on the beach and talked about life, Plato, the conundrum of today. Watched surfing. I posted that I was there on my fb page. A friend asked if I was surfing, I said 'no - only the seas of fate.' ;)
I still haven't tried surfing, no rush. But it was great to watch those guys today, twist, turn, really working to feel the wave, and stay on top of it. That's kinda how I feel sometimes.
In short, but other words, this is how to afford to travel - go. Sort it out later. All within the boundaries of personal power, of course. Do I have a poem for this one? Not sure, let's see..
Beyond that sandbar is the river's turning.
There a new country opens up to sight,
Safe from the fond researches of our learning.
Here it is day; there it is always night.
Around this corner is a certain danger.
The streets are streets of hell from here on in.
The Anthropophagi and beings stranger
Roast in the fire and meditate on sin.
After this kiss will I know who I'm kissing?
Will I have reached the point of no return?
What happened to those others who are missing?
Oh, well, to hell with it. If we burn, we burn.
It's not about where you are or how far you've gone. It's about going past your own limits, past your known world, past your previous safety net of friends and family, beyond your known realm of financial comfort. We all have our comfort zones, and we all have 'explorations over the rim.'
These blogs are connected, or I think so, even if it seems like they're not that much. 'Contemplations on personal power'. I think that is what lets us go further over the rim, into the wasteland, to cross the desert, and that leap, I believe, is the only way to get to a our new world.
I'll return to that theme in another blog.
A few friends have suggested that with my fb page, and now this, I might inspire some people to do the same. Great. I hope so. The world is changing, life is changing, you're changing, I'm changing. The "On the Road" beat generation preceded the sixties, there was another 'on the road' generation in the 20's, a very different one, also a huge time of cultural growth. It's part of steep shifts in changing culture. Forget about the money, who cares? It'll work out. Maybe there'll be a bunch of really happy, interesting people in the bankruptcy lineup. I might see you there. Today, I am Alive.
Since I mentioned it, here's an ever-so-slightly-pretentious Kerouac quote, "There's nothing nobler than to put up with a few inconveniences like snakes and dust for the sake of absolute freedom". In the course of finding it I think I found another which brings me back to the point of this little essay: "Vagabonding is not a lifestyle, nor is it a trend. It's just an uncommon way of looking at life-a value adjustment from which action naturally follows. And, as much as anything, vagabonding is about time-our only real commodity-and how we choose to use it." - Rolf Potts.
I choose to use this time in my life this way: to travel, to do work of meaning as it is presented to me, to make new friends, explore new horizons, have fun, and learn about myself, to explore my inner and outer world. For me, that is the best use of my time right now, better than socking away a pension plan, buying a house, or adding lines to my resume. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna regret it. I know that because I've never regretted the things I've done, but those I haven't done. I'm not saying travel is the only way - whatever your passion is, whatever makes you feel alive. But travel's pretty damn good for that...
I'll close with a quote that goes out to my brother - "You either get busy living or you get busy dying" - Shawshank Redemption.
Monday, October 11, 2010
The White Mountain - Love and Travel
I'm not really ready to write about this topic, but - since I mentioned it in the last Captain's log - I've got writers block, and I can't write about anything else until I exorcise this one. Maybe it'll just be a 'part I' since I'm sure I'll have more to say on the topic at some point.
Nicolai Tesla, the man who invented half the electronics we use in our culture today, and some we haven't put to use yet, fell in love with a pigeon. It's true, for how long I forget - the last weeks or months of his life, in a little apartment, he was in love with a pigeon. I digress.
Being homeless doesn't really make you more marketable in the dating world. The lack of a home is only a small factor - the fact that you will be leaving is a lot bigger. I don't know the solution. What would a wandering knight do? Likely -sleep with/kiss the temptress, ignore the one who could lead him to his destiny. I seem to be on track so far.
But then - there was the White Mountain, a mountain I climbed in California. It was so achingly beautiful, that I think I fell in love. Is that crazy? Don't answer that. Up above the treeline, with the wind cutting like knives, or fingernails, mist swirling about like white lace; enticing, revealing, concealing. Stark cliffs, rock shattered by frost and wind, into elegant shapes attesting to a long history of the searing and delicious pain of transformation. I spent the whole day up there, by myself, certainly not lonely. Complete.
I found a 100' length of climbing rope, brand new. Normally when I find things in the outdoors I leave them where they were so the owner can come back for them. Not this time, I took it as a sign, to climb. Mountains and life.
I talked to the mountain, and the rocks, crags and cliffs were its vocal cords, the howling wind its breath. I was not alone.
Where does a traveller find Love?
Where does one without shelter find shelter? In meaning perhaps. Maybe that's why knights, pilgrims, explorers, are able to go without that need being met (if they do); it's met on a deeper level.
I did the dragons will until you came...
And then you stood among the dragon rings.
I mocked, being crazy, but you mastered it
And broke the chain and set my ankles free,
Saint George, or else a pagan Perseus;
And now we stare astonished at the sea,
And a miraculous strange bird shrieks at us.
In my friend Lamont's words - travel makes everything more extreme; joy, loneliness, pain, moments of abject self-pity, followed by utter joy. You can't hide from yourself and how you relate to the world around you.
I think we find love where we find it, a mountain, a pigeon, a lover, a friend. The periods of loneliness as a traveller, and you always have them - prepare you, I think, to go past your own boundaries, to find love where it really exists, instead of where you thought it was going to be.
Love is a need. Humans are social animals. I have embraced rootlessness, homelessness; wandering (all that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost..). I know there are others out there in my position, perhaps these thoughts will reflect their own.
Touch is a basic human need, beyond sex or love-making, people need touch. They need to be hugged, carressed, confirmed. They need someone to talk to, in that way that lovers do. As I write this Gimme Shelter comes on my itunes... My brother, years ago, waiting tables at a spiffy bar in Halifax, had a table of women ask him - "if you could have sex with anyone on earth, who would it be?" He thought for a few seconds, then said, "the backup singer on gimme shelter." Incredulous, they said, "do you even know what she looks like?" He said, "I don't care." Our needs are more complex than we think they are. Nicolai Tesla, the man who invented half the electronics we use in our culture today, and some we haven't put to use yet, fell in love with a pigeon. It's true, for how long I forget - the last weeks or months of his life, in a little apartment, he was in love with a pigeon. I digress.
Being homeless doesn't really make you more marketable in the dating world. The lack of a home is only a small factor - the fact that you will be leaving is a lot bigger. I don't know the solution. What would a wandering knight do? Likely -sleep with/kiss the temptress, ignore the one who could lead him to his destiny. I seem to be on track so far.
But then - there was the White Mountain, a mountain I climbed in California. It was so achingly beautiful, that I think I fell in love. Is that crazy? Don't answer that. Up above the treeline, with the wind cutting like knives, or fingernails, mist swirling about like white lace; enticing, revealing, concealing. Stark cliffs, rock shattered by frost and wind, into elegant shapes attesting to a long history of the searing and delicious pain of transformation. I spent the whole day up there, by myself, certainly not lonely. Complete.
I found a 100' length of climbing rope, brand new. Normally when I find things in the outdoors I leave them where they were so the owner can come back for them. Not this time, I took it as a sign, to climb. Mountains and life.
I talked to the mountain, and the rocks, crags and cliffs were its vocal cords, the howling wind its breath. I was not alone.
Where does a traveller find Love?
Where does one without shelter find shelter? In meaning perhaps. Maybe that's why knights, pilgrims, explorers, are able to go without that need being met (if they do); it's met on a deeper level.
I did the dragons will until you came...
And then you stood among the dragon rings.
I mocked, being crazy, but you mastered it
And broke the chain and set my ankles free,
Saint George, or else a pagan Perseus;
And now we stare astonished at the sea,
And a miraculous strange bird shrieks at us.
In my friend Lamont's words - travel makes everything more extreme; joy, loneliness, pain, moments of abject self-pity, followed by utter joy. You can't hide from yourself and how you relate to the world around you.
I think we find love where we find it, a mountain, a pigeon, a lover, a friend. The periods of loneliness as a traveller, and you always have them - prepare you, I think, to go past your own boundaries, to find love where it really exists, instead of where you thought it was going to be.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
The apple, the tree, the schooner
Sometimes a man rises from the supper table
and goes outside. And he keeps on going
because somewhere to the east there's a church.
His children bless his name as if he were dead.
Another man stays at home until he dies,
stays with plates and glasses.
So then it is his children who go out
into the world, seeking the church that he forgot.
In Tofino again. Why does it feature in so much of my writing? I don't spend that much time here. Ended up at the Maquinna tonight, Tofino's version of the Palace, for various reasons.
The place was full of hippies, wannabe's, surfers, drinkers, and the otherwise unknown. Who did I end up hanging out with? A couple of fishermen. Looking for a fight. Full of life philosophy, that most people never heard.
I grew up in Herring Cove, a fishing village outside Halifax. I was born there, so I belonged in a way, although I was a freak and an outcast, too sensitive and otherworldly perhaps. But who do I end up hanging out with now? - fishermen.
My grandfathers travelled across Canada, worked the railroad and various things, after WWI. One went overseas, served in the trenches when he was fifteen years old. He was living on the streets in Vancouver when he was 24, in 1924. I am homeless, just left Vancouver.
The apple does not fall far from the tree. Doc said that to me, in Long Beach, at McTague's Hospital for the Homeless, outside LA. He said it a few times. It was the sincerest compliment - that I was worthy of my father, my mother, my grandfathers. And I've thought about that, how it is stages, or seen as such; an apple, a tree, and it is not. It is a constant flame.
My blog, my lifestyle. Hm. What is my lifestyle? It is at times lonely and terrible, always utterly beautiful. How personal can this blog be? Travel. It started about travel. I am travelling, sort of. Are you travelling if you're not going back to anywhwere? (I have a penchant for over-analysing...). I have set it up that way, in cooperation with destiny, that I don't have anywhere to go back to- if I get tired, sick or fulfilled. So there's only one direction - forward. Maybe it's a 'journey'.
The first rule of travelling, which I learned from Joshua Slocum, I employed tonight. And I learned something further about it, that I assume old Josh knew.
My Mom gave me this book for Christmas when I was 17 or so. I don't know what she was thinking, if she saw the flame in her quiet oddball son, or if it was an attempt to inspire me. I thought it looked boring. Sailing Alone Around the World, by Captain Joshua Slocum, a bluenoser (a person from Nova Scotia). It sat on my shelf. Until I went hitchhiking. I took it along, for some wierd reason. As I travelled, I learned everything I needed to know from the old Captain. The first rule of travelling (and the 2nd and 3rd): Make a friend as soon as you get into port. Haven't had water in three days? Food in seven? Good for you, make a friend first, then get food and water. Tonight at the Maquinna, I was alone, as I often and never am.
There were some people I superficially knew, we were superficial with one another.
As I said, I met some fishermen. Tough guys, good people. Enjoyers of trouble ;) Ok, one was a good person, the other a bit of a jerk. This is what I further learned about the first rule of travelling: Every moment of life, whether we are travelling or not, is 'getting into port'. Every moment the most important thing is making a friend. I think in this life step, this 'journey', I have stayed consistent with my life pattern so far: of going a little beyond what I'm truly ready for. Some would say a lot. I suppose I do it, and now write about it - to push myself to grow, and to make myself an example for others; that you can do it, that you can step out, live without a net, and still be pure of heart.
Some of my blogs seem pretty cocky, or so I feel, while others, like this one (I hope it comes across) - not so much. Tonight I felt acutely; the ease of freindship, the touching of old roots; our blood, and the things we cannot reach.
My brother said to me in an email, as I was setting out on this course, and in reference to my relationship with eagles, and my trepidation - "birds don't need nets".
Another friend, a young man I admire, said on his facebook page recently, "To live completely without fear, and absolutely so, you may as well starve and die! The good life is the one full of fear... Indeed, I posted this out of fear ;)"
Clearly, there is an undercurrent here, which is - travel and love. Or was that clear? Where is the boundary of my courage, how far am I wiling to go, what am I willing to risk? DH Lawrence said that our most personal topics, beliefs, we didn't write about, they were too close, too close to the heart, the bone. I can only avoid it so long and remain genuine.
The twin horses of fear and desire...
Where is love in the life of a traveller, or do we all just do it out of fear of love, woundedness, or are we seeking? Because really - love is the highest and lowest and all things in between.
Dark are the ways of my enduring,
black is my hand against the sun.
Dark lies the heart in the live breast burning;
then it is done.
Gulled by the winds of my first faring,
into calmed latitudes I steer,
all from my skull's round cabin staring
at the smooth face of fear.
Deep I must go to find my country,
deeper than eye or kiss can pierce;
deep as the heart, past all returning,
the way lies dark and fierce.
There I will find a river flowing,
green through the trees and swift in the sun:
to that bright cove of my enduring
all my dark ways run.
This errand knight travels on, tonight on a schooner, tomorrow in a darkened wood, I do not yet know my captain, yet I trust...
and goes outside. And he keeps on going
because somewhere to the east there's a church.
His children bless his name as if he were dead.
Another man stays at home until he dies,
stays with plates and glasses.
So then it is his children who go out
into the world, seeking the church that he forgot.
In Tofino again. Why does it feature in so much of my writing? I don't spend that much time here. Ended up at the Maquinna tonight, Tofino's version of the Palace, for various reasons.
The place was full of hippies, wannabe's, surfers, drinkers, and the otherwise unknown. Who did I end up hanging out with? A couple of fishermen. Looking for a fight. Full of life philosophy, that most people never heard.
I grew up in Herring Cove, a fishing village outside Halifax. I was born there, so I belonged in a way, although I was a freak and an outcast, too sensitive and otherworldly perhaps. But who do I end up hanging out with now? - fishermen.
My grandfathers travelled across Canada, worked the railroad and various things, after WWI. One went overseas, served in the trenches when he was fifteen years old. He was living on the streets in Vancouver when he was 24, in 1924. I am homeless, just left Vancouver.
The apple does not fall far from the tree. Doc said that to me, in Long Beach, at McTague's Hospital for the Homeless, outside LA. He said it a few times. It was the sincerest compliment - that I was worthy of my father, my mother, my grandfathers. And I've thought about that, how it is stages, or seen as such; an apple, a tree, and it is not. It is a constant flame.
My blog, my lifestyle. Hm. What is my lifestyle? It is at times lonely and terrible, always utterly beautiful. How personal can this blog be? Travel. It started about travel. I am travelling, sort of. Are you travelling if you're not going back to anywhwere? (I have a penchant for over-analysing...). I have set it up that way, in cooperation with destiny, that I don't have anywhere to go back to- if I get tired, sick or fulfilled. So there's only one direction - forward. Maybe it's a 'journey'.
The first rule of travelling, which I learned from Joshua Slocum, I employed tonight. And I learned something further about it, that I assume old Josh knew.
My Mom gave me this book for Christmas when I was 17 or so. I don't know what she was thinking, if she saw the flame in her quiet oddball son, or if it was an attempt to inspire me. I thought it looked boring. Sailing Alone Around the World, by Captain Joshua Slocum, a bluenoser (a person from Nova Scotia). It sat on my shelf. Until I went hitchhiking. I took it along, for some wierd reason. As I travelled, I learned everything I needed to know from the old Captain. The first rule of travelling (and the 2nd and 3rd): Make a friend as soon as you get into port. Haven't had water in three days? Food in seven? Good for you, make a friend first, then get food and water. Tonight at the Maquinna, I was alone, as I often and never am.
There were some people I superficially knew, we were superficial with one another.
As I said, I met some fishermen. Tough guys, good people. Enjoyers of trouble ;) Ok, one was a good person, the other a bit of a jerk. This is what I further learned about the first rule of travelling: Every moment of life, whether we are travelling or not, is 'getting into port'. Every moment the most important thing is making a friend. I think in this life step, this 'journey', I have stayed consistent with my life pattern so far: of going a little beyond what I'm truly ready for. Some would say a lot. I suppose I do it, and now write about it - to push myself to grow, and to make myself an example for others; that you can do it, that you can step out, live without a net, and still be pure of heart.
Some of my blogs seem pretty cocky, or so I feel, while others, like this one (I hope it comes across) - not so much. Tonight I felt acutely; the ease of freindship, the touching of old roots; our blood, and the things we cannot reach.
My brother said to me in an email, as I was setting out on this course, and in reference to my relationship with eagles, and my trepidation - "birds don't need nets".
Another friend, a young man I admire, said on his facebook page recently, "To live completely without fear, and absolutely so, you may as well starve and die! The good life is the one full of fear... Indeed, I posted this out of fear ;)"
Clearly, there is an undercurrent here, which is - travel and love. Or was that clear? Where is the boundary of my courage, how far am I wiling to go, what am I willing to risk? DH Lawrence said that our most personal topics, beliefs, we didn't write about, they were too close, too close to the heart, the bone. I can only avoid it so long and remain genuine.
The twin horses of fear and desire...
Where is love in the life of a traveller, or do we all just do it out of fear of love, woundedness, or are we seeking? Because really - love is the highest and lowest and all things in between.
Dark are the ways of my enduring,
black is my hand against the sun.
Dark lies the heart in the live breast burning;
then it is done.
Gulled by the winds of my first faring,
into calmed latitudes I steer,
all from my skull's round cabin staring
at the smooth face of fear.
Deep I must go to find my country,
deeper than eye or kiss can pierce;
deep as the heart, past all returning,
the way lies dark and fierce.
There I will find a river flowing,
green through the trees and swift in the sun:
to that bright cove of my enduring
all my dark ways run.
This errand knight travels on, tonight on a schooner, tomorrow in a darkened wood, I do not yet know my captain, yet I trust...
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Tofino and the Thunderbird...
If you've been waiting for a mythic creature in this feature, wait no more! There is a giant Thunderbird flying over Tofino BC, and no-one sees it.
Years ago, while I lived on the beach at Schooner Cove, I had a wierd experience with a mountain while walking through the rainforest at night. I'm not going to describe it now, maybe another time. Lets just say a mountain rescued me. I didn't understand the experience at the time, but when I heard about the planned open-pit copper mine on Catface Mountain, it became a bit clearer. That mountain, it turns out, was not Catface, but one of its siblings. If one giant can fall - they all can.
I was living in Ontario when I found out, I said to my friend on the phone who told me about it - "over my dead body". She said "mmhm, I thought you might feel that way".
In the Wayfinders Wade Davis talks about sort of adopting a mountain, it's your protector, and you are it's. A relationship. It's a large part of the reason I am here.
According to the Ahousat they last saw the Thunderbird on Catface Mountain, approximatley 150 years ago. They saw it come down off the mountaintop and take a whale, then fly off with it. Was that the end of the era of mythic creatures here, as white and modern culture began its encroach? Perhaps. Maybe not.
We'll see.
What is a 'Thunderbird'? How big does a bird have to be to pull a whale out of the sea? Even a small whale. Has anyone seen 'golden eagles dropping goats off cliffs' on youtube? It's pretty cool (there's that darkside thing again). Golden eagles have an 8' or so wingspan. 15 feet? 20? 30? 100? Pretty big. Hard to imagine, isn't it?
Is it easy for us to say that's bullshit? That it's symbolic, representative of some cultural experience, a hallucination? If there were real Thunderbirds, we'd have bones, fossils, poop, something. Some record to prove to our ration-bound scientific brains that it exists. We don't.
And there is an assumption underlying this that we know better, that our form of knowledge is superior somehow. Is it? I'm willing to give the Ahousat credit and say - maybe it does exist, or did. But then, they've approved the mine so far.
The mine is planned to be the largest open-pit copper mine in Canada to date. It would be mined for approximately the next 20 years, if it's not expanded. A nearby lake would be used as a tailings pond, and a new fake lake built. It would operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with giant heavy machinery and bright lights visible and audible from Tofino, the best tourist town in Canada after Banff. Not to mention the leacheate, the ruined salmon streams, the destroyed old growth forest, the mountains of toxic material, the impact on whales and fish from the new port and boat traffic... all in a UNESCO bioshpere reserve, Clayoquot Sound, a place that people from all over the world hold dear!
Am I willing to give the Ahousat credit on that too? That they are using their heritage most wisely? Our heritage? For this is a place not only of the Ahousat, but that belongs to all of humanity, and there are precious few of them left.
In this little town that brought forestry in BC to its knees in the mid 90's, changing the face of forestry in Canada forever, may the Thunderbird rise up in the hearts and souls of all those involved, and grant us vision enough to see the past behind us, the people on their sides, the future before us, and the Thunderbird trapped on Catface Mountain in the middle. The future is the one we make, let's hope it has Thunderbirds in it.
Years ago, while I lived on the beach at Schooner Cove, I had a wierd experience with a mountain while walking through the rainforest at night. I'm not going to describe it now, maybe another time. Lets just say a mountain rescued me. I didn't understand the experience at the time, but when I heard about the planned open-pit copper mine on Catface Mountain, it became a bit clearer. That mountain, it turns out, was not Catface, but one of its siblings. If one giant can fall - they all can.
I was living in Ontario when I found out, I said to my friend on the phone who told me about it - "over my dead body". She said "mmhm, I thought you might feel that way".
In the Wayfinders Wade Davis talks about sort of adopting a mountain, it's your protector, and you are it's. A relationship. It's a large part of the reason I am here.
According to the Ahousat they last saw the Thunderbird on Catface Mountain, approximatley 150 years ago. They saw it come down off the mountaintop and take a whale, then fly off with it. Was that the end of the era of mythic creatures here, as white and modern culture began its encroach? Perhaps. Maybe not.
We'll see.
What is a 'Thunderbird'? How big does a bird have to be to pull a whale out of the sea? Even a small whale. Has anyone seen 'golden eagles dropping goats off cliffs' on youtube? It's pretty cool (there's that darkside thing again). Golden eagles have an 8' or so wingspan. 15 feet? 20? 30? 100? Pretty big. Hard to imagine, isn't it?
Is it easy for us to say that's bullshit? That it's symbolic, representative of some cultural experience, a hallucination? If there were real Thunderbirds, we'd have bones, fossils, poop, something. Some record to prove to our ration-bound scientific brains that it exists. We don't.
And there is an assumption underlying this that we know better, that our form of knowledge is superior somehow. Is it? I'm willing to give the Ahousat credit and say - maybe it does exist, or did. But then, they've approved the mine so far.
The mine is planned to be the largest open-pit copper mine in Canada to date. It would be mined for approximately the next 20 years, if it's not expanded. A nearby lake would be used as a tailings pond, and a new fake lake built. It would operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with giant heavy machinery and bright lights visible and audible from Tofino, the best tourist town in Canada after Banff. Not to mention the leacheate, the ruined salmon streams, the destroyed old growth forest, the mountains of toxic material, the impact on whales and fish from the new port and boat traffic... all in a UNESCO bioshpere reserve, Clayoquot Sound, a place that people from all over the world hold dear!
Am I willing to give the Ahousat credit on that too? That they are using their heritage most wisely? Our heritage? For this is a place not only of the Ahousat, but that belongs to all of humanity, and there are precious few of them left.
In this little town that brought forestry in BC to its knees in the mid 90's, changing the face of forestry in Canada forever, may the Thunderbird rise up in the hearts and souls of all those involved, and grant us vision enough to see the past behind us, the people on their sides, the future before us, and the Thunderbird trapped on Catface Mountain in the middle. The future is the one we make, let's hope it has Thunderbirds in it.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Riding two horses: some initial thoughts on service, travel and personal power...
One horse is white, one is black. Or perhaps one is pale, the other a nice warm brown...
I've ridden one a lot, the other not that much. Both are always with us. Service and self-service. Who and what do we live for?
I've given too much before, and it's very disempowering. You end up drained, and no good for anything. Yet some people have given everything. Is that why JFK was such a philanderer? He just had to express some dark side somewhere? I'm not recomennding that. I'm not judging either.
I find I discover myself through travel. Not sure if that's the same for everyone.
I looked back on my last two blogs (my first two) and thought - I wonder what people get out of that? The first, so "I want to save everyone" the second, "no behaviour is wrong". Black and white horses. I think we must ride them both at once.
So, having these thoughts today, while also contemplating this dilemna: do I stay here, in the west, and find work as an environmenatl lawyer? That's what I set out to do, a few months ago. Or do I apply for some jobs afar, and if I don't get one from here - just go anyway?
The first is serving the world, the second; my self. Maybe. I can do good here, but deep in my gut I want to keep moving. There was something else I set out to do in this trip, and I have done it:
The first time I hitchhiked across Canada I returned home on my birthday, having been on the road 2 months, I was 19, I was completely drained of personal power. Completely. And I knew it.
The second time, well - was different. After travelling for 5 months I was primed and ready - supercharged - to do as I had always wanted since I was young - travel endlessly. Travel around the world, travel and work, travel and live, and completely be who I am. My Mom was sick. I went home.
I loved her, and it seemed like the right thing to do, I never gave it much thought. It was only a few years ago I started to question - was that the right thing to do, for me? I travelled a bit more, got married, took a different path.
An eagle gave me a white tail feather just after I turned 21 on the beach at Schooner Cove, Vancouver Island - dropped it on me as He flew over. I gave it away. It's another story, which I will tell another time. My friend Maya asked me - did the loss of it reflect the choices you were making? Perhaps.
I think everyone has to find their right balance, between darkness and light. This afternoon, a little bored and feeling at odds, I did this free 'tarotolgy card report' online. What the hell. It said my tarot card is the Chariot,
Those born to play the Chariot starring role are here to master the art of higher will.
...
That sounds simple enough, except you can spend a lifetime seeking the means to kick your ego out of the driver's seat. This makes you a quintessential Seeker and quest-bound soul. Like a knight of the round table, you will search far and wide for the holy grail -- the shortest route to enlightenment.
Pretty funny, kinda summed up my last two blogs, so I figure it had to go in. For those who haven't figured this out yet, this blog's pretty personal. I change people's names. But I'm not shy about who I am.
I think one of the things I like about travelling is if you run out of personal power - you crash and burn pretty quick. So you have to maintain it. Which requires living life more authentically.
While at Mt. Shasta, up there above the treeline, in the cold wind, alone, happy, simply happy like a child, it happenned. Later, while I was at the motel I was staying at, I realized what had happenned, - I had reconnected with that part of me - that readiness of 21, to wander the world, and seek my own destiny. How many people get second chances in life?
I think I will probably keep travelling. It's mine, and I'm not going to give it away. Not yet, maybe not ever. Like the Pine.
I noticed years ago, while working in the woods in Nova Scotia, these giant old white pines on the sides of hills, near the top. Just now and then I'd see them, but their situation was always the same, give or take a decade or two of progress. They'd have a big semi-cleared area around them, and lots of room to grow and totally rule their hill. There were smashed, mangled, dead and crippled other trees in a circle around them, and a few big dead limbs from the pine on the ground.
I wondered about it for a while. I watched them. Finally I came up with a theory - around 80-120 yrs of age they 'crown off' or stop growing up, or at least their upward growth slows. They fatten, and shade out their lower limbs. The other trees around them keep growing up, as fast as they can. They think, "I'm gonna catch the Pine, I'm gonna be taller than her!" They shade out her lower limbs too. Ha.
Thinks the Pine.
Once those limbs die, weighing a ton or two each, they drop. And all the little upstarts are crushed. Killed or broken, shattered remants of their former ambitious selves. What a horrible nature story. I didn't know pine trees were mean. ;)
Until the storm. If the spruce were the tallest, or the fir, or the beech, they would blow down. Only the Pine can take that fierce eastern wind. The Pine protects them all, saves them all, breaks the wind. We are all one. We all have our place. The Pine lives between darkness and light, as we all do. There is no division.
The chariot ties those two horses together and the driver uses their divergent wills to create forward motion to reach his goal.
It may be selfish for me to keep travelling. I'm okay with that. I have a feeling it will open up new paths, new possibilities, that I could never have guessed.
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
Without personal power one cannot be of service - it is the knight's sword. Maybe this is the simplest way to summarize it: you can use your sword for another, but you may not give it away.
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are -
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
I've ridden one a lot, the other not that much. Both are always with us. Service and self-service. Who and what do we live for?
I've given too much before, and it's very disempowering. You end up drained, and no good for anything. Yet some people have given everything. Is that why JFK was such a philanderer? He just had to express some dark side somewhere? I'm not recomennding that. I'm not judging either.
I find I discover myself through travel. Not sure if that's the same for everyone.
I looked back on my last two blogs (my first two) and thought - I wonder what people get out of that? The first, so "I want to save everyone" the second, "no behaviour is wrong". Black and white horses. I think we must ride them both at once.
So, having these thoughts today, while also contemplating this dilemna: do I stay here, in the west, and find work as an environmenatl lawyer? That's what I set out to do, a few months ago. Or do I apply for some jobs afar, and if I don't get one from here - just go anyway?
The first is serving the world, the second; my self. Maybe. I can do good here, but deep in my gut I want to keep moving. There was something else I set out to do in this trip, and I have done it:
The first time I hitchhiked across Canada I returned home on my birthday, having been on the road 2 months, I was 19, I was completely drained of personal power. Completely. And I knew it.
The second time, well - was different. After travelling for 5 months I was primed and ready - supercharged - to do as I had always wanted since I was young - travel endlessly. Travel around the world, travel and work, travel and live, and completely be who I am. My Mom was sick. I went home.
I loved her, and it seemed like the right thing to do, I never gave it much thought. It was only a few years ago I started to question - was that the right thing to do, for me? I travelled a bit more, got married, took a different path.
An eagle gave me a white tail feather just after I turned 21 on the beach at Schooner Cove, Vancouver Island - dropped it on me as He flew over. I gave it away. It's another story, which I will tell another time. My friend Maya asked me - did the loss of it reflect the choices you were making? Perhaps.
I think everyone has to find their right balance, between darkness and light. This afternoon, a little bored and feeling at odds, I did this free 'tarotolgy card report' online. What the hell. It said my tarot card is the Chariot,
Those born to play the Chariot starring role are here to master the art of higher will.
...
That sounds simple enough, except you can spend a lifetime seeking the means to kick your ego out of the driver's seat. This makes you a quintessential Seeker and quest-bound soul. Like a knight of the round table, you will search far and wide for the holy grail -- the shortest route to enlightenment.
Pretty funny, kinda summed up my last two blogs, so I figure it had to go in. For those who haven't figured this out yet, this blog's pretty personal. I change people's names. But I'm not shy about who I am.
I think one of the things I like about travelling is if you run out of personal power - you crash and burn pretty quick. So you have to maintain it. Which requires living life more authentically.
While at Mt. Shasta, up there above the treeline, in the cold wind, alone, happy, simply happy like a child, it happenned. Later, while I was at the motel I was staying at, I realized what had happenned, - I had reconnected with that part of me - that readiness of 21, to wander the world, and seek my own destiny. How many people get second chances in life?
I think I will probably keep travelling. It's mine, and I'm not going to give it away. Not yet, maybe not ever. Like the Pine.
I noticed years ago, while working in the woods in Nova Scotia, these giant old white pines on the sides of hills, near the top. Just now and then I'd see them, but their situation was always the same, give or take a decade or two of progress. They'd have a big semi-cleared area around them, and lots of room to grow and totally rule their hill. There were smashed, mangled, dead and crippled other trees in a circle around them, and a few big dead limbs from the pine on the ground.
I wondered about it for a while. I watched them. Finally I came up with a theory - around 80-120 yrs of age they 'crown off' or stop growing up, or at least their upward growth slows. They fatten, and shade out their lower limbs. The other trees around them keep growing up, as fast as they can. They think, "I'm gonna catch the Pine, I'm gonna be taller than her!" They shade out her lower limbs too. Ha.
Thinks the Pine.
Once those limbs die, weighing a ton or two each, they drop. And all the little upstarts are crushed. Killed or broken, shattered remants of their former ambitious selves. What a horrible nature story. I didn't know pine trees were mean. ;)
Until the storm. If the spruce were the tallest, or the fir, or the beech, they would blow down. Only the Pine can take that fierce eastern wind. The Pine protects them all, saves them all, breaks the wind. We are all one. We all have our place. The Pine lives between darkness and light, as we all do. There is no division.
The chariot ties those two horses together and the driver uses their divergent wills to create forward motion to reach his goal.
It may be selfish for me to keep travelling. I'm okay with that. I have a feeling it will open up new paths, new possibilities, that I could never have guessed.
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
Without personal power one cannot be of service - it is the knight's sword. Maybe this is the simplest way to summarize it: you can use your sword for another, but you may not give it away.
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are -
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Monday, October 4, 2010
I Am That (the Bhagwan 'n I..)
Hanging out in Santa Cruz sometime.. when was that? The end of August I believe. My friend I was staying with, 'Karachi', whom I hadn't met until I showed up and pitched my tent in his garden, introduced me to a book - he said it laid out east Indian spiritual principles pretty clearly, and was a good read. I made a note in my journal, and intended to pick it up whenever fate and searching laid it in my path. It was called, I Am That.
I couldn't remember the author's name, he was a skinny old Indian guy.
Earlier in the visit, sitting in Karachi's home-made house, watching him work, somehow conversation rambled around to 'the Bhagwan'. Karachi said he had this client, who is now an elderly lady, and it's pretty hard to picture her being really hot - brought in these pictures of her time in India in the early 70's, with the Bhagwan. And she was really hot.
This dude supposedly, Karachi said, was a brilliant young man, and became enlightened in some form, radiant, and started teaching others. His teaching was about wholeness and being who you are, instead of striving for perfection. This involved, apparently, accepting sexuality.
You can see where this is going...
The pictures, they were bad photocopies, were of the Bhagwan in a room full of beautiful young women, dancing in "spiritual ecstacy". The Bhagwan generally looked pretty serene, considering the circumstances. But there was one picture where one of the beautiful young women, I think it was the client, had her neck quite exposed, and the Bhagwan was behind her, his eyes lit up with animal hunger and his hands poised like a vampire. It was clearly a very brief slip in the 'enlightened' veneer, but hilarious! We laughed our heads off and started referring to him as 'the vampire master'..
A few weeks later, struggling with poison oak (evil, evil, evil) I was staying at my friend Doc's place in Long Beach, CA. I went for a stroll one afternoon with the intent to pick up two books, one - West with the Night, by Beryl Markham, very rare, but since I give it as gifts I always seem to find it. And another - I am That, probably more rare. So I find Beryl's book right off, because I love her and she loves me (really, she does) (I don't care that she's dead and would be a hundred or so). Then I wander around the store a few minutes more, and there it is - I am That. Ha! Am I good or what?
But something seemed funny about it, so I texted Karachi with the author's name and asked if that was right. The author looked familiar, but he did not look like the skinny old Indian dude. Text back = "that's the vampire!" Wtf? He wrote a book by the same title?
Yes, yes he did. It was I am That by the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, not by Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj (as I found out later). I wasn't going to get it, but hey, I can take a hint (you'll hear that a lot). How many coincidences is that involving the Bhagwan? He clearly wants to pollute my mind with his vampire-doctrine. ;)
To search for perfection is all very well
But to look for Heaven is to live here in Hell
Thanks Sting! I'm sure you 'n the Bhagwan would get along fine. The Bhagwan 'n I get along fine. I'm not done his book, but am sure enjoying it!
At the risk of being pedantic (is that the right word?) here's a long quote:
And if you choose not to follow your inner voice and follow the dictates of others - they call it morality, etiquette, civization, culture - then too that inner voice will start nagging you, it will continuously nag you. It will say you are being untrue to your nature. And if you feel that you are being untrue to your nature then your morality cannot be a rejoicing; it will only be an empty gesture.
...
My effort here is to help you become one. That's why I don't teach any morality, any character. All that I can teach is meditation, so that you can hear your inner voice more clearly and follow it, whatsoever the cost.
Whatsoever the cost. Hm. But the benefit is being natural, being yourself, not being divided. Once we are not divided inside ourselves, I'm not sure if the Bhagwan follows it to this point or not - how can we be divided from others?
Sitting chatting with my friend Nick at the Vancouver film fest yesterday, after seeing An Ecology of Mind, and A Simple Rythym, I said how they both reflected my ideas as I travelled this trip, and Nick said, "yeah, I miss that about travelling - you get so much time to reflect". I hadn't thought about that, but it's true.
Hm again. I wrote in my journal the day before, thinking about separateness and love: Only illusion ceases, and the only illusion is that of separateness.
I am that.
let's see if I can write this by memory;
The road goes ever on and on
down from the door where it began
now far along the road has gone
and I must follow if I can
treading it with eager feet
until it meets some larger way
where many paths and errands meet
and whither then? I cannot say
I couldn't remember the author's name, he was a skinny old Indian guy.
Earlier in the visit, sitting in Karachi's home-made house, watching him work, somehow conversation rambled around to 'the Bhagwan'. Karachi said he had this client, who is now an elderly lady, and it's pretty hard to picture her being really hot - brought in these pictures of her time in India in the early 70's, with the Bhagwan. And she was really hot.
This dude supposedly, Karachi said, was a brilliant young man, and became enlightened in some form, radiant, and started teaching others. His teaching was about wholeness and being who you are, instead of striving for perfection. This involved, apparently, accepting sexuality.
You can see where this is going...
The pictures, they were bad photocopies, were of the Bhagwan in a room full of beautiful young women, dancing in "spiritual ecstacy". The Bhagwan generally looked pretty serene, considering the circumstances. But there was one picture where one of the beautiful young women, I think it was the client, had her neck quite exposed, and the Bhagwan was behind her, his eyes lit up with animal hunger and his hands poised like a vampire. It was clearly a very brief slip in the 'enlightened' veneer, but hilarious! We laughed our heads off and started referring to him as 'the vampire master'..
A few weeks later, struggling with poison oak (evil, evil, evil) I was staying at my friend Doc's place in Long Beach, CA. I went for a stroll one afternoon with the intent to pick up two books, one - West with the Night, by Beryl Markham, very rare, but since I give it as gifts I always seem to find it. And another - I am That, probably more rare. So I find Beryl's book right off, because I love her and she loves me (really, she does) (I don't care that she's dead and would be a hundred or so). Then I wander around the store a few minutes more, and there it is - I am That. Ha! Am I good or what?
But something seemed funny about it, so I texted Karachi with the author's name and asked if that was right. The author looked familiar, but he did not look like the skinny old Indian dude. Text back = "that's the vampire!" Wtf? He wrote a book by the same title?
Yes, yes he did. It was I am That by the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, not by Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj (as I found out later). I wasn't going to get it, but hey, I can take a hint (you'll hear that a lot). How many coincidences is that involving the Bhagwan? He clearly wants to pollute my mind with his vampire-doctrine. ;)
To search for perfection is all very well
But to look for Heaven is to live here in Hell
Thanks Sting! I'm sure you 'n the Bhagwan would get along fine. The Bhagwan 'n I get along fine. I'm not done his book, but am sure enjoying it!
At the risk of being pedantic (is that the right word?) here's a long quote:
And if you choose not to follow your inner voice and follow the dictates of others - they call it morality, etiquette, civization, culture - then too that inner voice will start nagging you, it will continuously nag you. It will say you are being untrue to your nature. And if you feel that you are being untrue to your nature then your morality cannot be a rejoicing; it will only be an empty gesture.
...
My effort here is to help you become one. That's why I don't teach any morality, any character. All that I can teach is meditation, so that you can hear your inner voice more clearly and follow it, whatsoever the cost.
Whatsoever the cost. Hm. But the benefit is being natural, being yourself, not being divided. Once we are not divided inside ourselves, I'm not sure if the Bhagwan follows it to this point or not - how can we be divided from others?
Sitting chatting with my friend Nick at the Vancouver film fest yesterday, after seeing An Ecology of Mind, and A Simple Rythym, I said how they both reflected my ideas as I travelled this trip, and Nick said, "yeah, I miss that about travelling - you get so much time to reflect". I hadn't thought about that, but it's true.
Hm again. I wrote in my journal the day before, thinking about separateness and love: Only illusion ceases, and the only illusion is that of separateness.
I am that.
let's see if I can write this by memory;
The road goes ever on and on
down from the door where it began
now far along the road has gone
and I must follow if I can
treading it with eager feet
until it meets some larger way
where many paths and errands meet
and whither then? I cannot say
Sunday, October 3, 2010
my blog, my chosen lifestyle
I've been travelling since July 1st, Canada day. Or rather, since July 18th 1992, when I first set out to hitchhike across Canada. Or is it since I first lied to my Mom (sorry Mom!) about how far I was going - "just in the woods a bit"? Ha, more like miles!
No need to get bogged down in details...
This trip is different though, when I set out my intention was to never stop. That's not a hard n fast rule, just an idea. To regard the rest of my life as 'travelling'. I think of it as 'embracing homelessness'. Some may say that's no good, because it's putting things negatively, but I say - humour reigns supreme.
I have been challenging a paradigm or two, and enjoying it. It's fun to sit around a table of nice-dressed proper people, and when someone asks me where I live, to say, "I'm homeless!" with a big grin. Sometimes I add, "and unemployed.." just for good measure. I am not my home, nor my job.
In following this intention, if I do, I will have homes, and jobs, and there are already places I am from. But really, I am a child of God, and neither home nor possessions nor a label ("I'm an environmental lawyer") define me.
There have always been nomadic people, and I have always wanted to be useful in the world. Being nomadic is easy, though difficult, and being useful is difficult, though easy. You can choose to be nomadic, as I have done. It's challenges lie in loneliness, self-doubt, being sick or hungry when you're far away. Being useful you can't choose as easily, it's a little harder to pin down. But sometimes it's simply a matter of simplifying things.
I set out to be a wandering environmental lawyer, fighting for justice wherever I went, or was needed. I've done that a bit, even possibly been useful. But it's funny what intention can lay in your path.
Walking home late one night in Tofino I was contemplating just this issue, and the path I had set out on. I had my friends apartment for the weekend and had been hoping to meet a girl. I didn't. I was feeling sorry for myself on that front and wondering if my destiny was simply different, if I was supposed to help people. Like a wandering knight, on a quest he knows not where, a quest whose goal is shrouded in mist. And thinking - that the chivalric code always applies - you must help those you meet on your path that need you. If ever your distant goal is more important than a human in front of you that needs your help - you will surely fail.
Literally the moment I finished that thought a girl wiped out on her bike across the street from me, pretty badly. I looked up, wryly, and crossed the street.
Her friend was really drunk, but trying. We called 911, I helped the girl out of the ditch, her face was covered in blood. I held her to keep her warm until the ambulance showed up, kept her friend calm, dealt with the crowd and ambulance drivers and cops, got a friend to take care of her bike and a reasonably sober friend to go to the hospital with her.
I've jumped half a dozen cars in the last three months, all over the states and Canada. Shuttled wounded people around, picked up hitchhikers, counseled friends.
Everyone gets what they want.
I met a lovely human being in a health food store near Mt. Shasta in Northern California a few weeks ago. We chatted a bit in line and she mentioned that her son that day had worn a cape (and a mask), and that he was a little old for that, but she didn't discourage it, because really - everyone should wear capes.
I thought a lot about that, and this blog is my cape, or part of it. I agree with it - let's not be afraid to be hero's, or to try. Let's not be afraid to be the best we have inside ourselves. And let's not hide it away.
This is my chosen lifestyle, this is my blog.
No need to get bogged down in details...
This trip is different though, when I set out my intention was to never stop. That's not a hard n fast rule, just an idea. To regard the rest of my life as 'travelling'. I think of it as 'embracing homelessness'. Some may say that's no good, because it's putting things negatively, but I say - humour reigns supreme.
I have been challenging a paradigm or two, and enjoying it. It's fun to sit around a table of nice-dressed proper people, and when someone asks me where I live, to say, "I'm homeless!" with a big grin. Sometimes I add, "and unemployed.." just for good measure. I am not my home, nor my job.
In following this intention, if I do, I will have homes, and jobs, and there are already places I am from. But really, I am a child of God, and neither home nor possessions nor a label ("I'm an environmental lawyer") define me.
There have always been nomadic people, and I have always wanted to be useful in the world. Being nomadic is easy, though difficult, and being useful is difficult, though easy. You can choose to be nomadic, as I have done. It's challenges lie in loneliness, self-doubt, being sick or hungry when you're far away. Being useful you can't choose as easily, it's a little harder to pin down. But sometimes it's simply a matter of simplifying things.
I set out to be a wandering environmental lawyer, fighting for justice wherever I went, or was needed. I've done that a bit, even possibly been useful. But it's funny what intention can lay in your path.
Walking home late one night in Tofino I was contemplating just this issue, and the path I had set out on. I had my friends apartment for the weekend and had been hoping to meet a girl. I didn't. I was feeling sorry for myself on that front and wondering if my destiny was simply different, if I was supposed to help people. Like a wandering knight, on a quest he knows not where, a quest whose goal is shrouded in mist. And thinking - that the chivalric code always applies - you must help those you meet on your path that need you. If ever your distant goal is more important than a human in front of you that needs your help - you will surely fail.
Literally the moment I finished that thought a girl wiped out on her bike across the street from me, pretty badly. I looked up, wryly, and crossed the street.
Her friend was really drunk, but trying. We called 911, I helped the girl out of the ditch, her face was covered in blood. I held her to keep her warm until the ambulance showed up, kept her friend calm, dealt with the crowd and ambulance drivers and cops, got a friend to take care of her bike and a reasonably sober friend to go to the hospital with her.
I've jumped half a dozen cars in the last three months, all over the states and Canada. Shuttled wounded people around, picked up hitchhikers, counseled friends.
Everyone gets what they want.
I met a lovely human being in a health food store near Mt. Shasta in Northern California a few weeks ago. We chatted a bit in line and she mentioned that her son that day had worn a cape (and a mask), and that he was a little old for that, but she didn't discourage it, because really - everyone should wear capes.
I thought a lot about that, and this blog is my cape, or part of it. I agree with it - let's not be afraid to be hero's, or to try. Let's not be afraid to be the best we have inside ourselves. And let's not hide it away.
This is my chosen lifestyle, this is my blog.
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