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...