I have no sword: I make absence of self my sword.
It's snowing today. I started this raw food thing, which has been great (day 11), hoping to get more clarity while I'm on hiatus here on the Coast. The raw food is grand - I feel good, look good ;) and most importantly - my head is clear.
That's what I was really hoping for. I remembered when I fasted in 1997, how I felt like I could see for miles - into my past and future, and how I set my life course for the decade to follow. Not that I followed it, but it lead me where I was meant to go.
Now I'm enjoying the poetry of peace - it's winter, and I seem to making a life here on the Sunshine Coast. Chatting about Ireland and travel the other day, I recalled how I left there in '95, and thought about what that means to me now.
I figured I'd be taking a trip that summer; I had the previous three, since I was 19. But I hadn't decided where yet. I had been to Europe the year before and loved it, but wanted to go farther afield. One morning my friend Mike called from Germany at six am - "Patman, you gotta come be my best man, I'm getting married.." "uhhnn, when?" "Three weeks from now." "What, that's impossible, I'm not ready, no money.." "You gotta, I know you will, call me later." Click.
Called him later, "Of course I'll be there." And I was. I worked my balls off for three weeks and cobbled together about 600 bucks.
Went to Mike's, was best man, ate and drank a lot, had fun. Then I realized I had about a week left and could make it to Ireland if I wanted to. I had always wanted to, and I wanted to at that moment, so I went.
Three days straight hitchhiking, hardly any sleep, no bathing, wet from the rain, little food, sleeping outside or in strange places, strip-searched in France, and I made it. I could spend two nights in Ireland and then had to boot it back to London for my flight home.
I was raised Irish, in my house St. Patricks day was 'my day'. But none of my immediate family had ever been there, and not for many generations. It was 'a sort of homecoming.' I felt like it was the promised land in a way.
I got there in the afternoon and decided to hitch south to try to get to Cork. A few people picked me up, not fast hitching, contemplative waits between rides, I watched the green. It is a green green place, factories in fields and babbling brooks and you could smell the green everywhere.
A dude picked me up coming into New Ross, he was then about my age now. It was suppertime. He said "why don't you drop into the pub and have a bite, maybe you'll meet some people.." I said "no, no, I gotta keep moving, can't stop here - places to go!" We chatted about other things. He said it again. I replied with my line, but wondering if some greater force was at work. What did he know that I didn't?
He was going the other way, and despite the fact that I was continuing on because I had very important places to be - he told me there was a hostel in the hills above town, and gave me directions. The town center was small, with a road going straight on along our side of the river (his road) and one crossing a little bridge to go my way - to my planned destiny.
He, being my divine guide for the moment, let me off exactly in front of the pub he had recommended I go into. I stood there with my backpack, readying my gear for the next charge, looked at the pub, which seemed friendly and warm, and thought, "Jeez Canning, are you ever uptight today." So I went in. I never thought of this before, but I hope he saw that in his rear-view mirror. Or maybe he got the news from the small-town-Irish-gossip-pipeline...
I walked in past the only patron - an absolutley stunning young woman, a little older than me though, and got a Guinness at the bar. I walked back and pulled out a chair at her table, asking if I could join her while I did so. May as well give in to destiny completely, I figured.
She was Welsh, and had what I have come to see as a classic Welsh beauty - very white skin, black hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, a big smile with perfect strong teeth. I forget her name. She was 25, a wanderer like me, and put me onto the book called Autobiography of a Supertramp, about a young Englishman who travelled all over the states in the 20's and 30's. A great book, I later tracked down two copies and mailed one to her, but never heard from her. I still have mine, in storage back in Halifax. She also foreshadowed my future wife (now ex), who looked very similar to her and is also a lovely human being.
Welsh girl and I hit it off, had a drink or two, and made plans to meet later. I walked up the hill to the hostel, which was in a 900 year old farm-house, and got a bed for the night. Went back to the pub later and it was a perfect Irish experience - we met up with her cousin, who was a schoolteacher, and some of his friends. It was all ages: 5 - 500(;) and they locked the doors at 11pm with the only two town cops inside, sauced.
They broke out the instruments and passed around a big cup like a Stanley cup on top, full of whiskey, and everyone in the place sipped from it. We said our goodnights and I stumbled home.
The next day we met for a late lunch, her cousin gave us a lift to Dublin, and I got a room at the hostel there while she stayed with her Aunt. We went out for supper, had a beer or two, told more stories and laughed our heads off, and then I walked her to her train station. I wanted to kiss her goodnight, but was too shy and still flabbergatsed by her utter beauty and coolness.
Before that however, she had been encouraging me to stay in Ireland, she'd be there a while yet, and then Wales, which was not far off. So I stopped to make a phonecall. My earned-on-a-week-or-two-of-work plane ticket was non-negotiable. Either be on it, or forget it. It's a no-brainer, any young man in my position would have stayed, stayed in Ireland, made friends, found a job under the table, spent time with the beautiful Welsh girl.
But I was a young man who's Mother was dying of cancer. In Canada.
I called her from a payphone on our walk to the station in the rain. She could half hear what I said to my Mom, "I met this girl - she's so beautiful, and super-cool, and I'm meeting people, and I might stay here, how would you feel about that?.."
I didn't know how I felt about it. To my Mom - I was not just her son sounding happy and like she always wants me to sound - I was in the homeland - sacred Ireland, and I could tell she'd almost prefer I stay and miss her last days, and be there. And in retrospect she must have been considering the kind of life I would have after her death, and how she had come to know me and how much more I thrived away from home, and what my future might be if I was there when she died, if I made a life there.
She said, "well Paddy, you have to do what's right for you, don't worry about it, if you stay we'll sort out some way to get you back later, have fun, I love you."
Melanie? Was that her name? I went back to her, she was smiling, having heard her good review, and having some idea of the import of the conversation.
I wasn't clear - what should I do?
I walked her to the station, I'd been released from duty imposed by another, but not by me. I didn't want to miss my Mom's last days, I wanted to spend time with her before that. I also wanted to stay here.
God would decide. I slept. I hadn't thought of this - I just knew - I'd get up in the morning and go to the ferry and I'd know if I wanted to get it or not, or I'd know something, or I'd figure it out somehow.
I went to the ferry terminal in Dun Laoghair, which I had first pronounced "Dun Log-hair" to the amusment of the natives. Dun Leary. I bought my ticket around 10:30 am, the Ferry was due to leave at 2.
I walked up the hill to the square and spotted an older Irish guy who looked like he'd know where to get the best Guinness in town. You see, it's all about the pour, how you clean the taps and pipes, etc. It's not simple to make the best Guinness. That's part of the beauty.
He knew alright - and seemed pretty flattered I asked. "John Walter's Pub, it's a bit of a hike, but it's worth it." Thanks, old-timer. :)
I made my way to John Walter's Pub, walked in about 11, and got a Guinness. Chatted with John, a fine older fellow. He said, "I got a guy out back, a Canadian, he hates it when I do this with Canadian customers, but this is different.." I heard him go out back - "mumble, mumble," "AW JESUS JOHN, I TOLD YA NOT TA DO THAT... curse, curse.." I shrugged. I was already "into the shorts" as John commented, meaning I was already having a "Paddy's Irish Whiskey".
The Canadian guy came out with his best unfriendly expression on, to chat for a minute and get back to work. He was from Calgary, Irish family, and went there for a trip when he was 19, twelve years before, and didn't get back to Canada until recently. He did his obligatory chat, then a little more. Next thing you know, he's pulling up a stool and ordering a Guinness too.
They bring out some old labels from the basement, from when every pub bottled their own Guinness, and gave me a few. They didn't know what year they were from, but they were old. And a black John Walters lighter, my only souvenirs from that trip.
We chatted, he asked John for the day off, and we went to another pub. Then another. You see, my plan was - I'd leave it up to God. To go home or not. I'd be late for the ferry, or whatever, get loaded and see if the ferry was still there, or if I even made it.
At four thirty or so we were at a dual bookie-pub, drinking and betting on stuff, stuff on tv, whatever we could find. One of his friends offered me a job, another a place to stay, he was gone home, loaded and with a pissed off wife, but wishing me well and hoping I'd stick around.
About then one of the guys, who was a little more sober-minded, if not bodied, said, knowing my story - "shouldn't you go get your ferry??" I slurred - "when I finsh my drink..."
I went.
The ferry was still there, almost three hours late. I got on it and went home.
That's how I've resolved my little quandary about what to do next - since I have to work it depends on where I work, so I'm just applying for a bunch of jobs all over the world, in my current backyard, and anywhere else that might interest me. We'll see what God has to say about it.
I was surprised by all the feelings writing this brought up about my Mom and her passing - I miss her deeply, and still hear her laughter and lessons. I'm glad I went home to spend that time with her before she left. She is my Irish Faerie, or Queen among them. You are one of the reasons I live my dreams.
And you know it's time to go
Through the sleet and driving snow
Across the fields of mourning
Lights in the distance
Their deaths have been a light to me - in the distance - a constant reminder to live my life fully, to be human, to follow my dreams and my passions, for how short it is. And how full of wonder.
The intellect of man is forced to choose
Perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark,
And when the story's finished, what's the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day's vanity, the nights remorse.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
John Cage / Berkeley / Waking to your Life
This trip hasn't just been composed of lollygagging about, as much as that's the face I've enjoyed portraying. When I was in California in August the plan was to finish a paper from law school on depleted uranium munitions. I discussed this a bit in my "California" entry - but not what it means. It was the biggest expense for the trip - to book some space of my own in Berekely so I could do my research at the library there and get the paper finished to send out for publication. In doing research I found - my paper! - someone else wrote and published it already! And did a fine job. Maybe not the way I would have done it, but that's ok. It made mine redundant regardless. And that's ok too. Dissapointing though.
I had worked hard on it; many many hours.
It was a moment of awakening: that time passes, and whatever you want to do - you have to do it now, in the never-ending present. It inspired me to start this blog.
I sent a link to a friend the other day for John Cage's 4'33'' - one of my favorite pieces of music. I found out about him from the Tragically Hip song 'Tiger the Lion,' I was entranced by the line, "Simply to wake to your life...", as that was what I was trying to do - this step out in life - leaving what was ostensibly my home, living without a net - all in pursuit of that.
I think waking to your life happens in many ways, that point in Berkeley where I realized all that work was for nothing but my own education - I saw that no matter what else I do, my old habits of procrastination and delay - not that I'm lazy, I work hard, I'm just not good at finsihing stuff sometimes - saw that I'll never achieve my dreams without becoming more effective.
My last few blogs have mentoned the search for clarity about what to do next - where there is none. Can I just admit that I don't know? One thing I do know - I've learned some things about myself over the last few months - things that have to shape all my future decisions, or else I'd be turning my back on myself - my faithful travelling companion. Jesus, I've done that before. Left that poor fker waiting by the side of the road for years...
So, now it's time to blend travel and work, and see if that part of my "me-as-an-experiment" experiment works out like I hoped. ;)
I think it's safe to say that follow-through is another point of personal power - things started and not finished hang out there in the ethers, draining it.
In truth, every moment is a struggle to wake to our lives, I wonder if the best way is to not try.
Here's a John Cage quote, not the one I was looking for, but potentially appropriate,
"The highest purpose is to have no purpose at all. This puts one in accord with nature, in her manner of operation."
If we stop trying to wake up to our lives, stop treating them as if our real lfe is something outside, beyond what we see and experience every day - what will happen? I'll tell you if I manage to let go of trying.
This was not what I had planned to learn in Berkeley, but I'll take the lesson and be thankful for it.
Slowly, bit by bit, I am waking to my life, as we all are.
Now? - I'm living on raw food, yoga and friendship on the Sunshine Coast. It's snowing, it's beautiful outside. The Universe and I are getting along fine. I still wait at these crossroads, knowing I won't be here forever, happy to be here today.
I got a giftbox from my brother in the mail yesterday, there were many cool things in it, one of which was a little stuffed pelican named 'Mully' - to fly high and far. Another, a photocopied page with A Warrior's Creed on it, about 18 lines from an anonymous samurai, written in the fourteenth century, on it is this:
I have no designs: I make "seizing opportunity by the forelock" my design.
I had worked hard on it; many many hours.
It was a moment of awakening: that time passes, and whatever you want to do - you have to do it now, in the never-ending present. It inspired me to start this blog.
I sent a link to a friend the other day for John Cage's 4'33'' - one of my favorite pieces of music. I found out about him from the Tragically Hip song 'Tiger the Lion,' I was entranced by the line, "Simply to wake to your life...", as that was what I was trying to do - this step out in life - leaving what was ostensibly my home, living without a net - all in pursuit of that.
I think waking to your life happens in many ways, that point in Berkeley where I realized all that work was for nothing but my own education - I saw that no matter what else I do, my old habits of procrastination and delay - not that I'm lazy, I work hard, I'm just not good at finsihing stuff sometimes - saw that I'll never achieve my dreams without becoming more effective.
My last few blogs have mentoned the search for clarity about what to do next - where there is none. Can I just admit that I don't know? One thing I do know - I've learned some things about myself over the last few months - things that have to shape all my future decisions, or else I'd be turning my back on myself - my faithful travelling companion. Jesus, I've done that before. Left that poor fker waiting by the side of the road for years...
So, now it's time to blend travel and work, and see if that part of my "me-as-an-experiment" experiment works out like I hoped. ;)
I think it's safe to say that follow-through is another point of personal power - things started and not finished hang out there in the ethers, draining it.
In truth, every moment is a struggle to wake to our lives, I wonder if the best way is to not try.
Here's a John Cage quote, not the one I was looking for, but potentially appropriate,
"The highest purpose is to have no purpose at all. This puts one in accord with nature, in her manner of operation."
If we stop trying to wake up to our lives, stop treating them as if our real lfe is something outside, beyond what we see and experience every day - what will happen? I'll tell you if I manage to let go of trying.
This was not what I had planned to learn in Berkeley, but I'll take the lesson and be thankful for it.
Slowly, bit by bit, I am waking to my life, as we all are.
Now? - I'm living on raw food, yoga and friendship on the Sunshine Coast. It's snowing, it's beautiful outside. The Universe and I are getting along fine. I still wait at these crossroads, knowing I won't be here forever, happy to be here today.
I got a giftbox from my brother in the mail yesterday, there were many cool things in it, one of which was a little stuffed pelican named 'Mully' - to fly high and far. Another, a photocopied page with A Warrior's Creed on it, about 18 lines from an anonymous samurai, written in the fourteenth century, on it is this:
I have no designs: I make "seizing opportunity by the forelock" my design.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
in the Sunshine of my Love (wild horses)
Spent the last week or two on the Sunshine Coast, went to Vancouver for a few days - and couldn't wait to come back. Now I am here again, at Roberts Creek, staying with some great friends.
It's the first time I've felt that in my travels - the desire to go back to a place I've just been.
"Thoughts on travel, love, service, healthfood, homelessness"...
Home.
This is the sixteenth entry on this journey. I don't think there's any resolution to the questions I've been posing - that's not the point. How do we best serve? How do we balance fullfilling ourselves with fulfilling our role in the world? Is there even any difference between the two?
How drastically my plans, thoughts, aims, have changed in ten days. I'm glad, and I'm happy. The road goes ever on and on.
High in Nepal, the lock sprang at last:
There Vishnu lies entrancd upon his pool,
And there I was touched deeply and held fast
Home is where the heart is. A friend, my roommate in my first apartment after leaving a more stable life in Halifax in 2007, wrote that on a small gift she gave me years ago. It's a more complex cliche than it initially sounds. Really embracing it means - embracing uncertainty. Not to be a butterfly in a storm - blown hither and thither by the whims of what 'my heart wants' but to be a butterfly emerging from a coccoon - into a new sense of reality and the possibilities of life. Where is one's heart? What is our deepest passion? Herein lies, I think, the answer to the question of how we balance our role in the world with our personal needs.
So, here I am on the Sunshine Coast. The other day, in a dreamy moment, I had a vision of wild horses over my heart - a herd of them, galloping across the plain - free, running, simply for the joy of life.
My heart wants to be here now, for the friends I've made, the love all around me, will I ultimately stay or go? I don't know. Can I find work here? I don't know. Today, I am simply running, niether to nor away, but for the joy of it.
The horses - represent that feeling, it can (theoretically) be found anywhere - I have found it (again) through travel. Now I recognize it more clearly than when I was young: the vital power of life / the Universe, expressing itself through your passions and dreams. If it's here, I'll stay here, if it's in Vancouver, LA, Dubai, or Halifax - I'll go there. Ultimately - it's just in me. But I tried telling myself that while living in Peterborough - man, it was a hard road to hoe (no offence to anyone).
Nothing takes priority over being alive - the great lesson from one of my favorite characters in literature - the mother from The Virgin and the Gypsy, by D.H. Lawrence. She's not even in the book, just mentioned a few times - she leaves, her family and everything - to be alive. Not to say you can't have it in a relationship, but simply to say that it always takes precedence, always.
For me, as a horse-hearted person, I need someone who also wants to run, run, run. Not necessarily literally - but to live a life of passion.
I promised something on health food too, so here it is: I've put on weight. For those who don't know me, that's a challenge - I'm chronically slim. Strange, while travelling. And I eat less. Smaller meals, I'm more easily satisfied. I see, that through the things I've faced in life to get to this point, deaths of my parents, divorce, going back to school at a later age, all to get me here - as a homeless wanderer, a hobo, a 'wandering knight' - I am fullfilled. All those years, all that food I used to eat, was to satisfy a deeper hunger: a hunger for myself.
It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ; "man is not made pure by what goes in his mouth, but by what comes out." Indeed.
But it's still fun to eat healthy and feel strong and energetic.
I started a raw food/yoga thirty day challenge yesterday, with some friends, and was up at 4:30 am for an hour and a half of yoga - it felt great. Good to be fulfilled in my spirit, heart and body.
In the last few weeks on the SSC, I've solidified some wonderful relationships, friendships, some very light but meaningful romance, and made new friends as well. All very welcoming and inviting - of me into their lives. I have been honoured by some wonderful people lately - wanting to be my friend, wanting to share.
There is so much love here - for/from one person, many, myself. I am still on the hinge of deciding, (finding out?) what to do next, and know what to follow - it's that beautiful feeling I have managed to find on this trip: of being me, and following my heart.
I'll be with the wild horses, wherever they are...
It's the first time I've felt that in my travels - the desire to go back to a place I've just been.
"Thoughts on travel, love, service, healthfood, homelessness"...
Home.
This is the sixteenth entry on this journey. I don't think there's any resolution to the questions I've been posing - that's not the point. How do we best serve? How do we balance fullfilling ourselves with fulfilling our role in the world? Is there even any difference between the two?
How drastically my plans, thoughts, aims, have changed in ten days. I'm glad, and I'm happy. The road goes ever on and on.
High in Nepal, the lock sprang at last:
There Vishnu lies entrancd upon his pool,
And there I was touched deeply and held fast
Home is where the heart is. A friend, my roommate in my first apartment after leaving a more stable life in Halifax in 2007, wrote that on a small gift she gave me years ago. It's a more complex cliche than it initially sounds. Really embracing it means - embracing uncertainty. Not to be a butterfly in a storm - blown hither and thither by the whims of what 'my heart wants' but to be a butterfly emerging from a coccoon - into a new sense of reality and the possibilities of life. Where is one's heart? What is our deepest passion? Herein lies, I think, the answer to the question of how we balance our role in the world with our personal needs.
So, here I am on the Sunshine Coast. The other day, in a dreamy moment, I had a vision of wild horses over my heart - a herd of them, galloping across the plain - free, running, simply for the joy of life.
My heart wants to be here now, for the friends I've made, the love all around me, will I ultimately stay or go? I don't know. Can I find work here? I don't know. Today, I am simply running, niether to nor away, but for the joy of it.
The horses - represent that feeling, it can (theoretically) be found anywhere - I have found it (again) through travel. Now I recognize it more clearly than when I was young: the vital power of life / the Universe, expressing itself through your passions and dreams. If it's here, I'll stay here, if it's in Vancouver, LA, Dubai, or Halifax - I'll go there. Ultimately - it's just in me. But I tried telling myself that while living in Peterborough - man, it was a hard road to hoe (no offence to anyone).
Nothing takes priority over being alive - the great lesson from one of my favorite characters in literature - the mother from The Virgin and the Gypsy, by D.H. Lawrence. She's not even in the book, just mentioned a few times - she leaves, her family and everything - to be alive. Not to say you can't have it in a relationship, but simply to say that it always takes precedence, always.
For me, as a horse-hearted person, I need someone who also wants to run, run, run. Not necessarily literally - but to live a life of passion.
I promised something on health food too, so here it is: I've put on weight. For those who don't know me, that's a challenge - I'm chronically slim. Strange, while travelling. And I eat less. Smaller meals, I'm more easily satisfied. I see, that through the things I've faced in life to get to this point, deaths of my parents, divorce, going back to school at a later age, all to get me here - as a homeless wanderer, a hobo, a 'wandering knight' - I am fullfilled. All those years, all that food I used to eat, was to satisfy a deeper hunger: a hunger for myself.
It would be easier to roll up the entire sky into
a small cloth than it would be to obtain true happiness
without knowing the Self.
Conclusion (though I promised none): the best health food is to live your life fully, to be who you are, and to follow yor heart. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ; "man is not made pure by what goes in his mouth, but by what comes out." Indeed.
But it's still fun to eat healthy and feel strong and energetic.
I started a raw food/yoga thirty day challenge yesterday, with some friends, and was up at 4:30 am for an hour and a half of yoga - it felt great. Good to be fulfilled in my spirit, heart and body.
In the last few weeks on the SSC, I've solidified some wonderful relationships, friendships, some very light but meaningful romance, and made new friends as well. All very welcoming and inviting - of me into their lives. I have been honoured by some wonderful people lately - wanting to be my friend, wanting to share.
There is so much love here - for/from one person, many, myself. I am still on the hinge of deciding, (finding out?) what to do next, and know what to follow - it's that beautiful feeling I have managed to find on this trip: of being me, and following my heart.
I'll be with the wild horses, wherever they are...
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
California
I think this'll be a long one. Winding and curvy like Hwy 1 along the coast north of Fort Bragg.
California.
My brother suggested I read The Talisman by Steven King, before leaving, back in the spring. It's about a quest - but for what? A thing called the Talisman, which could unite two worlds, cure a sick woman, help a boy become himself. And more.
I suppose I am trying to unite two worlds as well, or I have, or I am seeing I don't need to because it's already done.
As I mentioned in my last Captain's log - I recently came across a journal entry from May or so - "I WANT TO GO TO CALIFORNIA".
I did.
I loved it there. I didn't want to stay any longer. Didn't need to live there. I thought that was why I was going - to scope it out for masters programs, maybe stick around for a year or two, but no. I miss it, in the way you miss a lover that you didn't part from badly, or well - you just parted.
California I'm coming home
I'm going to see the folks I dig
I'll even kiss a Sunset pig
California I'm coming home
Indeed, it is home, for a dreamer. But I don't need to be there, it is in my heart.
Funny, so many people said great things about it, but many also scorned it - the big cities, the class divisons, the violence - all true.
But it is the land of dreams. I spent a month and a week there, it changed my life.
I drove in on Hwy 101 from Oregon in mid August, crossed the bridge with the golden bears on it, took a picture of myself riding one, and another pic in front of the sign - 'You have entered California.' A dream come true. Simple dreams - it's not a hard place to get to, but you never know in life - I tend to enter the satisfaction of a dream with childlike joy. Thankfully ;)
I camped in the redwoods, under California stars, hiked amongst them, talked to them, talked to people around. But only in a superficial way, I was not looking for any connection - just to be. That song, by Billy Bragg - I had been listening to for a month or two by this time,
I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
There's some words to relate to California - 'like to..', 'going to..' - future-oriented, looking to a place soon ahead. I am in California in my heart, I hope I always will be.
The first time I went there was six months ago - I went to a conference in Tofino in May - on Ethnobiology - it was filled with Indiana Jonses and real life Shamans. I only had a week off, which I resented, and resolved to do all the things I wanted to do anyway. I wanted to go to California, I'd been to BC already, I love it, but my soul was yearning for someplace new. I flew into LA, at one am on a Friday, rented a car and drove to Surf City Hostel at Hermosa Beach. Went out and walked around with the drunk teenagers and ate a wrap, laughed at the whole thing - the fact that I should have been nervous in such a setting. It wasn't bravery - it was joy. At being alive and someplace new, on an adventure!
Drove up the coast to San Fran the next day, and took a train from there the following night - the Starlight Express to Seattle, and a bus to Canada.
Everyone in the world dreams of going there, being there, living there. Wealth, and beautiful weather, 'perfect people,' gorgeous landscape; just the energy.
In the Talisman there was another world, a parallel reality - "The Territories". I could certaianly feel it in Califonria. I spent a lot of time alone out doors. I went to Berkely to finish and publish a paper on depleted uranuim munitions - bomb and tank shells tipped with uranium left over from the nuclear power generation process. My paper argued that they are illegal according to international law, and that states could, in the future, be held responsible for their use. I went to Berekely for their library, since I am no longer a student or employed, I don't have access to great online datatbaes etc. What I found there was - my paper! Someone else published it already!! Ha, a minor setback, a fleshowound! I cut yor bloody leg off..
Enough Monty Python (for anyone who didn't pick that up..). I had put a lot of work into it, and hung some hopes on it too. It left me in Berkeley with some time on my hands, and the need to think. I spent a day in Tilden Park. I started reading, in Oregon the night before entering Cali and going to Berkeley, The Way of the Peaceful Warrior. What had restrained me so long from starting it? Everyone wanted me to ;)
The main character, on the first page, is also going to Berkeley, mind you - as a student. Funny coincidence.
I spent an afternoon and evening at Point Reyes - it was cool and the wind was cutting, the sun was bright like one of those lamps in the post office that shines through everything, shining through me. I felt transparent; the wind and sun and sand all passing through me. I walked into the setting sun along the beach with the wind in my face trying to push me back. I was lost in the beauty of it all.
Two young women rode by on horses, galloping, then walking. They stopped and chatted later, pretty and bright, making fun of each other because one fell off her horse. I walked out to the end of the beach, a long walk. A cove lay before me, inland, with huge cliffs on the other side. Outland - the sea, the holy sea.
That first time I came, back in May, on my drive up from LA to San Fran I stopped at a place I later named Talisman Break, a bit of park with a river and gravelly beach at the bottom of some cliffs. It was my only real nature stop in a 14 hr driving day. Well, that and the elephant seal beach - but who could miss giant animals laying on each other and farting?
Talisman Break is a magical place, I have learned they are scattered throughout California. Like gates to another world, but it is inside - it is choosing to live our dreams, living in the world of our dreams.
Will you take me as I am,
strung out on another man?
California comin home...
Yes, yes it will.
It was a sunny day, as I drove in I got a random text message from an old girlfriend back home, and said sorry, I'm in California. I parked, met some nice Mexican people and we took each other's pictures. Then I walked around the bend in the rock, over the stream/river, and - pow! I was a child again, and the adult I want to be. I walked, in awe, dug the loose rock in the cliff face, touched the sea, picked up some pebbles and had a leak, and thought, 'here I am.'
I played a bit and ran around, at one with nature, forgetting. I walked back around the corner, crossing the river, I jumped from rock to rock, probably talking to myself and the river, and God, I squatted down, and in baptism of the beauty splashed water on my face and head, pushed my hair back, laughed, stood. I started springing again, then, startled, came up and kind of snapped back to reality - a person! Wtf? (Ah yes, this is a public park, not 'Pat's Playground':) A hippy guy sitting by the river was looking at me, I said, 'beautiful place huh?' He said, 'ookedike oo wwer iiggninit' I said "what?" He said, carefully - "looked like you were digging it." I laughed quietly, thought, I am home. Said, "yep, I guess I got a little lost in my own world," he smiled, I went my way.
On my second visit - Aug/Sept - I made a friend in Berkeley - a street artist, a really good artist, an older English guy full of piss n vinegar, and piercing intelligence. I helped him with his tables and we talked about girls, art, politics.
I spent a few days in Santa Cruz with a new friend - what did I call him in a previous blog?.. Karachi! We swam and talked about spiritual stuff and the law, he introduced me to the Bhagwan. That's where I got poison oak (he warned me) which changed my course a bit, keeping me in California past my birthday, which was not really the plan. But clearly was the plan.
It was good, I went to Long Beach, south of LA, and stayed with an old friend. He was great, a champion host - on my worst poison oak suffering days, he'd get up in the morning say, "do your stuff, take a shower, coat yourself in ointment etc - then we'll figure out what we're going to do today for Fun!" And we would. It was a lot of fun.
I stayed with him over two weeks, partied, healed, danced, met a lot of great people. Learned - I learned a lot from Mike - another 'silver fox' on my journey. Also met his friend Lou - who travelled the world for 10 years straight, his passports from 1965-75 have glued in extra pages for all the stamps - from countries that don't even exist anymore. Pretty inspiring.
Then it was time to move on, I had a friend in Canada I had to come back and help move, so I packed up and took the cool (temperature-wise) roads, for my rash. Stopped again at Talisman Break, Mt. Shasta, stayed in little cheap hotels - 30$ a night, clean and with showers. I don't know where they were, I got in after dark, left as soon as I woke up. But they treated me well.
There was a ridge on that Mountain, sharp and straight. At 8 or 9,000 ft I found a 100' length of new climbing rope (as I mentioned in a previous blog), I hadn't seen this connection before:
Throw me a line, if I reach it in time
Meet you up there where the path runs straight and high
This journey, ever more so - is full of meaningful coincidences. I keep naming different starting points to it - how about this one? - reading Synchronicity by Carl Jung three times when I was thirteen - which lead to my moment of clarity about my life, which has lead me here.
I said to a friend the other night - "I started this blog about my outer journey, but it turned out to be more about my inner journey." She said, "that's really what is always is, isn't it?"
That was my time in California, what was it all for? Everyone on Earth dreams about it, and rightly so. It is a place of giant landscapes, breathtaking natural beauty, and young culture, which has its disadvantages, but - never looks back, disregards the past, indeed, watch out. When "the children of the sun begin to awake."
I got what I went for - woken up - to my own dreams, to being who I am - the point of this whole process.
Like BC, and the summer I spent there 17 years ago - it's in me now, and I will return to it many times.
Like that summer in BC on the beach, it has revealed to me: the limitlessness of life, and ourselves.
Find a queen without a king
They say she plays guitar and cries and sings, la-la-la-la
Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born
Standin' on a hill in the mountain of dreams
Tellin' myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems
California.
My brother suggested I read The Talisman by Steven King, before leaving, back in the spring. It's about a quest - but for what? A thing called the Talisman, which could unite two worlds, cure a sick woman, help a boy become himself. And more.
I suppose I am trying to unite two worlds as well, or I have, or I am seeing I don't need to because it's already done.
As I mentioned in my last Captain's log - I recently came across a journal entry from May or so - "I WANT TO GO TO CALIFORNIA".
I did.
I loved it there. I didn't want to stay any longer. Didn't need to live there. I thought that was why I was going - to scope it out for masters programs, maybe stick around for a year or two, but no. I miss it, in the way you miss a lover that you didn't part from badly, or well - you just parted.
California I'm coming home
I'm going to see the folks I dig
I'll even kiss a Sunset pig
California I'm coming home
Indeed, it is home, for a dreamer. But I don't need to be there, it is in my heart.
Funny, so many people said great things about it, but many also scorned it - the big cities, the class divisons, the violence - all true.
But it is the land of dreams. I spent a month and a week there, it changed my life.
I drove in on Hwy 101 from Oregon in mid August, crossed the bridge with the golden bears on it, took a picture of myself riding one, and another pic in front of the sign - 'You have entered California.' A dream come true. Simple dreams - it's not a hard place to get to, but you never know in life - I tend to enter the satisfaction of a dream with childlike joy. Thankfully ;)
I camped in the redwoods, under California stars, hiked amongst them, talked to them, talked to people around. But only in a superficial way, I was not looking for any connection - just to be. That song, by Billy Bragg - I had been listening to for a month or two by this time,
I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
There's some words to relate to California - 'like to..', 'going to..' - future-oriented, looking to a place soon ahead. I am in California in my heart, I hope I always will be.
The first time I went there was six months ago - I went to a conference in Tofino in May - on Ethnobiology - it was filled with Indiana Jonses and real life Shamans. I only had a week off, which I resented, and resolved to do all the things I wanted to do anyway. I wanted to go to California, I'd been to BC already, I love it, but my soul was yearning for someplace new. I flew into LA, at one am on a Friday, rented a car and drove to Surf City Hostel at Hermosa Beach. Went out and walked around with the drunk teenagers and ate a wrap, laughed at the whole thing - the fact that I should have been nervous in such a setting. It wasn't bravery - it was joy. At being alive and someplace new, on an adventure!
Drove up the coast to San Fran the next day, and took a train from there the following night - the Starlight Express to Seattle, and a bus to Canada.
Everyone in the world dreams of going there, being there, living there. Wealth, and beautiful weather, 'perfect people,' gorgeous landscape; just the energy.
In the Talisman there was another world, a parallel reality - "The Territories". I could certaianly feel it in Califonria. I spent a lot of time alone out doors. I went to Berkely to finish and publish a paper on depleted uranuim munitions - bomb and tank shells tipped with uranium left over from the nuclear power generation process. My paper argued that they are illegal according to international law, and that states could, in the future, be held responsible for their use. I went to Berekely for their library, since I am no longer a student or employed, I don't have access to great online datatbaes etc. What I found there was - my paper! Someone else published it already!! Ha, a minor setback, a fleshowound! I cut yor bloody leg off..
Enough Monty Python (for anyone who didn't pick that up..). I had put a lot of work into it, and hung some hopes on it too. It left me in Berkeley with some time on my hands, and the need to think. I spent a day in Tilden Park. I started reading, in Oregon the night before entering Cali and going to Berkeley, The Way of the Peaceful Warrior. What had restrained me so long from starting it? Everyone wanted me to ;)
The main character, on the first page, is also going to Berkeley, mind you - as a student. Funny coincidence.
I spent an afternoon and evening at Point Reyes - it was cool and the wind was cutting, the sun was bright like one of those lamps in the post office that shines through everything, shining through me. I felt transparent; the wind and sun and sand all passing through me. I walked into the setting sun along the beach with the wind in my face trying to push me back. I was lost in the beauty of it all.
Two young women rode by on horses, galloping, then walking. They stopped and chatted later, pretty and bright, making fun of each other because one fell off her horse. I walked out to the end of the beach, a long walk. A cove lay before me, inland, with huge cliffs on the other side. Outland - the sea, the holy sea.
That first time I came, back in May, on my drive up from LA to San Fran I stopped at a place I later named Talisman Break, a bit of park with a river and gravelly beach at the bottom of some cliffs. It was my only real nature stop in a 14 hr driving day. Well, that and the elephant seal beach - but who could miss giant animals laying on each other and farting?
Talisman Break is a magical place, I have learned they are scattered throughout California. Like gates to another world, but it is inside - it is choosing to live our dreams, living in the world of our dreams.
Will you take me as I am,
strung out on another man?
California comin home...
Yes, yes it will.
It was a sunny day, as I drove in I got a random text message from an old girlfriend back home, and said sorry, I'm in California. I parked, met some nice Mexican people and we took each other's pictures. Then I walked around the bend in the rock, over the stream/river, and - pow! I was a child again, and the adult I want to be. I walked, in awe, dug the loose rock in the cliff face, touched the sea, picked up some pebbles and had a leak, and thought, 'here I am.'
I played a bit and ran around, at one with nature, forgetting. I walked back around the corner, crossing the river, I jumped from rock to rock, probably talking to myself and the river, and God, I squatted down, and in baptism of the beauty splashed water on my face and head, pushed my hair back, laughed, stood. I started springing again, then, startled, came up and kind of snapped back to reality - a person! Wtf? (Ah yes, this is a public park, not 'Pat's Playground':) A hippy guy sitting by the river was looking at me, I said, 'beautiful place huh?' He said, 'ookedike oo wwer iiggninit' I said "what?" He said, carefully - "looked like you were digging it." I laughed quietly, thought, I am home. Said, "yep, I guess I got a little lost in my own world," he smiled, I went my way.
On my second visit - Aug/Sept - I made a friend in Berkeley - a street artist, a really good artist, an older English guy full of piss n vinegar, and piercing intelligence. I helped him with his tables and we talked about girls, art, politics.
I spent a few days in Santa Cruz with a new friend - what did I call him in a previous blog?.. Karachi! We swam and talked about spiritual stuff and the law, he introduced me to the Bhagwan. That's where I got poison oak (he warned me) which changed my course a bit, keeping me in California past my birthday, which was not really the plan. But clearly was the plan.
It was good, I went to Long Beach, south of LA, and stayed with an old friend. He was great, a champion host - on my worst poison oak suffering days, he'd get up in the morning say, "do your stuff, take a shower, coat yourself in ointment etc - then we'll figure out what we're going to do today for Fun!" And we would. It was a lot of fun.
I stayed with him over two weeks, partied, healed, danced, met a lot of great people. Learned - I learned a lot from Mike - another 'silver fox' on my journey. Also met his friend Lou - who travelled the world for 10 years straight, his passports from 1965-75 have glued in extra pages for all the stamps - from countries that don't even exist anymore. Pretty inspiring.
Then it was time to move on, I had a friend in Canada I had to come back and help move, so I packed up and took the cool (temperature-wise) roads, for my rash. Stopped again at Talisman Break, Mt. Shasta, stayed in little cheap hotels - 30$ a night, clean and with showers. I don't know where they were, I got in after dark, left as soon as I woke up. But they treated me well.
There was a ridge on that Mountain, sharp and straight. At 8 or 9,000 ft I found a 100' length of new climbing rope (as I mentioned in a previous blog), I hadn't seen this connection before:
Throw me a line, if I reach it in time
Meet you up there where the path runs straight and high
This journey, ever more so - is full of meaningful coincidences. I keep naming different starting points to it - how about this one? - reading Synchronicity by Carl Jung three times when I was thirteen - which lead to my moment of clarity about my life, which has lead me here.
I said to a friend the other night - "I started this blog about my outer journey, but it turned out to be more about my inner journey." She said, "that's really what is always is, isn't it?"
That was my time in California, what was it all for? Everyone on Earth dreams about it, and rightly so. It is a place of giant landscapes, breathtaking natural beauty, and young culture, which has its disadvantages, but - never looks back, disregards the past, indeed, watch out. When "the children of the sun begin to awake."
I got what I went for - woken up - to my own dreams, to being who I am - the point of this whole process.
Like BC, and the summer I spent there 17 years ago - it's in me now, and I will return to it many times.
Like that summer in BC on the beach, it has revealed to me: the limitlessness of life, and ourselves.
Find a queen without a king
They say she plays guitar and cries and sings, la-la-la-la
Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born
Standin' on a hill in the mountain of dreams
Tellin' myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems
Friday, November 5, 2010
Pressing Pause in Vancouver (2 of swords)
Here I am in Vancouver, I thought my next step was clear - but now it's not. It's November, but still feels like summer to me in some ways, since I was in Peterborough last November (brrr), and since I'm still not working, but just wandering around, goofing off ;)
In looking for answers, I figure if I want to go deeper I should just keep digging in the same hole. I've been wondering about the whole 'knight' concept - as I have apparently attached myself to it.
I realized today that it's not an answer, but a question. How do we live a life of passion in this world - which so readily disarms us, baffles us from our path, distracts us from anything relevant; dulls our flame?
I've been reading 'Knight' books, I guess it just seemed appropriate, some old and some new; Percival and the Presence of God, The Quest of the Holy Grail... although enjoyable, they haven't yielded much in the way of answers.
Until now.
Chretien de Troyes Ywain: The Knight of the Lion, written betwen 1160 and 1180 AD gave me the clue I have been looking for to understanding this quest of mine. I've been trying to figure out how to live a life of passion - but within boundaries. Not of propriety or stuffy morality, but to have the limits cordoned off by, as with the path, some higher ideal. Something that embraced, allowed, understood, the flame of life,
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age
And mine, Dylan.
Today I walked through East Hastings, all over downtown, contemplating my role on earth, my fathers (again) - the fact that my grandfather lived on the streets in Vancouver in 1924 is not lost on me, I reflected today on the wisdom of that for him - that he had served in WWI from when he was 15 until he was 18, and I can only imagine a lot of wandering was needed to clear that slate. Thanks Slim, for not passing those horrors onto me.
So I know my time is not wasted. I'm not working, but I'm learning about myself. He went back to Nova Scotia eventually, was a good man, had a family, became known alternately as "Slim" and "the Enforcer of Herring Cove." He was apparently a sweet gentle man, soft spoken, but with a strong sense of justice and a short temper, and years spent on the prairies in the 1920's as a "take-all-comers bareknuckle boxer" to back him up. From the stories I've heard he dissuaded many bullies from their wayward path. Violence isn't really our tool anymore, but I know - there is a distant goal, and at the same time now is always it.
So here I am in Vancouver, pressing pause.
These words are on the first page of this book, the earliest of the King Arthur stories:
The good King Arthur of Britain, whose knighthood inspires us to be valiant and courteous, held a noble court as befits a king on that lavish feast day which men are accustomed to call Pentecost. The King was then at Carduel in Wales.
Having dined in the hall, the knights gathered at the invitation of the ladies and damsels. Some of them told adventure stories and others spoke about love, its pangs and sorrows and also its joys, which are the lot of the disciples of the order of love, still at that time vigorous and honorable even though it has few followers nowadays.
Coincidentally, it was on Pentecost that my journey also started, in a way - when I made my decision to not only go, but to make these life changes that I'm in the midst of. I find this knight story much more reassuring (also coincidentally - my grandfather's name was Arthur, as my father and brother).
This is a very different vision of knighthood, not the chaste and perfect vision of the later books, but one of men and women driven by passion, at times violent, prone to error, broken-heartedness, reaching for something beyond their grasp, both as individuals and more broadly. But it is this striving which brings them to the best expression of themselves as human beings.
In setting out to be something you can never achieve one is only making themselves the same as any other 'knight.' Here the knight and the Bhagwan meet - seeking wholeness, with love as the ideal, accepting one's imperfections.
And what does this mean for me, here, today? I'm not sure where I'm going next. Leafing through a journal from six months ago, I found a page with big bold letters - I WANT TO GO TO CALIFORNIA!
I did that.
I've done the things I set out to do, except - figuring out what to do next.
The second time I hitchhiked across Canada I set out for Alaska. Still haven't been there. In Northern Alberta, on the "Alaska Highway," I was almost robbed and killed one night. The next morning, resolve in hand (but having had no sleep) I walked back onto the highway and continued. Again I was threatened, in a serious way, before 8am! I turned an eye to the sky and said, what's up? Was the Universe just putting roadblocks in front of me to test my resolve? Or was it trying to tell me I was on the wrong path? The answer lay within.
Once I really looked at myself I realized I wanted to go to Alaska for ego, not for me, not because I had a burning passion to be there. A friend later said, "I would have died sooner than give up on my goal." I said, "Mmhm, that's for you."
I crossed the highway, turned my sign around, wrote 'Jasper' on the back, and headed straight for Schooner Cove/Long Beach, south of Tofino - where I spent the next two moths, probably the most important and formative of my life.
The knights in this book (Ywain) tell of their defeats. And their best moves are made for Love.
It doesn't really matter if I go to the Mideast or somewhere else, I am travelling to my Self - to the best expression of me I can come up with in a few short decades on Earth.
I have a Tarot deck I lost a card from years ago. I lost the 9 of coins in 2006 - 'self-worth', sadly appropriate at that point in my life. Now I pick the cards out, give them away or carry them around and then leave them somewhere; a bankmachine, tucked in a book in a bookstore - for someone else's knock of destiny. They're little so they fit in your wallet. Yesterday I randomly picked out, for me - the two of swords. It shows a woman in white robes, kneeling, blindfolded, with a sword in each hand crossed over her shoulders. Armed and ready to fight, but waiting for her sacred order(s). Pause.
Wait.
I'll take my mixed messages from myself and the Universe and wait, as a traveller there are worse places to be in to take a breath. This weekend I will continue pressing pause on the Sunshine Coast. :) Life is hard for an errand knight...
Men there have lived who wrestled with the ocean;
I was afraid - the polyp was their shroud.
I was afraid. That shore of your decision
Awaits beyond this street where in the crowd
Your face is blown, an apparition, past.
Renounce the night as I, and we must meet
As weary nomads in this desert at last,
Borne in the lost procession of these feet.
In looking for answers, I figure if I want to go deeper I should just keep digging in the same hole. I've been wondering about the whole 'knight' concept - as I have apparently attached myself to it.
I realized today that it's not an answer, but a question. How do we live a life of passion in this world - which so readily disarms us, baffles us from our path, distracts us from anything relevant; dulls our flame?
I've been reading 'Knight' books, I guess it just seemed appropriate, some old and some new; Percival and the Presence of God, The Quest of the Holy Grail... although enjoyable, they haven't yielded much in the way of answers.
Until now.
Chretien de Troyes Ywain: The Knight of the Lion, written betwen 1160 and 1180 AD gave me the clue I have been looking for to understanding this quest of mine. I've been trying to figure out how to live a life of passion - but within boundaries. Not of propriety or stuffy morality, but to have the limits cordoned off by, as with the path, some higher ideal. Something that embraced, allowed, understood, the flame of life,
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age
And mine, Dylan.
Today I walked through East Hastings, all over downtown, contemplating my role on earth, my fathers (again) - the fact that my grandfather lived on the streets in Vancouver in 1924 is not lost on me, I reflected today on the wisdom of that for him - that he had served in WWI from when he was 15 until he was 18, and I can only imagine a lot of wandering was needed to clear that slate. Thanks Slim, for not passing those horrors onto me.
So I know my time is not wasted. I'm not working, but I'm learning about myself. He went back to Nova Scotia eventually, was a good man, had a family, became known alternately as "Slim" and "the Enforcer of Herring Cove." He was apparently a sweet gentle man, soft spoken, but with a strong sense of justice and a short temper, and years spent on the prairies in the 1920's as a "take-all-comers bareknuckle boxer" to back him up. From the stories I've heard he dissuaded many bullies from their wayward path. Violence isn't really our tool anymore, but I know - there is a distant goal, and at the same time now is always it.
So here I am in Vancouver, pressing pause.
These words are on the first page of this book, the earliest of the King Arthur stories:
The good King Arthur of Britain, whose knighthood inspires us to be valiant and courteous, held a noble court as befits a king on that lavish feast day which men are accustomed to call Pentecost. The King was then at Carduel in Wales.
Having dined in the hall, the knights gathered at the invitation of the ladies and damsels. Some of them told adventure stories and others spoke about love, its pangs and sorrows and also its joys, which are the lot of the disciples of the order of love, still at that time vigorous and honorable even though it has few followers nowadays.
Coincidentally, it was on Pentecost that my journey also started, in a way - when I made my decision to not only go, but to make these life changes that I'm in the midst of. I find this knight story much more reassuring (also coincidentally - my grandfather's name was Arthur, as my father and brother).
This is a very different vision of knighthood, not the chaste and perfect vision of the later books, but one of men and women driven by passion, at times violent, prone to error, broken-heartedness, reaching for something beyond their grasp, both as individuals and more broadly. But it is this striving which brings them to the best expression of themselves as human beings.
In setting out to be something you can never achieve one is only making themselves the same as any other 'knight.' Here the knight and the Bhagwan meet - seeking wholeness, with love as the ideal, accepting one's imperfections.
And what does this mean for me, here, today? I'm not sure where I'm going next. Leafing through a journal from six months ago, I found a page with big bold letters - I WANT TO GO TO CALIFORNIA!
I did that.
I've done the things I set out to do, except - figuring out what to do next.
The second time I hitchhiked across Canada I set out for Alaska. Still haven't been there. In Northern Alberta, on the "Alaska Highway," I was almost robbed and killed one night. The next morning, resolve in hand (but having had no sleep) I walked back onto the highway and continued. Again I was threatened, in a serious way, before 8am! I turned an eye to the sky and said, what's up? Was the Universe just putting roadblocks in front of me to test my resolve? Or was it trying to tell me I was on the wrong path? The answer lay within.
Once I really looked at myself I realized I wanted to go to Alaska for ego, not for me, not because I had a burning passion to be there. A friend later said, "I would have died sooner than give up on my goal." I said, "Mmhm, that's for you."
I crossed the highway, turned my sign around, wrote 'Jasper' on the back, and headed straight for Schooner Cove/Long Beach, south of Tofino - where I spent the next two moths, probably the most important and formative of my life.
The knights in this book (Ywain) tell of their defeats. And their best moves are made for Love.
It doesn't really matter if I go to the Mideast or somewhere else, I am travelling to my Self - to the best expression of me I can come up with in a few short decades on Earth.
I have a Tarot deck I lost a card from years ago. I lost the 9 of coins in 2006 - 'self-worth', sadly appropriate at that point in my life. Now I pick the cards out, give them away or carry them around and then leave them somewhere; a bankmachine, tucked in a book in a bookstore - for someone else's knock of destiny. They're little so they fit in your wallet. Yesterday I randomly picked out, for me - the two of swords. It shows a woman in white robes, kneeling, blindfolded, with a sword in each hand crossed over her shoulders. Armed and ready to fight, but waiting for her sacred order(s). Pause.
Wait.
I'll take my mixed messages from myself and the Universe and wait, as a traveller there are worse places to be in to take a breath. This weekend I will continue pressing pause on the Sunshine Coast. :) Life is hard for an errand knight...
Men there have lived who wrestled with the ocean;
I was afraid - the polyp was their shroud.
I was afraid. That shore of your decision
Awaits beyond this street where in the crowd
Your face is blown, an apparition, past.
Renounce the night as I, and we must meet
As weary nomads in this desert at last,
Borne in the lost procession of these feet.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Death on Quadra Island
Now in Vancouver, after a week on Quadra Island, I have had to revise this blog, since I revised my mind. I've never taken a week to write an entry before - please excuse the strange tenses!
It originally said:
"My friend Lamont said in an email today, "Carroll ("Julie's" husband said to me that there is a french saying (I wish I could remember the french) - "To choose is to refuse.""
Yet we must choose.
Ultimately.
Death is rebirth is Transformation. You cannot open one door without closing others. As I said in my last blog - I've decided to go to the Middle East. That means - not taking all the other roads that lay before me, some of them quite nice. The "Not's" are a huge source of personal power. We must have them, at times; so I says.
Quadra Island is a pretty laid back place, I'm staying with a friend who's housesitting a rental with lots of bedrooms, have my own bath, an island with an eagle's nest in front of us, otters, seals, boats and gulls. Lots of time to think.
Another friend, Argyle, is coming up from Vancouver to go to the Halloween Party at the legion here, should be fun. Sometimes I wonder - if the reason I'm so happy about travelling is because I have so many good friends and so much fun here on the west coast? Maybe I'll fall on my face if I go to the Middle-East. Oh well, if we burn, we burn.
Breathe in the sweet fire of love / I'm not afraid anymore
Sweet, sweet fire / I'm not alone
Which reminds me of something - I was afraid I'd feel alone on this trip, lonely. I certainly felt lonely a lot living in Peterborough, thought I'd be moreso here at times. Not so, very little lonely time. The least lonely has been (when I was alone) at Mt. Shasta in Northern California. I got there alone, after driving/ travelling by myself a few days, booked a cheap hotel and stayed there two nights. Never felt lonely. Especially the day up on the mountain. There's something about being in your right place, something magical.
Which also reminds me, a sub-theme - I keep falling in love with natural places - mountains, beaches, seas, trees. Maybe that's part of the reason I am never lonely. That, and I am with my own spirit, who's pretty friggin happy these days..
Halloween on Quadra Island rocked. I did not go as death, but a cowboy. Had a blast, Greg, Argyle, and I went to a local barn party, then got a taxi across-island in a rainstorm to the Legion. We danced our asses off, almost got in a fight, met some great women, and they couldn't make the debit machine work to charge us for our last round of beer - so it was free. I met a girl named "Virginia", now that's a name. Wow. Makes me think of green rolling hills, rivers, trees, and blue skies. Knowing my proclivity to fall in love with natural places, I should probably not call her.
The next day we took Greg's boat out, "the Strange Animal" for the afternoon - putted around with some friends, watched a pair of eagles tag-team a flock of seagulls - sheer brilliance, and a reminder of the value of two.
I drafted this blog on Friday, now it's Wednesday and I'm finishing it, the weekend left me thinking; do I really want to leave here, or am I just blowing smoke?
You say "I believe" or say without shame "I can't tell"
It originally said:
"My friend Lamont said in an email today, "Carroll ("Julie's" husband said to me that there is a french saying (I wish I could remember the french) - "To choose is to refuse.""
Yet we must choose.
Ultimately.
Death is rebirth is Transformation. You cannot open one door without closing others. As I said in my last blog - I've decided to go to the Middle East. That means - not taking all the other roads that lay before me, some of them quite nice. The "Not's" are a huge source of personal power. We must have them, at times; so I says.
Quadra Island is a pretty laid back place, I'm staying with a friend who's housesitting a rental with lots of bedrooms, have my own bath, an island with an eagle's nest in front of us, otters, seals, boats and gulls. Lots of time to think.
Another friend, Argyle, is coming up from Vancouver to go to the Halloween Party at the legion here, should be fun. Sometimes I wonder - if the reason I'm so happy about travelling is because I have so many good friends and so much fun here on the west coast? Maybe I'll fall on my face if I go to the Middle-East. Oh well, if we burn, we burn.
Breathe in the sweet fire of love / I'm not afraid anymore
Sweet, sweet fire / I'm not alone
Which reminds me of something - I was afraid I'd feel alone on this trip, lonely. I certainly felt lonely a lot living in Peterborough, thought I'd be moreso here at times. Not so, very little lonely time. The least lonely has been (when I was alone) at Mt. Shasta in Northern California. I got there alone, after driving/ travelling by myself a few days, booked a cheap hotel and stayed there two nights. Never felt lonely. Especially the day up on the mountain. There's something about being in your right place, something magical.
Which also reminds me, a sub-theme - I keep falling in love with natural places - mountains, beaches, seas, trees. Maybe that's part of the reason I am never lonely. That, and I am with my own spirit, who's pretty friggin happy these days..
Halloween on Quadra Island rocked. I did not go as death, but a cowboy. Had a blast, Greg, Argyle, and I went to a local barn party, then got a taxi across-island in a rainstorm to the Legion. We danced our asses off, almost got in a fight, met some great women, and they couldn't make the debit machine work to charge us for our last round of beer - so it was free. I met a girl named "Virginia", now that's a name. Wow. Makes me think of green rolling hills, rivers, trees, and blue skies. Knowing my proclivity to fall in love with natural places, I should probably not call her.
The next day we took Greg's boat out, "the Strange Animal" for the afternoon - putted around with some friends, watched a pair of eagles tag-team a flock of seagulls - sheer brilliance, and a reminder of the value of two.
I drafted this blog on Friday, now it's Wednesday and I'm finishing it, the weekend left me thinking; do I really want to leave here, or am I just blowing smoke?
You say "I believe" or say without shame "I can't tell"
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