the pursuit of Happiness (Merry Christmas)

On my way to Victoria tomorrow, then back here for a Tofino Christmas! Pretty happy about it. Pretty happy about living here..
Pretty happy about life. Pretty happy.

My brother's name is Arthur. We share a destiny in some way. I always wondered as a kid if I was Merlin. Not sure if I'm wise or powerful. But I was a very somber serious kid in many ways. Merlin aged backwards. That's one way we're alike. As I go on I seem to get simpler and take more joy out of life.

I love living here!
This is the most beautiful place I've ever been, and my spiritual home. I click with the people here. And the land. And the Sea.

Nothing is guaranteed in life, but for now I am grateful for the glories I have.

I remember hearing on cbc radio years ago - I was driving south down Hollis St, almost at the end of it, in my 1997 four door toyota tercel (I still love you), and someone quoted Carl Jung as having said, "happiness does not make people happy, meaning makes people happy."
Clearly - I've never forgotten it.

I saw it again this evening
black sail on a pale yellow sky
and just as before in a moment
it was gone where the gray gulls fly

Happiness is elusive. As meaning. What has meaning for us today may not tomorrow. And what we seek for tomorrow as our source of meaning - may not have it when we get there.

So I'm thrice blessed. I guess I could say again at this juncture- I write this blog for a reason. My life is not always easy. But it's good.

"One with your solar and lunar positions can achieve happiness by channeling your diverse interests and enthusiasm into service for others."


That's a quote from my "free-online-astrological-profile." Clearly (or not) I post it because I think it describes me. But I know not everyone will find meaning the same way I do. And that lots will. I wear a cape (see my 1st entry - http://errandknight.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-blog-my-chosen-lifestyle.html) so it's easier for others to too. I know lots already do, better than I ever will.

This is my backyard:

My cup overfloweth...

This place is so rich with meaning, and I am here for love. Am I still a traveller, why do I have what started as a travel blog? Yes, and - because we are all travellers, from our cages to our destinies, from birth till death. I have friends and a lovely person coming out to visit me. I won't have to count my blessings this year - they will count me.

Peace on Earth.

Goodwill to All.

through the Owl-Gate...

It was night-time when I drove back to Tofino last week, after a few days in Vancouver. The moon was bright. My one headlight wouldn't go on high-beam, so I drove by the moon.
My stereo wasn't working either. But if it was - I guess it woulda been playing - when the world is runnin down - you make the best of what's still around...

You think more without the stereo. I do anyway.

It wasn't "the pass", long past that - but a pass. And the point when I feel like you enter the Tofino-realm, where the rest of the world no longer holds as much sway. Like a Gate-Way. And I blessed this gate as I crossed. It's some mountains around Kennedy Lake that mark it for me. I felt, driving by the moon, tired, like it was the door to my house, and I was coming home. And as I stepped over the threshold I looked up, and said thanks.

I remember a few years ago noticing how people have quiet superstitions about passing through those little triangles by electric poles. You know - where a cable with a yellow plastic tube around it comes down on an angle. They're often in places on corners that make it more convenient to pass through, yet people go around. Why?

Once I thought about it I started seeing it a lot - people avoid anything that seems, psychologically - like a gateway. I eventually concluded, rightly or wrongly - that it's because portals represent change, irreversible change.
I started walking through them all. Bring it on, I figured, and have walked through yellow-plastic-wrapped triangles, crawled through holes under fallen logs in the woods, and certainly passed through any formal gateways at castles I've gone to school at.

Driving through that mountain pass the other night felt that way. I am making a life here in Tofino. It's irreversible.

There was an eclipse the other night -the 10th. I set my alarm for 5:50 am and went out in the yard in my underwear to see that it was raining and I could go back to bed. I saw instead, hanging in front of me - a twisted moon - an orange globe with a slice of silver. I went and watched it on Chestermans Beach with Gord Downie. It was at full eclipse when a shooting star blasted by next to it, cutting the last stitch holding me to any sense of "only what is possible, please".

Sunday afternoon I was walking in town to get my car and a snowy owl flew over and past - down Niel St., past the hospital and left out to Tonquin beach area.. I was ... floored?
Totally unsurprised?
It was pure white, the span of the largest gull, but muscular, with two cotton balls for feet. I drove to the end of Niel St. and scrambled down through the scrub to a little gravel beach, to find him (small for a snowy = male), but didn't. Didn't matter = message delivered.

I saw one last April. After dreaming about them two nights in a row. I know - let's not cling to outdated notions of reality here. They both reminded me of Mt. Shasta. Not sure why, except that it's also called  - The White Mountain. And it was where I saw a vision of the future. How many me's do I need to let go of to get there?

"...so I thought: maybe death isn't darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us - as soft as feathers - that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes, not without amazement, and let ourselves be carried, as through the translucence of mica, to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow - that is nothing but light - scalding, aortal light - in which we are washed and washed out of our bones."
- White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field - Mary Oliver

People don't like Gateways because they represent permanent change. You can only bring through a gateway certain things, and other things cannot pass through. You can't control which is which.

I felt that way driving through that mountain pass. I felt that way when I saw the owl. I felt that way with the shooting star. Life is irreversible. Resisting permanent change is resisting the essence of what it is to be alive, to exist.

Let the owl take you. Fall through the Gate into the unknown future, and meet a self you never knew...

I come from downtown

born ready for You...

iahklu (k)nights

I've been reading the Lathe of Heaven lately. And insomniac. But not in a bad way - I can't sleep because I'm so excited about life!
Wierd..

To lay in bed at three am and read a book about a guy whose dreams make new realities, when you can't get to sleep and dream, because you're excited about making your dreams reality - is kind of surreal. And wonderful.

An alien in the book calls him, a person who does this: creates reality, or shifts us all to an alternate reality, or a new paradigm - an "iahklu."

We are all iahklu's by nature.

But we must choose to be dream warriors. Or not.
To be Warriors. And Dreamers.

We know we can create our reality, but a Warrior does so consciously.

I read Robert Moss's latest blog today - "knights of dreaming"  (http://mossdreams.blogspot.com/2011/11/knights-of-dreaming.html). It's about a group of men who are aware, awake, capable, educated, empowered in the world - warriors, Knights. Trying to wake up to their dreams (I think both night-dreams and 'hopes'), and also to help others to do so.

He found it inspiring, and so do I. He opens the blog with;

I am with a group of gentle but fiercely dedicated people whose cause is the Earth and the other species with which humans share life on the planet.

Hm, where is my Group? I think we are rounding each other up, as we complete our individual preparations and tasks. Synchroniciously - I was a given a vision at Robert Moss's session on dreaming and visioning for others, last May in Vancouver, by my partner Asi-klu (as I mentioned in sharp-shinned Pat/Texada Project).
His vision for me was in three parts, he said: You are with a group of men riding camels in the desert, there are about a dozen of you, you are not talking, you are serious but not grim, and you are riding with a clear destination and a single unified purpose.
The next was similar, I was part of a group of men in a boat, all rowing/paddling in perfect unison. We had a single unified purpose, and did not speak. He drew a picture of the boat, which he described as 'like a viking ship,' but the picture looked more like the Tla-oh-qui-aht ocean-going dugout canoes used here on the west coast of Vancouver Island. I wasn't living here then.
The third was of an eagle, flying above these things, and he (Asi-klu) was in it's head. The air was rushing through its feathers, a strong wind, loud in its ears, and it said to him; "when you hear this - you are on the right path."

I hear it when I stand on the beach in front of my home in the middle of the night, gazing at the stars, or when I run on these beaches alone in the day in the wind and rain. I am looking for those men consciously now, and I think one or two may be here.

Again Robert Moss seems to be acting as a Guide for me, reminding and fine-tuning.  - to find my brothers-in-arms, and continue to do the work that I am here to do. Thank you, Dux.

May we all be conscious and awake and empowered in creating our dreams. And may we all find our soul group and ride out to do battle.

Just remember... to make love, not war :)

Pick the star you aim for carefully, and maybe the stars, by drawing us to them, will draw us together...

insomniacs of the World - goodnight.

stars

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of - shall I say the word - religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars.

I'm quoting myself. And Vincent Van Gogh.. Stars. Stars are things we navigate by. Things we dream about, waking dreams. Stars are things we wonder at. Stars, to us - are light.

Writing Joy. If I could say anything I've been doing with this blog, over the last year and a month and a half - it's that: writing my joy.

I could feel my old heart beatin out the simple joy 'a livin'

I can see a time coming when I don't have a blog anymore. Maybe. And I also know I will publish it at some point, at least enough to give copies to friends and family. It will be what you see here plus doodles, pictures, reflections.

At the same time - I'm stunned at times by how happy I am that I've done this - sitting down and reading things (not that I do it a lot), that you've written online, in moments of passion, at emotional and personal highs (and lows) - has a binding effect. Not in a bad way, but you can't get away from your own truths when you have put them out in the world, beyond your reckoning. Like children after you're dead.

It was a wierd summer. People who know me know that. Not the electric highs of supertravelpat, but instead, they felt like lows at times, despite good companionship and beautiful places. Felt like lows, but were not. When I re-read those three entries from August - rabbit hole, surprise trampolines, and luminous world - there are truths about myself underlying them which are simply inescapable. I've kept a journal for years. It's not the same.

This feels like a Promise. A promise to the Universe, to my Self, and to all the World - to let my light shine. A light we all have, and are. To outwardly be the person I inwardly know.

And on tough days, or at times when I'm tempted to make decisions which would not take me towards that Star - it's here, on the internet - the simple truths about who I am, and why I'm here.
In fact, in those hard, strangely lonely, and doubt-ridden days of summer - there was a deep river flowing. And I guess, as I wished in forecasts for Deliverance - I must have blown the dam.

In that time, in the rabbit-hole in Pemberton, and before and after - I remembered.. a dream. And remembering it again seemed like waking from a dream.

One day I will tell that story here, what that dream is - to make this blog complete.

I walked on Mackenzie Beach tonight, after I got home from a dual book-launch, where I thought, (as I did in a law school many years ago (before I went to law school)) - "I could do that."

And I'm not gonna take it back
And I'm not gonna say, "I don't mean that"
You're the target that I'm aiming at

I walked on the beach, and no - I still haven't learned to stand somewhere that waves won't go over my tall rubber boots. Just like many nights in the last two summers when I had sneakers on and went to hang out at Chesterman's Beach in the middle of the night (without a flashlight) or on Frank Island(where I got caught by the tide numerous times and had to wade back) - I always seemed to have to get my feet wet. Now that I have rubber boots I just get to go out a little further. The thing is - you can see the stars better the farther out you go.

So here I am, walking on the beach on a gorgeous, not-too-cool late Fall evening, with rubber boots and wet feet, staring up at the sky. Wonder of wonders. How old will I be before it loses it's marvel?
If that ever happens - will someone (my brother) - please take me for a 'walk in the woods'?

And, staring up at the stars, in the dark - I was overwhelmed with thanks. For my life, the wonders in it, the people in it, but most of all for Clarity - and for having put it somewhere I can't forget it.
It shines like a star in my life, pointing the way..

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.

My Hometown (Tofino)

I didn't know I'd travel all that way - just to land here.

And boy, do I feel like I've travelled a lot lately. Drove to Vancouver, flew to Montreal where I spent a night when the Air Canada strike was being declared, then onto Halifax (no strike), five days there, reconnected with King Arthur, a mermaid, family, friends, then flew to Saskatoon, got the bus into town and did some work at a cafe by the river, my friend Kris Kristofferson picked me up and we drove to his place in Saltcoats, just outside Yorkton, I spent two nights there with him and his family, they dropped me off at the highway where I was almost devoured by rabid coyotes, then West Wind and A-Man picked me up, enroute from Calgary and Sakatoon, we drove to Winnipeg and got in late, stayed at West Wind's Mom's place - got three hours sleep and went fishing the next day, caught a pickerel and a friend, got settled in our hotel downtown and went to a Winnipeg Jets game that night, went to the farm the next night, the next day drove back to Sakatoon with West Wind in the rental, went out for dinner and watched Trailer Park Boyo's, flew to Vancouver the next day, went to the Sunshine Coast for three nights, then back to Vancouver for Jesse James's man-baby-shower, then (finally) - home. Where my music's playin'..

A shocking lack of punctuation.

And where is home in all that?
It's funny, maybe I'm just getting old, I feel like I've travelled this country so much  - when I stood on the side of the road, the Yellowhead at Saltcoats, in the dark, I felt like "I've been here so many times before, this is my place.."
Then the coyotes started...
Perfectly at home in the Montreal airport finding a place to sleep and a beer, and a friend named Pat, not in that order.
Halifax - when I went back to you this time it was the first time since 2007 (or before?) that I felt I could live there again someday. Mostly I just want the license plate (it is the coolest in Canada, esp now that the Yukon has made their polar bear cartoonish) - for an intercontinental road trip. But also (I suppose ;) to spend time with friends and family and to once again have time to wander the woods and forests where I am more at ease (at home?) than probably anywhere else on earth.

Vancouver - to wander the streets of Kitsilano, get my mail, some sushi, an organic, wheat, milk and sugar free cookie. After almost a year there I feel comfortable and confident in the big V.

And then the Sunshine Coast - my community is this country, it's lovely how the last year has tied all my hitchiking and wandering experiences of youth into a tapestry of area-knowledge and freindships that allows me to feel like, even when I manage to find some place in Canada I haven't been before, -  I've been there before.

There was a little town on the prairies, not sure if it was in Manitoba or Sask, but it was an idyllic Stephen-King-esque tiny town where West Wind and I got some lunch on the road. We pulled in because we saw a sign for food, and it was three in the afternoon. The place was SMALL!
A school seemed like the only non-house structure. We drove around the three gridded streets and found a little pub at the back, They were decked out for rough-riders games, and two old farmers sat over coffee.

We got lunch, with the inescapable french-fries, and chatted with the waitress a bit. The town had fallen out of the sky from 1982, and as we left school was getting out - kids ran accross the streets in front of us and you could see seven year olds walking home alone, safe. Paradise.
"Why would anyone want to live here?" one may have thought as they drove in.
There's your answer.

I stood in the woods at the back of West Winds family farm house, just outside Winnipeg, and looked out over the Prairie, felt the cold wind, and the chill of change from the dead coyote shoulder-blade on the ground at my feet.

I just moved to Tofino. I didn't feel like travelling (theres a first for everything!) - I just wanted to stay home and get settled in. But I'm grateful for the travel, and all the clarity it brought about who I am and where I belong. I may think of myself a s a citizen of the world - but Canada is my hometown.

When ever I get a ferry to or from anywhere you can often find me, standing in the cold and not dressed for it, on the front deck, facing into the wind. I think of Tofino that way.
As close as I can get to leaping into the sea and swimming out all my passion until my lover enfolds me in her dark embrace.

O the king's tidy acre is under the sea,
And the royal rose in the bull's belly,
And the bull on the king's highway.

I live in Tofino. Halifax is my hometown, but Canada feels like it now. Home? The place I came from and will go? I'm always there, it's everywhere, in me, and you, the eagles and trees and crimes and saviours.

51

This is my 51st entry. I've been doing this for over a year now, the first - my blog, my chosen lifestyle , was Oct. 4th, 2010.

In some ways I didn't realize when I set out on this journey in June 2010, what I was getting into. It's been scary and tough at times (and absolutely wonderful, and the smartest thing I've ever done..), but I'm really thankful that I'm where I am right now. Hell, as my Boss said in a recent online chat:

"so, when do you want more work?

fuck, that sounds good. You live in the most beautiful spot on earth, and someone sends you work remotely."

Yeah, it's pretty good. I live in Tofino, and am slowly carving out a role as a nomadic lawyer/artist/writer. What people don't see is what it's taken to get here, and I have had moments when I've been sick, or wet, cold and alone, and thought, "jesus Pat, you gave up (insert item here - home/job/girlfriend) for this? - you're an idiot"
And I wonder sometimes if I am just a 'pilgrim' - someone looking for a shrine he's never found.

He's a poet, he's a picker--
He's a prophet, he's a pusher--
He's a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's stoned--

But then I think of the other things people don't see: the support and the love. My brother is chief in that realm (although maybe he is seen.. ;). But I don't think he knows, every time I stray a little farther from shore - that I couldn't do it without him, that every time I'm ready to break, or throw in the towel - he suddenly appears. And my awesome friends, Jesse James and his lovely Queen, the angel Gabriel, Button, An'K, Laura Dern, Gordie Howe - all support me in ways I'm not sure they realize.

I still feel like a charioteer - trying to master two opposing forces in my life - one is that Pilgrim, a wanderer from start to finish, in youth a perfect gypsy, loved and untouchable, in old age -a toothless madman, gibbering prophecy and dispensing wisdom, pissing in people's bushes. The other is a hero, a knight, with the highest of hopes and ideals- trying to save the damsel, slay the dragon, and find the holy grail. Somewhere in between there's a guy who has bills to pay and likes to have a warm bath occassionally.

And where does love fit into all this? Some people are fine without it, but I'm still looking for my giant-souled warrior woman / partner in sectret love and bold enterprise. Yet one would think that I was trying to set up a life where love was pretty much an impossibility. Maybe I'm just scared.

But the fact is, through all the self-doubt - I am getting closer to what I want: yoking all these opposing forces to a direction they can all abide by - a life of travel and adventure, of yes - slaying dragons (even little ones), speaking for those with no voice, protecting the weak, being a lawyer, artist, writer, wanderer - an errand knight. To me "err" and "knight" mean - admit your imperfections, but still shoot for the stars.

I write this blog to let others know that they are not alone in striving for a good life, their dreams, and to find meaning through action in this swirling, great, mysterious world. I feel connected to the occupiers of Wall St, youth in Syria, indigenous people all over the world throwing off the yoke of colonialism - to strive for freedom and justice is to be alive - and that includes kicking off social and cultural norms to create a new way of living.
The one I'm trying to create is one where we openly seek to be our best, to do our best - to show our love and gratitude for all of creation - through action. And where we're honest and open about who we are, our pleasures, needs, and shortcomings. And where we are accepting of those things in others. I believe in every moment we are creating our world, for better or worse - and this is one of the ways I hope to make it better.

Will I ever find my warrior princess? I assume she'll show up when she's ready. If not I'll go live on Mt. Shasta one day, and take her as my lover.
I invite fate, or nature, to decide...

... when white morning
Runs with a shout along the jagged mountains
Strength of a cotton thread draws out to Ariadne
The Bravest Soldier, The Wisest Judge,
The Mightiest King!

In the meantime I have an awesome life - walking this path alone, but not alone:

treading it with (happy) feet
until it meets some larger way
where many paths and errands meet..

Soul is Freedom. Love is Power. Hope is Love. Dreams are Revolutions...

Bedwell Sound, the river's source

"Swimming up that dark river to discover it's source... "

.. kept going through my mind today as we paddled (ok, I sat in the middle) a canoe up ___ river in Bedwell Sound, an arm of Clayoquot Sound.
We were scoping out some forestry work, to see if old-growth was being cut, and had a long hike ahead of us after our short paddle, which came after being dropped off by a water taxi, which came after a half hour boat ride from Tofino.

It's a place most people never get to see, I felt priveleged. We saw a bear on the path ahead of us at one point, it wandered off. Peaceful. Art the bear.

The loggers we were scoping out picked us up and drove us back down the hill in the rain, in the back of their pick-up truck. Not the first ride I've had in the back of a pick-up, in the rain, in 'end-of-the-road-country,' and not the best. But there's nothin on earth like riding in the back of a pick-up truck.
We saw heron's, they got up and flew to another spot, a hundred feet off, as we paddled by. Peaceful.

A blue preacher
flew toward the swamp
in slow motion

Out here there are          ... no chuches,
where God is imprisoned and lamented,
like a trapped and wounded animal.

Not trapped. And neither are we.

Swimming up this river, as we walked we talked about sasquatches, dentistry, and talking about dentistry. But also - about finding purpose in life. So casual, when it comes. Like a bear standing in the road in front of you, shrugs, and wanders off into the bush, like a heron flying by, croaking out holy dictates, unintelligable,

no yearning for an afterlife, no looking beyond,
no belittleing of death
but only longing for what belongs to us
and serving earth, lest we remain unused.

I guess that's why I'm here. This is my church. I said a while ago (four or five entries ago) - that I (we) had to figure out which ideal we serve, and then - everything's easy, most questions are answered (or irrelevent) and all we have to do is do it. Serve the earth, lest we remain unused. I guess I, and we - are getting closer to that.

It wasn't a glorious mission, we didn't succeed and get the photos or info we were looking for. We didn't kill Captain Kurtz. We had lunch on a log. I picked up rocks. We saw an eagle, salmon jumped out of the sea,

One is a long time coming to the point
where the enchanted may be free
all charms be neutralized, and everything
be what it, shining, seems to be.

Fuck you, demon (and other birthday wishes)

First, a few changes and realizations about writing a blog:

1 - I'm a night-worker (that's what 'melatonin' means (irrelevant factoid)) and I haven't had internet access at night - for most of September. Hence the poor productivity. You should see my pay-check..

2 - I'm now better at (or addicted to?) writing online. I tried writing entries on paper and then typing them out. ug. My journal is suffering too..

Back to the story.. I finished The Glass Castle just before my birthday, and my favorite part of it is on page 36. That didn't make the rest of it meaningless, just not as favorite as that part. I loved the book, highly recommended.
I was going to type out the whole scene here, but now I'm not. It's too long (I'm too lazy).

It goes like this:

The main character, Jeanette, is four or five years old at this point. She thinks she sees something under her bed. Her sister tells her she's crazy, but she's scared, so she goes to tell her Dad (who is an alcoholic/genius/'kind of person I'd probably be friends with' - kinda guy). He says, "really, did he have big teeth and claws, and was he a hairy sonofabitch, with beady little eyes?"
She says, "you've seen him too?"
And he says, "you bet I have, it's that old bastard Demon.." and describes how Demon likes to scare people, but Rex Walls (her Dad) stood up to him years ago, and hasn't seen him for years. He tells her to get his hunting knife, and arms her with a pipe wrench, and they turn the house upside down looking for demon, calling him out.
He's nowhere to be found, of course.
He doesn't really explain it to her - the lesson speaks for itself.  She goes on, from some very rough roots, to become a great writer and seemingly cool person. She cleary got it. Her Dad, sadly, did not. The one Demon he couldn't scare out of himself was the bottle.

I woke up the morning of my birthday and it was raining hard. The fifteen minute bike ride didn't seem like much fun, since my rain gear was in the trunk of my car, 40 kilometers away (I finally got busted for my Ontario licence plate!). But I wanted to go to Ahousat for the day, it was the grand opening of their new high school, a pretty big event. I hummed and hawed about how wet and cold I'd get, and was right - I was sick for a week after spending the whole day soaked to the skin, using the 'body heat method' to dry my clothes. But I went anyway.

It was my birthday, I wanted to have a nice day. I remembered how my Mom used to say, every time that song by Garth Brooks came on - Standing outside the Fire - "You're so quiet and shy, Paddy, and I don't know why - but that's not you."

Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire.

I hear her voice sometimes when I feel afraid to do something, whether join in socially (it still scares me at times) or take a leap of faith in life, or just go a little outside my physical comfort zone..

Maybe that part of the book stood out because coming here, doing what I'm doing, scared me. But I'm not sure which character I'm more like, her Dad, who talked big, and was great in many ways, a maverick in some (and handsome too!), but there was one Demon he couldn't face. She, on the other hand, never talks about it, just did it. I wonder if he knew there was a fear he wasn't facing, or if he was blind to it.
Do I have fears I can't face, or don't see? Sometimes I wonder if I'm afraid of stopping. Sometimes I wonder if I'm afraid of going..

And I talk a lot about warrior-iness, but really - the only battles that matter happen within. Once those are won or lost, they are often reflected in our lives - but not always in ways people can see.

Later that night I went to Schooner Cove (Long Beach) with some friends for a fire and hotdogs. They drove us all out and bought me beer and were super cool (and yelled "surprise" as I walked back to the truck, which acually worked:). It was a fun, great birthday.
I also found a white tail feather from a bald eagle, my fifth in life. Probably from the same eagle that gave me my first and second, but maybe not. Not sure what it meant, or again just - "you're on the right path."

My birthday wish to myself was, for the year, and life, to always say, "fuck you, Demon."
I guess the flipside of that is, what the white feather has always meant to me - faith. Facing your fears requires faith - that things will work out in a way you can't yet understand.

Wanting to fly higher and higher
I can't abide
Standing outside the fire.

Hitchhiking 101

I had to take my car to Ucluelet the other day to get a safety inspection to transfer my plates from Ontario to BC, and ended up hitch-hiking back to Tofino. I was wondering how long it'd take to get a ride, I tried hitching in Tofino the other day and it took a while to get one, so I was wondering if I'd lost my touch...

Once I was done with the car I wrote Tofino on a chunk of cardboard I'd brought, and suddenly thought, if I don't get aross the street quick I might miss my ride! I dashed across the road, an old green pickup pulled up on the street across from me, turning onto my road, and going my way. I thought, 'now that'd be a ride in style,' stuck my thumb out and smiled, looking eager...

And he stopped! First car = a good day. And it was.



The driver of what turned out to be a 1953 chevy pickup (with a '58 engine) was a dude in his 50's, laid back and clearly smart and interesting.

Rule # 1 about hitchhiking - people who pick up hitchhikers are always interesting, they are non-conformists who follow their own rules. You're not 'suposed' to pick up hitchhikers. Pickers-uppers usually speed (not always) and they are always mavericks in some way.

I've been picked up by drunks, doctors (hot german doctors), lawyers, a Quebec MP, people who wanted to protect me from harm, people who wanted to do me harm, oil barons, drug/cigarette smugglers, mule-skinners, people who wanted me to talk to them so they could smoke pot and drive for fourteen hours straight, and a ninety-year-old couple that just wanted to know my parent's last names...

This guy said he was only going to Combers Beach, about halfway to Tofino, and I could go that far or get off earlier at the interesection, where I'd have a better chance of getting a lift. "Did you say 'beach'?"

I didn't wanna crowd the guy, but we were having a nice chat, so I tagged along and we strolled along Combers, which is fantastic, especially at low tide, and chatted about life. Turns out his name's also Pat, he's an accountant, and he gave me advice on learning how to drive a motorcycle. Then he offered to give me a lift to Tofino, said he had to go get some soup one of these days anyway, and then he wouldn't have to cook dinner. Awesome, so I got a lift back to town.

That leads me to:

Rule # 2 about hitchhiking - the less you care about getting to your destination, the sooner you'll get there (detachment). For example, my third and fourth hitching trips - a month each in Europe, I developed this habit: people are curious about how you do the basics of life; pee, eat, wash, where you sleep. And they generally ask it in that order. To the first questions I'd answer honestly ( and make it interesting of course (as long as we're doing rules: Rule # 1 of being a Maritimer - if you're going to tell a story - make sure it's good. Don't get hung up on it being true, no-one wants to hear a true boring story...). They'd eventually build up the nerve to ask; "and, .. where do you sleep?"

I'd give a dramatic pause and say, "wherever I am when it gets dark." The thing is, it was true. And it reflected how little I cared. I had a backpack with a good tent (for rain only, otherwise - under the stars), sleeping bag, and experience - I'd slept outside in every kind of place and condition one could imagine, and I genuinely didn't care. The one thing was - I don't hitchike after dark. Period. And if they asked follow up questions I'd explain whatever details they were curious about, then they'd give the dramatic pause. Or change the topic, while they thought. And somewhere between 10 seconds and three hours later nine out of ten people would invite me home to stay at their place. I wasn't looking for that, I just let it happen. I knew ultimately that it would get dark, I'd sleep somewhere, I was 22, and free, and happy, and I'd be the same tomorrow. And the next day...

That brings us to:

Rule # 3 of hitch-hiking - Never hitch-hike after dark. I know some people grow up in hitch-hiking Oases, like Tofino, maybe a few places in Quebec, and do it, and get away with it, but in the big bad world out there - you enter the realm of vampires, werewolves, and other human Predators. Believe me, I learned the hard way (although I never got hurt, raped, or killed (clearly - I got better!)) - I had some close calls. It gets dark = go to sleep. Or go party, read, do your sewing, anything other than hitch-hike. I've given this advice to lots of people, and the one's who don't listen at first, do later.

That's it for now. I think there'll have to be more entries on this subject, there's a few more rules. Maybe they would be better termed, 'Principles.'

So, Pat the accountant drove me back to Tofino in his green 53 Chevy pick-up, I went about my day, and as the hitchhiking-personal-power-gods had revealed by the omen of the first car picking me up - it was a good day.

Busted flat in Baton Rouge, headin' for the train,
Feelin' nearly faded as my jeans.
Bobby thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained;
Took us all the way to New Orleans.
I took my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna,
And was blowing sad while Bobby sang the blues.
With them windshield wipers slappin' time,
And Bobby clappin' hands,
We finally sang up every song that driver knew.

Freedom's just another word for nothing' left to lose:
Nothin' ain't worth nothin' but it's free.

Meares Island

I ended up on Meares Island my first full day back in Tofino. Walking around in the rain I reflected on the meaning of this place, to me personally, and to Clayoquot Sound / BC / Canada..

This is a shot of it I took last fall from Tofino;

After pulling into Tofino late one night last week I ran into a few friends who run a traditional First Nation paddling business - Tla-ook Cultural Adventures - and they invited me out the next day. It was misty and a little rainy, and I was underdressed, which felt like a proper induction to this place...

My friend Giselle (normally I change people's names, but since this is also a business plug that seems silly) lead four tourists and I (I qualified as a local!) on a paddle in a large dug-out canoe across part of Clayoquot Sound to Meares Island, where she guided us on a hike through the old-growth temperate rainforest. The paddle, hike, and stories are fantastic, even for someone who's spent a lot of time here. If you haven't done it yet - you should.
Why is there old-growth temperate rainforest here? It's not a mystery (unless you want to dig deeper into people's hearts, and the nature of the decisions we all make between money and wealth), it's a neat story that hasn't ended yet.

Giselle explained to us how, in 1984, Tla-oh-qui-aht and Ahousat people, and local environmentalists, got a heads up that MacMillan Bloedel was coming to clear-cut parts of Meares Island. When the loggers showed up in their boat they were greeted by First Nations leaders and environmentalists. Giselle's father was there, and as the boat pulled up First Nations leaders sang traditional welcome songs. The loggers were told they were welcome to visit Meares Island, but their chainsaws and tools were not.

The loggers left. Lawyers were called and injunctions filed, by both sides. This lead to the Meares Island court case ( MacMillan Bloedel Ltd. v. Mullin, 1985 CanLII 154 (BC CA) ). Another First Nations friend and I had a conversation about this case last November. He said that the case, which was decided in favour of the First Nations involved, was not decided on the basis of s. 35 of the Constitution. But I was skeptical.

In university we; a) mainly deal with Supreme Court cases, just because. And b) there is a feeling, totally unspoken, pervading all discussions of law in relation to First Nations people - that they have the rights they now have "because we gave it to them" - through s. 35 of the Constitution, and because Trudeau was a hell of a good guy. It's just not true.

There was already a body of law developing recognizing First Nation's interests in their lands, both on and off reservation, as a "pre-existing legal right not created by the Royal Proclamation...the Indian Act...or any other executive order or legislative provision." The Meares Island case is the turning point in that line of cases.

When you're out here you can feel it, this isn't the concrete streets of Ottawa or Victoria, and for governments to try to ignore the power and authority of First Nations over their land, here, where it's not only continuous, but palpable - would be ridiculous. The fact is they have their rights because they control their land, today. The source of their rights is them, not us (there's a lot of pressumptions there, about who's reading, this, and who I am.. :).

The Judge in the Meares Island case described the case's relevance as:

Meares Island is important to MacMillan Bloedel in this way. MacMillan Bloedel has gone through all of the necessary steps to obtain permission to cut. If it is stopped here there is worry that it will be stopped elsewhere. Meares Island has become the front line in the dispute over Indian title. It has also become central to the dispute between the logger and those who favour the preservation of wilderness areas.

Meares Island is important to MacMillan Bloedel not because of its trees, but because it is where the line has been drawn. It has become a symbol.

...

The Indians have pressed their land claims in various ways for generations. The claims have not been dealt with and found invalid. They have not been dealt with at all. Meanwhile, the logger continues his steady march and the Indians see themselves retreating into a smaller and smaller area. They too have drawn the line at Meares Island. The Island has become a symbol of their claim to rights in the land.

The Tla-oh-qui-aht and Ahousat people were seeking an injunction against logging while their actual case was prepared for trial - a case deciding their rights. The injunction was granted, halting logging on Meares Island (they won). The subsequent case deciding their rights never went to trial, instead a treaty process was initiated, which is ongoing today (for some First Nations).

Professor Hamar Foster (UVic) explains the relevance of the case well in a paper on First Nations litigation: 

... Legally, however, the turning point was the Meares Island decision. For the first time, a BC court ruled that the matter of aboriginal title was sufficiently important to justify issuing an injunction against logging. In that case, Seaton, JA wrote that "the proposal is to clear-cut the area. Almost nothing will be left. I cannot think of any native right that could be exercised on lands that have been recently logged … The Indians wish to retain their culture on Meares Island as well as in urban museums."

and Professor Foster continued...

I think that something else Justice Seaton said in 1985 in the Meares Island case is instructive. Responding to the argument that halting logging on the island would render investments throughout the province uncertain, he agreed that there was a problem with forest tenures and aboriginal title that had not been dealt with in the past. But he did not agree that this meant that the courts should back off. “We are being asked to ignore the problem as others have ignored it,” he wrote. “I am not willing to do that.” This passage is not quoted in the recent Haida decision, but I rather think that it helps to explain that case and a number of others.

There's just a funny energy in this place, it's a powerful place, a place of turning points. It always has been for me. It's a place of lines in the sand, and there's lots of sand to draw lines on. I posted this picture on fb recently, and my brother said, "end o' the road, brother - fitting no?"

I set out on my first real journey away from home when I was nineteen, and hitchhiked across Canada. After pushing through all those boundaries of fear and self-doubt - I finally got here, the end of the Trans-Canada highway, and that was the point where I became a man, my own person. Two days ago I finally bumped my status back up to 'practicing' - I am now a "Renegade Environmental Lawyer, employed by the Universe" ;) living in Tofino BC. This little place has been the seat of change for First Nations, environmentalists, been the centre of the end of logging as we knew it in Canada (in 1993) - and may be the centre of more change yet: the end of the present mining regime in Canada? More postive change for First Nations? The end of open ocean fish farms?
Who knows what wonders the future holds...

And yeah, you heard right - I've finally decided to live in Tofino. It's been 19 years in the making - what the hell was I waiting for?

I can't wait to get to Meares Island again, to spend time with my mountain pal and the energy of change...

Return of the errand knight (travels in a luminous world)

And you got to change
And that’s not easy
Dragon shining with all values known
Dazzling you-keeping you from your own
Where is the lion in you to defy him
When you’re this weak
And this spacey...

I went for a walk on the beach last night around dusk, after finishing work around eight. As the last blurrings of light withered beyond the horizon, and the darkness came out, I reflected on how comfortable I've become with darkness.

A Mountain (my mountain (one of the five that rings Clayoquot Sound (it's a long story))) gave me a gift years ago of being able to see in the dark. The ability faded about five years later, but I kept doing it anyway, walking around in the dark, as if I could see.

All my friends still think I can see in the dark, they say things to me like, "how did you get here without a flashlight?.." I've fostered that illusion. It's more glamorous than the truth: I just put my foot out, and if I don't try to see, and I don't really worry about it - it always seems to land on something...

Sitting by the sea on the rocks last night I felt like I finally understood, because I saw it. The Mountain didn't give me some superpower which later faded, it just let me relax into what we can all do, because: everything has its own radiance. Every rock, and blade of grass, and star, and person, we are all our own light source. I could see it shining out of everything around me. Maybe that's why I've always been comfortable with darkness. Maybe that's what it means to come out of "the cave," or a rabbit-hole.

I wasn't sure if I'd actually find any answers when I went into hiding a few weeks ago. I guess you really can figure things out about yourself, after all! Or maybe the stars just needed to be aligned... I realized that; a) I've got it pretty good, and b) the path I set out on a while ago was a good one, and worth following with all my heart.

I guess I sat in the darkness of the unknown long enough that light just started seeping out of everything, pouring out like rivers. The Path is clear to me now - I'm going to get my licence sorted and drum up more contract work. That will leave me free to do the environmental work I came here for, without any strings attached. Sure, it leaves me on the road a little longer, a 'spy out in the cold,' but that's ok, as Kerouac said "there's nothing nobler than to put up with a few inconveniences like snakes and dust for the sake of absolute freedom." I'm not sure about the 'nothing nobler' part, but it works for me. It's just "nuthin left to lose."

Nothing left to lose and I may as well live my life. Up on Mt. Shasta the seeds were planted for lots of the changes I've made over the last year, and I remember thinking that if I really wanted to do this: to be a lawyer with ideals, a writer, to make movies, to be creative, to 'make a difference,' to have the life of my dreams - I'd have to work hard and have a lot of discipline.

I wrote this down last night as the first line of this blog: Lion in Robert Moss dream said to him - "humans are the only animals that choose to live in cages."

Today I wanted to hear Joni Mitchell's California, and as I was hooking my laptop up to the stereo I turned the radio on, and there on CBC radio one was Joni in all her sexy-voiced-loveliness, singing some wierd song I'd never heard. The lyrics are at the top...

How does this knight defy the dragon? Add up the two lions = don't choose to live in a cage. If I have to work hard, that's great, I've got nothing left to lose, and for the first time in a long time - I know where I'm going.

Walking by the light of everything...

Let's go tonight,
let the beast run a mile
with the dogs and the cattle, let's go

Surprise Trampolines and Endless Stars...

Just got back from a few days in Powell River and on Savary Island. I've been very introspecitve lately, and going over the last 6 months/ 38 years of my life, as I head up to another birthday and more changes. And I guess I must've been a little down because the Universe kept sending me huge reminders - that life is not just what it is and has been - but the future is simply unknown, and holds all kinds of marvellous marvels to splash around in, jump on, and gaze at... things you could never have imagined.

Went up the Sunshine Coast with a great friend, a brother from another mother, and met my other BFAM, and met a whole bunch of new awesome people too. Gatlin ranted to me on the phone about  - GodzBallz - before I went up, some punk band that he said is his favourite band on earth. I thought he'd seem them a dozen times.. so I was surprised to find out that it was only their third show.

We went to this little pub in the old part of Powell River, and hung around waiting for the band (whom we had met three members of the night before at Blackberry Festival), and then they started to trickle in. Gatlin had his Godzballz shirt on, which he had specially made and says "Crew" on the back... so - we were in like Flynn. :)

And he's right - Godzballz rock! And I saw them for only five bucks!! They are all late 30's and early 40's, and they don't know that many songs, but they are friggin great - not the negative stuff you've come to expect from some punk bands, but fun, just pure fun. People up there having fun, expecting you to have fun too. So afterwards (of course, when Gatlin's around:) we went and partied with the band and a bunch of other people we didn't know - it was a great time, unexpectedly great.

Sunday it was too windy for all of us to go to Savary Island in Gatlin's little boat so we got a water-taxi and he took his boat alone. We went there and partied a little bit, and I explored, and we barbqued pork chops, yum. It rained that night and we all woke up bleary, a little hung over, and damp and dirty. Monday morning. One of our crew had to go back to town, and again it was too windy and crappy for the boat, so we walked her to the watertaxi. The island is long and narrow. We were camped on the beach on the sheltered side of the island, and crossed it to walk along the beach on the unsheltered side, in the blustering wind and spattering rain.

It was lovely - it reminded me of Nova Scotia, and everything I love about it, and I was singing Farewell to Nova Scotia to myself as I hopped along from log to log, rock to rock, climbing things and generally enjoying myself. But still part of my mind was far away, in the past, and the future, regrets, hopes, mullings..

I spotted it from the top of this big rock I had clambered up onto - it was a big purple and green thing up ahead. I clambered back down and hopped along towards it,  mildly curious about what the storm of the night before had washed up. As I got closer my whole world took on an unreal tone, it was a cold windy hungover day, easy to be cranky, and here was the most amazing thing - I started running towards it, skimming over the tops of wet rocks and splashing waves - it was a TRAMPOLINE!, a goddam trampoline - on a giant rubber floating frame, like a fifteen foot wide, four foot high, inner-tube with a drum stretched over it.
It had torn away from someone's property in the storm the night before and ended up here - I leaped the four feet up onto it and immediately started bouncing, saying "whee, can you believe it, it's a friggin trampoline!" over the howling wind and crashing waves - I was transformed into an eleven -year old boy again, the dissappointments of the recent past instantly dissappeared.. I could see the waves under it, crashing, as I jumped and bounced and yelled at my friends to come up and join me, or take pictures, or something - a giant purple rubber trampoline had been dropped out of the sky in the most preposterous of conditions and places - to yell in my ear - "You never know what wonders the future holds!... "

Later, back at the beach campsite, the weather calmed and I went swimming. The clouds started to break by evening, and the wind changed direction to bring us clear air. We made another fire of hand-smashed cedar, and everyone went to bed early except me. As the fire died down low I watched the last of the clouds melt away, and a million, billion, guhzillion stars come out...

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of - shall I say the word - religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. - Van Gogh


Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.

Notes from the Rabbit-Hole..

Ah, shit - here I go again...

Listening to the Hip and writing - escape is at hand for the travellin man.. is it though? Maybe temporarily.. :)

I said in my last entry or two I was looking for some solitude, "men go crazy in congregations, they only get better one by one" - and therefore when I walked into a little hostel in Pemberton, half an hour north of Whistler, at the end of a country road, with white-capped mountains towering overhead and a frisbee-loving boxer in the yard, and saw a little room like a monk's cell - called "The Rabbit Hole" - I knew I had found what I was looking for.

Even though I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

Came here to work, but it's not like when I'm done work I'm out there meeting people and hiking - I'm in my little room, on a cot, reading a book. Like Lee-Harvey Oswald in his little room in JFK, when the lady comes in and asks him if he wants anything, to watch tv maybe? He says, no, no, goes back to reading Trotsky, or maybe "how to be a patsy, for dummies." This quiet time was well worth the wait.

I have a good tan, and I've taught myself to swim pretty friggin well in the last two months, so no, I don't need more time outdoors right now, or to watch tv. I'm reading The Writing Warrior, a gift from my bro, The Glass Castle, and Intimacy: Trusting Oneself and the Other. The last one is by OSHO. OSHO is.. the Bhagwan, and from the pictures I've seen he was pretty good at trusting himself and the other..

And no, I'm not going to stop making fun of him, even though his thought has shaped mine more than anyones in the last year of my liff (inasmuch as my thought can be 'shaped' and doesn't just run in the same patterns over and over).

It feels like a monks cell, a warrior monk, who either got too carried away and nutso-killer on the battlefield, or else got all sensitive and started bawling, "I just stabbed someone.." and had his boss tell him - "you need a break - go sit in that little room and think things over."

Reminds me of the four of swords in the tarot - waiting. Not for anything in particular. Thinking. Part of what got me on this theme is I found a new blog to read, this episode's about the Knights Templar and Jedi's - http://secretsun.blogspot.com/2011/08/another-history-of-knights-templar-part_15.html
Pretty cool shit.

Why is this imagery so powerful and full of meaning for us? Don't we all want to be knights, in some way - to fight for what is right, to hone and perfect ourselves in the service of something that is greater than us, and the company of those that are equal?

I do.

For now I love my little room. I'll leave tomorrow or the next day, and may never return. But you can say that about anywhere.. What did she find, anyway, down in that rabbit-hole?

It's a nice space to meditate, but I remember thinking about meditation, as I was driving up the I5 in Northen California last year - peace doesn't come from meditation, but from keeping your life clean (which also means living your life - fully, so your energy doesn't get bottled up) - I meditated a lot when my marriage was breaking down, and I was a stressed out shithead. But it can help you get in touch with things that need changing. I can see some things in my life that need changing, but not yet.. in time.

Soon I'll go spend some time with friends (humans) and old lovers (mountains, beaches, and the Sea (the holy sea)) in my sacred places. I remember my friend Micheal, after his second marriage broke up, holding a nearly empty 26ouncer of something in his hand and saying, "you never gave up on me..(to it)" (don't worry - he got better) - sometimes I feel like that about nature - the place I always turn to, except maybe it's more like - "I never gave up on you."

The pursuit of a sacred life, a good life; art, nature, the environment: Service. For me, these things are all part of the same thing. Yet, I think it's become unclear, I've become unclear, about what exactly is the ideal greater than myself which I am serving.

There's a lot in popular media today, over the last 30-40 years, about "warriorship", and I've quoted some of it here, from Carlos Castenada to Trogyam Chungpa to Dan Millman, and I think that ideal is a good one, I think these days I'm envisioning something new, that 'peaceful warrior-yness', set in service of something, as a kind of modern day knighthood, like the samurai, who served their master, who served some idea of order and culture...

Probably not everyone's path. Again, as I said in my first entry - this is the lifestyle I've chosen. Not really sure how relationships, love, homes, homelessness, fit into that, although nature's role is fairly obvious ;)

I've become unclear about what that ideal is, undefined. I think that's the only answer I need, and from there all the other answers will be obvious (or the questions irrelevant)...

It's funny how we forget ourselves, life may be forgetting, but it's good to take some time to remember, sometimes. And to forget. Soon, back to nature! For now - I'm down the rabbit hole. What did she find down there?

The day you feel you do not know, you will begin to know.

forecasts for Deliverance (back to the drawing board)

Here’s my horoscope this week – “Virgo,” (that's me - the virgin, pure as the driven snow, just a bit of mercury, some dirt, and maybe a splash of dog pee..) – “ your Soul will be searching a little deeper down those dark inner corridors in search for an angel or two. Your focus will not be on what’s working or not working out there, it will be more about working on accessing some inner guidance from some of those invisible realms. The focus this week is about the heart, the Soul and the timeless energy that binds you to this universal current. It’s a wake up call leading to an awareness that at the end of the day this connection is all that ultimately matters, as well as serving this broken down planet – making your mark and making a significant difference.”

This entry is a mish-mash of quotes and thoughts. I'm just enjoying writing again, and ... being alone. Although it will be fun to chainsaw logs on the beach with Jesse James this evening, and then probably swim and have a beer. (a note from later - we didn't do any of those things, instead we roasted hotdogs over hand-smashed cedar, and chatted for hours by moon and firelight...)

I picked this quote up from a local artiste today, "Some people say they haven't yet found themselves, but the self is not something one finds, It is something one creates." Thomas Szasz

Our greatest work of art may be our lives; our selves. Why not take some time now and then and think it over? Where do we all come from? Who has created us, our 'fire in the head' (if not I..)?

I guess this time is not about finding myself, but (in keeping with my 2011 pledge) - deciding which self I want to become.. is that the same as - which self I am? Not sure. Not sure if we have a deep-down core. Probably.

'There is a life force, an energy, a quickening, that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost' Martha Graham

Be Yourself. In figuring out who you are, and how to express that, day-to-day, maybe one could ask - what is the biggest river in Me? And then, if it’s not flowing - blow the dam! Deliverance is a great movie, about the damming of a big river in the south, where have we done that in ourselves?

I guess I'm just swimming my rivers right now, inspecting my dams, and which one’s are open, “swimming that dark river to discover it’s source.” And, nicely, swimming the light clear stream again as well, to discover its source..

Creeping around in the night, laying caches of dynamite.

The more we let go, the more we are.

The Song of Amergin

I am the wind which breathes upon the sea,
I am the wave of the ocean,
I am the murmur of the billows,
I am the ox of the seven combats,
I am the vulture upon the rocks,
I am a beam of the sun,
I am the fairest of plants,
I am a wild boar in valor,
I am a salmon in the water,
I am a lake in the plain,
I am a word of science,
I am the point of the lance  in battle,
I am the God who created the fire in the head.
Who is it who throws light into the meeting on the mountain?
Who announces the ages of the moon?
Who teaches the place where couches the sun?
(If not I)

Silence

Sitting here at a friends place on the beach, listening to "Some guys have all the luck" by Robert Palmer, I'm also "working" (taking a break), and staring out the window at the waves. They just keep coming in.

The sunlight on them, each one; so unique, so the same. It's a coolish day, with a nice breeze.

the cars hiss by my window, like the waves down on the beach

Each wave is like a child, or an old man. Being born, and dying, in an instant. And there are millions of them, forever.
As I think that, about to write it, a family walks through my view pane, a little girl hops up on a log and walks along it, like I tend to, an older lady - probably her grandmother, steps up on it to 'follow the leader', and then steps back down and walks along the beach.

I'm reflecting on the value of being alone.

Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come with talk with you again
...
And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains
Within the sound of silence

I guess I've been listening to "four Minutes, thirty-three-seconds", by John Cage(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7zBG2p8g94&feature=related), but the extended version. You know, those moments where your mind just gives up on listening to anything in particular, and you can hear everything at once..  I call that peace.

Is this how we wake to our lives?

Listening to the movement of the grass in the wind that I can only see through the window, listening to the logs lying on the beach, the constant rhythym of the waves, the cadence of the wind in the trees, the fan in my laptop, like its breath, the depression of keys as I write, my thoughts, sometimes moments before being written, sometimes never written, the sound of the inside curl of a wave.. and its momentous mystery..              silence.

You say my name, I dissappear, who am I? How long will I swim in this silence? Till I am myself again.

In random movie selections, watched alone and with friends, I think four in a row recently were about writers. Wrestling with following their dreams, getting over blocks. "One Week", already mentioned, a cool little Canadian flick - the main character, in his search for Grumps - quoted Ulysses, by Tennyson, a lot. I have too, in this blog, over the last year.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone...


And the sign said the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls, and whispered in the sounds of silence

Swimming the great stream, drinking from a spring

Robert Moss has sure been influential in my writing lately. Here I go again. My ex-wife bought his first book for me, Conscious Dreaming, back in 2004 or 5. It was a thoughtful gift, since I'm sure my spending half an hour every morning writing down my dreams was a source of annoyance to her at times.

I've decided to take some time out of the normal grind. Not like I really had a 'grind' so to speak - but being in Vancouver, working, looking for more work, trying to meet people and build friendships and build a life there. Of some sort, in my fashion. I said years ago that job-hunting comes at a direct cost in self-esteem. Let's consider this a re-fill.

The month of August opened up as a time where I didn't have to have a place to live, so I decided not to - but instead to hit the road. My real travel is going to be though, crossing the great stream within that divides our inner and outer lives, selves; the River of Life. It's also the Lethe, the river of forgetting - and I need to swim it both ways, I think.

So I'm on the Sunshine Coast again. Staying with great friends on the beach.. I know, life is rough.  In a way I'm doing the same thing I did at this time last year - a wandering vagabond lawyer with car and a collection of feathers, and a collection of dreams..

This time the dreams are a bit different. Last year was so clear - I was on a spiritual journey of getting in touch with my enjoyment of life again. This year - it's not as clear if I just fell here, or if I actually have a reason for being here. So I'm going to take some time to re-examine the last year or more of my life, and let my compass reset itself.

Write. Robert Moss says. Yes, I'll probably do that too. I can't see healing or finding any clarity otherwise. He says to write in blood (my own(luckily, I've got lots;)). In some ways, that's exactly what I've been avoiding, and it has cost this blog, and my life - some numinosity: some vital power. Like a flower without sap. I've done this because - my romantic life has been a disaster and I was shy and embarrassed about it, and someone else didn't want to be mentioned here either, which is totally understandable.
Now I'm totally single and can feel moments of pure happiness returning. Pure dumb happiness. What is it? Good 'ole Guy Finley says in his monumental book - The Secret of Letting Go - nothing can make you happy. But some things can keep you from being happy, block the flow. Happiness is our natural state, and bubbles up like water from a spring - all on its own. One of the things I'm examining is what really makes me happy - and what does not. Do the times I've been happiest, in my adult life, fit with my ideas about what makes me happy?
Unclear.
As I review the past I'll just keep taking mouthfuls from that spring when I can. And see where that leads me..
As far as writing goes I haven't felt like I could write about this (but Robert Moss apparently does):

... the time in the war-torn city
when your heart was a quivering bird in your palm
and the blood pool kept filling, and you knew
no doctor could heal this wound
though the world would end if you failed
to keep the wounded lover alive for three days more.

and I certainly didn't want to write about this,

Remember the promises you made her:

"You'll never be hurt again." "Every day you'll make poetry."

Write from the night you could not keep those promises
and had to hold the young lover in you by force,
rough as a jailer's armlock, soft as lambskin,

The "her" the person in the poem made promises to - is their own heart, I think. I've certainly made lots of promises to mine I couldn't keep. But then again, as I've said before - I don't really know my own heart (but damn, I'm trying!).

If I was my heart I'd rather be restless...

And yes-  over the past few months I have held my heart in - exactly like that. My heart is naive and young, and I like it that way. But that means - it does need a jailer at times - someone to hold it in. And I think the jailer sheds a tear every time he does, but he does it out of love.

And I haven't even wanted to think about this:

And when your heart
breaks again, hold her fast, willing a greater power
to embrace and join you, and write from that.

Really not sure if I can do that one. And he finishes;

Dip your pen in the blood pool. This is the time for red ink.

Can I just use the blood from my shin where I fell on some rocks? Probably not, I know. .. I'm not sure I can do that one either. I'll try.
It reminds me again of the Open Letter to the World, which I quoted two blogs ago - "But something unexpected is happening. We have begun telling each other our own stories. Sharing our lives, our hopes, our dreams, our demons.
Every second, day in day out, into all hours of the night the gritty details of life on this earth are streaming around the world."
I'm taking some time to walk around my inner world, I'll see what I bring back and if I have the guts to write it down. I found six eagle feathers yesterday - it reminded me and helped me see, with the help of another Robert Moss blog I just read ( http://mossdreams.blogspot.com/2011/07/tarot-confirms-courage-is-fear.html ) - that the wind horse of Buddhism is not something outside of us, but - "the wind beneath our wings" that comes from living from our soul - following our bliss - when you hear the wind whipping by your ears - then you know you're doing it right. Scary. I'm scared.

Courage, it couldn't come at a worse time

I guess I'll just keep swimming these dark waters, like in Motorcylce Diaries, when Che Guevara swims the river at night to get to the leper colony on the other side - where he was forbidden to go - I'll go visit my own inner leper colony, and see what they have to teach me.

Travels on Mother Earth

I have no parents--I make the heavens and earth my parents.

This entry is pretty much a continuation of the last one. But different. I've been marvelling at the world lately, the revolutions in the Middle East, Bolivia: passing laws recognizing the rights of Mother Earth? Who would have guessed that ten years ago? Count on an indigenous government to lead the way. Not that we euro's are stupid, but we've been leading for a while, and have gotten us as far as we can.

It's a beautiful document, and statement.
http://motherearthrights.org/

affirming that to guarantee human rights it is necessary to recognize and defend the rights of Mother Earth and all beings in her and that there are existing cultures, practices and laws that do so;
...
Article 1. Mother Earth
1. Mother Earth is a living being.
2. Mother Earth is a unique, indivisible, self-regulating community of interrelated beings that sustains, contains and reproduces all beings.
3. Each being is defined by its relationships as an integral part of Mother Earth.
4. The inherent rights of Mother Earth are inalienable in that they arise from the same source as existence.
5. Mother Earth and all beings are entitled to all the inherent rights recognized in this Declaration without distinction of any kind, such as may be made between organic and inorganic beings, species, origin, use to human beings, or any other status.
6. Just as human beings have human rights, all other beings also have rights which are specific to their species or kind and appropriate for their role and function within the communities within which they exist.
7. The rights of each being are limited by the rights of other beings and any conflict between their rights must be resolved in a way that maintains the integrity, balance and health of Mother Earth.

My parents have passed on, as any readers know, so making the Heavens and Earth my parents is not a tough one for me. But in a way I think we all need to do that - like any new religion - abandon our old ways, our attachments to old things, and make the Earth and the Universe our parents.

At the same time I've started reading the Bhagwan again - Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (OSHO), and can't escape his dictates - that the most powerful thing is to simply be yourself. We are both dark and light, mostly we live in the past or future in our minds, but occasionally we manage to just be here, as us. Meditation helps..

And watched One Week the other night - about a guy who gets diagnosed with cancer and chucks everything to drive a Norton motorcycle across Canada. A lovely Canadian film, it reminded me of my travels and so many journeys to those places - the Sudbury Nickel to Tofino to Alberta's rolling hills. But the point is - we all have a week to live. Or less.

A teenage boy heard about the new law in Bolivia and said to his Dad - "I want to go there and be part of it - to see Mother Earth." His Dad said, "really?" and looked at him, looked down at the ground. The boy looked down at the ground. Silence. He looked up, "gotcha."

Mother Earth is right here, being ourselves is right here. We have one week to do it. Whatever it is.

Dark is a way and light is a place,
Heaven that never was
Nor will be ever is always true

No, we have one moment to do it - now. I do want to go to Bolivia, and feel the energy of change, of the future. And I wish I was in the Middle East right now, soaking up revolution. But if I had one week to live, one minute, one moment, here, now, what would it be?

I am on Earth, perfect and imperfect, torn between the past and future, can I simply accept what I am?
I am that.

Go Ask Alice (why we write)

About a year and a half ago, in a moment of brashness - I asked the Universe to 'speed things up'. Every time I recall that, with a shiver, (because it's usually at a time when changes are coming quickly and slightly uninvited) I'm tempted to think or say, "ok, that's enough" but instead I whisper - "keep it up, I know I whine sometimes, but I like it better this way..." ..or something to that effect.
There have been lots of changes in my life lately.

You ride now on cobbled streets

beyond my ramparts

to the palace of desires and hauteurs

of sweet airs and embraces

where once you forgot your duty

and the needs of the people

until I brought the roof down.

Remember, falcon rider.

I certainly feel like I've forgotten my duty before. What is 'our duty'? To create a better life? Simply to live an authentic life? I don't know.. to follow our bliss, perhaps.

It's from another Robert Moss poem: The Tower. The destruction of structures we have created for ourselves. De-structure. The sharp-shinned hawk, mentioned in the last blog, that I saw at lunch while at a session on soul-recovery with Robert, I had thought was a falcon, and told him so at the end of that day. When I found this poem a few days ago it seemed pretty on-point for my life, and..  synchronous.

When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead
And the white knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's "Off with her head!"
Remember what the dormouse said

Feed your head

Feed your head. I was making some art based on that song, and line, when my Dad died. The white knight - means to me; the empty cup - the buddist idea of letting go of all notions of yourself and letting the Universe flow through you. Adding to that the idea of "knight" = an empty warrior, one who lets the Universe flow through him, does not have his own agenda. I didn't know it meant all this to me when I was drawing it, back in 2001.

I have no parents--I make the heavens and earth my parents. - A Samurai Warrior's Creed

 
Goes hand in hand with the Tower. Although it may not seem so at first. I think it's about the cycles of life - like crab shells we all work hard on making, and then must let go of when we outgrow them - this is a natural process. The Universe can't flow through you when you're holding onto things you have outgrown. I certainly didn't see the relationship between 'feed your head,' the white knight, and the Tower, when Dad left my life. I saw that he had always fed his head - read, learned, grown, and changed. We can only grow if we can let go.

every day new dreams must die

see what's on the other side

I started following a blog called Expotera a long time ago. Not sure why, except it's good.
After a recent career set-back (not that big a deal) I've been wondering over the last few days what role writing has in my life, and if I should do more, or less. I've been asking myself: is that, in some ways, where I'm going, where I've been going for a long time?

As I was pondering this question the other day I happened upon this entry: http://expotera-ceo.blogspot.com/2011/07/open-letter-to-world.html it's called "Open Letter to the World." You should read it. I'm not sure if Tony wrote it, or reposted from here: http://www.anonnews.org/?p=press&a=item&i=619.

"But something unexpected is happening. We have begun telling each other our own stories. Sharing our lives, our hopes, our dreams, our demons.
Every second, day in day out, into all hours of the night the gritty details of life on this earth are streaming around the world.

As we see the lives of others played out in our living rooms we are beginning to understand the consequences of our actions and the error of the old ways.

We are questioning the old assumptions that we are made to consume not to create, that the world was made for our taking, that wars are inevitable, that poverty is unavoidable.

As we learn more about our global community a fundamental truth has been rediscovered: We are not so different as we may seem.

Every human has strengths, weaknesses, and deep emotions. We crave love, love laughter, fear being alone and dream for a better life.

You must create a better life.
You cannot sit on the couch watching television or playing video games, waiting for a revolution. You are the revolution."

I took the timing to be synchronous. We are all connected. Everything belongs to you and me. AND - we belong to it. I'll keep writing. Is that my duty?

His post expresses why we all write - to change the world, to change ourselves, and to ease the pain of the pain and glory of existence - by sharing it with one another. Let's all surf the net and see how much people out there are like us. They are us.

He sees the stars and hollow sky
He see the stars come out tonight
He sees the city's ripped backsides
He sees the winding ocean drive
And everything was made for you and me
All of it was made for you and me
'cause it just belongs to you and me
So let's take a ride and see what's mine