Well, what the hell.
I've pretty much decided to keep on going and have started the process of looking for work in the Middle East. I have turned down a 3-4 week house-sitting gig in Tofino. Funny, I could stay here in this place that many people would kill to live in, and do meaningful work at the same time. As I said in a previous blog - I'm riding two horses, I suppose the way Bono put it is one way of saying it, "between the horses of love and lust" - we all have spiritual needs, we all have physical needs.
I've often, over the years, thought of myself as a Bodhisattva, in a teasing way, and with some humility. People have said it to me a few times over the years, but not all reliable sources ;) The highest compliment was, "bodhisattva-warrior" - I wish I could claim that title, it sounds cool!
I've read / been told that you're a Bodhisattva if you have already reached enlightenment and you have returned to earth to serve, instead of hanging out in Nirvanna. I don't feel particularly enlightened, I keep having to learn some pretty basic stuff, over and over. But ever since I was a kid, particularly since a calm clear moment when I was 13, I've wanted to help others, above all else.
This is what Wikipedia has to say about what a Bodhisattva is;
The Sanskrit term Bodhisattva is the name given to anyone who, motivated by great compassion, has generated bodhichitta, which is a spontaneous wish to attain Buddhahood for the benefit of all sentient beings. What makes someone a Bodhisattva is her or his dedication to the ultimate welfare of other beings, as expressed in the prayer:
May I attain Buddahood for the benefit of all sentient beings.
That definition is easier to sit with - 'still learning'!
If that is true, I guess it explains why I can walk away from a place where I could do good stuff, and go somewhere I may do work of questionable value. Riding two horses takes personal power, takes deep energy.
I have to get my finances straight, and my energy is in travelling right now - all paths point towards keeping travelling. The wave I'm surfing right now is washing me out to sea - to the mid-east or ... somewhere.
My 'service', whatever it is, lies out there - beyond the tried and true of what I know or what others think. It'd be easy, and I do it sometimes, to say: 'you want to help people and yet you...?' or - 'one should be a pure-bred eco-warrior, not wandering around driving a car - become king or dedicate yourself 24/7 to your passion...' Maybe.
Maybe I'm just justifying self-indulgence. Dunno. This is all I got. Maybe travelling and getting my debts straight is my path to Buddahood today, my way to sharpen my sword and make myself ready for the next thing that needs to be done.
A friend quoted one of my earlier blogs this morning - that if you turn away from someone before you who needs you, in pursuit of a distant goal, you will surely fail. Or something like that. I've worked on this project off and on over the summer, I've done what I can here, like my job in Ontario - it doesn't feel like my destiny to stay for every detail. I will continue to work on protecting Catface Mountain while here, and then via the internet / phone etc. I know myself this well - if I am untrue to me - I become useless pretty quickly.
Do I care about Buddahood? Not in the least. But if learning and growing, like money, helps me help others - great. Travel - is an accumulation of a different kind of money. Inside wealth.
I went to the beach the other morning, Florencia Beach, for an 'hour'. I ended up staying all day. It was cold and rainy and sunny at times, I had a fire, meditated, wrote in my journal, wrote a letter to God/the Universe. Relinquished some old vows, so I could move into the future unhindered. Realized that they have been pillars that have shaped my life/lives and that in giving them up I am, like with my travels - moving beyond the known. I siezed that day as mine, knowing I'll live in places again that are not beautiful, work long days, be under stress, this is the life I've embraced - moving, travelling, taking on new challenges. Those days, long days alone at the beach, they go inside your heart and they stay there, like gas in a tank, to get you through times that are not as glorious.
Go beyond the pillars, the moon and stars say to me - 'we know you and your passions, your answer lies out there, beyond what you know, beyond your safe zone where you can call yourself a "_______" or whatever else you choose as your identity. Go out there, beyond the pillars, into the desert, serve all of Creation by being who you are. A yellow flower that tries to make itself a red one is neither, and never complete.'
Are there others out there?
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
I have struggled with this blog, with how people see how I see myself. But I had some inspiration today too - friends who have said I've inspired them on their paths, to speak more openly, and to be productive in their creative ventures, in the pursuit of their highest ideals. I love writing this blog. Thank you for reading.
May the road rise up to meet you.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Ahousat / Singing up the hills
I've found this trip, the last few months, has taken on a musical, nay - 'lyrical' quality. How has poetry become such a huge part of my writing? For those who know me, it hasn't been that important in my life before now. People always said my Dad had a lilting quality when he talked, almost musical. Maybe it's the Irishness. He wrote beautiful poetry. I find that in myself sometimes these days, as days and days creep into a magical quality for me - things like "sunday", "the seventeenth" - all become irrelevant. Instead, my days are concerned with, "sunny" "down the road" and "wow, isn't that beautiful?"
I remember a show I saw on televison when I was young, it was about the Aborigines of Australia. It said that when they travelled, they would "sing up the hills" - sing about what they would find over the next hill, and thereby create it. They believed, the program said, that if they didn't sing, there would be nothing there. And they were always right - they always found the beautiful land they sang of; the creatures, nights, days, and community.
I thought, "yeah, that sounds right", and I always practiced it. When I have travelled, I have always sung songs that were meaningful to me, songs I knew and had grown up with. I think music is an amazing source of energy, you put it in, and it turns around and comes out as more, and better.
I read about a man's trip to Ireland years ago, he was at a pub in a small town and ended up talking to an old man. The old man recited a poem for him, didn't know any modern music at all. He knew a handful of old poems, and had sung them to himself all his days; out working in the fields, cutting peat, labouring, it brought light to his life, reminded him of the ones he loved, of the blood of his fathers in the ground beneath him, and the stars in the sky above.
I went yesterday to Ahousat. I didn't practice my singing; I thought nothing. I didn't know what to expect, but despite what people said, deep down I looked forward to the meeting. And instead, maybe having created a gravitational attraction by long habit - the music rose up to meet me.
Ahousat is supposed to be one the poorer reservations in Canada - third world conditions, people said. Well, they're making progress. There was an air of looking-forward, people are busy. We were honoured to attend an elders luncheon, and were well-fed. It is 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, and I was there with the Friends of Clayoquot Sound, in relation to the possible copper mine on Catface Mountain. This is a place of new ideas, of leadership for Canada, in forestry, and from First Nations. Maybe there is a potential here for new ways of doing things, new ways of recognizing First Nations special place in Canada, new kinds of relationships between First Nations and environmentalists. Hope springs eternal? It does in me. For hope -"is only the love of life". How can we ever get to the stars if we don't adore them?
There was no music. It was in the voices, the river of culture and history, wrinkled smiling eyes, warm, unsure about me and who I am, all I could do was smile back. And there it was - the same music I grew up with, a lilting warm current underneath everything, of love and family, hardship and history. I felt more at home on the Ahousat Reservation, 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, than I do in town, any town. Strange, what is this music I hear?
I remember a show I saw on televison when I was young, it was about the Aborigines of Australia. It said that when they travelled, they would "sing up the hills" - sing about what they would find over the next hill, and thereby create it. They believed, the program said, that if they didn't sing, there would be nothing there. And they were always right - they always found the beautiful land they sang of; the creatures, nights, days, and community.
I thought, "yeah, that sounds right", and I always practiced it. When I have travelled, I have always sung songs that were meaningful to me, songs I knew and had grown up with. I think music is an amazing source of energy, you put it in, and it turns around and comes out as more, and better.
I read about a man's trip to Ireland years ago, he was at a pub in a small town and ended up talking to an old man. The old man recited a poem for him, didn't know any modern music at all. He knew a handful of old poems, and had sung them to himself all his days; out working in the fields, cutting peat, labouring, it brought light to his life, reminded him of the ones he loved, of the blood of his fathers in the ground beneath him, and the stars in the sky above.
I went yesterday to Ahousat. I didn't practice my singing; I thought nothing. I didn't know what to expect, but despite what people said, deep down I looked forward to the meeting. And instead, maybe having created a gravitational attraction by long habit - the music rose up to meet me.
Ahousat is supposed to be one the poorer reservations in Canada - third world conditions, people said. Well, they're making progress. There was an air of looking-forward, people are busy. We were honoured to attend an elders luncheon, and were well-fed. It is 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, and I was there with the Friends of Clayoquot Sound, in relation to the possible copper mine on Catface Mountain. This is a place of new ideas, of leadership for Canada, in forestry, and from First Nations. Maybe there is a potential here for new ways of doing things, new ways of recognizing First Nations special place in Canada, new kinds of relationships between First Nations and environmentalists. Hope springs eternal? It does in me. For hope -"is only the love of life". How can we ever get to the stars if we don't adore them?
There was no music. It was in the voices, the river of culture and history, wrinkled smiling eyes, warm, unsure about me and who I am, all I could do was smile back. And there it was - the same music I grew up with, a lilting warm current underneath everything, of love and family, hardship and history. I felt more at home on the Ahousat Reservation, 45 minutes by boat from Tofino, than I do in town, any town. Strange, what is this music I hear?
Thursday, October 21, 2010
10.) Guy LaFleur and the Wheel of Fortune
My tenth posting. I didn't really expect this blog to take off, either in the way of my being inspired to do it, or in people reading it. Turns out I was wrong.
These are happy days for me, simple days. I have decisions to make, theoretically, but don't feel any pressure to do so, or any sense of time closing in. It's more like it's opening up. Every time I refuse to be panicked, about money, work, or my next move, time seems to open up a little more. I keep meeting great, interesting people, and getting interesting offers, good work, places to stay, friendship.
Catface Mountain is proceeding well, although it's like two blind trains heading towards an intersection, neither knows which will get there first, and the slower may not be able to stop for the faster. For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, it's the proposed copper mine on Catface Mountain in Clayoquot Sound. See my earlier posting "Tofino and the Thunderbird" for more info.
I was at a party last Saturday night and someone said they thought the best solution was to get the highest level of environmental assessment (EA). I said, "really?" He said, "yeah, what do you think?"
I said, "a - help the Ahousat see that it's not in their interests so they withdraw support, and b - Imperial Metals does not apply for a permit at all." He said, "wow, that's an aggresive stance." I said "really?" ;)
'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
What new world are we making? As a homeless person, who is wandering around, making people laugh, helping them out, doing what I can to protect the green world that we come from, not just at birth, but that every day remakes us through our food, air and water, and trying to take care of my own needs at the same time (they are few, the biggest one right now seems to be to write and to travel and to experience) part of the deep peace I feel many days seems to be attached to some sense that the world I'm contributing to is a good one. One where people have time for each other, where money's not so important, where some friends, laughter and a bit to eat are the most complex needs that have to be met, where creativity and passion are valued.
Maybe all of our number's are coming up. In the lotto. Some days I feel like I've already won.
The moon is full
The night is very still
My heart beats
Like a bell.
I always knew that I would step out and travel, wander, not lost, and that it would be part of 'becoming me'. I remember taking a vacation with my Mom, her friend Barb, and Barb's son Jason, who was a few years younger than me. I was fifteen or so, had already seen what I think of as my life purpose, and being young and free in spirit, saw it clearly. We stopped at a store somewhere in Nova Scotia, it was an early or late summer afternoon. They were in the store. I was with Jason. He went in the store too. I was alone. In the car, I got out. Stood around a few seconds, could hear a voice, not a voice, but a pull - from within and without. I turned and walked toward the road, down from the store. It must have been late spring I guess, the deciduous trees hung over the road with a wet weightiness in their leaves, full of moisture, moving in the light breeze, creating dappled shadows. I stood in the dirt and gravel by the side of the road, the cars dissappeared. I stepped out onto it, looked one way, and then the other, slowly, off into the distance. I knew.
I knew that one day it would be part of my destiny, and that it would be the only way to really be the person I am. And I knew that it may not, that I could choose otherwise.
I have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.
As I mentioned in a previous blog - this point came around before; I was 21, very different, and ready to travel the world. I didn't. I am so very deeply thankful that the Wheel of Fortune(10th card in the tarot) has come around again to this point. Instead of the eight or nine which I chose to be before, let me be a ten this time - a Guy LaFleur of 'living my own life'.
I still struggle at times with what to do next, to stay here and serve, do good work, or to go further abroad. Both have risks. I trust that I will make the right decision. The greatest risk, of course, is turning away from myself, the greatest path - that which is true to my heart.
An eagle flew overhead this morning as I chatted with a friend in his backyard, about work, debt, life. A reminder - "keep your eyes to the sky."
Upon his shoulders
he places boulders,
upon his eye
the high wide sky.
These are happy days for me, simple days. I have decisions to make, theoretically, but don't feel any pressure to do so, or any sense of time closing in. It's more like it's opening up. Every time I refuse to be panicked, about money, work, or my next move, time seems to open up a little more. I keep meeting great, interesting people, and getting interesting offers, good work, places to stay, friendship.
Catface Mountain is proceeding well, although it's like two blind trains heading towards an intersection, neither knows which will get there first, and the slower may not be able to stop for the faster. For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, it's the proposed copper mine on Catface Mountain in Clayoquot Sound. See my earlier posting "Tofino and the Thunderbird" for more info.
I was at a party last Saturday night and someone said they thought the best solution was to get the highest level of environmental assessment (EA). I said, "really?" He said, "yeah, what do you think?"
I said, "a - help the Ahousat see that it's not in their interests so they withdraw support, and b - Imperial Metals does not apply for a permit at all." He said, "wow, that's an aggresive stance." I said "really?" ;)
'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
What new world are we making? As a homeless person, who is wandering around, making people laugh, helping them out, doing what I can to protect the green world that we come from, not just at birth, but that every day remakes us through our food, air and water, and trying to take care of my own needs at the same time (they are few, the biggest one right now seems to be to write and to travel and to experience) part of the deep peace I feel many days seems to be attached to some sense that the world I'm contributing to is a good one. One where people have time for each other, where money's not so important, where some friends, laughter and a bit to eat are the most complex needs that have to be met, where creativity and passion are valued.
Maybe all of our number's are coming up. In the lotto. Some days I feel like I've already won.
The moon is full
The night is very still
My heart beats
Like a bell.
I always knew that I would step out and travel, wander, not lost, and that it would be part of 'becoming me'. I remember taking a vacation with my Mom, her friend Barb, and Barb's son Jason, who was a few years younger than me. I was fifteen or so, had already seen what I think of as my life purpose, and being young and free in spirit, saw it clearly. We stopped at a store somewhere in Nova Scotia, it was an early or late summer afternoon. They were in the store. I was with Jason. He went in the store too. I was alone. In the car, I got out. Stood around a few seconds, could hear a voice, not a voice, but a pull - from within and without. I turned and walked toward the road, down from the store. It must have been late spring I guess, the deciduous trees hung over the road with a wet weightiness in their leaves, full of moisture, moving in the light breeze, creating dappled shadows. I stood in the dirt and gravel by the side of the road, the cars dissappeared. I stepped out onto it, looked one way, and then the other, slowly, off into the distance. I knew.
I knew that one day it would be part of my destiny, and that it would be the only way to really be the person I am. And I knew that it may not, that I could choose otherwise.
I have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.
As I mentioned in a previous blog - this point came around before; I was 21, very different, and ready to travel the world. I didn't. I am so very deeply thankful that the Wheel of Fortune(10th card in the tarot) has come around again to this point. Instead of the eight or nine which I chose to be before, let me be a ten this time - a Guy LaFleur of 'living my own life'.
I still struggle at times with what to do next, to stay here and serve, do good work, or to go further abroad. Both have risks. I trust that I will make the right decision. The greatest risk, of course, is turning away from myself, the greatest path - that which is true to my heart.
An eagle flew overhead this morning as I chatted with a friend in his backyard, about work, debt, life. A reminder - "keep your eyes to the sky."
Upon his shoulders
he places boulders,
upon his eye
the high wide sky.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Sea. (it's warm and it's safe here)
Hiked all day. Drinking beer and listening to the Tragically Hip. The greatest loss in America - they have no idea who the Hip are. I drove to Radar Hill, south of Tofino, about 15k. Parked illegally. I always do. I don't have to pay park fees - that would violate my constitutional rights; it's my religion.
I hiked down the trail to the sea, half an hour, very steep and wet. Kinda like Dagobah, but wetter, and with cougars. I was alone, so I strapped on my hunting knife. I might be a hippie, but if something tries to kill me, I will kill it first. Or at least wave my foot around menacingly...
Got some nice clay, about halfway down the hike, it's supposed to be special. I used to have some runes I made with it, 18 yrs ago, with a 'friend'; a loveley 42 yr old disney cartoonist. Of all the women I've had crushes on, I think we had the most fun (no offense to anyone). Hung out for about a week; swam, hopped in puddles, explored, skinny dipped at night in bioluminescence, made a lot of dumb jokes, laughed and acted like little kids.
As if the wolves of Northumberland themselves (were rumoured to be enroute). Or maybe a green star. I got to the beach and it is gorgeous!! Absolutley XY, Z fabulous! Picture a nice sand beach in Tahiti, except surrounded by old growth temperate rainforest, and - you're the only one there. Peace.
Miles of beach and shoreline all to yourself. No cell service, so don't 'break a leg'. But cripes, a person's gotta have fun.
I called my friend Maya tonight. She said she's bleeding like a stuck pig ( having her period) - painful, but healthy. How do men get that? For the most part, in our culture, they don't. I risked my life about 5 times today. Cut and scraped my arms and legs a lot. Bleeding is good. The risks were - jumping over things, chasms of sharp volcanic rock with a thirty foot drop to crashing waves and ice-cold water. Why? Because it was fun. I reserve the right to risk my life. Tonight, how do I feel? Alive, Fantastic. Rushing by the machine revving tension. Maybe that's a bad reference. ;)
So, the hike - must be done at low tide, or it's virtually impossible. East coaster's can't concieve of this. It's not your fault, I couldn't either. The first time I set out on this hike, in 1994, and failed, I had thought - I'll just go into the woods and crash through if I have to. Nuh-uh. It's just really not possible. Thorns and thick brush, with sudden drops, muck, and more thorns. Do it at low tide. So, I was rushing, being alone, and having slid down the muck slope from Radar Hill, the last thing I wanted was to get cut off and have to go back, and climb it.
There are two sea-caves. I couldn't get down, even at this low tide, but it would be worth it. There's a 10-15ft sheer wall on either side, waves coming in, and then the cave goes into the rock face out of sight. Too cool. Next time I go I'd like to take a companion and 50 feet of rope - to clamber down into there and check it out.
Ok, really: next time I go I'd like to take a lover and spend the whole summer, so we could have a week on each gorgeous private beach to frolic, sunbathe, read, drink wine, and eat fresh fish. An adventurous lover that wouldn't mind scaling into the mercy of the sea.
Siren,
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And make my fortune there.
I must be won, that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not won;
For beauty hath created bin
To undo, or be undone.
Hope springs eternal. There's nothin dead down here. I'm not sure Persephone would agree. I walked, I talked. To the eagles, the sea, the imaginary cougars. I jumped. I walked across fallen logs over the rocks. I prayed to my God, in my church. I forgot my camera.
I saw Schooner Cove - the north part of Long Beach, a ways away yet. Stopped and ate a peanut butter and jam sandwhich, a swig of water, some grapes. Hopped along. Over rocks and seaweed, past joy, hope, rebuilding, smelling the salt, the sea, the kelp, hearing the waves, the rhythym of my breath and blood. The thoughts in my head; memories, forgotten hopes, voices, people, the myriad pictures of the great unknown of the future.
It was in Tofino, on Long Beach, at Schooner Cove, where I saw the constellations reveal themselves one star at a time. I was 20, 21. 19. Formative time for me, life-changing. I had (as I've mentioned) hitchhiked across Canada, both summers. These were coming of age rituals in the modern mythic tradition. I don't know what possessed me to do that. I guess I did.
On the last point, of course, I hit a cliff. No way around but in. Entered the jungle. With great fanfare and dissapointment. I didn't get far before turning back also sucked as an option. I did it anyway, thankfully. I got out and saw - it would have taken me a long time to travel that 300m stretch of bush. Backtracked, took a shortcut, on the beach.
My beach. Where a seal once invited me to swim. Where a kid from Nova Scotia ran every morning for two months, skinnydipped alone, and ran back to camp, started to see that the world is limitless; that he could do anything, absolutley anything - he put his mind to, started to see the stars reveal themselves, the awesomeness of nature, the tinyness of me, and the power that lies in that; the gift shop of life.
I got to the beach, took off my shoes and socks. Walked, splashed, sat down. Ate lunch. Terry came along, from Esowista. A nice young guy. He carried a golf club. In the other Long Beach(LA) there's a pretty clear use for that. There is here too. I had already put my knife away and was just carrying a solid stick. We chatted a bit. He was cool. He mosied on.
I finished my snack and mosied on too. I said, "whatever I find is for my brother". I immediately found an eagle feather. In the mail. It was neatly nestled between parallel sets of bear and wolf tracks. The wolf was alone, or so it seemed, and had been by recently. His tracks dug in deep, after the water had been out of the sand from the receding tide for a few hours. The bear tracks, no bigger than the wolfs, barely imprinted. He had walked along right after the tide had left that stretch of sand, when it was still hard like pavement. I saw his poop later, lotsa berries!
Why wasn't he salmon fishing right now with everyone else? Because he's young, stupid, and young. And he'd get the crap beat out of himself. So when everyone's fattening up for the winter on rich fish, he's eating berries and scouring the beach I'm on.
Sketchy. But fine. He was already by and I kept moving. Stopped and read for a while, saw a person in the distance, approached. Not a person, just a peice of wood.
Climbed French Girl Island - the little grass covered island with no trees on north Long Beach. Good view. Stopped at Dingo Cove, walked through the sacred rainforest and hitched back to my car. Rob picked me up in a 1972 triumph. My year. Drove me right to my car. Asked me if I'd help him tomorrow take his soft top off and put the hard top on. I said sure. Yes to everything.
I spent the day with the sea, the holy sea.
Being set on the idea
Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
Are predicted, and that you
Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
To pass for one of the Boys,
At least appearing to love
Hard liquor, horseplay, and noise.
Two buckets of chicken and a drive to the liquor store?
Deal.
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.
I hiked down the trail to the sea, half an hour, very steep and wet. Kinda like Dagobah, but wetter, and with cougars. I was alone, so I strapped on my hunting knife. I might be a hippie, but if something tries to kill me, I will kill it first. Or at least wave my foot around menacingly...
Got some nice clay, about halfway down the hike, it's supposed to be special. I used to have some runes I made with it, 18 yrs ago, with a 'friend'; a loveley 42 yr old disney cartoonist. Of all the women I've had crushes on, I think we had the most fun (no offense to anyone). Hung out for about a week; swam, hopped in puddles, explored, skinny dipped at night in bioluminescence, made a lot of dumb jokes, laughed and acted like little kids.
As if the wolves of Northumberland themselves (were rumoured to be enroute). Or maybe a green star. I got to the beach and it is gorgeous!! Absolutley XY, Z fabulous! Picture a nice sand beach in Tahiti, except surrounded by old growth temperate rainforest, and - you're the only one there. Peace.
Miles of beach and shoreline all to yourself. No cell service, so don't 'break a leg'. But cripes, a person's gotta have fun.
I called my friend Maya tonight. She said she's bleeding like a stuck pig ( having her period) - painful, but healthy. How do men get that? For the most part, in our culture, they don't. I risked my life about 5 times today. Cut and scraped my arms and legs a lot. Bleeding is good. The risks were - jumping over things, chasms of sharp volcanic rock with a thirty foot drop to crashing waves and ice-cold water. Why? Because it was fun. I reserve the right to risk my life. Tonight, how do I feel? Alive, Fantastic. Rushing by the machine revving tension. Maybe that's a bad reference. ;)
So, the hike - must be done at low tide, or it's virtually impossible. East coaster's can't concieve of this. It's not your fault, I couldn't either. The first time I set out on this hike, in 1994, and failed, I had thought - I'll just go into the woods and crash through if I have to. Nuh-uh. It's just really not possible. Thorns and thick brush, with sudden drops, muck, and more thorns. Do it at low tide. So, I was rushing, being alone, and having slid down the muck slope from Radar Hill, the last thing I wanted was to get cut off and have to go back, and climb it.
There are two sea-caves. I couldn't get down, even at this low tide, but it would be worth it. There's a 10-15ft sheer wall on either side, waves coming in, and then the cave goes into the rock face out of sight. Too cool. Next time I go I'd like to take a companion and 50 feet of rope - to clamber down into there and check it out.
Ok, really: next time I go I'd like to take a lover and spend the whole summer, so we could have a week on each gorgeous private beach to frolic, sunbathe, read, drink wine, and eat fresh fish. An adventurous lover that wouldn't mind scaling into the mercy of the sea.
Siren,
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And make my fortune there.
I must be won, that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not won;
For beauty hath created bin
To undo, or be undone.
Hope springs eternal. There's nothin dead down here. I'm not sure Persephone would agree. I walked, I talked. To the eagles, the sea, the imaginary cougars. I jumped. I walked across fallen logs over the rocks. I prayed to my God, in my church. I forgot my camera.
I saw Schooner Cove - the north part of Long Beach, a ways away yet. Stopped and ate a peanut butter and jam sandwhich, a swig of water, some grapes. Hopped along. Over rocks and seaweed, past joy, hope, rebuilding, smelling the salt, the sea, the kelp, hearing the waves, the rhythym of my breath and blood. The thoughts in my head; memories, forgotten hopes, voices, people, the myriad pictures of the great unknown of the future.
It was in Tofino, on Long Beach, at Schooner Cove, where I saw the constellations reveal themselves one star at a time. I was 20, 21. 19. Formative time for me, life-changing. I had (as I've mentioned) hitchhiked across Canada, both summers. These were coming of age rituals in the modern mythic tradition. I don't know what possessed me to do that. I guess I did.
On the last point, of course, I hit a cliff. No way around but in. Entered the jungle. With great fanfare and dissapointment. I didn't get far before turning back also sucked as an option. I did it anyway, thankfully. I got out and saw - it would have taken me a long time to travel that 300m stretch of bush. Backtracked, took a shortcut, on the beach.
My beach. Where a seal once invited me to swim. Where a kid from Nova Scotia ran every morning for two months, skinnydipped alone, and ran back to camp, started to see that the world is limitless; that he could do anything, absolutley anything - he put his mind to, started to see the stars reveal themselves, the awesomeness of nature, the tinyness of me, and the power that lies in that; the gift shop of life.
I got to the beach, took off my shoes and socks. Walked, splashed, sat down. Ate lunch. Terry came along, from Esowista. A nice young guy. He carried a golf club. In the other Long Beach(LA) there's a pretty clear use for that. There is here too. I had already put my knife away and was just carrying a solid stick. We chatted a bit. He was cool. He mosied on.
I finished my snack and mosied on too. I said, "whatever I find is for my brother". I immediately found an eagle feather. In the mail. It was neatly nestled between parallel sets of bear and wolf tracks. The wolf was alone, or so it seemed, and had been by recently. His tracks dug in deep, after the water had been out of the sand from the receding tide for a few hours. The bear tracks, no bigger than the wolfs, barely imprinted. He had walked along right after the tide had left that stretch of sand, when it was still hard like pavement. I saw his poop later, lotsa berries!
Why wasn't he salmon fishing right now with everyone else? Because he's young, stupid, and young. And he'd get the crap beat out of himself. So when everyone's fattening up for the winter on rich fish, he's eating berries and scouring the beach I'm on.
Sketchy. But fine. He was already by and I kept moving. Stopped and read for a while, saw a person in the distance, approached. Not a person, just a peice of wood.
Climbed French Girl Island - the little grass covered island with no trees on north Long Beach. Good view. Stopped at Dingo Cove, walked through the sacred rainforest and hitched back to my car. Rob picked me up in a 1972 triumph. My year. Drove me right to my car. Asked me if I'd help him tomorrow take his soft top off and put the hard top on. I said sure. Yes to everything.
I spent the day with the sea, the holy sea.
Being set on the idea
Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
Are predicted, and that you
Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
To pass for one of the Boys,
At least appearing to love
Hard liquor, horseplay, and noise.
Two buckets of chicken and a drive to the liquor store?
Deal.
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Travelling to the END OF THE WORLD.
As I mentioned, I started this trip on July 1st, Canada Day, 2010. Clyf came up from Halifax and we drove across Canada together. We took our time and stayed with many friends and family; we had a great time. Clyf flew home from BC and I continued the trip. Through the west coast states and back to BC, which finds me now in Tofino, with time to write. I had prepared myself to travel forever; for the rest of my life. Now Clyf's travelling again, that may be his intention too, I'm not sure.
As I said before, I'll stop and work here and there, a year here, a month there, five years there (ug, really, five?). Whatever.
And, yet again in this blog, I am exploring over the rim - going a little further in what I am willing to share in an online forum:
The END OF THE WORLD?!?!!!? Holy crap, that sounds pretty final. But what is it really? When I die? When tsunami's and earthquakes and climate change wipe us all out, us human parasite on this earth? Either, whichever comes first.
My friend Maya said today, over sushi, a friend had said to her - "you people figured out 500 years ago that the world is round, but you're still living in one that's flat." Good over here, bad over there, and a straight line in between. Sad but true.
So I guess, inside, I am exploring to the end of that world, - to truly be who I am, an idealist, passionate, but also going beyong good and evil - to simply me. Whole. So you can be simply you, when you're with me. That's one world that's ending.
It was funny, travelling in the States and Canada, to see how many people believe in the end of the world stuff. I kinda do, not on the precise moment of December 21st, 2012 necessarily, but really- you can only rape the earth for so long. You can only kick the grizzly bear in the corner for so long, shove 'core tubes' in it and cover it in tar and crap, before it gets up kills you.
The disturbing part of this common belief is how people are reacting to it: with so much fear and hostility. All over North America I have heard the same thing, "my cousin Bob's stockin up on guns, canned tuna, and water". Mmhm. And how is that gonna help with a tidal wave? And if it's not a tidal wave, maybe you moved inland to be away from that risk; how is that gonna help with an earthquake, 40 days of rain, a year of darkness?
Maybe the essential difference is our belief systems. I believe in an orderly universe, for the most part. Whether it's God, or the Creator, or just math, I think things happen for a reason. Here I need a quote from "The Master and Margarita" (I love that book), that I'm pretty sure I can't find, so I'm not gonna look. I'll find it later, I have it on a piece of art I did years ago (the day my Dad died), and it's in storage in Vancouver.
Pontius Pilate tells Jesus, in trying to get him to capitulate, "you realize your life is hanging by a thread", and Jesus says, "and you think you can cut it..?" Pilate bristles, says, "my patience is wearing thin, you know I can, with an order." Jesus responds, "I'm pretty sure the only one who can cut it - is he who has hung it."
Let's pretend the world really is going to end, or - let's pretend we're all going to die.
Wait a sec... ;)
Either I'm going to die or I'm not. Each day. Whether it's the end of the world or not. What determines that? In my universe - it is being of some value in my round world. Or - simply being on my path. Whatever that is. If 2012 comes and I get fragged by an earthquake - cool, whatever. Sounds painless. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time). Or, if I live to 81, and my life, my "world," ends - at the bottom of a cliff in the Himalayas - cool, whatever. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time).
I am travelling to end of the world. I hope people will put down their arms, share their cans of tuna in a big potluck sidewalk dinner for people we don't know, and believe - that if we simply fill our place in this world, day-to-day, we will die when we're supposed to die. Let's live when we're supposed to live.
As I said before, I'll stop and work here and there, a year here, a month there, five years there (ug, really, five?). Whatever.
And, yet again in this blog, I am exploring over the rim - going a little further in what I am willing to share in an online forum:
The END OF THE WORLD?!?!!!? Holy crap, that sounds pretty final. But what is it really? When I die? When tsunami's and earthquakes and climate change wipe us all out, us human parasite on this earth? Either, whichever comes first.
My friend Maya said today, over sushi, a friend had said to her - "you people figured out 500 years ago that the world is round, but you're still living in one that's flat." Good over here, bad over there, and a straight line in between. Sad but true.
So I guess, inside, I am exploring to the end of that world, - to truly be who I am, an idealist, passionate, but also going beyong good and evil - to simply me. Whole. So you can be simply you, when you're with me. That's one world that's ending.
It was funny, travelling in the States and Canada, to see how many people believe in the end of the world stuff. I kinda do, not on the precise moment of December 21st, 2012 necessarily, but really- you can only rape the earth for so long. You can only kick the grizzly bear in the corner for so long, shove 'core tubes' in it and cover it in tar and crap, before it gets up kills you.
The disturbing part of this common belief is how people are reacting to it: with so much fear and hostility. All over North America I have heard the same thing, "my cousin Bob's stockin up on guns, canned tuna, and water". Mmhm. And how is that gonna help with a tidal wave? And if it's not a tidal wave, maybe you moved inland to be away from that risk; how is that gonna help with an earthquake, 40 days of rain, a year of darkness?
Maybe the essential difference is our belief systems. I believe in an orderly universe, for the most part. Whether it's God, or the Creator, or just math, I think things happen for a reason. Here I need a quote from "The Master and Margarita" (I love that book), that I'm pretty sure I can't find, so I'm not gonna look. I'll find it later, I have it on a piece of art I did years ago (the day my Dad died), and it's in storage in Vancouver.
Pontius Pilate tells Jesus, in trying to get him to capitulate, "you realize your life is hanging by a thread", and Jesus says, "and you think you can cut it..?" Pilate bristles, says, "my patience is wearing thin, you know I can, with an order." Jesus responds, "I'm pretty sure the only one who can cut it - is he who has hung it."
Let's pretend the world really is going to end, or - let's pretend we're all going to die.
Wait a sec... ;)
Either I'm going to die or I'm not. Each day. Whether it's the end of the world or not. What determines that? In my universe - it is being of some value in my round world. Or - simply being on my path. Whatever that is. If 2012 comes and I get fragged by an earthquake - cool, whatever. Sounds painless. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time). Or, if I live to 81, and my life, my "world," ends - at the bottom of a cliff in the Himalayas - cool, whatever. Up to that point, I have lived my life, according to my highest ideals (most of the time).
I am travelling to end of the world. I hope people will put down their arms, share their cans of tuna in a big potluck sidewalk dinner for people we don't know, and believe - that if we simply fill our place in this world, day-to-day, we will die when we're supposed to die. Let's live when we're supposed to live.
Retirement vs. surfing - how to afford travel
A cool ex-girlfriend from Ontario texted me while I was in California and said, a -"wow, I love that you're so full of life", and b- "how can you afford to do all that?"
The short answer is, to misquote Kris Kristofferson; I am spending my tomorrow's on today. Instead of the other way around. I'm not knocking retirement, if that's your thing - go for it. I think if I retire at 60, and get to travel some, that might be ok. On the other hand, if I'm still working at 66, 86, and can look back and say, 'man, what a great ride it's been!" that sounds good to me.
I just turned 38. Pretty old. Pretty young. Young enough to bunjee jump, chase girls, take huge professional risks, skinny dip, miss sleep, and dance all night. I'd rather take the time off now, have adventures now, and work later.
I went and watched the Canadian Coldwater Classic surf competition this afternoon. Hung out with friends on the beach and talked about life, Plato, the conundrum of today. Watched surfing. I posted that I was there on my fb page. A friend asked if I was surfing, I said 'no - only the seas of fate.' ;)
I still haven't tried surfing, no rush. But it was great to watch those guys today, twist, turn, really working to feel the wave, and stay on top of it. That's kinda how I feel sometimes.
In short, but other words, this is how to afford to travel - go. Sort it out later. All within the boundaries of personal power, of course. Do I have a poem for this one? Not sure, let's see..
Beyond that sandbar is the river's turning.
There a new country opens up to sight,
Safe from the fond researches of our learning.
Here it is day; there it is always night.
Around this corner is a certain danger.
The streets are streets of hell from here on in.
The Anthropophagi and beings stranger
Roast in the fire and meditate on sin.
After this kiss will I know who I'm kissing?
Will I have reached the point of no return?
What happened to those others who are missing?
Oh, well, to hell with it. If we burn, we burn.
It's not about where you are or how far you've gone. It's about going past your own limits, past your known world, past your previous safety net of friends and family, beyond your known realm of financial comfort. We all have our comfort zones, and we all have 'explorations over the rim.'
These blogs are connected, or I think so, even if it seems like they're not that much. 'Contemplations on personal power'. I think that is what lets us go further over the rim, into the wasteland, to cross the desert, and that leap, I believe, is the only way to get to a our new world.
I'll return to that theme in another blog.
A few friends have suggested that with my fb page, and now this, I might inspire some people to do the same. Great. I hope so. The world is changing, life is changing, you're changing, I'm changing. The "On the Road" beat generation preceded the sixties, there was another 'on the road' generation in the 20's, a very different one, also a huge time of cultural growth. It's part of steep shifts in changing culture. Forget about the money, who cares? It'll work out. Maybe there'll be a bunch of really happy, interesting people in the bankruptcy lineup. I might see you there. Today, I am Alive.
Since I mentioned it, here's an ever-so-slightly-pretentious Kerouac quote, "There's nothing nobler than to put up with a few inconveniences like snakes and dust for the sake of absolute freedom". In the course of finding it I think I found another which brings me back to the point of this little essay: "Vagabonding is not a lifestyle, nor is it a trend. It's just an uncommon way of looking at life-a value adjustment from which action naturally follows. And, as much as anything, vagabonding is about time-our only real commodity-and how we choose to use it." - Rolf Potts.
I choose to use this time in my life this way: to travel, to do work of meaning as it is presented to me, to make new friends, explore new horizons, have fun, and learn about myself, to explore my inner and outer world. For me, that is the best use of my time right now, better than socking away a pension plan, buying a house, or adding lines to my resume. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna regret it. I know that because I've never regretted the things I've done, but those I haven't done. I'm not saying travel is the only way - whatever your passion is, whatever makes you feel alive. But travel's pretty damn good for that...
I'll close with a quote that goes out to my brother - "You either get busy living or you get busy dying" - Shawshank Redemption.
The short answer is, to misquote Kris Kristofferson; I am spending my tomorrow's on today. Instead of the other way around. I'm not knocking retirement, if that's your thing - go for it. I think if I retire at 60, and get to travel some, that might be ok. On the other hand, if I'm still working at 66, 86, and can look back and say, 'man, what a great ride it's been!" that sounds good to me.
I just turned 38. Pretty old. Pretty young. Young enough to bunjee jump, chase girls, take huge professional risks, skinny dip, miss sleep, and dance all night. I'd rather take the time off now, have adventures now, and work later.
I went and watched the Canadian Coldwater Classic surf competition this afternoon. Hung out with friends on the beach and talked about life, Plato, the conundrum of today. Watched surfing. I posted that I was there on my fb page. A friend asked if I was surfing, I said 'no - only the seas of fate.' ;)
I still haven't tried surfing, no rush. But it was great to watch those guys today, twist, turn, really working to feel the wave, and stay on top of it. That's kinda how I feel sometimes.
In short, but other words, this is how to afford to travel - go. Sort it out later. All within the boundaries of personal power, of course. Do I have a poem for this one? Not sure, let's see..
Beyond that sandbar is the river's turning.
There a new country opens up to sight,
Safe from the fond researches of our learning.
Here it is day; there it is always night.
Around this corner is a certain danger.
The streets are streets of hell from here on in.
The Anthropophagi and beings stranger
Roast in the fire and meditate on sin.
After this kiss will I know who I'm kissing?
Will I have reached the point of no return?
What happened to those others who are missing?
Oh, well, to hell with it. If we burn, we burn.
It's not about where you are or how far you've gone. It's about going past your own limits, past your known world, past your previous safety net of friends and family, beyond your known realm of financial comfort. We all have our comfort zones, and we all have 'explorations over the rim.'
These blogs are connected, or I think so, even if it seems like they're not that much. 'Contemplations on personal power'. I think that is what lets us go further over the rim, into the wasteland, to cross the desert, and that leap, I believe, is the only way to get to a our new world.
I'll return to that theme in another blog.
A few friends have suggested that with my fb page, and now this, I might inspire some people to do the same. Great. I hope so. The world is changing, life is changing, you're changing, I'm changing. The "On the Road" beat generation preceded the sixties, there was another 'on the road' generation in the 20's, a very different one, also a huge time of cultural growth. It's part of steep shifts in changing culture. Forget about the money, who cares? It'll work out. Maybe there'll be a bunch of really happy, interesting people in the bankruptcy lineup. I might see you there. Today, I am Alive.
Since I mentioned it, here's an ever-so-slightly-pretentious Kerouac quote, "There's nothing nobler than to put up with a few inconveniences like snakes and dust for the sake of absolute freedom". In the course of finding it I think I found another which brings me back to the point of this little essay: "Vagabonding is not a lifestyle, nor is it a trend. It's just an uncommon way of looking at life-a value adjustment from which action naturally follows. And, as much as anything, vagabonding is about time-our only real commodity-and how we choose to use it." - Rolf Potts.
I choose to use this time in my life this way: to travel, to do work of meaning as it is presented to me, to make new friends, explore new horizons, have fun, and learn about myself, to explore my inner and outer world. For me, that is the best use of my time right now, better than socking away a pension plan, buying a house, or adding lines to my resume. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna regret it. I know that because I've never regretted the things I've done, but those I haven't done. I'm not saying travel is the only way - whatever your passion is, whatever makes you feel alive. But travel's pretty damn good for that...
I'll close with a quote that goes out to my brother - "You either get busy living or you get busy dying" - Shawshank Redemption.
Monday, October 11, 2010
The White Mountain - Love and Travel
I'm not really ready to write about this topic, but - since I mentioned it in the last Captain's log - I've got writers block, and I can't write about anything else until I exorcise this one. Maybe it'll just be a 'part I' since I'm sure I'll have more to say on the topic at some point.
Nicolai Tesla, the man who invented half the electronics we use in our culture today, and some we haven't put to use yet, fell in love with a pigeon. It's true, for how long I forget - the last weeks or months of his life, in a little apartment, he was in love with a pigeon. I digress.
Being homeless doesn't really make you more marketable in the dating world. The lack of a home is only a small factor - the fact that you will be leaving is a lot bigger. I don't know the solution. What would a wandering knight do? Likely -sleep with/kiss the temptress, ignore the one who could lead him to his destiny. I seem to be on track so far.
But then - there was the White Mountain, a mountain I climbed in California. It was so achingly beautiful, that I think I fell in love. Is that crazy? Don't answer that. Up above the treeline, with the wind cutting like knives, or fingernails, mist swirling about like white lace; enticing, revealing, concealing. Stark cliffs, rock shattered by frost and wind, into elegant shapes attesting to a long history of the searing and delicious pain of transformation. I spent the whole day up there, by myself, certainly not lonely. Complete.
I found a 100' length of climbing rope, brand new. Normally when I find things in the outdoors I leave them where they were so the owner can come back for them. Not this time, I took it as a sign, to climb. Mountains and life.
I talked to the mountain, and the rocks, crags and cliffs were its vocal cords, the howling wind its breath. I was not alone.
Where does a traveller find Love?
Where does one without shelter find shelter? In meaning perhaps. Maybe that's why knights, pilgrims, explorers, are able to go without that need being met (if they do); it's met on a deeper level.
I did the dragons will until you came...
And then you stood among the dragon rings.
I mocked, being crazy, but you mastered it
And broke the chain and set my ankles free,
Saint George, or else a pagan Perseus;
And now we stare astonished at the sea,
And a miraculous strange bird shrieks at us.
In my friend Lamont's words - travel makes everything more extreme; joy, loneliness, pain, moments of abject self-pity, followed by utter joy. You can't hide from yourself and how you relate to the world around you.
I think we find love where we find it, a mountain, a pigeon, a lover, a friend. The periods of loneliness as a traveller, and you always have them - prepare you, I think, to go past your own boundaries, to find love where it really exists, instead of where you thought it was going to be.
Love is a need. Humans are social animals. I have embraced rootlessness, homelessness; wandering (all that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost..). I know there are others out there in my position, perhaps these thoughts will reflect their own.
Touch is a basic human need, beyond sex or love-making, people need touch. They need to be hugged, carressed, confirmed. They need someone to talk to, in that way that lovers do. As I write this Gimme Shelter comes on my itunes... My brother, years ago, waiting tables at a spiffy bar in Halifax, had a table of women ask him - "if you could have sex with anyone on earth, who would it be?" He thought for a few seconds, then said, "the backup singer on gimme shelter." Incredulous, they said, "do you even know what she looks like?" He said, "I don't care." Our needs are more complex than we think they are. Nicolai Tesla, the man who invented half the electronics we use in our culture today, and some we haven't put to use yet, fell in love with a pigeon. It's true, for how long I forget - the last weeks or months of his life, in a little apartment, he was in love with a pigeon. I digress.
Being homeless doesn't really make you more marketable in the dating world. The lack of a home is only a small factor - the fact that you will be leaving is a lot bigger. I don't know the solution. What would a wandering knight do? Likely -sleep with/kiss the temptress, ignore the one who could lead him to his destiny. I seem to be on track so far.
But then - there was the White Mountain, a mountain I climbed in California. It was so achingly beautiful, that I think I fell in love. Is that crazy? Don't answer that. Up above the treeline, with the wind cutting like knives, or fingernails, mist swirling about like white lace; enticing, revealing, concealing. Stark cliffs, rock shattered by frost and wind, into elegant shapes attesting to a long history of the searing and delicious pain of transformation. I spent the whole day up there, by myself, certainly not lonely. Complete.
I found a 100' length of climbing rope, brand new. Normally when I find things in the outdoors I leave them where they were so the owner can come back for them. Not this time, I took it as a sign, to climb. Mountains and life.
I talked to the mountain, and the rocks, crags and cliffs were its vocal cords, the howling wind its breath. I was not alone.
Where does a traveller find Love?
Where does one without shelter find shelter? In meaning perhaps. Maybe that's why knights, pilgrims, explorers, are able to go without that need being met (if they do); it's met on a deeper level.
I did the dragons will until you came...
And then you stood among the dragon rings.
I mocked, being crazy, but you mastered it
And broke the chain and set my ankles free,
Saint George, or else a pagan Perseus;
And now we stare astonished at the sea,
And a miraculous strange bird shrieks at us.
In my friend Lamont's words - travel makes everything more extreme; joy, loneliness, pain, moments of abject self-pity, followed by utter joy. You can't hide from yourself and how you relate to the world around you.
I think we find love where we find it, a mountain, a pigeon, a lover, a friend. The periods of loneliness as a traveller, and you always have them - prepare you, I think, to go past your own boundaries, to find love where it really exists, instead of where you thought it was going to be.
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