A new path....

Looking for that elusive meaningful work, eh? Like many, you may be have been thinking that even before this skid, crash, and burn in the world’s economic engine. And now, more than ever, you think since the peak in our times may be behind us, why not settle in do something that “makes more of a difference” than paying the bank, and secretly grinning about your imaginary credit rating.


This mindset, flowing richly about the boomer café’s, falls somewhere between volunteering service and a lower paying “less corporate” occupation. Non-Profits sound righteous enough. Once thought of as a haven for those falling a few credits short of a degree, now have gained prominence in the search.

Yet, one is left to wonder what we all have to do? What is needed and what is just as soon to be relic of the “consumption age.” Remember back just a few years ago when the consumer was so heavily praised for keeping the economy afloat? We should have seen this coming. Some did.

What skills do we have that we have over-looked or forgotten about? And how can those skills be applied to the benefit of the community at large? Take a minute and think up a different resume for your self- one that resumes where you left off when you became so engaged in becoming engorged on all the wants masquerading as needs.


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Stepping off......

It always seemed that regardless of the circumstances we must attempt to keep our feet firmly planted on the rock. This foundation of our being can at times be shaken by events and poor decisions, but still it gives us a place to stay afloat and search out a way of stabilizing the world around us.


Recent generations have over time allowed that rock to be an island, an individual’s base of reference. We are all clinging to our own foothold and looking about as others slip off theirs and bob downstream, perhaps looking for a hand…..out.

The strong economic culture we have lived through provided the impetus to break off on our own, without much concern for the collective community. This sense of community gone is now what thinkers believe will be the most significant result of this current shifting of the economic plates beneath us.

Furthermore, perhaps the concept of hoarding doomsday provisions is an extension of the “go it alone” philosophy that laid the ground work for this self-centrist society that is currently squeezing out the marrow from most of us, if not all before it’s over. We have forgotten that not only are we all historically and irrevocably linked, but the economic system that has brought us all this false success is also completely dependent on our continued cooperation. And that seems irrational going forward.

There will be migration. This will occur naturally of course based on changing climes. But this is not the pursuit of comfort and golf so desired by the snowbirds of Arizona and Florida, but rather to cheapen the cost of existence. But these costs can be reduced and the value of our lives increased if we can just be smart about it.

Community, collective thinking and living are not communal, though some will gravitate to that. Actually it simply involves a change in mindset that considers the resources as common and the success of the community more vital than the individual.

Un -American? Maybe…..but not un-Early American, or for that matter not un-Native American.


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Common cause.......

Walking outside the stadium he began to consider the concept of inclusive and exclusive. So many with the same red jerseys, seat after seat of the select group. You belonged or you didn’t, it was just that simple.

Belonging to a group and feeling included to a common cause has its virtues. People nod to you in agreement with a certain understanding. Your joy or disgrace is amplified by not only the look on your face but by the color on your body. The sense of inclusion is akin to a uniform before battle, as it proudly states that you “belong.”

It appeared as if skin color, ethnicity, age, or gender, seemed to be trumped by the agreed upon crowd mentality on display from the red colored jerseys. If, instead of watching the game, the crowd was asked to run out into the street and pick up litter, all the while singing America the Beautiful, it would be an extraordinary sea of vacuum red.

So why then does our inclusion in the group of “humans” fail to generate the same sense of inclusion? We can do far better as a group if we were to recognize the commonalities as opposed to the contrary. Different mother…..same team.

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Green grass and high tides......

Sitting in the back of a small run down coffee shop in a small town, sipping a small cup, waiting while the small car is remedied from a small repair issue, and listening to corny modern twists on old xmas songs. But big thoughts.


He wonders what it would be like to write from a different shop each morning, from a different town, and from a different country. Moving. Writing. Caring. The tether between new horizons of engagement, interaction, and self reliance remains taut with the lure of comfort, predictability, and the cost of maintaining it. A tug that some, but not all, feel.

Of course, when you are born with this wandering affliction, you know that somewhere is nowhere, and nowhere is just a mindset anyway. As much as he understands that the fence is just a fence, and both sides grow grass, the question remains as to how that grass will smell in the morning dew as he rolls out of his bag of slumber to start another day.

Knowing that one cathedral is the same as the next, and humans around the world are more or less the same, and that a man could travel more and learn more by working his Google than by walking and sleeping on foreign grounds. It is the spirit with which he engages the world from the day to day planning, that is required of the vagabond, that provides the spark. Everything else is just passing time waiting for cessation.

Our spirit is so vulnerable to hijack.

Of course it begins to change the moment he starts to plan. He almost immediately begins to see things different, taking note of people once again with eyes that see more deeply into the heart and soul, wanting to convey the joy of living.

The joy of living……hmmmm.


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Notes from the "Cave".......

Plato wrote and spoke of illusions in his “Allegory of the Cave.” In this myth he describes a group of prisoners that are chained and shackled facing a wall. Behind them there is a large fire burning with people walking back and forth between the fire and the prisoners. The men can only see the shadows of movement on the wall for such an extended time that they begin to believe that the shadows are in fact reality. Plato summarizes that man associates reality to that which he sees day in and day out and not what his mind tells him to be true.


He may have outlived his welcome in his cave. There is a sharp burr stuck between reflection and contemplation. Too much of this will grind you down and reveal nerves that no longer care. It is these mid-winter moments, propped up only by the exuberance of solstice, that cause the slip and consequential face-plant in the snow laid trail of our pathetic attempt at advance. The laughter of the woodland at his stumble is quiet and weighty.

What would you want if you could? A long chase down the centerline South to a place mid point is the Key to thaw this cave, with a folding camp chair dug deep in the sand, a passing freighter, a Styrofoam cooler sufficiently occupied, the loft and steady hover of a Frisbee from a friend, a good book unread, a juke box stuck in time, the call to “rack em up” from his brothers, just leaving your cash on the bar till it runs out, faded cut-offs, shirt, and sandals, and a dotted dress for fun are required for this cave escape.



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Losing your home....but not your way.

Some may lose their home, but will always be home anyway. Some are headed home.


Home……

The physical structure within which one lives, such as a house or apartment.

A headquarters; a home base.

Available to receive visitors.

Comfortable and relaxed; at ease.

Feeling an easy familiarity

All of these can be accomplished with a sleeping bag and a coffee shop café!

Home really is:
One's native land; the place or country in which one dwells; the place where one's ancestors dwell or dwelt.
Friends and blood family
A place of refuge and rest; an asylum, the grave; the native and eternal dwelling place of the soul.
He’s gone home……

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Less is more.....

Remember when that circle seemed wide and embraced friends, family, clients, and colleagues. It was not always that way. As you think back to childhood, that circle started quite small and only expanded as you had more to offer. It has all been based on a balance of what they needed to take and that which you offered to give. Simple.


But as we peak in the hierarchy of society, for ever so short a time, we may in fact be far short of our intrinsic value as a human being. Seriously now, we have much to offer at the height of our strength and vigor, yet we know that this is the sole reason for the taking, wanting, and accolades to occur. We have something someone wants.

Then one day the phone stops ringing. Surprisingly fast, and rightly so. Society operates with doers, not thinkers or those that cling to outdated ways, staring into an aged mirror convincing yourself of what you see. Move on.

Yet all this seems sour. The grapes seem wilted. But no, think back for a minute. Remember those times when you stood outside the earshot of the compliant and expressed your distaste for “it all,” wanting to steer your own ship, create your own reality, take stock in your true nature, and live according to your own rules. That boat is in the harbor.

Although our path appears to be thinning into a single track, less than noticeable to the rest, we have much to do. And though our circle is smaller, the hands are clasped with each other in common understanding, and no longer outstretched in expectation.




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Keeping track.......

The winds thumped steady on his ear drums, while his eyes, tucked up under the brim of his hat, stared down at one boot step after the next. It was dark, and once again he had allowed himself to get lost walking the woodlands. He resents the snow track each boot leaves, as it not only provides guidance back, but also leaves a mark of his presence. And they keep following him even in the waning light of the day.

Of course there is an upside to this snow covered pegboard tracking his trail, and that is the ability to also follow the comings and goings of the woodland creatures. And they do stay busy in the early winter, understandably keeping hibernation in the schedule, just not in the plans yet.

The darkness, wind, and snow are decoded as to be avoided. The doors leading in are where the senses take aim. Yet, as long as he has 98.6 pulsating through the interior, his willingness and capability to withstand the elements is surprising. This coupled with the complete lack of “others” so commonly out on the trail attempting to get in that late day dog walk, but now, this late in the year, they are pointing to click and gorging on comfort food, making this woods his wilderness.

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First things first......

Seems to him that it should go without saying, it should be obvious that we all all searching for meaning in our lives. It often starts with a moment that seems driven by the fates, we pursue it because it satisfies our desire for something that falls outside our norm. We are eager to embrace and to identify with it. Hail Maslow.


But this is not the case for most. So many concentrate on the next square at a time, like a lioness who eats and then sleeps with no worries, only to wake and begin the ritual again. This simple alignment of need and get goes on and on, yielding only to the arrested beat.

He had encountered this person of the street before. The coins he would share to slow the downward progression were always spent on gin. He didn’t really care, because his giving was really a taking. He needed to give it up to avoid that growling guilt from his comfortable suburban youth, all the time wearing it on his forehead like a beacon.

On this afternoon his charity had a requirement attached. This was no pay it forward gig, as he was out to make it all better. The old chum purchased his tomatoes from the city grocery as instructed and carried them close to his chest as he attempted to cross Wells St. in the steady rain. He observed the old man from the protected overhang outside the store. As the bag grew wet and the paper fiber gave way, he watched the red fruit tumble from the man’s grasp and split open upon the concrete gutter at his feet.

Later, as he sat with the old man, he was surprised to learn about his family near forgotten. He spoke of the days when he lived off pride and respect. He could and would work on the railroad for double shifts if it meant he could provide his children with a decent Christmas. They talked a long while and the old man cried a bit. And they sipped gin together.

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Down....and then out.

Nothing to see but white. Yeah, the horizon gone and only your sense of balance remains, with little to benchmark even that. And then, as if catapulted, you thrust up out of the depth to the top of the mogul, quickly pick your next move, and back into the man eating crevasse. Back bowl skiing is a rush for young legs and old souls.


He was with his friend now gone. His friend had only learned to ski in recent years, having popped his youth in desert climes, but he was more than adequate, and overly aggressive. He had some style and grace, but learned the tenacity of deep powder mogul skiing from his downhill companion.

From the muffled depths of the kettle to the scream of the crest, and back in, this toll cost. His energy gone, yet his enthusiasm was running on mojo and ego, as he prepared for another lift up the mountain near day’s end. He was wobbly but he knew not to quit, often making poor decisions based on some hidden drive mechanism in his stunted brain. Then his wiser friend suggested we stop right then and there and return to the cabin and meet up with the other pendejoes, whom had stopped awhile back, when the mind was still operating.

“One more run,” he suggested. “That will be the run that breaks your leg,” his friend replied. After a long pause he capitulated and they headed back for a night of exuberance, laughter, and eventually, sleep. And it was during that sleep that his dream identified the strange set of circumstances that were to result from that next run, had he took it and disregarded his friends advice. It was in that dream he strangely saw his own death. Strange indeed.



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Larger than life.......

Words to a friend…..


We only get this one life to live, and Sha lived his enough for all of us. Sha was like that.

Many times I have described my friend Sha to others as “larger than life.” This description has never been used by me prior or since, as no one has ever captivated my attention quite like Sha. To say Sha was large is an understatement. He had the strength and presence yes, but how does one become larger than life? Allow me to explain.

I first met Sha in the early 1990’s as a close personal friend of my brother Paul, and a longtime companion of my cousin Tom. We began a series of backcountry adventures over the next couple decades that filled us with camaraderie and friendship. Since I was the outsider from the Midwest, I needed to attempt to assimilate with these three pendejos (an affectionate term that still carries weight to this day).

Sha was talented in all the ways that a real man need be. He was simply the most competent fellow I have ever come across. Whether it is the mechanical knowledge and the operation of tools and machines, the able touch of the trout rod, or the reading of the land, flora, and fauna, Sha was exceptional. Sha was like that.

On one evening, camped at the top of a small island in the center of Ross Lake, just south of the British Columbia border, the four of us sat in our chairs trying to determine what to eat for dinner. It was our last night before returning and we had depleted the majority of our resources. Just when you thought the discussion could go no further, with all of us still sitting on our butts complaining, Sha jumped up. Come on Danny, we need to catch us some fish for dinner.

The facts were though that it was already dark out and the only fish to be found were up a fjord, a good boat ride north. We went anyway and Sha led us up a Falls to a spot where we were able to blindly catch some nice trout….legally….no…..inspiring….yes. As we returned in the small zodiac, listening to the steady thrust of the engine, it provided for me the understanding of the meaning of the word determination. Sha was like that.

Many nights around the campfire Sha would tell stories. Often they would involve his childhood in Iran. He was able to talk slowly and descriptively because he always had our attention. He enjoyed best speaking about the nuances of the day or recent adventures. His memory and awareness was so keen that when he told stories about what happened that same day or even ten years ago, he always described elements I had missed, even when I was right there alongside him. Sha was like that.

Looking back, I now know that it was Sha’s ability to communicate so effectively that made him stand out as a human being. Regardless of whom he was speaking to or what the subject was, Sha could reach a level that was comfortable and interesting for both. He had a knack for reaching folks, and an unquenchable interest in learning from others. This was evident when he began housing and caring for the chronically disabled. He had a compassionate heart for others and an insistence on doing right by them. Sha was like that.

I realize that 90% of my time with Sha was out in the backcountry. One place where Sha was always happy, focused and relaxed, was in the natural world. His knowledge of the plants, fish, birds and animals was certainly challenged by Tom and Paul, but in my view was unmatched. He was always content out under the stars. That is where I developed my admiration for Sha, and felt the consistent respect he granted me. Sha was like that.


It is hard for me to understand this moment, yet we have faith in the unplanned purpose of life. We have lost a true warrior, a great friend, father, husband, son, brother, boss, caregiver, outdoorsman, and a man who was “larger than life.”

Sha moved on to the next life on December 8, 2009


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Fresh ideas.....deeply rooted.

History is not simply the story of what has happened. History is the story of human ideas. If we try to interpret life by what we see, hear or otherwise sense, we limit ourselves to one subjective perception. This is not good enough.

The ideas and thoughts that lead up to the movements, and the intuitive manipulation of the plan throughout, are the real story. The continuation of ideas may be the only thing we have left that distinguishes us from the soil. Since what we build or develop is limited by the daily cycles of sun, wind, and rain, the only sustainable human trait is the sharing and progress of ideas and thought.

This explains why we are still fascinated by the great thinkers and philosophers of generations in the rear view. Their writings and ideas not only fail to lose value and interest, but actually gain momentum as new generations learn their interpretations and make note of their music. As evidence, take note of the cultures that have attempted to suppress ideas, and in time have proven to fail.

Current ideas are just that, current. They will take root down the road on another morning, and offer their own shade and screen from the weight of that days fear.

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Lunar layaway........

Long hike on a short day. These days sneak up and the darkness creeps down. It is the most difficult transition to make in the calendar year. So the moon, at each full cycle, plays a big role in illuminating the way forward.


Each day he attempts to begin earlier, and he does, but still the cool air and trails void of bugs and people tend to cause the walk in to be much further than in past months. The forest gives up her secrets this time of year, allowing sight into the comings and goings of critters, and the great contours of the land itself.

Often he stops, squats, and sits on the trail, listening. This becomes much more stimulating in the dark, as often just that twinge of fear of the unknown will write a better tale of the moment. When the coyotes start the evening hunt and howl, he anticipates their arrival, but knows that by no choice of his, he is at the top of the order, and his brain and awareness keep him from ever becoming prey.

As the sun sparks out, the moon rises on the same east to west path, yet 10 hours behind. This lunar light becomes his only guide. It casts a streaky path through the oak branches and provides a beacon of ever changing images as he moves in and out of the woodlands and into the open prairie and wetlands. This is a dance. His view appears as though the front cover of his favorite Led Zeppelin album.

Temperature drops and his hands seek a pocket. Collar up and his pace quicken. After all, hot soup and a good book are waiting. Ahhh….winter is arriving on time once more.



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The same with less.......

Seems as though he and his always find a way to do the same with less, by choice....sort of.


Starts early and really just carries over. Passed on from another generation, and generations before them, all who wished the same, to climb the mountain, sail the sea, survive, and get the girl.

“Always keep the goal in mind and worry about the obstacles later” the old man would state, short of advice or even encouragement, as it was more of some personal attribute of the DNA leaked out. He was thrifty and cheap yet found a way to have it all, nonetheless.

The snow started just as forecasted, with the freeze line at about 4000 feet. He was attempting to reach 6288' from Franconia Notch, a seemingly trivial pursuit considering the higher elevations of the West. After all, this is Mount Washington in New Hampshire, not known for difficult or technical climbs, or so he thought.

That January Sunday morning was cold and overcast, with limited visibility. The view at the top, the only reason to attempt this, was bound to be a disappointment. So with little reason for motivation, and as he reached the sticking snow, he considered retreat.

Then he came across groups of hearty New Englanders, dressed out in all the best gear, and clothing. They had stopped for a bite to eat, hot chocolate, and a chat. They were happy with the environs and happy about themselves. He looked down at his old tread starved boots, worn leather work gloves, and the wet frozen jeans accumulating ice below the knees, and motored right past the climbers without even a pause.

He remembered a story his brother had shared years past about reaching the summit of Mt Rainier. Looking about he saw climbers in similar attire, yet with ropes, picks, and cleats. He looked down at his gym shoes and laughed. The view was the same.

He was now determined not to slow and be overcome by the North Face catalog crew, a few lengths back. When he reached the top he felt what everyone feels regardless of how high or of how you got there……….

Elation!




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Living in balance......

Think about the characteristics of a person that cause you to respect them. It could be their persistence, their reliability; durability, compassion, or any number of other descriptions which present an impression that sticks with you, and in turn creates the story of the person.


We all have a story. Some of us lead or have led simple lives, yet the real story is deep and complex. As we move from the cradle to the stone, we narrow our attention to not only what matters to us, but what has been reflected back from others as “a good trait.”

The things that cause us to keep on track and avoid wandering too far into the world of self-consumption (difficult to do when this centeredness tends to isolate us into making decisions that feed us and us only), is a narrow mirror of what others return to us as a positive or useful characteristic.

Even though this opinion of ourselves is driven by others, it none the less supports the argument that we are in fact social-creatures, relying upon the support of those impressions to keep from being eaten alive by our own self-need.

We need to give. It simply feels better than to take. In the end our lives need to be balanced. Think about it. He was thinking himself about how the Native Americans, once living on this land below his feet as he writes, considered this balanced living essential to move on to the after-life.

In recent hours he was struck by the words of another who knew his mother enough to use a term to describe her that was so eloquent and true…a description that reflected how before her end she had achieved this balance he speaks of.... living close to the ground...in touch with her own death..…she simply said….”your mother was an Indian.”


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When there's no wind......drift.

Regardless of your direction, or who accompanies you on the trip, the one thing that becomes evident as we age is that we all have to steer our own ship.


He often thinks of the days in his minds past, the last life so to speak, when he crossed the big waters by sailing vessel, spending weeks of the sun cycles over the bow, with nothing but the future in course and the past over the stern.

When we chart the start and the finish, we have what the thinking person would call, a plan. When we steer by the prevailing, we leave our path to fate, or chance. Both choices and methods have a place.

Take stock in the journey. As much as we prefer to think that those around us are mates on our boat, helping us to make the difficult choices, the bitter reality is that they are busy guiding themselves. We share the wind and run along sides for moments, days, years, often stopping inthe calm of port to enjoy each other’s intercourse. But then, in time, the wind picks up and we are guided out of the harbor, with little choice.

Stand straight and stiff into the wind, for as long as the legs will hold. There is much to learn and lives to live. After all, it’s later than we think.


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Drifting.....

Daydreams are like night dreams, but much more self-directed.  We continue keep the course of our lifes work, steady in our daily progress, yet often times the fuel needs to be summoned from a day dream.  He has had these daydreams since childhood.  Never a burden, at times a crutch, but always filling the soul from an opening in the window.....

Drifting, drifting, drifting away.

I got myself a mansion, then I gave it away.
It's not the world that's heavy, just the things that you save.
And I'm drifting, drifting away.


Drifting, drifting, drifting uh-huh
I rid myself of worries, and the worries were gone.
I only run when I want to and I sleep like a dog.
I'm just drifting, drifting along.


The suitcoats say, 'There is money to be made.'
They get so damn excited, nothing gets in their way
My road it may be lonely just because it's not paved.
It's good for drifting, drifting away.


Drifting, drifting, drifting, uh huh.
I feel like going back there, but never for long.
I sometimes wonder if they know that I'm gone.
I'm just drifting, drifting along.
Drifting, drifting along. Drifting, drifting along.

                 ............words and dream by Eddie Vedder


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Grey day........

Grey day. Even the squirrel, lounging out on the end of the Oak branch, looks glum.


Yet the mind wanders quickly to pierce this grey ceiling and surfaces in a cantina South of the Rio Grande. Far south. South of all the melancholy and wishful thinking, the plans, the new ideas, the failed attempts.

In the evening, just off the dusty road and day’s heat, under the cabana, you will find old happy men. Not happy as in jubilant or gay, but rather happy as in content with the world about them. Men with limited expectations and the comfort of the next breathe in a life they can reliably predict.

Easing the belly up and into their space, he makes the obligatory gesture which simply acknowledges no threat. A nod of the head constitutes opening statements. Oh, but he knows they are quietly curious. After a full beers time of adjustment to the pinprick to the cultural bubble, he initiates the exchange with a question, in his foolish but respectful attempt at their language. As pathetic as he sounds to these native Indians, he always does so with a smile in his eyes and a warm heart in his thoughts.

They laugh and smile and begin to engage him. These older men exhibit a childlike playfulness that is contagious. Sometimes they sing funny songs, other times they cry. It always seems to evolve into an indescribable exchange of human emotion.

He lies in his blanket on the next morning reliving the experience just hours before like a highschooler the day after attending his first wild party.

What a day ahead….nothing grey about it.


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Free at last.....

In tough times, free is a good thing. Often though, there are strings attached to free, which make it actually cost.

With his responsibilities behind him, and 4-5 days ahead, he took to the road in pursuit of that warm morning sun found on that stretch of isles called the Keys. He had a tent, gear, a cooler, cash, books, and time. He was racing the chill, and chasing the centerline.

Remember how it feels to have your white winter face absorb that warm morning sun, and the natural absence of shoes, as the sand scrapes your feet clean.

The energy flow when racing the latitudes against the clime is sublime. The flow is effortless as long as you have the right music and access to gas station food. For these two variables we all are unique. To him, the music was fuel, and the food just filled the gaps.

It was Christmas morning; he had been driving all night since tucking in his two bright lights, with sweet smiles, under momma's safe umbrella. Somewhere outside Nashville he pulled in for unmet needs. After navigating the empty station he arrived at the counter to exchange pleasantries and currency. The gap-toothed gent behind the counter, wishing he were home, spoke up first, “I got a Christmas deal for you buddy.” “Oh yeah, what's that,” he countered. “Dem dogs in the steam box are free” he exclaimed. “Free is good”, is all he could come up with.

On closer inspection, the hotdogs looked pretty gray. The grate had long stopped rotating, although the dogs still had a little sweat on em. “Free is free” after all.

It took till darn near The Macon-Dixon line before he started finding out how free can actually cost a fella. He has never liked Georgia since that fateful night of endless roadside squats. He eventually slept it off while parked on a side road. He woke mid morning in his bag full of chill. He had been sweating like a grey dog in a steam box.

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Even Tall Trees fall........

One by one they move on. Today he will attend the funeral of a friend. In actuality, it is the death of a father of a friend. But in that moment, when those that rocked the cradle cease to be, a part of us goes with them as well.


It was a neighborhood thing. Your street cred was only as strong as the family that sprung you. Brothers and sisters surround, but it is the old man that guides the ship. This old man had a mysterious sense of power in his eyes. Whereas he imagined that other fathers ran small businesses, or sat in corporate cubicles, or drove to nearby states selling paint or shoes, this old man was connected to something far larger. Even when we were young, he was considered “the godfather.”

Yet beyond the quiet closing and opening of cell doors, the onset of age and the subsequent arrival of disrupted mental and physical health, he had humor. People gravitated in the direction of his stories and his bellowed laughter. He was a man of grand vision and unlimited possibility. He was a man of the neighborhood.

Yet in the end, he was a man of limited time, and last Thursday, at 93 years of age, that time ticked, ticked, ticked, to a stop.




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Any man.........

Not every man is any man. Many men live in a world above the rest, if only in their minds and bank accounts. They never fear they will walk in the shoes of “those men.”


He was leaning against the wall of a commercial business, out of obvious sight, but with the world in view. It was a cool but sunny fall afternoon and he was thinking that if he was of the habit, it would be a classic smoker’s moment.

He could see the old man carefully stepping along behind the businesses attempting to appear a non-threat. His thick flannel hung loosely from his worn jeans, ball cap pulled down snugly against the breeze, and he carried a 5 gallon bucket with his left hand, allowing the right to pick up small items and discarding them, save for something of value or usefulness, which then was added to the contents of the prize bucket.

Like an animal the old man stopped and jerked his head in his direction, sensing he was being watched. He of course was still there, leaning against the wall, observing. The old man must have assumed the fella watching had some level of authority over this property because he quickly set the bucket down on the broken pavement and fell just short of raising his arms in surrender.

“How are ya today sir”, he offered. The old man looked pleasantly startled by the congenial salutation. The old man looked down in the bucket for a long moment and then raised his humbled eyes from under the ball cap and asked “things picked off the ground any mans?” “Yeah, he responded back to the old treasure hunter, “It was any mans, only now it’s yours.”

“Thank you kindly young man” the old man replied as he walked on, eyes to the ground. He continued to lean against the wall watching the old man search and find, all the while he was thinking that if he was of the habit, he would have offered the old man a smoke.

Any man would have done the same.



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Simply........think differently.

He is sort of stuck today thinking about how we use the past to form our expectations of the current moment, and the future as well. We often base our judgments of success on the experience we bring from a previous benchmark. Can we all really say that what has happened thus far has been so right?


Think of the moments in your life when you really sat back and reflected on a successful experience, or a real meaningful moment. Not just the feeling one gets driving a new car off the dealers lot, or when you finish mowing the grass, or when you find a $20 bill in the empty dryer at the laundry mat, but rather when you felt genuinely appreciated for your contribution.

No one will ever question the value of history and the reflection on learned experience. Yet, perhaps it is time to consider new ways of being, behaving, and engaging our world to nurture this evolving mindset that puts people ahead of personal gain. It will never happen you say? You’re convinced that humans are self-pleasing first and only consider others out of guilt or personal agenda. Perhaps that is true.

However, when you reflect back earlier on the most meaningful moments of your existence, you will discover that they will fall in the giving category more so than the taking. So why is our society, and certainly our economy, so geared to the accumulated gains from the taking as a measure of success?

Those individuals who have gravitated toward a varying degree of voluntary simplicity are finding new ways of engaging in their lives, and discovering new ways of measuring individual accomplishment. Those that still choose to cling to the past benchmarks of success may eventually be squeezed, due to natural economic pressures, to engage in in-voluntary simplicity, leaving the experience to be one of necessity rather than free choice.


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Headed South.....

The fact that it occurs annually does not diminish the grandeur of the event. As days grow shorter, highs mark lower, and the lows surprise us with white etchings on the windshield, we are reminded of the migrational pull to the South.

Year after year he performs the ritual autumn dance of preparation. It is the anticipation of relief from the chores of summer, and the acceptable use of hours for reading, dreaming, and stoking the coals of one’s inner self. This becomes a time to hole-up, let go, and use the darkness to our advantage.

Yet, by the emergence of the first New Year moon, warm climes and exotic culture seep in through the unconscious and surface in odd returning habits such as standing your backpack in the room corner and tossing random contents at it from time to time, as you watch the snow accumulate out the window.

Yes, it then will be time to hop the cartel grip, and re-enter the lands nearer the equator. Of course you will have spent hours of preparation researching the history, maps, weather, culture, natural features, languages, costs, travel options, and the acceptance of a couple of studious gringos in dark skinned lands. The latter rarely short of a pleasant surprise.

But that will be then, and now is here. Now calls for immersion in the death and dormancy of the natural world in these Midwestern latitudes. It would be hard to really anticipate and absorb the sprout of spring without staring down the annual death and silencing of the fall.

When the migration begins, he wishes to leave with it, but knows he must remain to kill off this year, and hope to be born into the next.

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Wood and nuts.....

There seems to be this obvious dilemma brewing in our society as of late. If we cannot support the overconsumption of throwaway products, and consensus of most agree that debt most be reduced, how then will this lack of purchasing effect the economy as a whole. Said another way, how will we recover if we cannot spend, as seemingly the economy has been supported or propped up for years by the no-limits consumer.


Seriously. Are stores going to close, companies fail? Are only the ones that offer quality products, that fulfill real needs, going to be the lone survivors? Will people pass up buying the new chain saw, and welcome the use and assistance of a neighbor? Will he then help that neighbor sealcoat his driveway in return? Yes.

The possessions we own that predate the plastic replacements from China will become more valuable as we are reluctant to buy new ones. We will care for them and maintain them more attentively, now knowing the costs and reduced value in tossing them to the growing landfill.

Perhaps you have not noticed. Many are in denial. Yet the structure of our society is changing right before our eyes. We are so fortunate to be able to witness now, what will be so commonplace in ten years. Look around. Pay attention.

By the way, do you have a chain saw that works? Winters coming and it is time to gather wood and nuts.


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Falling in.........

Meeting an old friend for coffee is usually an exercise in memory; that is, trying to remember where we left off in our lives during our last time together. Well, repeating stories just comes with age.

In between the updates describing the daily grind in digestible terms and stories, he uttered a most remarkable nuance. He simply stated that since our last visit he had fallen “completely in love” with a woman. These words, from a man who had rarely described anything remotely close to his love life, surfaced brightly and with great enthusiasm.

“Ahhhh…can you tell me more,” he asked. The friend responded quickly that he had nothing but respect, admiration, and a strong attraction, which did not resemble the physical attraction he had had for others in the past. He described the window through her eyes, literally a soulful tour, revealing a warm and loving woman.

The friend mentioned that the fact that she was Asian and spoke very little English did not seem to detract from the strong attraction. He was beaming with a glow that previously was either nonexistent, or just never shone through in any other circumstance they had found themselves in during the 25 years of friendship.

He could have just left good enough alone. He normally refrains from questions unless offered by his friend, but he could not help but ask, “So have you two been intimate yet, are you a physical as well as a soulful match.” And then he added, “Can I meet her sometime, my friend?” At that point he regretted asking the question.

“Well, he responded, I actually have not spoken to her yet. She works at a café where I get my coffee. I have been madly in love for 6 months now.”

He was in love with the idea.

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The wolf within......

We are beginning to now recognize how the last couple decades represent a clear example of human over consumption. We borrowed and bought beyond our means and the rules encouraged it. The imbalance of resources and demand has been out of balance for years now and the scary economic reality is common fodder around kitchen tables and across the bar stools in this country. It may be time that we summon up the “wolf” within us. The wolf is known most for its reliability to the community (pack), efficient and sustainable consumptive patterns, and a clear and consistent leadership structure.


A common debate in the environs of the western public lands surrounds the release of and subsequent hunting of wolves. In 1991 we finally agreed that the imbalance in the wilds of Yellowstone National Park in particular, was primarily the result of the systematic slaughter of the Gray Wolf. The reintroduction, though thoroughly contested, has been extremely successful in restoring the natural prey and predator relationship, and returning the “wildness” to these wild lands.

The conflict rages on as many wolves have been shot by ranchers protecting their livestock on lands bordering the massive park. Recently, a wolf that was collared and tracked for many years, a favorite of the rangers and naturalists, wolf 527, was shot dead after roaming beyond the invisible line.

Why does the wolf wander beyond the abundant hunting grounds, to its own demise? Perhaps these wolves, like humans, are not satisfied with having enough, and need to express the wildness that is controlled by property and fence lines. Perhaps enough is not enough? Why do so many of our leaders wander into unprotected areas to expose the apparent inner weakness, or wildness, which cannot be satisfied by having all their apparent needs satisfied?

The complexity of the psyche cannot be overemphasized. The wolf within us is real and requires expression at some point. One can only wonder if there is space enough for all of us to howl.


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On the edge......

A recent beer commercial shows friends in boats dropping rocks into the ocean continually in the same place, and to our surprise, they create an island on which to have their remote island party.

The idea of creating more land on this planet is of course unrealistic. They have tried to do this recently in the wealthy Mideast country of Dubai. This though also makes about as much sense as the illusion created by the beer advertisers. The reality, as we all know, is that there is a fixed amount, and even that is diminishing due to erosion, coupled with a future of rising coastal waters as a result of the evolving climate change.

When you stand on the coast at the western edge of the continent, you can be overwhelmed by the thought of all that you know is behind you, and the unknown limitless nature of the big water in front view. Your single being, without all the supportive landscape in sight, takes on a surreal sense of nothingness. The wind whips, and the salt air beckons, and the only thing keeping you grounded is the voice in your mind, convincing you that you matter.

Of course you do matter, at least to the framework you built around yourself since you emerged from water. The course of natural history may not have noticed you much, however when you defiantly occupy a piece of turf, accepting your limited influence, but beaming in the essential microbic and karmic inevitabilities, you are alive.

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Turn back the clock......

As much as he has tried, there is no going backwards. And why should he want to? Over there standing alone, quietly in the corner, is a life full of exploration, perspiration, and gentle skeletons. He recognizes intellectually that there is only what is ahead that should concern him, he nevertheless finds himself two steps south for every one stretching ahead. Or so it seems.


Reasons are simple and clear. As we age, our bodies begin to question the future mileage, our pocketbooks squirm for air, and all the while we are aware that moving about on the globe is becoming more complicated. Oh come now, stiffen your sail son!

There exists an understanding that runs deep in all humans. This clarity surfaces when we see others attempting to engage with life in a meaningful way. We all know, psychically and soulfully, that it is a good thing to challenge yourself and embrace the desire to move forward. Like an infant’s first crawl, away from that spot they have been stuck to, and toward what thus far has been out of reach.

In the same way that the first steps to the next room stir the spirit of the child, our exploration only needs to be as far as we are willing to see. Often this comes from a book, a film, or a walk through a new forest. Exotic tales of travel bore the rest of us. You are much more likely to grab our attention sharing an experience combing through the remnants of an abandoned farmhouse, then stills of you on the steps of the Cathedral of Notre’ Dame de Paris.

Open yourself up, listen up, and share with each other. This is the way forward. This will also return us to the splendid nuances of human existence.


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Under the masks.......

The truth is becoming apparent now that we look back. Think of the super batch of suburban boomers, wearing the acceptable masks of compliance, conformity, convention, and success. It’s what was looked for when you pulled up at your child’s friend’s home to pick up for a movie. It was the “badge” worn by driving the shiny new SUV and dressing well. The “successful” seal of approval from neighbors, bankers, and little league coaches.

OK, we understand that, now what? Well the “what” is beginning to resonate around this land as we are noticing that not everyone looks the same these days. The cars are looking as if we kept the clunker despite the cash, and the clothes have a more diverse mix that does not reveal quite so quickly as to the profession of the wearer. Suburbs are starting resemble the mix of the city. We just can’t pigeon hole like we used to, and the beneficiaries are all around us.

Why would people benefit from all this extra effort involved in decoding the social status of the individual standing before us? Because as you are determined to “mentally google” out the value of this random human, you are compelled to look deeper than the past symbols to satiate your curious nature. You will speak to them.

And through their eyes and words you will find your answer. They are just another son or daughter of another mother that is seeking the same as you. This was driven to his attention recently as he met a poor and destitute man, living on the low, trying to meet vary basic needs. After enough time to see between the lines, he thought, and with boredom seeping in, he started asking more penetrating questions, in a selfish attempt to entertain himself. He was awed to hear of his earlier life as a professional dancer in New York, and as a deep sea diver for a sea recovery team.

Knowing when to ask a question and how to respectfully listen to the answer is a lost but natural human skill. It surfaces when we get outside ourselves and engage one another with limited purpose or agenda. Just for the sake of looking under the mask and accepting what we find there.

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Time alone......

Silence. Most of us crave it. Some more than the rest. He searches it out from time to time. This entails not only lack of sounds and distractions, but also the contemplative and reflection that accompany time alone.

Those rare moments when no one is either giving you permission to be and think for yourself, or casting non-verbal judgment on your space. Like seeing a movie alone and walking out without having to form an opinion quickly for your companion, but rather the purity of absorbing the messages into yourself to simply add to your understanding of this planet and its inhabitants.

We cast our views for one of two reasons. Either we intend to define ourselves more clearly, or we truly desire to share our thoughts and opinions with those around us. Both objectives make sense, but the latter has real personal value. If we are able to share without judgment, then we have entered into a world of true companionship. This world is very freeing. Our true nature surfaces most notably when we are alone, yet is increasingly nourished and supported by those we include.

He is reminded of the day his father entered a nursing home and never left. With no physical ailments, he was incarcerated due to a mental dysfunction that otherwise would make his safety and that of others at risk. Or so we were told. More to point, he was given the entry level doses of psychotropic- a drug to make him more manageable. He never spoke coherently again.

On a good note, it could be argued that he no longer had to explain himself. He had a respected reputation as a thinker and doer, and now this circumstance would give him the time to really do some creative thinking. But like Chris McCandless discovered toward the end of his odyssey in Alaska, as described in Krakauers book, “into the Wild”, a life most valued is a life that is shared with others. Alive, contemplative, and reflective yes…..but not alone........hmmm........ then again?

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Small town wonders......

Over the last several decades one thing can be agreed upon, the human interaction gap has spanned, and the search for meaningful connection with one another is stretching to fill the void.

He remembers years ago when his brother had neighbors that came over unannounced too often to drink beer on the porch. Too often was replaced with the loss of those friends and the reflection of days and times gone away. For a long time now we have been living further apart physically and more important; emotionally. That may be changing, and as the plethora of individual resources diminish, the collective approach is looking more appealing.

In a small town in Iowa the last few days underscored this thought. A free guest pass at the old crumbling YMCA provided the backdrop for conversations in the sauna with the elders of the town. “Things eventually will return to the basics” the ex-mayor offered. “In what way” he queried. “Folks are remembering why we all live close by in a town, why we even have an economy, to pool our efforts together for the benefit of all the people” he replied. Another gentleman spoke up, “we rural folks have always used terms like cooperative, collective, and sustainable, to describe how we do things.”

Later, at the Whistle Stop Café, over cups of steaming hot coffee, conversations continued over similar lines. “We had green roofs many years ago in South Dakota, just made sense to insulate with natural materials back then” exclaimed on farmer when asked about alternatives to filling landfills with petroleum-based materials. The fella on the last stool chimed in, “Heck, we had water cisterns (equivalent of rain barrels) a long time ago to capture the rain water and reuse it, stead of wasting it.”

One thing they all agreed upon was the sense of reliance they have with one another. “No one will starve in this town, I guarantee ya” an older but stout woman stated proudly. And pride did seem to be the fundamental emotion running through them all. The fact that city folks are starting to gravitate toward more cooperative living only underscores the fact that nothing here is foreign to us. Humans have known how to get along and survive for a long time. Many of us just need to remember.

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This land.......

On the road today out to central Iowa. He is planning on connecting up in a meaningful way with a potential new client. And to do so he needs to log some miles chasing that stripe and hoping it leads to a few nuggets of gold, or even just a rainbow. There is something relaxing and revealing about this land we live on, this soil we share.

The Midwest in autumn is a rich time. Not a time of renewal as is saved for the Spring turnover, but equally important as a time of relief. Another chance to pull back and stop maintaining the mechanics of our lives, and simply winterize it all and hunker down for the north winds and eventual blowing snows.

Still time though for the hounds to roam the fields, kicking up a bird or two, in the frosty morning sun. These cooler days deserve much appreciation. This day makes him think of and keep singing that great Woody Guthrie battle song....that's right....."This land" is a cry out for our equal enjoyment of the heritage passed on to all of us....and owned by no one.



Read Woodys words...no really....read em'

As I was walking a ribbon of highway
I saw above me an endless skyway
I saw below me a golden valley
This land was made for you and me

I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts
And all around me a voice was sounding
This land was made for you and me

The sun comes shining as I was strolling
The wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling
The fog was lifting a voice come chanting
This land was made for you and me

As I was walkin' - I saw a sign there
And that sign said - no tress passin'
But on the other side .... it didn't say nothin!
Now that side was made for you and me!

In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Near the relief office - I see my people
And some are grumblin' and some are wonderin'
If this land's still made for you and me.

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me


words by Woody Guthrie

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Once the sun rests......

In many urban areas in this country and abroad, once the sun rests, and darkness grips the street, a common trespasser lurks. Trespassing on the peace of mind of all those who enjoy an evening stroll.

One of the best opportunities to study a city or town is at night. These quieter moments, away from the daytime pulsation, offer the rare glimpses into the architectural alignment, the local culture permeating its storefronts, and gather perspective from the quiet parks and vistas. This can be robbed though by the trespassers.

This theft occurs most often in larger urban cities due to the desperation of unmet needs of too many of its residents. What is easily ignored during the daylight hours becomes bold and empowered while wrapped in the darkness. Street crime becomes the method to extract the serum for life from those that have to those that need.

However, he has noticed along the way that rural towns and villages, seemingly cut off from the raw nerves of the populations of great density, recognize need and take steps to fill the gaps, often allowing all their residents to sleep soundly at night. In these areas, where our attention is less likely to be diverted or distracted, we care.

Once we offer a hand, create options, and respect each of us regardless of one momentary circumstance, the evening stroll will return. Fear not.

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Good, luck, and evil?

It all depends on the lagging karma or forthcoming spirit you bring to each moment of travel. As much as the world is steeped in goodness, it harbors nearly as much evil.

By goodness he intends to imply those deeds and experiences by life loving folks with an agenda that begins and ends with the common good of all of us. And by evil he rejects consideration of some sinister underworld (though certainly real) and rather employs caution to the deeply self serving component of the species with little or no consciousness for others.

As we walk the streets and into the minds and hearts of our fellow humans we are reminded and encouraged to welcome it all, with little or no resistance, until, and only when our reasoning takes over and our survival requires flight. The purpose of this attempt is clear; any reluctance to engage our circumstances actually increase the negative energy around us, making us more vulnerable.

Fear is the main culprit. Fear of losing our money, safety, or sanity come to mind. Fear is to a certain extent natural, but to a greater extent it can be contrived. The cultural nuances, stories from other travelers, past experiences, all converge and conspire to rob you of the experience you deserve. One must be willing to listen to the gut (intuition) and overwhelm the fear with persistence and good spirit. This boundless spirit often deflects and neutralizes those with ill-wishes, causing them to steer clear as a result of their own fear. Fear of the living human spirit.

These unknown and random experiences can cause an unusual sense of euphoria. You may find yourself buying beers for your fellow companions. You may discover that you can sing. But with little doubt you will feel the goodness weaving its way through all of us. Our common language.

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Taken for a ride.....

Should we be taking this more seriously? Or perhaps then again we may be overly obsessive with it all. The “on-balance” theory would suggest some level of interest that inspires further review and encourages conversation, but stays south of forcing any issue.

“What you say?” The flow of information bombarding us for attention and providing just enough information of questionable reliability to spur the rumors and drive the ad-filled blogs to more clicks and views.

Take the family out in Colorado now accused of creating hysteria with their balloon chase and missing child. After the hoax became unraveled, we all looked for payback. We have been taken for a media ride of at least a week, and become distracted by a couple just trying to get their piece of the pie. How dare they act out? What gives them the right to step out of the drone line and behave much like Wall Street brokers, bankers, high paid athletes, celebrities, and the rest of the takers that fill our insatiable need for news of sorts each day?

While we all rant about how they should pay back the tax coffers, the ones who fill those coffers are blowing it right past our faces. We have been duped. Then again, if we don’t take it so seriously what happens? It continues. We are now in a strange time, one that requires us to avoid becoming overly consumed by it all, and at the same time trying to be actively engaged in our world.

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Looking back to get ahead......

He rode the rails southeast to the city and scuffled along with the other snails through the wind and rain falling from the sky and precipices above. Waiting for a meeting he sat sipping tea and drying out, while watching his fellow humans’ parade by the window. The pure density of humanity, all seeking their destination and serving the consumer gods, are a feast for the amateur social scientist in all of us.

How did it turn out like this? A mere 100 years ago the majority of us lived rural lives of self preservation. We have evolved if you will, into a herd that chases the available dollars, and tucks them away to spend on the things they tell us we need. What a strange evolution. To move from understanding our basic needs and focusing on attaining them for our families so as to spend our free time with folks whose needs and means were so similar, only to become one of the endless who stare into their handheld devices hoping to feel connected, or cared about. What happened?

When these concerns are deliberated it becomes so obvious that it cannot be reversed, or even stopped. The wheel is so big, and wired so well, filtering the vast majority of the wealth to so few, and leaving in its wake the evaporation of an American dream.

Whoa now you say! Let’s not become so gloomy. It’s true; there is more than hope for change. There is an incredible sense of consciousness growing among us. This emergence could not come at a more opportune moment. The sense of service and community is returning. This as you know is becoming a reality. The movement away from materialism and back to community (i.e. family, neighbor, colleague, teammate, teacher, student, boss, and employee) will be the saving of America. Overly optimistic you say now? Do not underestimate the power of ingenuity when driven by a cause beyond simply individual wealth. Think of a new hybrid form of capitalism.

As we evaluate our needs and realign our overly stuffed wants, those that make and bake for us will evolve as well. The large makers and bakers will become smaller and more localized. They will gravitate by the laws of economics to what makes sense and cents.

And to think that this was kick started back on a September day years ago by radicals outside our boundaries who described us as fat, lazy, and out of touch with the spiritual world. And then was beamed into our minds and hearts by the human greed that exposed the fragility of our economic system.

We are still trudging along the rain drenched city streets like ants in trench coats and hats for now, but there is a change brewing, and everybody knows it, and the makers and bakers fear it, and resist it. For now.

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