On the Road....#30

Karma, by its very definition, has a way of coming back around, and the payback can be tough.


He was young, certainly restless, and out to have some fun in this small university town wedged in the valley between the Cascade and Coastal ranges of Oregon. After evenings of music, reading, incense, and meditation while sitting on the back porch of his brothers rented flat, he headed up the street on foot, searching.

On foot is consistent with how he traveled exclusively in those days. Or by thumb might be more accurate. Never the less, he was accustomed to getting somewhere one way or the other. So what prompted him to act in such a way which would begin this karmic kick in the head is still to this day, unclear. Yet, when he saw the bicycle lying in the front yard, and knowing the wild roadhouse tavern he heard about was a few miles out of town, he just grabbed it and started peddling away. He stole a bicycle.

The lights, music, people, and free pool table were enough to light him up. Drinking beers and dancing with the pool stick fit right in. But as the evening passed he found himself betting on his skills with that cue, and he was winning. After winning games, and there were many, he would stuff the crumpled bills in his jeans pocket and yell out the proverbial “rack em up.” Oh he was living the dream alright, eighteen years old, out on his own, and holding his own.

But he did feel bad about the bicycle. So he knew it was time to return it and free him of that weight of guilt the catholic nuns had sewn into his psyche. Although he may have upset some losers, overall he received a gracious “so long” from the fellow patrons.

Stepping to the back of the saloon by the dumpsters he found “his” bicycle where it had been hidden out of sight. Once mounted, and taking a deep breath for bearings, he commenced his return trek by rolling out across the back of the gravel parking lot.

Suddenly he heard a roar of an engine and the splattering of gravel. He looked left as he pushed down hard on the pedal to see the bright headlights of a large pickup truck gunning for him. For him? Why for him? Does no one like a winner?

His mind briefly remembered a few of the angry souls that had crossed his path that evening. And he remembers one saying that he would not leave till he got his losses back. Evidently he meant it. The truck ran right into him and knocked him to the ground. Before he could even get his legs back under himself he felt the swift kick of a cowboy boot in the ribs, followed by many more as he began to blur.

After they pulled the cash from his pockets and essentially told him to get his ass back to Chicago, they backed up the truck and sped off, leaving nothing but dust and gravel in the air. Oh boy that karmic girl packs a punch, or perhaps a kick.

Walking the bike back now, as the pedal motion caused pain, he contemplated his arrogant sense of self. He left the bike where he found it along with part of himself, and began a new route down a humbler path.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

The Great Escape....or..

The great escape or embrace reality? Are we constantly creating distractions to avoid, or for the greater evolved of you, to supplement your reality. Face it; reality without our mindful collaboration, can be a little flat.


“Maximize your Stimuli,” once was the mantra. He and his brothers became soldiers of the cause. Embrace reality as needed to be true to yourself and those around you, but weave in, like only a stimulated healthy mind can do, the desires, expressions, and ideas formulated from all we are, have read or experienced, from this or past lives. No bounds.

Yet, the only reason we can, is based on our immediate needs having been met. This has never been the case for many more in this country then you may be aware of, and for most in less overly-developed lands around the earth. Reality cries for less consumption and more creation.

Each human is dependent on satisfying the same three needs: to eat/drink, to sleep, and to defecate. These needs can be attained at different comfort levels and with varying degrees of value, but they must be attained. So what’s all the fuss about? Perhaps we accept the creation of opportunities for each to get theirs, or accept the reality that they will be forced to take yours. Gotta live, man!

So how would we live without the comfortable distractions and escapes we have become so attached to? Not well at first. Don’t let anyone fool you.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Night in....and Day out

Fear of the streets. There is always the sense that we are vulnerable when out in an unfamiliar location. We have been conditioned appropriately to suspect that we have something that someone else wants. Yet, we converge on “their” domain; explore the streets in hope of an authentic experience. We are slow to understand that we are part of the experience. They are us.


He had made up his mind that he wanted to know what it would feel like. He left the train and sought a locker at the nearby bus station, where he locked inside his wallet and keys. In his pocket he placed a folded$50 bill. Then he walked out into the big city streets on a warm summer night.

His walk took him up and down Michigan, State and Rush Streets, ending near the Cabrini Green neighborhood as the sun had completely set. Walking along on the dark concrete, he knew full well that when it occurred he would eventually fork over the $50, but not after engaging the desperation of the request. The fear of the mugger was equal to his own. Of this he was sure.

Why? Why was this for any reason in anyone’s best interest? Agreed, it was not. Yet, he needed to feel the sense of powerlessness that occurs every day among the lower income strata.

Eventually he was stopped by locals from the neighborhood. Many times actually. Some folks asked him if he was nuts to be strolling in the area after dark. There were concerned for his welfare. Others asked for a cigarette light, or for the time, in an attempt to size him up. A few he spoke with awhile to the point of laughter.

Later, while riding the train back to the suburbs he contemplated his evening. The intention may have been indulgent and littered with self-interest, but in the end he learned more about the unnecessary and unfounded fear in wayward environments. Trust in the natural world, the nature of humans. Lack of is less than, and less than no longer satisfies.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Unexpected day.......

Traveling to a new town or city can be a bit clumsy. You’re drawn to the obvious, but down deep you want to see the underbelly. Someone needs to lend a hand.


It was a warm Sunday morning nearing 6:00 A.M. He must have gotten an early start because he had ridden his bike down the lakefront of the great city, watching the sun rise out of the great lake they called Michi Gami, and now he stood and stared out at the water.

Sensing something besides the backdrop of skyline and the solar awakening to the East, he turned slowly around as the taxi roared off. She was standing there on the curb, two large suitcases in tow, and was as awestruck as much by the natural light across the water, as by the architectural splendor behind.

He now was drawn to her vibrant energy, her aura, her pleasant smile, and perhaps her long blonde mane and shapely tone. “Good morning” he offered, “welcome to Chicago” he guessed. “Bonjour, oui je suis de la France et je travaillerai dans l'Ambassade française comme un aide à un diplomate.”

“Yes, Absolutely, yes,” he countered. Within an hour or so he had helped her find her new apartment, carried the bags up three flights, and stumbled on to a cool café for coffee and breakfast. She was full of questions and he did his best and her her’s at working with the translation.

Then off to the city. Walking briskly through the quiet morning streets she pointed to her guide book and he proudly made the attraction appear. By cab, bus, and water taxi they traversed the windy city, relying on the universal smile and laughter in the absence of small talk. Few words, little voids, and much meaning.

But it was not till the end of the day in a crazy tavern on Lower Wacker that he really saw the great city reflected in her eyes. The joint conversation at the bar had turned to politics. The energy was engaging as the volume rose about the new president Bill Clinton. She had surprised him with her ability to swill down whiskey at ease. And then she surprised him again as she suddenly rose up standing on the stool rungs and shouted “Vous les Américains ont besoin de comprendre que vous êtes le pays est si jeune et vous avez autant d'apprendre. Vous pouvez l'apprendre du français.”

Chicago. What a great city. What a fine Sunday.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Walking away........

Walking. The word implies so many things, yet he is concentrating on the intention behind the word, and the action imbedded therein.


The intention that has surfaced in the recent year is one void of goals or destinations, as is often associated with hiking. Because such mental measuring occupies our minds with tedious time and speed calculations, and challenges our need for serenity with cerebral competiveness, we may consider hiking an event, and walking an occurrence.

It was early afternoon, by the time he had finished reading, scrambled up some calories, he entered the trail head. Springtime in Southern Utah brings with it a freshness of air and a spectrum of color against the rock forms and spaces of the canyon that feed his need, like few other environs. The need is for less, and the more he walked the less his mind was involved. He stopped trying to put names on things, and left behind his constant mental compass, choosing instead to forget the past moment and focus on the one at hand.

One step after another, deliberate walking is tougher than you may be thinking. Seems to be one of those places we reach without preparation, and then need to return once experienced. Like a runner who accepts the pain to reach the adrenaline moment, those endorphins kick in and she is “there.” This way of walking has similar stages, but is more within the reach of many that lack the gifts of the athlete.

He considers the walks with the old man. He never had to go very far. In fact, often it was just around a few bends from sight of the familiar, he would see the old man on his knees, “he leaned and loafed at his ease to observe a spear of summer grass” (Whitman).

The old man’s mental construct, so diminished by time, brought forward the same Zen-like qualities in demand by many of us, which when considered is simply a childlike fascination with the unsaid, the unnamed, and most importantly, the unclaimed.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Expectations....and reality,,,,(Continued)

Continued from January 21, 2010….


Sitting in a heap at bottom of the hill he paused momentarily to collect his thoughts and body parts. Though unhurt, he knew it could have been different. He stared up through the blowing snow and maze of trees to his friend, if only to suggest he wait at the top for him. He was reconsidering going on as he had hoped, and expected. While licking his face, his dog concurred.

Out of some suburban right to life, bolstered by a sense of invulnerability, and prevalent in the culture, is the notion that we cannot perish. Something emanates out of the certitude of the modern day that says that there is always someone to solve the problem, a safety net. Not so. He contemplated his circumstance had there been more injury than only to his ego. How would his friend make it out to trigger that safety net, if we can hardly move ourselves currently? No, they were stuck, and he knew it.

At the top of the hill, screaming into the whipping wind, decisions were made quickly. Some sense of auto-pilot inflates. They would have to attempt the following, and in this order: change the sweaty clothes, eat granola bars, set up the tent, fire the pack stove and melt snow, drink water, sleep.

He couldn’t understand what his friend was saying to him. Not because of the wind so much, as the reality of the statement. Was it true that he had stashed the stove under a fallen tree trunk about a mile back in order to lighten his load of unnecessary weight? And the pans were stashed even further back along the now buried trail?

The tent erection was a trick. Once done, they headed back for the buried cache of gear. Fortunately, with the wind up, and their parka hoods tied down, they were unable to express their shared frustration of only locating the stove and not the pans. They stared down at each rapidly filling track, while heading back to the only shelter available for miles across this national forest.

Once in the tent, both men and the dog, they remained unspoken, but not unaware of the need for water before sleep over took their senses. Driving the blade into his long owned Boy Scout canteen was a reminder how valuable possessions can be, and how fleeting. With the top cut out they began the long and slow process of rehydration.

The spent two days and two nights at that single set of coordinates. It was not what they expected, but it was their reality.

Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Expectations....and reality

We continually exist in a range between expectation and disappointment. This, based upon the reoccurring themes illuminated by human actions, emotions, and needs, provide a subtle manic backdrop to our lives.


The anticipation of a nine mile x-country ski in to a remote cabin was enough to cause their minds to swell with a steady diet of euphoric calories. Yet, what really needs to be stressed is the case of Olympia beer sitting on the back seat not long enough to even get warm. Heading up Highway 61 along Lake Superior, they drove without heat in order to acclimate their bodies and minds to the adventure awaiting.

In the wee hours they pulled off the unplowed rural road at the trail head and tried to sleep. This came after wrestling in the snow and celebrating the unbelievable clear winter night sky. They awoke to bitter cold and a new snowstorm that would not let up for the next two days. They would see the beginning and the conclusion of 54” of snow during that duration. They had two beers left and drank them down to celebrate, and then headed down the trail on skis, with snow shoes strapped to their packs, which would later prove essential.

Forget that the snow accumulated to knee deep so quickly hampering progress, or that their water ran short trying to stifle their unplanned dehydration, the real eye opener came when he lost control on a wooded slope and tumbled and slid like a pinball, wacked back and forth by small Aspen trees, to a final resting spot in the darkened woods. Yes, it was now late afternoon, and the winds picked up and the sun had left for the next time zone west. It was dark alright, and they were five miles in, and five miles from safe retreat.

To be continued…..


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

One mile at a time.....

It became clear to him shortly after extending his right thumb and raising his eyes for contact.


All the elements for a pleasant here-and-now experience were in place. The morning sun was warm, the pack was light, and the stomach was digesting hot coffee and some steamy tortillas. The day was moving, and though he was still standing still, he felt the rhythms of life running through him.

Forgetting for a moment all the useful techniques he had discovered about hitch-hiking, he chose to stand with little promotion, or encouraging influence. He just wasn’t worried about it one way or the other. Not many times in our daily life, much less while traveling, are we uninterested in trying to influence our needs upon those around us. Think about it for a minute.

Yet with that in mind, he stood noticing that the people on the outer edge of this Mexican town each would address him visually in order to explain and excuse themselves for only driving to work at the other end of town. Or they were migrants headed out to a local field and still felt the need to acknowledge him on the side of the road. Not just a few trucks passing, but all of them. Every one reacted in the same way. The sense of humanity is palpable in the third world.

He, and his brother, would park themselves in, or close to shade, and within walking distance to a cantina. No sense getting stuck out in the hinterland. He always had a book, but never opened it. Often had headphones and music, but never listened. Often they gave themselves a time limit, but always waited it out, content to just be there.

And then, when the pickup truck would stop, there was little conversation. The only destination or even direction understood was straight ahead. They would just climb in, hunker down, and enjoy the scene, as it appeared, one mile at a time.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

On the Road...#29 (Continued)

Continued from January 18, 2009

You are either moving forward or you’re standing still. They were standing still.


They had made heroic efforts that the old man was randomly proud of and their engineered patchwork would last for awhile, certainly making it worth discussing, but in the end, he would stand out on the edge of the road and will  another human to stop and give em’ a lift. In the end, their self-reliance would require someone to step in and lend them a hand.

A severed accelerator cable did not seem capable of stopping them in their remote desert tracks. But it did. With no way forward, and back a distant memory, they had a beer. The old man paced, the brothers thought, and the sun beat down on the crippled RV alongside the quiet simmering blacktop.

However, ingenuity prevailed and the older and oldest brothers walked back to town and returned hours later with duct tape, pliers, copper tubing, and a twelve-pack. The old man paced.

Within an hour or so they fired up the RV and configured an accelerator handle like a stick shift on a school bus. They attached it to the large rubber exercise band that was so continually poked fun of for most of the trip, and created a sort of “cruise control,” that made the three of them very proud. The old man paced, and then sat down to see if it worked. Away they went… all smiles…..for a while.

All the mechanical concerns left them and they enjoyed the next couple days with little concern and much adventure. Eventually though, as you may be suspecting, the rig broke down for good, about sixty miles from the airport.

Driving along in the back of the pickup truck, he watched the Mexican family in the cab talking and laughing, as families do. Then he looked at his father hunkered down against the biting wind, and his brothers laughing at their misfortune and good-fortune, and relishing in the adventure, as brothers do.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

On the Road....#29 (Continued)

                                                                                               
                                                   
(Continued from January 15th)


If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.                           

At this point in the rocky valley outwash, the trail began to split up in different directions as it weaved a varied path toward the summit. There were large boulders gathered that created an individual obstacle course for those hikers that continued. They did.

In our own minds and thoughts now we carved out our own routes. One no better than another, but it succeeded at eliminating the waiting for each other, as we each had different strengths and tendencies. At times there was loose rock, and errant steps would send a small boulder tumbling. Each to his own, see you at the top.

The way down was no less of a testament to individual fortitude. The sun was a factor, and it was of no help that they had been overly indulgent in the remaining water supply while celebrating the summit. None the less, they were focused and persistent in their descent, knowing that the cooler in the RV held iced beers upon arrival.

It was their first time driving an RV on a trip like this, a requirement handed down by the matriarch. But when he flopped his sweaty body down in the comfortable seat and cracked the cold beer handed to him by his older brother, he was appreciative of the shelter and their overall good fortune. No one spoke for a while as the recovery of breath and quenching of thirst was underway for the three brothers. But they were smiling between the gasps and heavy beating of their hearts.

Suddenly he wondered about the old man. He thought he was right there behind him as they reached the campground. Jumping out the RV door he stopped in his tracks. The old man was just standing there staring up at the mountain just climbed. “Everything all right Dad,” he queried. The old man responded positively and smiled calmly. It was then he noticed it for the first time. His father stood there with no sweat on his brow, no pant to his breathing, and no apparent thirst. He was by all our observations, completely relaxed.

At the time this could not be explained. He has studied mind over matter, for some attempted, for others, it occurs involuntarily.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

On the Road....#29 (Continued)

Continued from Jan 14th......

Sitting calmly upon a stretch of driftwood in the stone wash of the Rio Grande, the old man revealed his depth of preparation for this road trip by describing the significant historical contribution of this river, this border, has had upon the peoples of both neighboring countries.

He remembered then that one of the agreements for the old man “riding along” with us on this trip would be that he would “study up” on some history to share. And he did from time to time, remember. “The full name means "big river of the north" in Spanish,” the old man would begin. “In Mexico, however, the river is called Rio Bravo del Norte, meaning "wild river of the north." He listened while staring down at the endless stones as if trying to find the right one. “Hmmm,” he would contribute.

The rented RV was suitable enough, serving as a respite from the heat of the sun, and the chill when it passed. But they were not there to stay protected. They were there to be exposed. To expose a truth that was dormant, just below the surface, and waiting to reveal its sudden and deteriorating impact. But that could wait a little longer.

One evening he hung back with the old man in the camper while the older and oldest walked to town to “rustle things up.” Later, while deep in his bag, he would over hear them retracing their evening through a barrage of drunken tales. “We should go back there and buy that bar, and then move down here to Alpine, Tx,” the older brother would repeat, as he apparently had been ranting about on the stumble back to camp. “Did you see that one woman dance,” the oldest asked. “That’s called maximizing your stimuli,” the oldest added. “I got her number dude”, the older laughed. And then they both just kept laughing and jerking around while the old man dreamt, and he feigned sleep, enjoying hearing the older ones engaging life.

In the morning the old man was up with a clear head and ready to go. Bagging up the empty’s he asked what was planned for today. “More of the same Dad,” he replied, “More food, more beer, more miles, and more smiles,” he added. But every day was a new day for the old man, because yesterday was gone and forgotten.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

On the Road....#29

He, his older brother, his oldest brother, and the old man, had to put their collective minds to the problem, which eventually succeeded at getting them further down the trail, but also made them aware that the old man was slipping away.

The trip and the story end in the flat bed of a pickup rumbling west on highway 62 toward El Paso, with the Mexican family crammed in the cab and looking back at the three boys and the padre hunkered down in the back against the cold wind. The old man had taken a shirt out of his pack and wrapped it around his head, perhaps to retain the thoughts he still had, yet making him more closely resemble a Sherpa, then the thoughtful, intelligent man the boys had known up until that moment.

That first night in town needed a fast start, at least in the mind of the oldest brother. He persisted in rustling us over the bridge and into the dark and seedy Mexican town. It was late and it was a Sunday night, making the four gringos stand out pretty clearly.

Driving deep beyond the tourist fringe on dark dusty streets in an old Chevy Nova with a gregarious Mexican driver the oldest had befriended, he could not help but see concerned contortions on the old man’s face. The oldest just kept laughing from the front seat and in his broken Spanish was encouraging the driver to take us to a good cantina. The driver though seemed convinced that what we really wanted was to “see some whores.” Perhaps.

When the Nova came to a halt in an alley he looked across to his older brother who simply said “be ready for anything.” But true to his word, the driver had brought us to a cantina alright, red lights and all. Belly up has always been the best course in unfamiliar territory. And so they did.

After a swig or two of Tecate, he began to notice the peculiar environs. All the woman sat in chairs against the wall. They range in age from 15- 60, and their weight covered the spectrum of the scale. The Madre approached us first to access our needs. She was a large woman with a mark of distinction, influence, a colorful shawl, and a missing front tooth. She spoke first and foremost to the old man. We sat and watched, albeit tentatively, to see how our old man would engage this unique situation.

Never one to let us down and certainly aided by the high respect the Madre gave the old man once she discovered our bloodlines, the old man relieved the early awkwardness with a rousing round of laughter and more beer. The brothers looked back and forth at each other smiling and the evening was “game on.”

There was music, dancing, and of course more beers. The Madre succeeded in making the old man feel proud. She told us how happy we should be to all be together, as family. The old man was a bit emotional and really absorbed the moment. And that was all he needed. And that, as we later learned, would be all he remembered as well.
To be continued.......



Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Moments come...moments go.

Of course timing is everything!


Every moment only lasts as long as the next moment takes to arrive. And that is not long. Yet, if we only expect an opportunity to last momentarily, how can we be ready to embrace it when it arrives? Are we always just a little late to party?

In truth, our mind and brain (exclusive of each other, yet working in tandem) often intuitively anticipate moments before they manifest themselves in time and space. But we need to be clear minded and ready, eh? By clear minded he refers to a mind clear of cluttered emotions such as fear, guilt, or self loathing. Snap out of it!

One winter evening, in the early months of his marriage, he sat on a stool gazing out the window of the cabin observing the snowflakes in the porch light weave their paths toward earth. A bit memorized, he had forgotten that his woman had drawn a hot bath in the sparse and often chilly bathroom, an old claw foot as he remembers.

His invitation to join was scrambled by his concerns about an early dig out in the morning to make it to class on time. On top of this concern was a rapidly developing need to conduct a bodily bowl movement. Her soft humming was what woke him to the moment at hand. Yet he was currently considering heading out by the barn and squatting in the snow to relieve natures need to exit.

For some reason, and it surely had to do with the avoidance of a cold ass, he took the job into the bathroom where it belonged. By the time she opened her eyes he was sitting there porcelain supported, and causing odors that only a full barnyard would recognize.

She exited as quickly as the moment vanished.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Balance....

One thrust after the next, it was a synchronized ballet of balance, power, and finesse. Each ski held his weight and moved forward through the deep snow, progressing only from the engine his mind, heart, and body would provide.


He craves these moments of true solitude. Far enough out across the frozen lake to restrict any thoughts of retracement, cold and windy enough to limit this tundra to himself and the dogs, and completely quiet, save for the rhythmic schuss keeping time.

He wonders about the relationship of time and miles. Do our bodies, like a long owned good truck, begin to show the wear and tear of the years (as in day in and day out) or rather the saddle soars of the many traveled miles (as in rode hard and put away wet?) Is it a challenge to move our bodies around this land as far as possible before Father Time pulls our plug?

He stands naked in the full length mirror. He sees the miles accumulating. Yet he also sees the understanding that youth, though fleeting, is really necessary to have and experience in order to arrive at this point. This moment trumps the rest because the next step carries with it the experience of all the previous. He did not have that when he first set out. And his errors and omissions reveal the scars.

The present though has a way of focusing our minds and spirits on itself. For with each thrust forward from his hip, he enjoys the next glide, highlighting the perfect balance of effort and reward.

Ahhh….the winter moment.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Go ahead.......

In those days we didn’t hide behind our laptop screens, but rather kept our faces buried in a book. The coffee café hideaway was as much a place to be as it is today.


Yet, the feeling was different as we looked up from our focus to greet people as they entered. And often someone would just speak out for the group to listen. And if the subject was compelling enough, or the issue important enough, we would pull up our chairs and engage in a community dialogue of sorts. Think unplanned town hall meeting.

This happened in Milwaukee, Madison, Ann Arbor, Boulder, or Nederland, and of course in many other locals as well. It was what would occur when people cared about the picture, beyond their own.

Imagine. Remember when moments occurred in your life that made you euphoric at the thought of being part of something. It could have been as simple as a Little League team winning a big game, or sitting around a campfire when everyone was listening to each other with respect and encouragement.

The key is active participation. Not just being a spectator from the privacy of your television or newspaper. The inner excitement of her secretly touching your hand under the table does not occur if you’re not “at the table.”


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Each day.......

The amount of effort applied to any endeavor or action is in direct relationship to the need met by that action.


So on warm autumn afternoons when cutting a good sized tree (8”dia.) up into manageable lengths (6'), it did surprise him to choose to “let them lie” at the base of the hill until the need arrived to actually have to carry them up through the wooded slope to be split, burned, and to serve their intended purpose- that being to provide enough to keep his internals flowing at 98.6.

Unlike the squirrels, he underestimated his need. He hoped that day would not come, and it eventually did, when he had to wade through knee deep snow, hoist one on the shoulder, and begin the ascent. Sisyphus would have been proud.

As he sat there in the snow grasping a small sapling for support and gasping for air, he contemplated his situation. With his wood pile diminished, he would have carry one of these up each day to provide that days heat. Learning lessons the hard way is the only way.

Reorienting his attitude he embraced the reality of daily need and substance. As much as he attempted to consider past generation struggle, he kept returning to this notion that the modern man’s needs are more complex. We have simply become accustomed to our bodily needs being met on a regular and rarely interrupted basis. Our modern needs are more self-actualizing, he was convinced.

However, while brushing the clump of snow of his neck that had fallen of the overhanging Spruce branch, he began to think more deeply about the “circular rotation of need.” Just as we return to the turkey for a sandwich hours after the overindulgent feast, our needs reoccur, seemingly driven by the hands on the clock.

Similarly, our intellectual and emotional needs are cyclical as well. We may not be on any linear path at all. He remembers thinking that the movie “Groundhog Day” had something prescient between the script lines.



Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Spirits high and trail clear.....

It starts in late October, and you will flip and tack 7 pages on the calendar before it’s gone. Actually the prospect of a winter at 9600’, within view of the Continental Divide, was always in his plans. He just had to keep his woman and young daughter believing in the value of the challenge.


Although the sun took till mid-morning to get over the mountain, once in view, it radiated the valley with optimism. There was a sense of being part of something very special. Digging out each morning took him back to his Midwest roots of method over madness, and order trumping chaos. Put another way, he simply had to have clean lines of shoveled trails out to the truck and around the porch of the rented cabin. Obsession has its merits.

As the months unfolded, and he stacked the snow higher and higher, his paths became nearly tunnels. The day brought forth a series of efforts well before his daughter crawled out from under the mountain of comforters piled in her crib, with her stocking cap pulled down over her smiling eyes. He had of course shoveled the path, cleaned and jumped the vehicles, gathered a new day’s wood from the pile, fired up that Franklin woodstove, and was singing Johnny Cash songs along with the radio station as well doctored oatmeal warmed in the pan. A healthy vigorous spirit was essential.

As they drove down the canyon toward Boulder they would marvel at the climate change as the elevation returned to 5600’. By the time they parked and climbed out, dressed like Shackleton kin, they would see the university students walking to class wearing just a sweater and sunglasses. Then the three of them would strip out of their burly layers and join the natives.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Old ideas....new actions.....

Ideas do not come out of thin air. They fester in the passionate mind and develop out of the individual’s necessity of survival.

The thought that this far along the human continuum can produce any original thoughts is debatable. Yet there is the possibility that old thoughts can resurrect and become “heard” in ways that promote new actions and stabilizing policy. It all rests with need. Need produces the willingness to adopt ideas that will lead to change.

For instance, Raj Patel, a past member of the World Bank, and currently on staff at Berkley suggests in his new book “The Value of Nothing” that we have lost the ability, or the need, to account for the true value of the products we consume. He believes, as Oscar Wilde once quoted, “We know the price of everything and the value of nothing.”

For example, Patel outlines the real costs in heavily laden sugar products (i.e. diabetes) might be offset by a “sugar tax.” The idea that social costs should be barred by the consumer is not ground breaking, but the current political interest is (i.e. smoking area limits, sin taxes, even consumer taxes replacing income tax as some propose). Thought and action rarely are human bedfellows.

These ideas, like Patel’s notion of mimicking early Greece in allowing our policies to be driven by a legislative body (Congress) picked randomly (like jury duty) and in power for one year, only to replaced by a couple hundred fresh citizens, is obviously old, but profound.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Common needs and common resources....

One of the things he noticed first and liked the most about living in a small mountain community is the sense of belonging to something more significant than you as an individual. There was a clear sense of membership in a community simply by living within it. Part of this was a result of the remote nature of the town and valley, in addition to the shared tough winters.


In town there were only businesses that offered what people needed. No knick-knack shops. Real implements to serve real needs. There was a community co-op where food was gathered and sold. We each could work in the co-op a few or more hours per week and receive our stock for a discount. All food was sold in bulk and none of it was packaged in plastics or paper. We transported our beans, rice, flour, vegetables, cereals, nuts, etc. in reusable cloth bags, much as is starting to be done in the more progressive stores in today’s suburbs. It was a very friendly place.

On scheduled days, men would gather with saws, axes, and enthusiasm, to cut dead trees in the national forest and load them in pickup trucks. Some men would cut, others would drag the trees down the hill to the trucks, and the remainder of men would load. We always rotated positions each hour. Each man contributed equally and the firewood was delivered to each homestead with the same equal split. It was always hard work, but made fun by the collective spirit of the group.

Entertainment in the mountains was plentiful for the outdoor folks. There was no TV reception and only one country station on the radio. We did however have the community sauna. Each Sunday evening we would gather at the sauna shack and sit in the hot steam, talking about things that seemed so “full of importance.” In the old wood structure we would redress, mostly married couples behaving modestly, though naked, would then say goodnight and wish each other a good week ahead.

It all made sense then, and it all makes sense now. Common needs and common resources.


Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Welcome changes......

Been thinking lately……..you too?  It seems clear that the feeling one has when reacting to the down-heartedness of another with sincere encouragement is the actual energy that fuels us all.  In other words, the sincere encouragement we offer each other, that same sincerity, typically reserved for spouses or off-spring, can, and should be projected out to those in the street.  This is the community energy we need right now.

Let me guess……blah…blah… you think.  Yet when considered, this self-centered, over consumptive, bloated cultural labyrinth we have created will be a tough ship to steer off its current course.  And for those of you who think……well….. even the most invested patriots know that things will not return to anything resembling what we have become so accustomed to and so increasingly dependent upon. 

If that is a given at this point it begs the question “what will it become?”  The more important question seems to be “who are we apart from the current culture?”  You only have to remember the moments in your life when you have “stepped away,” either while camping with others, or spending time in foreign lands, or walking a city street looking compassionately on others with little or no direction for yourself.  Yeah….it’s about getting outside yourself and your “wants.”

“Easier done than said.”  Yes, actually easier to do than to explain. The reason is that we are wired for this by nature, actually drawn to the community collective historically, but our current hard drive is programmed for individual progress and personal accumulation.  All designed to sell each of us our “own” chain saw and a hair dryer.

Things change slowly, but always change first in the thought process.  Ideas become thoughts, which enter out conversation, which encourage our leaders, both corporate and political, to change us.  Perhaps we should just allow our behavior to direct the vision we have for “the good life.”

Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com

Nothing else......

It felt as though he had excused himself from the rest of the world. He was making a habit of forgetting about all the things that had gone on before and concentrating on the task at hand, felling, cutting, hauling, and splitting firewood.


Elevation certainly has a way of creating a sense of isolation. Like the Grinch looking down on the town, or how he feels as he travels into the deep North with the forest creeping to the edge of the cleared path he drives, the calm euphoria that only the modern day cell phone can dampen.

At 9600 feet, and a few miles deep in the valley from the nearest settlement, he watched autumn turn into the old man. These last October days had value. Yet often he was stuck between the busy preparations for the incredible winter ahead as he was so advised, and just sitting on a rock by the river and watching the yellow Aspen leaves float slowly down and sit upon the current.

Each morning, after his partner and mate drove to town to wait on the locals at the diner, he would spoon feed his daughter from the plug-in hot plate and then quickly bundle her up for the morning’s chores. Once in the framed back pack they would cross the river, rock by rock, carrying saw and ax, while his dog Rebel bounded through the rapidly cooling waters.

He would cut a branch down to a cleat length and prop the pack and the little one right up on the side of the tree, so she could watch. As long as she smiled, laughed, and cooed he would continue his work. An early introduction to patience and cheerleading he figured.

Then he would put her pack on his back and a nice eight foot section of pine on his shoulder, and begin the process of carrying his catch back to the rented cabin. Though this was work for him, she and the dog felt removed from the toil and engaged in the sun filled valley, the sounds of the river, the hum of time passing, oh so removed from everything else that eventually became “nothing else.”




Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com