Our next step......

One foot in front of the other. That seems to be the mantra of the soldier. Regardless of which war, the soldier has to walk and carry. Based on his research, he has concluded that most often the soldier does not know the mission, or where they are even headed. The officers do, and that’s enough. Just keep walking. And when questioned, the soldier will often agree that not only do they not need to know, but they would rather not know. Better to simply keep moving with little or no expectations. In fact, the continual movements free them from becoming too attached to any one place or feeling, combined with the quiet hope that the next place will be better. Dead or alive.


He sat short in the front seat and all he could see was the dashboard lights and the illuminated strip across his father’s eyes. His faith in the moving moments was not a choice but rather a given. He was just glad to be moving without the knowledge of where, when, or why. You might say he was on a “need to grow” basis.

And he did, giving way to a trust in the guiding force he would soon understand is unique to each of us. What is it that propels us along, avoiding the wrath that is possible, and landing on the doorstep of the next series of events, in this limited but fruitful timeline?

Standing along the river edge with a cane pole in hand he discovered that early sense of being alone, standing alone, without support or guidance. And yes the patriarch was close, just down the bank a ways, yet out of sight and mind. If he caught a fish he would pull it in, start a fire, cook and eat like an Indian or mountain man. He would direct his next step, never again leaving it up to someone else to steer.

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Steady....and randomly hopeful.

                                 (credit to David Allen Harvey)

Look closely......closer.

He will not assume anything for the reader.  The senses, in this case, sight, pick up the nuances, as is the case with our experiences every moment of each day.  Triggered are childhood flashbacks to a time when our fears and fun rest in the power of others.  That was then and this now.  But we remember, if only in the unconscious recesses of our emotional knapsack, we unknowingly drag along.

First and foremost is the sun rising and filling the moment with possibility.  On all levels we see a clean and orderly balance, save for the power imbalance of the relationship.  The table is dominated by him, she clasps her hands together, as if praying.  He sips, she waits, wondering which mood he will bring to the day....as it will become hers.

She needs eyeglasses to see out, to understand her world.  He no longer cares to,  but would rather dwell inside his head, contemplating his regrets.  He is a steady man, but his bent right wrist says broken. 

Time has moved along past the couple, but these early moments of the day are still hopeful.

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"Now you listen to me"........

                    “Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it”
                                                     
                                                                                 ....A. Hitler

He cannot be sure if it's just an over all sense of frustration in all so called leaders, that has led to this feeling of disgust and apathy, but it appears as though we have finally begun to discuss our future amongst ourselves.

What makes sense?  What might work?  What do we want our society, or more localized community to be?  If we did not know historically how well it works to cooperate and function together, we would all be living individual separate lives......oh yeah.....that's what has happened.

We do not need politicians anymore.....we do need local shaman, representing the will of the majority to act on our behalf, set the rules, level the field, and then get out of the way.

What's it going to take to wake more folks up.....

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Experience first....

The rides out of Milwaukee and into the countryside of southern Wisconsin were so easy. In all of his 18 years he had never found it so easy, and with like minded people.


He had intended on thumbing to Lake Geneva about a girl, but in transit discovered the magnetic draw of Jerry Garcia to the Mecca of Alpine Valley. Folks from all over the country were converging on these cornfields, as if by magic. And magic it was, or at least it seemed, at noon on this purely beautiful summer morning.

The van dropped him off on the hill by the entrance. He grabbed his pack and started to stroll among the followers. This was new to him. The girl would have to wait.

All day in the sun, woods, and fields, drinking beers and throwing the disc. He witnessed and reveled in the sinful combinations of libation, unlaced libido, and liberation. These were the days of youth that went on and on.

Until the music began…..and he found himself outside the large fence looking in, along with many who began to feel that the fence did not belong in that moment. He tossed his pack over, and thus committed himself to the crime.

Wandering through the grass woven with wannabe followers, he began to understand the strange and unique influence the Grateful Dead had on the multitudes. Powerful……really! The music ebbed and flowed from still to raucous, with the people mimicking the rhythms with their bodies.

Everyone looked their best. Or so it seemed to him on that day, at that moment.


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Open to us all.....fear not.

Now that border feels like the deep end of the pool to a child. The edge reminds him of the dark and murky waters just beyond the place where the waves flatten. Somewhat forbidden based on the perspective of the individual.


The lands and colored skins south of the border have for so long been a place of refuge from his suburban nightmare. A place where he could reveal, if only to himself, the other sides of his personality that require airing from time to time.

Feeling safe is a reflection of your faith in humankind. The depletion of this necessary component of travel strikes deeply into the core of our existence, making suspicion and doubt the guide, and care and compassion left in the no-go pile beside the backpack.

All of this, vibrating throughout our psychology, is evident in the urban core of our cities; the human-less policies and laws supported by the mass of the fearful, and cause us all to become simply accidental tourists, lacking intention and purpose.

If all of this drug crime did not mesh with a bad economy, we may find it the new order of things to take tourist buses and remain locked in to all inclusive resorts. Fear does that. As it is, most have real excuses to avoid travel, like lack of available discretionary income (love that term….discretionary income….as if the rest of the earned income is so mortgaged that we are left with no choice as to where it must go) and therefore prefer to stay in predictable environments that cost little or nothing at all, except to deny us the soulful experience we need.

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The soul requires imagination.....

In even the most mundane of our daily activities we are asked to suspend belief and accept the tug of war between illusion and reality.  Even those with their feet firmly planted in "their reality" can be fooled.....or are they?

Under the veil, behind the curtain, beneath the restaurant floor boards, will reveal the truest nature of a moment.  But will it?

If our lives expand beyond the dimensional.....why do we put so much faith in what we experience with our senses, and not that which comes to us in less obvious ways.  Is the spirit world only available to each of us individually, and by it's very nature is unexplainable to others, much less proven?

Drifting, with the breeze guiding his boat with timely rhythms across the lake, his mind and heart drifted as well, though aimlessly. 

Later, at the far shore, banging against the rocks awoke him from his daydream, or so he thought.  The engine refused to budge at first, which was uncommon. After a moment or two he came to realize the "kill switch" had been pulled, also uncommon.  While leaning over the engine reconnecting the switch he was startled by the reflection in the water.  It was not his.

There, shimmering in the clear sunlit waters was the smiling, laughing face of his now gone friend....as if having just played a little joke on him from afar.....the far that death, he thought, demanded  But yet he was right there.....for almost a minute. 

Later he sensed the disbelief surfacing.  Did that happen or not? Will he always hold reality up to the lens of others, or believe in a rare but real glimpse beyond the explainable. 

Use your imagination, and your soul will expand.



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An open invitation.....

Developing a friendship with the young hip professor was a value in and of itself. They had spent moments talking between classes, posing and answering questions while weaving through the barrage of students attempting to make the next class bell, and hours over beers at the union hall attempting to place theory into reality.


It did though seem overly generous for him to offer his cottage for the weekend located in the sand dunes along Lake Michigan, a few hours north. As he jumped on the chance with enthusiasm, he was sobered by the professor’s comment that “access may be difficult this time of year.”

He and his woman headed out late after a mandatory wedding reception, a bit buzzed and wild for adventure away from the university, and into the flurries of a developing snowstorm.

Sand and snow make for a tough trek and they eventually had to walk and stumble over a few dunes to discover a quaint, cold, and boarded up cottage. Effort prevailed and he was able to get the fireplace active in time for her to snore away in her sleeping bag. He stoked the fire and stepped out of the cottage. The snow had stopped and the sky was clearing. He decided to climb the dunes leading to the great lake the local Indians called “Michi gami.”

He sat for a long time absorbing the isolation. The dunes appeared to be so stationary, yet he knew they changed daily with the wind, water, and time. The lake, so impressive in the twilight, sat steady, deep and black. He realized how much more he could understand about the natural world when he was quiet and alone, ceasing to socialize, and engaging in the spirit. Always there and always available.

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An early morning in 1978.......

Waking on the floor to the first light comes easier when you don’t remember where you are or how you got there. You scrounge around for something yours but there is nothing. Cell phones, wallets, and rings of keys would come later. Your backpack of textbooks is back at the two-flat and you know that upon returning there is much to cram for before Monday’s exam.


Stepping over those who require more encouragement, you head for the door. The early fresh air hits your face and soon it’s a race for the alley to ease the pressure. With one hand on the brick wall he wavers from stumble to support, to memory, as he begins to revisit the last 12 hours of movement in his life. Forget it for now, as someone approaches, and now is all he has.

Old, grey, and hungry he was. Not much to say, not even a beg. Awkward for some but he felt at ease, numbed from the chill and percussion in his head from a night lost. They walked for blocks, speaking very little, until reaching the greasy diner brought a smile to his cracked lips.

Spotting the student and streetwise mentor she warmed to the moment. Placing water and cutlery on the counter she poised on her hip, order pad and pencil at the ready, and smiled. She was too old for him but he pretended that they would run away together. Like a liberal professor she appreciated the effort. “Two specials and coffee,” he uttered, as he finally accepted the reality of the moment.

After wiping the last of the greasy plate with the cut triangle of toast the old man began to gather himself and respond to the assortment of unanswered questions he had been asked. And as the sun climbed and the concrete welcomed the walkers and stalkers common to the city, the old man spoke at length about what he had seen and felt in his life up to this moment, commencing at birth. He spoke of children and women, jobs and parents, travel and rest, bank accounts and empty pockets.

The old man was a colorful sort of character whose canvas had gone pale.


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No beginning....no end....or so it appears.

Late enough to have forgotten about the last, and yet the next is still out of sight.  Mid-summer season brings with it the heat and stillness, allowing seepage from the past.

Warm days of youth lead to cooler evenings.  Soles of feet hardened by this time, making shoes an afterthought. He is waiting for the game.

They gather on the wide expanse of lush deep green grass, watered by a system none of them understood.  In the shade of the anonymous building they spread out for the start.  Simple enough.  Bases spread far, guarded by the older boys, and the young fleet footed youth like himself run like the wind, dodging the tags, and reaching safely, breathing heavy, and laughing loudly.  Never better.

As he waited for the throw away he led off the base, he dug his toes deep for a swift exit to the far bag. Off and running.  With only the thick summer air in his path, he was seemingly, in his own mind,  un-catchable. 

Suddenly he felt a tremendous shock and pain to his foot.  At full stride he began to roll head over heels as the sky went white and his eyes saw black.  He lay in the grass but did not comprehend the cause.  Kids gathered and then sprung away in disgust.  He squinted at the foot and saw a large thorn, the length of a Popsicle stick, punctured right through from the bottom and out the top.

Everyone stayed away in fright. He began to feel the pain.  And then, as suddenly as it entered, his just-older brother grabbed the foot firmly in one hand, and yanked that thick thorn right out in the direction it had come.
Immediate relief.  Immediate respect.

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Searching alone.......

It was late and his ride had left.

He knew he should have agreed to go then.....as it only made sense.  But he sometimes does not.  He was intent on listening to the last strums, beats, and blows of the musician.  It was if he thought that what he had not discovered from an entire evening under the influence, would now present itself after all who mattered had moved on...

Perhaps it was some need to further identify himself.....isolated from the group he was free to explore other persona's and dig a little deeper into how he really meshed with those behind the veil.  The absent minded lack of fear resonates with those he meets and the universal lifting of spirits lasts for a while.....but soon even those folks left.  And so then....as if on some sort of auto-pilot....he starts his walk back to the campsite near the entrance to the ruins.

These areas of the planet are so dark.  It is not the lack of lighting but the presence of the natural world so profound that all else fades to black. Each step a piece of the faith puzzle. Down a long road he wanders feeling the mud from recent rains squishing through his sandals.  He has indulged to the point of considering laying down.  It would be easier than this haphazard stumbling that would be perceived if anyone was around to perceive it.

Yet......his sense of self knows better.  The morning would would undoubtedly bring locals within sight and they would only consider him another unknowing gringo.  Or maybe the nocturnal animal hunters would find him defenseless and easy prey.

 No.....he would keep walking and reaching out with one hand to guide his return to his bag that awaited.  He needed sleep,  as tomorrow he would rejoin the tribe he so much enjoyed.  Until the next time he needed to search alone.

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A peek between the sheets......

So much goes on that we are prone to miss as a result of our tendency toward distraction...A sense that what flows through our mind is what is happening at that moment....but we should be skeptical of such a busy mind....full of wants, needs, and noise.

Sometimes the high life comes from slowing way down.....and looking around....with no mind.

Instincts and intuition thrive in this condition.....offering up a view and washing away the wear and tear of much of our common existence.

Let it be.....

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Everybody hurts sometime....

The steps from this comfort culture to one of survival are surprisingly closer than many of us think.  The needs we take for granted will be left up to us at one point and the task will require patience, acceptance, and wit.

Below is just one indicator of the reality facing many as the government money spigot is tightened to preserve the available cash for the haves....

26 weeks of payments comes to a halt...yet the needs are still there....each day.

Remember......every person...every human being..... has to eat, shit, and sleep each day.  And they will....one way or another.


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Stake a claim.......

Seems like there's never enough room for all of us.  We hunker down on trains, buses and automobiles hoping to avoid eye contact....leaving us alone for a moment.  Those precious moments when nothing is expected and much is tolerated.....just look the other way....or down into your phone.

Now and then though he finds places.....rummaging through his Tom Sawyer masks....while he putters and floats till a piece of ground fits the role.  Simple really......but oh so fine!

And then when thoughts subside, the bottle thins, and lights and bugs are out.....

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Nothing slips past her....

Small fish in the water....... birds in the sky......the squirrel high up on the branch......or truck tires passing by....beyond the surface sounds and smells she lingers....in a world so close to him yet just a notch from his understanding....his awareness....as much as he tries.....he cannot concentrate enough to reach her world.

We slowly lose our instincts...our senses....our ability to read and track the passage of time and space....left with thoughts to carry us....and those thoughts so confused by the onslaught of unnecessary information.  Can we block it all out and meld sound with smell?

Thought.  What is it but a reaction to the emotions triggered by experiences that have been classified and amplified by childhood drama, trauma, and joy. Setting it all on a nearby rock.....careful not to let the current snatch it away (as therein rests the whole of him or so he has been taught) and meditating on simply the senses and their interaction with the immediate natural world, framed by the sound of the unrestrained river flow....he settles for a glimpse into the world that has been available since day one and has sliped from practice and habit.

Then she glances over at him....moves closer....and rests her muzzle on his knee.  She appreciates the stillness and the attempt.

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Living on the edge....

The force (and protection) of their god and the whims of the natural world

.

Here he intends to place his feet soon.  The dichotomy of faith and science....the timing of prayer and geologic function....the extension of the creator and the need to allow the creation to erupt at will...

Agua, Fuego & Acatenango: Perhaps the most frequently photographed volcanoes in Guatemala, these three peaks watch over the sleepy, colonial town of Antigua Guatemala. The forested cones of Agua and Acatenango attest to their slumbering old age, while the bare peak of Fuego and the small ash clouds rising from its summit are evidence of continuing activity.

He needs to ask the obvious question to the local inhabitants of Antigua.....where can we get some cold beer?



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