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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A rippling effect.....

That last post makes him think of the words of the song playing during the intro to Midnight Cowboy......

"everybodies talkin at me...I can't hear a word their sayin'.....only the echos of my mind".....

No.... it's not that this is a lone go of things...that we ride the cradle to grave train as lonesome doves. Rather, it appears that the strength and vitality we gather from recognizing our own sail and paddle, provide the range, the vision, and the world view, to get outside our own needs and engage the needs of others.

When he feels the aches and pain of age, or the struggle of the current economic environment, both personal, and more broadly its effect on those close to him, he is reminded of those others, those without recognizable faces, who struggle with pain, fear, and fork to fork survival all the time. Perhaps we are gaining some much needed empathy.

Equally as important is the thought that once we accept our own direction, one rooted in acceptance and conviction, we become then able to engage, encourage, and contribute to others. Those same others we have been depending on and blaming all along. We simply exchange dependence and blame for acceptance and responsibility.

And from this we may gravitate to a stronger and more intimate local and universal community.

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No one to depend on....and no one to blame

Back from Oregon and a few thoughts are weaving through his mind.

No one to depend on.....and no one to blame.

This statement raises many questions. But what feelings take rise in you when you read it?......when it seeps in.

There are times when the the concept of dependence surfaces, upon the death of your last parent, or the failure of a business or job that provided a long enduring sense of identity. And then again, on a higher notch along the actualization totem pole, the removal of co-dependence can be uplifting, eh?

But dependability.....that sinks in deep. Because if and when we accept the idea that no one can be completely dependable, and in fact we are the only ones who we can completely depend on, good or bad...its all good. The balance of our relationships typically take off on a higher plane at that point, allowing us to really engage them, and enjoy the sweetness of the individual.

And yes.....blaming is a way to offset the fear of this personal discovery. When we fear that we may not "have what we need"....it only makes sense to blame something or someone other than our selves. The blame stops here.

Seems pretty simple really. We have this path we are moving about, often to slow for our liking, other times a bit out of control. We need to simply accept ourselves as the pilot, using our skills and traits to navigate the direction, knowing that the guidance and assistance provided by others is invaluable, yet undependable in its entirety, and never worthy or receptive of blame.

Buck up folks....life's a ride.

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Think....and then act.

It is not as though when we are reminded of the numerous weather related disasters on the rise around the world that we should expect a seismic mental shift in the modern thought construct. Folks are simply trying to get to the next weekend, like a safe zone in a children’s yard game. It is enough that we need to absorb the realities around us, but we need to also simply concentrate on our own drama. Are we losing patience with the larger picture? Understandably so.

When governments fail to anticipate and protect, private industry displays what we knew a long, that the profit motive generates plenty of very private motives. The jobs leave and the cohesion a community relied upon for a half a century has loosened, shifted, or evaporated altogether. The old heroes are dead or dying and the “we want to-be heroes” prove simply not to be. Understandably so.

The question moving about is asking what we can do to save our planet, build back up the pride of citizenship (both globally and from sea to shining sea), generate a sustainable living, and live a meaningful existence while we inhabit this space. He's thinking that beyond our sense of survivorship playing out currently, that most have these deeper questions weaving through the background. Understandably so.

His father used to say, “Think first, think again, then act.” This proves useful considering our developing circumstances. Before we can really commit to the changes that may eventually be required, we need to make a conscious shift to acknowledge a “limited” life. By limited he refers to the un-American concept of restricting our consumption, and accepting the reality that we live in a resource fixed planet. We cannot, and should not, “have it all.” This will become a reality one way or another. Our acceptance of this reality will be the beginning of the reconstruction. Understandably so.

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Winds.....and little changed.

The wind was weaving through the trees creating a rhythmic strumming that seemed to propel him at a swifter gate than normal. Those that know had advertised gale force winds for this day and he wanted to experience it firsthand. Walking along one of the higher ridges in the county he could see for miles and still could not see the wind. However, the invisible air was forcing the saplings sideways and their sources to sway. The gray sky hinted rain, but the wind was actually in control of this play.

This was certainly a unique piece of land. Unique now, though typical before, the land was a splendid example of northern Illinois at the turn of the last century. One of the reasons the tribes stayed here so long was the navigable waterways, boundless prairies, rolling hillsides staging countless oak trees, and the abundant game. This area had been preserved and looked as it did hundreds of years earlier. The moraines and kettles, roller coasting through the woodlands had been left by the scathing glaciers many thousands of year’s earlier. This he found very pleasing.

Stopping momentarily, he considers the comparison of this balanced system sustaining itself for so many years, and the interior of his own body. Both systems give and take requiring relatively little maintenance to sustain life. Yet, what makes each stand out is the spirit which flows through. A spirit, though difficult to describe, becomes so apparent when observed carefully at any given moment. The wind has lifted his spirit on this afternoon and he feels light, loose, and alive.

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Anticipation......

Anticipate. Making an attempt to live more fully in the moment seems to provide a greater ability to anticipate future actions.

This, he’s thinking, would not fall into the category of expectations, but rather say, anticipating that the next wet rock in the stream may have a slippery coating of moss, and with our anticipation we can avert a wet spill by our adjustment.

Seldom are moments more pleasing than those times when we can anticipate and chose our actions accordingly, stepping into the next moment more gracefully, and often with outcomes more in alignment with ….er…..the intention of the moment. By intention, it is meant to describe the natural flow of the living world around us.

We clearly have a role to play. It should not be assumed that we should simply “accept the moment.” He is thinking this as he watches squirrels fighting over the acorns, and deer pawing in the lawn to dig out the grub below the surface. Does the grub not have a destiny? Well of course, the natural order is unfolding as it must, you must be thinking. And you are correct.

However it is no different with our species. We have the uncanny ability to see events unfolding and to step in and divert pain and suffering in others, help others sidestep hardship, and steer joy. This seems to be most obvious when you are paying attention to the movements around as opposed to concentrating on your own needs.

It is understood that with your own needs ripe and vulnerable, it is useless to expect to be engaged enough in the world to really be able to “see” clearly. By either reducing your needs or stepping up your concentration level can bring you to the point where calm, competent, and anticipating clarity can emerge within.

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In the moment.....

A little stunned, but he remained calm, quiet, and still. She crept forward in steps, pausing between each as she surveyed the ground at her feet.

He had simply been walking for miles until the intensity of the rain moved him in under the natural umbrella of a leather leaf tree. He was reading….er….listening to a book read on his ipod and somewhat oblivious to sound, yet very aware of the rain, the woods, and the moment.

As he slumped down at the dry base of the tree his eyes became aware of the life occurring low and close to the ground. Everything around him seemed to be reacting favorably to the rain storm. Insects, squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks, and birds all scurried about attempting to make the most of the moisture.

It was then he saw her standing just across the trail and staring right at him. She was a beautiful white-tail that stood proudly and strangely calm as well. Almost intuitively he recalled his experiences hunting such an animal.. He tried to remain still, considering the wind direction and avoiding direct eye contact. Soon he realized that she was not frightened of him and for some unusual reason appeared to accept his place in the woods. She continued to eat the ground flora and stare at him curiously.

“Why not” he pondered. Why should he not be as much a part of this ecosystem as she is? This exchange went on far longer than can be expressed here. Eventually he rose; they bid their farewells and walked away in opposite directions. The rain had stopped and he could see streaks of sun piercing through the clouds and stabbing through the openings in the trees. He walked slower now and felt a little more connected.

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Creating value.....

What we do each day is attempt to create value. Value is defined here as an improvement: actions that increase the meaning or usefulness of a system, commodity, or resource. Value can also be discovered and increased in relationships, art, education, and personal development. Value can be collectively and objectively agreed upon as in a monetary appropriation, but ultimately resides in the subjective needs and desires of the individual.

For example, each morning we rise and tend to our needs and the needs of others. Typically we agree to perform certain tasks in exchange for a monetary denomination that we than can exchange for the things we need to sustain us (food, shelter, transportation, education, and in many cases love and intimacy). The motive behind this exchange often has more to do with accumulating the dollars than the original intention of creating value. We may have drifted away from the creation of intrinsic value, and shifted into an unconscious fear of not having enough dollars to provide our needs years from now. How did that happen? What of value are we still creating?

It has been discussed commonly over the last decade that our economy has shifted from a manufacturing (one of creation of goods) base, to a more service (providing convenience, organization, and expediency) economy. Most of what we need to sustain ourselves is created somewhere else, in another state, region or country.

One thought he has been mulling about in conjunction with locally produced products and services, as well as reducing the sense of “limitlessness” that we have grown accustomed to in the last few decades, is a way that we can once again begin to create value. However, the only stipulation in his thinking is that this value has to be completely created and utilized without the additional printing of more dollars (debt). That’s right……creating something without using dollars and being compensated fairly without using dollars. Just think of a day, week, or month where we do nothing but create value. Not dollars in our bank account, but rather actually create things that are perceived to have instant value, like a loaf of bread.

Suppose we create a local database of individuals. These individuals simply e-mail in their profession, and three skills they possess. The database is available to all on the internet. Services are exchanged, or bartered for (a very old but resilient concept), and as homes are painted and vegetable produce exchanged, as cars are fixed and homes are weatherized, as wood is split and stacked, and art is completed and books are written, and fitness is instructed and conflicts are resolved, as engineering is designed, and counseling provided, as bread is baked and plays are staged, no dollars are printed at the Treasury in Washington or exchanged. We will instantly begin to increase the value of our country and systematically reduce our debt.

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One moment at a time......

"I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration; I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis is escalated or de-escalated, and a person is humanized or de-humanized. If we treat people as they are, we make them worse. If we treat people as they ought to be, we help them become what they are capable of becoming.
~ Goethe

Something about these words by Goethe both resonates and infuriate. On the one hand it makes one feel not only a significant contributor to everyday actions and reactions, part of the cause driving the effect, but also responsible for the same. It is if we are asked to recognize our mutual investment in any given moment……are we equally invested in the input of a given moment and then by logic an owner of the outcome? Or, is this chance, destiny, or fate thing so many speak of really writing the script and we are just playing out what ever role (mood) we happen to be in at that moment?

Please….read it again.

If it were true…..then perhaps the real difference in our direction as individuals and collectively is driven by the ability (and ability is emphasized here) to transcend only our emotional output (which can be selfish and needy) and combine it with some grit- something resembling intelligence, empathy, assertive reality sharing, and highest on the list- the true reflection of our values. These values are not the ones that get shoved aside when our needs are not met, but rather the ones we know are true but we fail to exercise because of fear of personal loss; be it financial (a big fear for this writer), social, or a combination of the two, which is to say, conformity. Fear of standing out…..on a limb so to speak.

Just what is he talking about? Agreed, it is certainly difficult to put truths into words as a result of the complexity of soulful, intellectual, emotional, and external realities. For example, why is it that so many in our culture believe (have faith) in a god (and all the power that goes with it) , yet so few really speak of the deity on a daily basis? Certainly they do so in other cultures. And why do we understand the concepts of “good” yet are so drawn to the dark? The answer has to be in our will….our choice. We have a choice as to how we will be in our minds, hearts, and in our exchange with the external world. We have a choice. That choice has power. Your next moment awaits your contribution to it.

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Out walking.....

There is something very revealing about walking. Of all the ways we propel our bodies forward on this planet, walking appears to him to attach us most closely to the earth itself. In addition, there is rarely a hurry in walking, as most walk is at relatively the same pace, reducing competition often found while running, or anxiety often associated with taxis, plane flights, or bus rides.

He has read and heard that the most enjoyable gate to strive for is an amble (to walk slowly or leisurely; stroll). This gate allows for consistent movement, along with introspection, reflection, observation, and interaction the with surroundings. This seems awkward at first, as the tendency is to attempt to complete the walk as timely as possible. It’s just our modern way. But not necessarily the way.

No, this is certainly more Zen-like than we may be accustomed. After all, who has time for this anyway? He might argue the point that we should make time, but that simply forces the action into a schedule, diminishing the value considerably. He notices this same conflict when he catches himself counting steps, or marking time and distance, difficult to avoid, but distinguished clearly once overcome.

It seems there is such value in the repetition of mind and movement. The reoccurring empty thought, coupled with the graceful decision-free step. When the limits of the mind subside, it seems the boundless consciousness awakes, and the body agrees. Capability is far more than the anxious, fearful mind is accustomed to acknowledging.

He remembers hiking up a long deep canyon with his brothers and father, on a warm sun baked Texas afternoon. Upon finally returning to camp, shade and beer, the sons took ample time to wipe the sweat and calm the heart rate, and return to a normal state of being. He looked up at the “old man,” still standing with no noticeable change in his physical stature since before the hike.

He later learned that one of the symptoms of oncoming dementia is the minds shutting down of messages to the body. In essence, our bodies are capable of so much more, if we tune out the stress, and tune in our presence to this moment, and the next step forward.

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On the Road....#28

On the road to somewhere he exited an old mountain town in Colorado, driving his brother’s beat up Dodge Charger. Next town to avoid would be Aspen, on his way southwest. Early afternoon and his cares in the trunk, he drove. Usually woman hitch hikers are heavy, old, or scary looking. She defied all the odds, standing for a ride, no thumbing required. He stopped.

Conversation was light, if at all. She knew the game, and she refused to reveal her inner brilliance to justify her obviously beautiful exterior. Like 1969 GTO, candy apple red, there was no need to rev the block.

Eventually though his music choices loosened the puzzle and they started to ramble. Over the road she shared stories of her life in Aspen, confirming that he would be stopping at the tinsel town now anyway. But his eyes shined for her. She was careful not to shine back, though he was in denial of this fact at the time.

As they pulled into the star haven he realized that he would stay at her place, or move on, as camping in these hotels was above his pay grade. She said OK……… OK! They stopped at a friendly place to eat and drink beers. She was an artist. She made things from clay, as in pottery. Her boyfriend was a musician. Ohhhh,uggggh.

Her place was a small reflection of herself, simple and tasteful. Now, with all their self secrets revealed, things became very light, airy, and fun. She played music and entertained him with amazing stories. He tried to reciprocate, but he was younger and less experienced in life.

Suddenly the door opened and Raphael appeared, as was bound to happen at some point. He was cool. Very cool. They spoke for a long while. Then, as their bedroom door shut, he unrolled his bag behind the couch on the floor and slept it off. When they awoke in the morning, he was gone already, leaving only a note of gratitude.

Note to self: Good people.......there are many good people.

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On the Road....#27

When he walks in the woods he “ambles”, implying a slow and leisurely gate. But they were in a Jeep of sorts, actually a Chevy, no matter. Point is, they were ambling up this gradual slope, along a trail lined with pines. Each time they came to a fork in the trail they would alternate between the left fork or the right. They were moving at less than five miles an hour (an art to keep steady) , listening to tunes, hanging out the window for views of the mountains and sky, popping tops for refreshment, and enjoying all aspects of hiking, without the boot tread wear.

This is British Columbia. And it took a while to like it, too much Limey influence in the “Pubs” for their liking. But the wilderness- that was plentiful, and awesome. They spent the better part of the day just getting them as lost as possible in this sign less land. Eventually though they stumbled on gold, perfect in every way.

The river was loud and though they could not yet see it, they knew the Lillooet would be grand. Hiking back now on feet for the first time all day, they found the source of the commotion, a large frothy river, bordered by rocks the size of cars. It did not take them long, though the sounds prohibited vocal communication, to discover steam streaming up from between the rocks. Further inspection proved splendid indeed- hot spring pools for soaking. Aaahhhhh!

Like L & C upon discovering the Columbia, they rejoiced, and camped for a few days. In the evening soak they propped candles along the rocks, looked up at the moon filled sky, and listened to the roar of the river, just a few feet away. The two brother's would have stayed longer but they grew weary of seeing each others naked body, and vowed to return someday with an alternative gender.

Very little talking, very Zen.

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Rain......

Rain. He can always remember the rain, and how it has added or subtracted from various experiences. When you’re high and dry, it matters not. When you’re too dry, it matters most. When you’re trying to stay dry, it can be a long night.

He had been instructed to sleep on the ground, in his bag, and under a single 5’x8’ tarp. The Boy Scouts insist on these experiences for obvious reasons. Not obvious to him at the time though. Impending rain caused him to apply serious thought to the idea of a trench around his bag. On a slope, just a few feet from the lakes edge, it would serve to channel the rainwater away from him, and to the lake, where it belonged. So he got up while others slept and utilized his folding scout shovel to do just that. After, he slid down in his bag, secure in his water diversion plan.

He first woke to the large intermittent raindrops on the tarpaulin. No worries. As the rain became more consistent, and then begin to increase in intensity, he peeked out to see how the diversion trench was performing. It was then he thought that a dike or berm around him might have worked better. So far so good anyway.

After a couple hours of downpour he awoke to a strange sensation. He felt like he was floating. Now he could hear other scouts rumbling around and complaining, and finally he stuck his head out of his tightly synched bag, to find a surprise. The trench had filled in and his sleeping area had become a detention area filled with water. He literally could have drowned in the six inches of water that was now floating his sleeping bag.

Rather than appear ill-planned, he just decided to roll out of his little lake on to the ground nearby and just sleep in the rain, like a real boy scout. So in the dark of night he rolled over a couple more times until he felt solid ground, albeit momentarily. Suddenly he heard a splash and realized that he had rolled and slid into the actual lake.

After struggling for a couple minutes to get out of that soaked bag, he just stood there knee deep in the lake, in the steady rain, and started to laugh.

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Listening.........

He’s thinking about those summer evenings. There’s something about that word evenings that includes the entire transition of day to night. Whereas, summer nights, seems to be something that occurs well after dark, somewhere other than home.

Summer evenings conjures up thoughts of childhood. Evenings that began when excused from the table, having swept the floor and cleared the plates and received the nod, he slipped out of the screened porch door to begin a summer evening.

The ranging summer sun provided the backdrop for pitch and hit against the garage door. Or an unbelievable neighborhood game of running bases. When he was young, the older boys, the ones running the game, didn’t pay much attention to him. But he knew when he was growing up because he became a threat on those bases. But in the mean time, he would run like the wind through the cut grass in bare feet, sliding from bases to base in the first remnants of evening dew to emerge on the tips of the grass blades.

On one evening, memory does not serve him well here as to why, but he was pulled by his mother from the peak of the evening and sent to his room till morning. He sat on the floor under his wide open window, with his back to the wall, and listen to the sounds of the summer evening.

Like a Polaroid becoming clear, he was able to determine from the many voices, that one parent was taking the whole crew to the Dairy Queen in town. Voices and footsteps, as each ran to their perspective homes to clear it with the parents. He decided to try the same. No, was all he heard. He returned to his room and assumed the same vantage point under the window.

As the kids piled into the car for the short trip to ice cream nirvana, he listened. As the excited voices were muffled for a moment as the car doors slammed, and then reemerged as windows were rolled down, he listened. As the engine pulled the car of kids up the road to gone, he listened.

To the sounds of summer evenings, he listens.

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Leavin'.......

There have been many goodbyes. Part of leaving is saying goodbye. In previous writings he has discussed the therapeutic value in planning and preparation. And then the ritual of "packing the pack." Followed closely by the orchestrated flow of your daily life while on the road. But the passion in your life can be measured by the goodbyes. There was a time when woman cried. There was a time when men wondered how he could just leave, pick up and go. Those days have moved on though. He has created an expectation of those around him as make goodbyes fairly commonplace, even mundane.

Yet still, there always is a sense of excitement in those that say goodbye, even now. On one such occasion, he had a friend who took a few minutes to write him some words of his own. Wishing he could ride along, but unable to go, he sent him off with the words only a cowboy could appreciate.........

Written by Rick P

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Home?....Storm on the range.....

If you keep moving, the weather should always be behind you. Or at last that's what he always heard, or read, or made up. And small storms in the open can behave like big ones and be in your face quickly.

When he saw this herd of cattle he was not screaming about wanting to "tip em," but rather he was attempting to warn them of the impending storm coming. They wanted nothing to do with him.

A storm at home is welcome from the friendly confines of the lawn chair in the garage. Out under the big sky, with no cover is another story. Yet he loves it. The rush of excitement and fear is worth risk. He understands that some folks view any unnecessary risk as illogical. We each are in charge of our own next breath. He just wants it to be one of exhilaration, rather than a sigh.

He always considered the Midwest as inherently have a greater sense of roots for him. Of course, outside of a few brief interludes, that has been home. But even beyond him, large tracts of the wild west have appear to have no roots. Certainly no trees, and the soil just blows around so much over the years it becomes difficult to determine one acre from another. Not so back East, where the oaks grow long roots, firmly establishing the landscapes, and the people who count on them.



Just stop the rig, crack a cold one, and let it do it's thing. Nothing like a good storm to give a guy pause.

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On the Road...#26....(continued again)

Continued from August 19, 2009…….

He stood there and slowly stopped his wave, and just stared at the remaining image in his mind of the truck, expecting them to return. They did not. Later his brother just said he assumed I had a ride…..huh? That moment was a clear sign of the times for him….rely on yourself.

Wandering up the on ramp now he wondered if someone else might be headed the same way. Certainly one of these many cars passing by would offer the kid a ride. He hesitantly stuck out his thumb for the first time, not knowing yet how often he would rely upon his fellow man for rides in the years ahead.

Simple really. The driver invests the gas and car, and he would share a story with enough enthusiasm to keep the Samaritan entertained. The dance has been engaged to the mutual interests of both participants up and down the roads of this land many times without incident.

Jumping out somewhere on State Street he began walking west. It was at least 20 blocks or say two miles to his brother’s flophouse. As he walked he enjoyed the late afternoon lights play on the city streets. It was Saturday, and people along the sidewalk were in a festive mood as he recalls. He could hear cheering as he walked by tavern doors. His curiosity got the best of him and he finally decided to enter into the darkness inside.

As his eyes adjusted to the contrast, he made out the anticipation of patrons staring up at the small black and white television on the bar shelf. It was the track and field portion of the summer Olympics. Someone encouraged him to pull up a stool, which he did, and he started drinking quarter beers with his new comrades. The positive energy flowing through that moment would stay with him to this day, to engage humanity with enthusiasm.

Walking the darkened streets later with a happy buzz made his young eyes open even further, so much going on if he just looked closely. Reaching his brothers door he was a little surprised at the non-reaction he received from his older brother. Then again, perhaps not.

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On the Road...#26..... (continued)

Continued from August 18th……..

After an extended inquiry, the monk was convinced that the older brother was in fact studying under the Jesuits in the city to the North. He decided to drive them all back on what had become a very rain swept evening. In the back seat she told him she would have to call her family to pick her up. He understood. The brother had started an inquiry of his own on the merits and possibilities of a monastic life.

They lay together on an old dusty couch in the attic. Soon….too soon….the headlights pulled up and stopped on the dark wet pavement fronting the old house. Her sister picked her up and whisked her up North to the predictability of the family vacation home. He went down stairs after a few minutes of reflection and sat at the kitchen table, squinting and squirming as he drank his first shots of whiskey, having not yet turned 17.

The next morning, or a little later than that, a friend drove them in an old pickup truck back to the familiar exit ramp. The pair of broken vehicles waited there patiently.

As it turned out, they were towed away to different shops. He rode in the front seat alone with the shirt soiled driver. Not much to talk about, but he tried anyway. His car would take a week to fix, forcing a consideration of mobile options as he was dropped back off at the ramp location as he and his brother had discussed earlier.

As he lay in the thick grassy ditch waiting for his brother, his brothers friend and of course his brothers friends truck, he fell asleep. He awoke much later. He knows this as a result of the sun burn face he felt. It was the sound of the old pickup truck down on the road at the base of the off ramp that caused him to stir.. He jumped up and waved profusely as the truck turned and headed up the on ramp to the freeway. He could hear the old muffler for at least a mile or so as it headed North back to the city, without him.

To be continued……

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On the Road...#26

He was young. She was young. The car was old.

On their way up to her family’s lake house in Wisconsin, he convinced her to stop in Milwaukee to spend some time with his brother who was attending the university there. He lived a ways off the campus in an old house with a couch on the porch. There were other signs of the times strewn about, like Hendrix posters, a couple guitars, drug paraphernalia, and apple crates of great albums.

They waited inside after being led in by a house mate. His oldest brother was a no show. They played albums to pass the time and create the moment. Eventually the phone rang and he pushed through the door beads to answer the call. His car broke down 50 miles South on the highway ramp. He agreed to drive back and pick him up. No problem. She was so agreeable when she was young.

As he steered his beat up old 1968 Triumph GT-6 (painted in classic British Racing Green by the way) behind the VW Van slumped along the edge of the ramp, he felt a snap and the front axle sunk to the concrete pavement. Two cars now out of the race.

“No problem,” his older brother stated convincingly, to him anyway, she was wishing she was further North by now. It was around 10 P.M. in the evening and the three of them started walking.

As after talking and laughing and generally getting caught up and into each other’s space, the conversation led to options for the evening. They had little option but to walk to a payphone and see if they could rustle up someone to re-rescue them. Down the dark road East they came upon a gated monastery. The entrance was open and they eased down the tree lined drive to the first stone building. The large ringed knocker on the wooden door soon brought a response.

After explaining their dilemma, they were escorted by a small man to a large library, with high ceilings and shelved walls stacked with books. He remembers his brother would just as well stay right there and spent the night looking at the collection. She was too anxious for that.

Suddenly the door swung open and a large robed man entered. He was interested in our story but in no rush to solve the problem for us. For one thing, they had no phones at the monastery.

He had many questions about our lives and our views of the future. He and his brother were engaged. She was wondering if we would sleep there or would they give us a ride back to the city. He conceded that both were options.

To be continued……

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Song of Myself.......

I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,Hoping to cease not till death.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, :I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

Have you reckoned a thousand acres much? have you reckoned the earth much?
Have you practiced so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the endBut I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now,Nor any more youth or age than there is now,And will never be any more perfection than there is now,Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learned and unlearned feel that it is so.

Walt Whitman.....1907

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Seeking solitude....wanting the crowd....

He had spent the day trying to create some space for himself on the slopes, trying to have some time to himself on this mountain. It had been snowing all day and fresh snow was everywhere.
It was high up in the back bowls of Steamboat that he thought was an obvious place to start. Instead, he had a bunch of extreme skiers hooting and hollering and driving him to another area.

Traversing across the trails on catwalks found him at an unfamiliar lift. He took it and found that this lift was used mostly by the ski patrol as a base of operations.
Exiting the lift, he immediately skied into the pine trees and stopped by some large rocks. Skis off and feet up, he relaxed until the last of the patrol headed down to make their rounds searching for stranded skiers.

The daylight was low, the lifts had stopped, and the snow picked up considerably. Now was his time. He began working his way down the front face of the mountain and realized how the visibility was very limited. The faster he skied the less he could see.

As he squinted through his goggles he began to hear the faint sound of screaming. No, it was not screaming, but rather cheering. Yeah, he was in the Olympics, and the run was lined with crowds cheering enthusiastically for him to win the race. And he was, in his mind of course. But he will always remember the illusion, and the amazing power of the moment being played out. Fun yes, but eerily real for him that day.

He still stays aware for those moments, and they will appear now and then.

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Seeing things as they are......

He’s thinking about the inner workings of his life, his mind really. Strange how when interacting with others, even those close to him, he stays mum on most things and simply finds interest in the stories of others, yet rarely offering up much in return.

He supposes that it is just his nature. Often he actually notices that when he meets some people, they have plenty to say about themselves, and never really ask any questions in return anyway, unless particularly enlightened. Although that is fine with his nature, it does make him wonder how oblivious they appear to the world “without them.”

Revealing personal information to a good friend can be freeing, because they know you and you are confident in their reaction. Do the same with an acquaintance and you are open for judgment. But does that really allow yourself to be real and truthful as you pass through this life?

Travel does provide an answer to this dilemma. One of the absolute joys of travel alone is the way we open ourselves up to the world. We find this easier as a result of the short duration of each encounter. None the less, it can be very helpful in reflecting back to us our true selves, that which our close friends know but choose not to express out of respect, or perhaps preservation of the relationship.

Next time you are on a train or bus, try tweaking your story ever so slightly in the direction of the truth with your temporary seatmate. Not because you normally lie, but rather because normally you are so reluctant to speak freely and truthfully. When you do this, be prepared for the response. Listen graciously and thank them for their forthrightness. You are a better human now as a result of your courage.

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Just "did" it......

He has done it all over. Not necessarily in exotic locations, but definitely in alleys and on beaches, large fields, and definitely on university campuses. Yeah, Frisbee really has a history.

Not so much tricks and showy sort of playing, but rather, either very relaxing open ended, far flying games, or a close encounter hard throwing “guts” game. Both were, and are still, very intriguing to him.

Something about the cooperation required to heave it out deep into the open wind, across the land, soaring and settling in the hands of your friend. This activity cannot be played alone. You need to know your partner. With each attempt you desire to make a good toss that will provide the challenge he needs, and at the same time chasing down and grabbing the disc in a way that makes him look good for providing the same in return. It’s a dance.

Although guts can be as competitive as you choose, there is something also that fosters cooperation. In essence you are trying to provide a good toss, and if he can catch it, so be it. It only is disturbing when you throw wildly, not cool, and not at all in the rhythm of the game. That’s it really, it’s about rhythm.

Our competitive nature definitely can stifle that rhythm. To participate in this world hoping to one up an opponent, wishing for him to lose for your benefit, is missing the true enjoyment of life’s rhythm. This is what the art of Frisbee teaches us. Pretty simple, eh?

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Drifting...

At one point he just laid in the bottom of the boat staring up at the big white clouds passing as he moved at a drifting pace across the big water. It seemed that since he could no longer see the shoreline in any direction over the rail of the boat, he might as well just look up and forget about a shoreline. What if there was no shoreline.

Once you relinquish control, and let the wind just take you across the lake, certainly giving up visual conformation anyway, you actually move along a continuum from the desire to peek over the bow, to fear of banging into the rocks on the distant shore, and eventually settle into a state of complete acceptance.

He allows himself this experience once a year, but often wonders what it would feel like if the body of water was even larger. The ocean perhaps. How would he handle the aimlessness, the uncertainty, the mental freedom, the boredom, and the fear?

We cling understandably to the certainty of our lives. We make many conscious choices to put ourselves into a life that we can comfortably predict and plan current and future steps. Like stumbling onto a burning bush, we no more want to encounter things that do not fall into categories that we have labeled, chosen, and understand. This is what our development of the intellect has taught us- we can control our lives.

As he had fallen asleep in the setting sun of the early evening, he was startled awake. Err….what the…bam…..he had run aground on the rocks, and the water was lapping against the aluminum boat. Things don’t go on forever, or do they?

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