Eighteen days into fulltiming & it's been a total blur. Leaving my humble mobile home seemed easy enough. Easy if you think sorting through a lifetime's accumulated junk is easy. Easy if dealing with memories of the past is no concern. Easy if you don't find the physical aspect of packing and hauling heavy boxes to a storage unit daunting. But the last day of March arrived and by some miracle I was ready. The last boxes were on the truck.
I took the keys and title to the park office and officially turned the page to a new chapter in my life. I aimed the truck for Homer, MI, which would be my summer home and base of operations.
Two years ago I had purchased a lot in an RV park called Lighthouse Village. Two summers of hanging out there had convinced me that I could live there. At least for the summer. With that conviction, it made fulltiming seem a reasonable goal. Once the LHV lot had been purchased, a yearly maintenance fee of $600 would provide 6 months of nearly free living. A place to park the fifth wheel. It was like boondocking for the entire summer, except that it included amenities like water, electric, dumping and an excellent bath house. If this is roughing it, then count me in.
Saturday, the next morning, my friend Brenda arrived to help me celebrate my first days of freedom. She also has a lot at Lighthouse Village and in fact had originally introducted me to the park. We celebrated by going to the Stagecoach Restaurant and feasting on their breakfast buffet. Once there, we learned that "Red" O'Dell, owner/operator of the local grain elevator, had gotten ill and passed away.
Red was a regular at the restaurant and a real character. Like the time he somehow created a high frequency feedback with his cell phone and then convinced Ralph that it was one of the two hearing aids that he wore. The beeping would appear and Red would convince Ralph to check his hearing aids, first one and then the other. This went on for some time. All of us were convinced that it really *was* one of those hearing aids.
Finally Ralph left. All was quiet for a while and then the sound reappeared. Clearly it wasn't the hearing aids Ralph wore. The high frequency was coming from Red's direction. And then we knew what an enormous joke he had played on us all. Red would never admit to it, but we all knew. It was his particular brand of humor and you just never knew what to expect next. The 12 year old, red-headed prankster was alive and well in him. He never really quite grew up, but everyone liked him as he was. You knew somehow that he really meant well. He would never intentionally hurt anyone. Red was just a prankster at heart.
At the end of the weekend, Brenda returned to Lansing and the work world. I proceeded to pack and organize the fifth wheel for my first major trip: Homer, MI to Tucson, AZ for the 2007 Rally of New Horizon owners. In the two years of owning this rig, I had only partly prepared for fulltime living in it. Things were stashed, not organized. Realizing this, I thought how careless of me not to prepare the rig more properly. While most of the mechanical and maintenance items were taken care of, I had neglected the housekeeping aspect. I had only five days before heading out to gain some semblance of order. And I was nearly successful.
The clothing, towels, laundry, and dish supplies were organized in short order. I was fairly smug when I pulled out Saturday morning. I had a quick "farewell" breakfast at Stagecoach, and stopped at Jim's Radiator to top off the trailer tires. I shouldn't have been quite so optimistic. As I progressed down the road, things began popping from cabinets and onto the floor. At each stop something new had fallen. The wall clock demolished itself in its tumble. CD binders, holding 20-30 discs, catapulted all over the place. The cabinet doors of the entertainment center were not restraining the contents. Even a pair of stereo speakers took a tumble. Three tumbles, actually, and then I relegated them to the floor. They wouldn't stay put no matter where I put them. They seemed much better just resting on the floor.
I learned to overnight at Cracker Barrel Restaurants. I'd go 300 miles in a day and then stop at a Cracker Barrel to eat and sleep. My trips to Flying-J went pretty well, as I managed to hit them when they were not overly busy. By Monday I had reached Tyler, TX and I overnighted at a Cracker Barrel there to await another friend.
Dale, my mentor who got me into Escapees and fulltiming, was going to accompany me the final thousand miles to Tucson. I had invited him to join me in attending the Rally. We had breakfast Tuesday morning and headed out. Out for Dallas, Ft. Worth, el Paso, and on to Deming, NM. There we boondocked for two nights at the Dream Catchers SKP Park. For $2.50 a night we had a safe place to park, free showers, and an Escapee community to chat with.
We met BigJim from the Escapee Forum and I was able to put a face to a name. Jim was forced out of his job due to a heart condition and he survived by workamping and a small Social Security Disability check. He entertained us with amazing stories of workamping and I thought to myself: "This is how great storytellers used to entertain before the mass media of radio and TV".
My own grand father was such a storyteller. I never heard him tell the same story twice. He regaled us with long accounts of life in Scotland and the adventures he and his friends had. Jim is such a story teller. It's a touch of genius. With them we don't need the noisy boxes that mostly dispense bad news. I prefer the adventure stories that affirm life and make you feel good after the telling. What has our progress wrought? Where have we allowed it to take us?
The final leg of my trip brought Dale and I to Beaudry RV Park in Tucson, where the rally was to take place. We got here a few days early and in that time I managed to install 6 new Trojan T-105 batteries, fix two window locks (thanks Dale), install SNAPS (spring-loaded pins) onthe front landing gear, and install PressurePro sensors on the wheels of the FW trailer.
Jim, one of the rally attendees, showed me how to dump the air in the Red Ryder air suspension of the trailer. A lot of rusty water came out. Now I knew how to dump the air at every major stop. I dumped the air again after refilling the compressed air tank and a bit more water came out. A third time and it was dry. I'll leave it empty until I head out for Las Vegas.
The new batteries are working well and I sprayed them with NCP-2, a corrosion protectant. The hot Arizona sun is generating 14.2 volts from the solar cells. In Michigan, 13 volts was the highest I had ever seen. No wonder boondocking is popular in the Arizona desert. The clear skies give lots of free energy to charge the batteries, and a plentiful supply of BLM land complete the picture. I expect to try boondocking in Quartzsite, but first is Las Vegas.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
9. What's in a name?
Out of nowhere it came to me: Ishmael. Like a casual friend, it hung out in my consciousness. Waiting. Weeks passed. It just stayed there. A word that would not go away . . . but for what?
When the day came that I decided to write a blog, I immediately *knew* what to call it. "Clearly," I thought to myself, "that is the name of the blog."
The reason for the name was another thing. Up until now I have written and ignored the small aspect of why "Ishmael". Was my intuition guiding me correctly? So let's address the meaning of the name, if such exists.
Not being a Biblical scholar, I barely recognized that "Ishmael" has its roots in early Jewish, Christian, and Islamic history. Son of Abraham, Ishmael was born of a handmaiden when Sara could not conceive. Later, Sara did have a son, Isaac, and that started a family feud that has lasted to this day.
Both Jewish and Islamic traditions consider Ishamel as the ancestor of Arab people. Interestingly enough, Islamic tradition maintains that it was Ishmael, not Isaac, was was nearly sacrificed by Abraham . . . and was saved at the last minute when God allowed Abraham to sacrifice a ram (lamb) instead of his son.
There is another Ishmael: that of Daniel Quinn's book. It opens with a deceptively ordinary personals ad: "Teacher seeks pupil. Must have an earnest desire to save the world."
A young man answers the ad and is startled to find that the teacher is a gorilla named Ishmael, a creature who sees humanity from a new perspective. He is a student of ecology, life, freedom, and the human condition.
He is also a teacher. He teaches that which all humans must learn -- if our species, and the rest of life on Earth as we know it, is to survive.
So there it is: family feud or ecology. Will it be one or both? Stay tuned . . . In the meantime, watch out for those thousand pound gorillas.
When the day came that I decided to write a blog, I immediately *knew* what to call it. "Clearly," I thought to myself, "that is the name of the blog."
The reason for the name was another thing. Up until now I have written and ignored the small aspect of why "Ishmael". Was my intuition guiding me correctly? So let's address the meaning of the name, if such exists.
Not being a Biblical scholar, I barely recognized that "Ishmael" has its roots in early Jewish, Christian, and Islamic history. Son of Abraham, Ishmael was born of a handmaiden when Sara could not conceive. Later, Sara did have a son, Isaac, and that started a family feud that has lasted to this day.
Both Jewish and Islamic traditions consider Ishamel as the ancestor of Arab people. Interestingly enough, Islamic tradition maintains that it was Ishmael, not Isaac, was was nearly sacrificed by Abraham . . . and was saved at the last minute when God allowed Abraham to sacrifice a ram (lamb) instead of his son.
There is another Ishmael: that of Daniel Quinn's book. It opens with a deceptively ordinary personals ad: "Teacher seeks pupil. Must have an earnest desire to save the world."
A young man answers the ad and is startled to find that the teacher is a gorilla named Ishmael, a creature who sees humanity from a new perspective. He is a student of ecology, life, freedom, and the human condition.
He is also a teacher. He teaches that which all humans must learn -- if our species, and the rest of life on Earth as we know it, is to survive.
So there it is: family feud or ecology. Will it be one or both? Stay tuned . . . In the meantime, watch out for those thousand pound gorillas.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
8. . . and TIME
"Can someone really change the past?" Arthur asked.
"Of course," replied Merlin. "You mortals are in the habit of believing that the past creates the present and the present the future. This is just an arbitrary point of view."
"Imagine for a moment your own version of a perfect future," continued Merlin. "See yourself in that future with everything you could wish for fulfilled at this very moment. Can you see yourself there?" Arthur nodded, because he had suddenly had a vision of Camelot in all its glory.
"Very good. Now take the memory of that future and bring it here into the present. Let it influence how you will behave from this moment on. Whenever competing impulses come up from your past, discard those memories and act instead on your future memories. Shed the burden of the past, and let your vision of the future guide you. Do you see what happened?"
"I'm not sure," replied Arthur.
"You're living backward in time, just as a wizard does. Living tomorrow's dream today is always open to you. Who says you must live only in the past? By living forward in time, mortals are always weighed down by the burden of memory; they allow the past to create the present. The wizard chooses to let the future create the present -- that is what living backward in time really means."
"And you have changed the past, then, by no longer letting it influence your actions in the present," said Arthur.
"Exactly. But that is hardly the end of it. The past can be changed much more profoundly. When you learn that time is being invented in your own consciousness, you will see that there is no past. There is only the eternal now, ever renewing itself. Now is the only time that really exists. The past is memory, the future is potential. So change the past completely by seeing it as unreal, a phantom of the mind."
"Mind you don't drop that potato in the ashes," Merlin cautioned. Of course the boy already had. Because Merlin lived backward in time, his warnings inevitably came too late, after some minor disaster had already occurred. Arthur brushed the soot off the potato and replaced it on its skewer, made from the green wood of a linden tree.
"Never mind," Merlin said. "That one can be yours."
"Of course," replied Merlin. "You mortals are in the habit of believing that the past creates the present and the present the future. This is just an arbitrary point of view."
"Imagine for a moment your own version of a perfect future," continued Merlin. "See yourself in that future with everything you could wish for fulfilled at this very moment. Can you see yourself there?" Arthur nodded, because he had suddenly had a vision of Camelot in all its glory.
"Very good. Now take the memory of that future and bring it here into the present. Let it influence how you will behave from this moment on. Whenever competing impulses come up from your past, discard those memories and act instead on your future memories. Shed the burden of the past, and let your vision of the future guide you. Do you see what happened?"
"I'm not sure," replied Arthur.
"You're living backward in time, just as a wizard does. Living tomorrow's dream today is always open to you. Who says you must live only in the past? By living forward in time, mortals are always weighed down by the burden of memory; they allow the past to create the present. The wizard chooses to let the future create the present -- that is what living backward in time really means."
"And you have changed the past, then, by no longer letting it influence your actions in the present," said Arthur.
"Exactly. But that is hardly the end of it. The past can be changed much more profoundly. When you learn that time is being invented in your own consciousness, you will see that there is no past. There is only the eternal now, ever renewing itself. Now is the only time that really exists. The past is memory, the future is potential. So change the past completely by seeing it as unreal, a phantom of the mind."
"Mind you don't drop that potato in the ashes," Merlin cautioned. Of course the boy already had. Because Merlin lived backward in time, his warnings inevitably came too late, after some minor disaster had already occurred. Arthur brushed the soot off the potato and replaced it on its skewer, made from the green wood of a linden tree.
"Never mind," Merlin said. "That one can be yours."
Friday, February 16, 2007
7. SPACE . . .
Merlin's robe was embroidered with moons and stars, and the boy Arthur wondered why that was so.
"Let me show you," Merlin offered. He took Arthur and sat him on a hilltop. "Now tell me the farthest thing you can see."
"I see the forest extending for miles until it reaches the horizon. That's as far as I can see," said Arthur.
"And what is farther than that?" Merlin asked.
"The edge of the world, the sky, and the sun, I suppose," Arthur said.
"And beyond that?"
"The stars and then empty space, extending to infinity."
"And would that be true if I turned you around?" asked Merlin. The boy nodded. "Very good," the wizard said. "Now follow me." He led the boy to the stream where they often napped in the afternoon. "Now what is the farthest thing you can see?" Merlin asked.
"I can see very far in deep woods like this, only to the last bend of the stream down there." Arthur pointed about a hundred yards off.
"But you know that the stream runs to the sea, and the sea to the horizon?" asked Merlin. Arthur agreed. "Then the horizon would give way to the edge of the world, the sky, the sun, the stars, and infinite empty space, just as before?" Merlin said.
"Yes," Arthur replied. Once more the wizard looked pleased and led his disciple into the crystal cave.
"Now what is the farthest you can see?" he asked.
"It is dim, and all I can see are the walls of the cave," said Arthur, "but before you ask me, I will agree that outside this cave are the forest, the hills, the horizon, the sky, sun, stars, and empty space."
"Then mark well," Merlin said in a louder voice. "No matter where you go, the same infinity extends in all directions. You are thus the center of the universe no matter where you go."
"That seems like a trick," Arthur protested.
"No, the trick is played by your senses, which fool you into believing that you are localized. In truth every point in the cosmos is the same point, a focus for infinity in all directions. There is no here or there, no near or far. As the wizard sees it, there is only everywhere and nowhere. Knowing this, you would wear moons and stars too. Without the illusion of your senses, you would realize that the moon and stars are right here beside you."
"When will I realize that?" the boy asked.
"In time. As the turmoil of your soul settles, you will see the heavens in your own being."
"Let me show you," Merlin offered. He took Arthur and sat him on a hilltop. "Now tell me the farthest thing you can see."
"I see the forest extending for miles until it reaches the horizon. That's as far as I can see," said Arthur.
"And what is farther than that?" Merlin asked.
"The edge of the world, the sky, and the sun, I suppose," Arthur said.
"And beyond that?"
"The stars and then empty space, extending to infinity."
"And would that be true if I turned you around?" asked Merlin. The boy nodded. "Very good," the wizard said. "Now follow me." He led the boy to the stream where they often napped in the afternoon. "Now what is the farthest thing you can see?" Merlin asked.
"I can see very far in deep woods like this, only to the last bend of the stream down there." Arthur pointed about a hundred yards off.
"But you know that the stream runs to the sea, and the sea to the horizon?" asked Merlin. Arthur agreed. "Then the horizon would give way to the edge of the world, the sky, the sun, the stars, and infinite empty space, just as before?" Merlin said.
"Yes," Arthur replied. Once more the wizard looked pleased and led his disciple into the crystal cave.
"Now what is the farthest you can see?" he asked.
"It is dim, and all I can see are the walls of the cave," said Arthur, "but before you ask me, I will agree that outside this cave are the forest, the hills, the horizon, the sky, sun, stars, and empty space."
"Then mark well," Merlin said in a louder voice. "No matter where you go, the same infinity extends in all directions. You are thus the center of the universe no matter where you go."
"That seems like a trick," Arthur protested.
"No, the trick is played by your senses, which fool you into believing that you are localized. In truth every point in the cosmos is the same point, a focus for infinity in all directions. There is no here or there, no near or far. As the wizard sees it, there is only everywhere and nowhere. Knowing this, you would wear moons and stars too. Without the illusion of your senses, you would realize that the moon and stars are right here beside you."
"When will I realize that?" the boy asked.
"In time. As the turmoil of your soul settles, you will see the heavens in your own being."
Saturday, February 10, 2007
6. A Photo Memory
I knew there was a reason why I introduced you to Larry. Here's what happened. I was always giving Larry these physical jobs: cutting grass, shoveling snow. And I thought this time I'm going to give him a job that's fun. And so I did. My friend Bill had loaned me his scanner and I had a huge stack of photographs that had not made it into the albums. So I decided to let Larry scan them in for me. This would be a real change of pace.
After all, I thought, scanning really wasn't something that *I* needed to do. So Larry came over and tried his best to scan these pictures. I wrote the process down, step by step, so he could just follow the list and it would be a snap. But he couldn't seem to make the correlation between each step on paper and the scanning process. I could see it was difficult work for him. He had to concentrate so darn hard and then he would forget something and I would have to go over and bail him out. This wasn't going to work.
Well, after Larry had so much trouble with these pictures, I didn't call him back the next day. Thankfully, it had snowed and he had customers who wanted their snow shoveled. I went to work scanning my "almost reject" pictures and it became apparent there was a technique to it.
How you closed the lid on the scanner, for example, could move the picture or twist it a bit. I soon learned that closing the scanner lid with one hand was more precise than closing it with two. It was better to frame a little to the inside of the photo so you didn't get bits of extraneous color, or -- even worse -- white background. It looked horrible to have a picture with a white line across the top or bottom because you didn't get a perfect fit.
That was the mechanics of the process. While my conscious mind was busy paying attention to these details, another part was doing something entirely different. Reviewing the pictures in this way was an experience in reliving my life. I didn't pay much attention to it at first as it was just old pictures. It was the past, after all. But eventually, after I saw enough pictures, I realized something else. This was a project that I needed to do myself. It needed my attention to detail and expertise. And it *was* my life.
It was a walk in the past. A second look. Similar to the months before my mom died. She went through her dresser drawers each night, while one of us was sleeping upstairs - watching after her. She would take her personal items and spread them out on the bed. We could hear rattling from her downstairs bedroom. She would look at her personal possessions and fondle them remembering her past. Her life. Her dreams.
This happened every night. It nearly drove us crazy. And we were thinking that *she* was crazy. After all, she was going to die. We knew it. She knew it. And what in the world was she doing making this big mess when she was supposed to sleep and get some rest. And of course what she was doing, was *preparing* to die. She was saying farewell to her world and to her life.
And that's what I'm trying to do. I'm preparing for my own death, but a death of a different kind. I'm starting a new life and now understand the value of saying goodbye to the past. Today I brought out the photo albums and thumbed through them and -- what a revelation! I could see bits and pieces from my past going back over a long time ago, when I was a young man in the military. And -- boy -- I was a different person back then. A young skinny, scrawny kid. A very different person than today.
Going through those pictures I saw people that I loved very much. Particularly my ex-wife, who I had long since parted ways with. Those pictures transported me back to that time when we were both in love. It really caught me off guard, because for a moment I was living in that time. It was as if nothing had changed. What happened is I time-traveled back to that instant as if the present didn't exist. Those same feelings were alive there. Those same passions.
I experienced how it felt to be living that moment, how it felt to be a couple, how it felt to be young and innocent . . . And it took a long second to return to the present. To the now. I had married one very special person and then we moved on. It tasted like a bittersweet piece of chocolate.
And, don't you know, the scanner broke after I finished that 6 inch stack of pictures. The darn scanner broke on me. It wasn't mine anyway; it was my friend Bill's, so I went shopping and all the store scanners were overpriced. I went online and found a similar model that was not so expensive. It was essentially the same as Bill's scanner, but improved. I had liked his scanner, the software, and the way it operated, so I stuck with that. I ordered it today and it will come in maybe a week or so.
In the meantime all the albums are pulled out and I plan to go through and sort the pictures so I can group them according to categories. Because going through pictures ... it really is a revelation. This whole business of having a camera . . . is teaching me what life is all about. Because life isn't permanent. It changes. The winds of change never let up. And I'm starting to come to terms with it. Starting to understand that change is part of the game.
So, I have a week to go until the scanner arrives. And that's just as well. It's rather difficult to sit on a hard kitchen stool and operate the scanner. I might just move it to the back bedroom where there is an office chair with padding. That's a thought.
After all, I thought, scanning really wasn't something that *I* needed to do. So Larry came over and tried his best to scan these pictures. I wrote the process down, step by step, so he could just follow the list and it would be a snap. But he couldn't seem to make the correlation between each step on paper and the scanning process. I could see it was difficult work for him. He had to concentrate so darn hard and then he would forget something and I would have to go over and bail him out. This wasn't going to work.
Well, after Larry had so much trouble with these pictures, I didn't call him back the next day. Thankfully, it had snowed and he had customers who wanted their snow shoveled. I went to work scanning my "almost reject" pictures and it became apparent there was a technique to it.
How you closed the lid on the scanner, for example, could move the picture or twist it a bit. I soon learned that closing the scanner lid with one hand was more precise than closing it with two. It was better to frame a little to the inside of the photo so you didn't get bits of extraneous color, or -- even worse -- white background. It looked horrible to have a picture with a white line across the top or bottom because you didn't get a perfect fit.
That was the mechanics of the process. While my conscious mind was busy paying attention to these details, another part was doing something entirely different. Reviewing the pictures in this way was an experience in reliving my life. I didn't pay much attention to it at first as it was just old pictures. It was the past, after all. But eventually, after I saw enough pictures, I realized something else. This was a project that I needed to do myself. It needed my attention to detail and expertise. And it *was* my life.
It was a walk in the past. A second look. Similar to the months before my mom died. She went through her dresser drawers each night, while one of us was sleeping upstairs - watching after her. She would take her personal items and spread them out on the bed. We could hear rattling from her downstairs bedroom. She would look at her personal possessions and fondle them remembering her past. Her life. Her dreams.
This happened every night. It nearly drove us crazy. And we were thinking that *she* was crazy. After all, she was going to die. We knew it. She knew it. And what in the world was she doing making this big mess when she was supposed to sleep and get some rest. And of course what she was doing, was *preparing* to die. She was saying farewell to her world and to her life.
And that's what I'm trying to do. I'm preparing for my own death, but a death of a different kind. I'm starting a new life and now understand the value of saying goodbye to the past. Today I brought out the photo albums and thumbed through them and -- what a revelation! I could see bits and pieces from my past going back over a long time ago, when I was a young man in the military. And -- boy -- I was a different person back then. A young skinny, scrawny kid. A very different person than today.
Going through those pictures I saw people that I loved very much. Particularly my ex-wife, who I had long since parted ways with. Those pictures transported me back to that time when we were both in love. It really caught me off guard, because for a moment I was living in that time. It was as if nothing had changed. What happened is I time-traveled back to that instant as if the present didn't exist. Those same feelings were alive there. Those same passions.
I experienced how it felt to be living that moment, how it felt to be a couple, how it felt to be young and innocent . . . And it took a long second to return to the present. To the now. I had married one very special person and then we moved on. It tasted like a bittersweet piece of chocolate.
And, don't you know, the scanner broke after I finished that 6 inch stack of pictures. The darn scanner broke on me. It wasn't mine anyway; it was my friend Bill's, so I went shopping and all the store scanners were overpriced. I went online and found a similar model that was not so expensive. It was essentially the same as Bill's scanner, but improved. I had liked his scanner, the software, and the way it operated, so I stuck with that. I ordered it today and it will come in maybe a week or so.
In the meantime all the albums are pulled out and I plan to go through and sort the pictures so I can group them according to categories. Because going through pictures ... it really is a revelation. This whole business of having a camera . . . is teaching me what life is all about. Because life isn't permanent. It changes. The winds of change never let up. And I'm starting to come to terms with it. Starting to understand that change is part of the game.
So, I have a week to go until the scanner arrives. And that's just as well. It's rather difficult to sit on a hard kitchen stool and operate the scanner. I might just move it to the back bedroom where there is an office chair with padding. That's a thought.
Monday, January 15, 2007
5. Help from Larry
Larry is my neighbor. He's younger, maybe 40 something, and has some disability (through SSI) that gives him enough money for rent and food, but little for extras like cigarettes, and an occasional bottle of cheap vodka. For these he does odd jobs around the mobile home park.
For years Larry has cut my grass and shoveled my snow. It was such a convenience and yet I successfully avoided looking at the person behind all these services. Recently this has changed.
Over the past few months Larry has become a major help for me in packing some of the heavier items, such as cabinets and books. Yesterday, we filled up six plastic 18-gallon boxes with piano and organ music. It was just impossible for me to choose what to keep and what to dispose of. So I choose to keep it all and decide later what to keep.
Left to myself this likely would not have gotten done so quickly. But by the simple expedient of asking for help, I had a super-energetic helper at my disposal. It's so strange. Years ago I had that kind of energy, that kind of drive. Yet today I proceed with more measured steps. So I cheat by asking for his assistance and in this way can expedite moving.
The unusually warm weather of 2007 has deprived him of the snow shoveling jobs that buy him an occasional package of Buglar tobacco. Also, he ran out of food stamps early this month and is living on the edge.
It takes me time to figure this all out, however. The one thing I definitely know is that I'm procrastinating and not getting things done. When I ask Larry for help, he graciously accepts and almost immediately the show gets on the road. We get the truck loaded up with boxes and agree to leave the following morning to take them to a storage unit.
I'm late as I pick him up and I selfishly decide to skip stopping for coffee to make up for time. It doesn't occur to me that maybe he has not eaten in the last day or two. When I stop at the Citgo station, I give him two dollars to buy a package of Buglar. By the time we arrive in Homer, I realize that I've forgotten the key for the storage unit. It's an upsetting moment until I remember that the spare key is stored in the lock box. At the bank. Just down the street from the only restaurant in town.
So we stop and I go into the bank while Larry rolls himself a cigarette and has a smoke. With great relief, I return with the key and we proceed to load the heavy boxes of music into the storage unit. When we return to the restaurant, I discover just how hungry this poor fellow is. Lunch is a buffet and we both sit down about 11:30 am. We begin with bowls of yummy potato soup and at this point everything is normal.
I proceed to the salad bar while Larry loads up at the hot bar with a heaping plate of chicken, noodles & pork, and mashed potatoes. By the time I have finished eating, Larry is ready for the salad bar. He eats with great deliberation and seems to savor each bite. Unlike the rest of us, eating appears to be a great sensory experience for him. After what seems like a long time, he goes back for seconds at the salad bar.
At this point, he pauses for a cigarette between courses. What saves me from boredom is the fact that we sat at the round table, where several local farmers were also sitting. There was Red, owner of O'Dells Grain Elevator, Fred (retired military), and Marty, a middle-aged divorced lady. Things were quiet that day in town and gossiping at the round table is always a good way to pass the time.
After we had covered everything possible in the world to talk about, I stared in disbelief as my friend went back for a forth trip. Back to the salad bar to load up on desert. I remember a huge pile of cottage cheese, together with pineapple chunks, shredded cheese, topped with frozen strawberries. By itself, it would have been adequate for a meal.
Again it was the same routine: eating slowly and savoring every bite. Was this some admonition from my departed mother who tried to get me to slow down while eating? ("See how it's done, dearie"). I both admired him for the manner in which he enjoyed his food and for the great slowness with which he ate. It was as if his whole life had been building up for this one gastric moment and he wasn't about to rush it. Rather, he was in a state of nirvana.
It is peculiar that as many times as I have been inside the Stagecoach Restaurant, I never noticed the shadow boxes tacked to the wall by each table. Larry noticed and commented on it. "How strange," I thought to myself, "that he sees this so clearly on his first visit when I have been oblivious to it." And then, to add insult to injury, he also notices with glee that there is an entire railroad track around the whole place! It is only then that Nelson, the owner, describes how they used to run the trains all the time and that the kids loved it.
Finally at 2:00 pm, a full two and a half hours later, he finished this great meal. A carry-out would have been appreciated, but Sharon (our waitress) advised that this was not possible. (Thank you, Sharon). Did I mention that Larry is very skinny? I consider that maybe he was of the snake family and only ate once a month or so.
I swear that what I have revealed is no exaggeration; my restaurant friends will back me up completely, as it was a topic of conversation when things got dull. But I have an appreciation for this person who is able to help me by his great enthusiasm for getting things done.
The power of people working together has been made clear to me through this experience. Helpful and courteous to the end, it was with regret that I said goodbye to him and marveled at how each one of us is a gift to the other.
For years Larry has cut my grass and shoveled my snow. It was such a convenience and yet I successfully avoided looking at the person behind all these services. Recently this has changed.
Over the past few months Larry has become a major help for me in packing some of the heavier items, such as cabinets and books. Yesterday, we filled up six plastic 18-gallon boxes with piano and organ music. It was just impossible for me to choose what to keep and what to dispose of. So I choose to keep it all and decide later what to keep.
Left to myself this likely would not have gotten done so quickly. But by the simple expedient of asking for help, I had a super-energetic helper at my disposal. It's so strange. Years ago I had that kind of energy, that kind of drive. Yet today I proceed with more measured steps. So I cheat by asking for his assistance and in this way can expedite moving.
The unusually warm weather of 2007 has deprived him of the snow shoveling jobs that buy him an occasional package of Buglar tobacco. Also, he ran out of food stamps early this month and is living on the edge.
It takes me time to figure this all out, however. The one thing I definitely know is that I'm procrastinating and not getting things done. When I ask Larry for help, he graciously accepts and almost immediately the show gets on the road. We get the truck loaded up with boxes and agree to leave the following morning to take them to a storage unit.
I'm late as I pick him up and I selfishly decide to skip stopping for coffee to make up for time. It doesn't occur to me that maybe he has not eaten in the last day or two. When I stop at the Citgo station, I give him two dollars to buy a package of Buglar. By the time we arrive in Homer, I realize that I've forgotten the key for the storage unit. It's an upsetting moment until I remember that the spare key is stored in the lock box. At the bank. Just down the street from the only restaurant in town.
So we stop and I go into the bank while Larry rolls himself a cigarette and has a smoke. With great relief, I return with the key and we proceed to load the heavy boxes of music into the storage unit. When we return to the restaurant, I discover just how hungry this poor fellow is. Lunch is a buffet and we both sit down about 11:30 am. We begin with bowls of yummy potato soup and at this point everything is normal.
I proceed to the salad bar while Larry loads up at the hot bar with a heaping plate of chicken, noodles & pork, and mashed potatoes. By the time I have finished eating, Larry is ready for the salad bar. He eats with great deliberation and seems to savor each bite. Unlike the rest of us, eating appears to be a great sensory experience for him. After what seems like a long time, he goes back for seconds at the salad bar.
At this point, he pauses for a cigarette between courses. What saves me from boredom is the fact that we sat at the round table, where several local farmers were also sitting. There was Red, owner of O'Dells Grain Elevator, Fred (retired military), and Marty, a middle-aged divorced lady. Things were quiet that day in town and gossiping at the round table is always a good way to pass the time.
After we had covered everything possible in the world to talk about, I stared in disbelief as my friend went back for a forth trip. Back to the salad bar to load up on desert. I remember a huge pile of cottage cheese, together with pineapple chunks, shredded cheese, topped with frozen strawberries. By itself, it would have been adequate for a meal.
Again it was the same routine: eating slowly and savoring every bite. Was this some admonition from my departed mother who tried to get me to slow down while eating? ("See how it's done, dearie"). I both admired him for the manner in which he enjoyed his food and for the great slowness with which he ate. It was as if his whole life had been building up for this one gastric moment and he wasn't about to rush it. Rather, he was in a state of nirvana.
It is peculiar that as many times as I have been inside the Stagecoach Restaurant, I never noticed the shadow boxes tacked to the wall by each table. Larry noticed and commented on it. "How strange," I thought to myself, "that he sees this so clearly on his first visit when I have been oblivious to it." And then, to add insult to injury, he also notices with glee that there is an entire railroad track around the whole place! It is only then that Nelson, the owner, describes how they used to run the trains all the time and that the kids loved it.
Finally at 2:00 pm, a full two and a half hours later, he finished this great meal. A carry-out would have been appreciated, but Sharon (our waitress) advised that this was not possible. (Thank you, Sharon). Did I mention that Larry is very skinny? I consider that maybe he was of the snake family and only ate once a month or so.
I swear that what I have revealed is no exaggeration; my restaurant friends will back me up completely, as it was a topic of conversation when things got dull. But I have an appreciation for this person who is able to help me by his great enthusiasm for getting things done.
The power of people working together has been made clear to me through this experience. Helpful and courteous to the end, it was with regret that I said goodbye to him and marveled at how each one of us is a gift to the other.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
4. Buyers Remorse
It isn't "buyers remorse". You have bought into the RV Fulltimer lifestyle and have no regrets. You paid your dues by doing the research, learning all about your rig, and taking little trips. You spent a couple of summers hanging out at the campground and begin to see that you really *could* live this way. And the people are friendly. They even bring out the friendly in you. No, you've done all the right things and you're only a couple of months away from launch date.
It's just a mild sadness. It's the end of a relationship: that old house and you, the familiar roads, the noisy neighbor, the pothole at the end of your street. It's all these familiar things that make up your life. It's the mail lady who never smiles, but never loses a piece of mail.
It's the poplar tree that sounds wonderful in the breeze, but drops sap on your car. It's the geese who visit during migration and leave little "gifts" on your sidewalk. It's these ordinary things that are being left behind.
It's hard to get excited about packing in such a mood. The piano music remains in the old wooden cabinet. It wouldn't take a lot of effort to pack, but it gets ignored. The books that should go to the used book store stay on the shelf, still dusty.
CDs and DVDs lay about in disorder. Temporarily. You're in a funk. Not a bad one, but a funk, nonetheless.
You trek out to the bookstore and pick out a few selections to review with a cup of coffee. You notice the snow has stopped. It's still cold outside. But the coffee is hot and it feels good to be in a familiar spot.
You're neither happy nor unhappy. You have a "ticket to ride" (as in the Beatles song) and you know the day is coming soon. But a part of you regrets the change. Regrets the loss of the familiar.
A Ticket to Ride. Like a date with destiny. A date to see the great places of the southwest. A date with Denali in Alaska. A date with the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico. A date with friends you haven't met yet. A date with the outdoors and hiking and picking apples off the tree.
A date with a whole *new* life. And you know you're excited. Except your mind hasn't quite caught on. Your mind wants yesterday. Your mind wants for everything to stay the same and never change.
How complicated we are sometimes. Having learned about visualization, it's understood that we are the masters of our lives. We aren't puppets; we have free will. We're intended to dream grand things and then go about making them come true.
That's our gift. We are creators of our lives and it's intended that we learn to be in control. Notwithstanding the guidance we are sometimes given, we should be about creating our dream. It's written in our DNA: "Master and Creator of the Universe". Or at least *our* little Universe.
So you have a last sip of coffee. Put aside the books. And leave the bookstore. Because you're about doing. The funk will pass soon. It's a fleeting attempt of the old "You" to preserve the past.
And You -- You know that the past doesn't exist. You live in the here and now. And You take control back because you have this incredible "Ticket to Ride". Your date with destiny. Grand things lie ahead and you know it.
It's just a mild sadness. It's the end of a relationship: that old house and you, the familiar roads, the noisy neighbor, the pothole at the end of your street. It's all these familiar things that make up your life. It's the mail lady who never smiles, but never loses a piece of mail.
It's the poplar tree that sounds wonderful in the breeze, but drops sap on your car. It's the geese who visit during migration and leave little "gifts" on your sidewalk. It's these ordinary things that are being left behind.
It's hard to get excited about packing in such a mood. The piano music remains in the old wooden cabinet. It wouldn't take a lot of effort to pack, but it gets ignored. The books that should go to the used book store stay on the shelf, still dusty.
CDs and DVDs lay about in disorder. Temporarily. You're in a funk. Not a bad one, but a funk, nonetheless.
You trek out to the bookstore and pick out a few selections to review with a cup of coffee. You notice the snow has stopped. It's still cold outside. But the coffee is hot and it feels good to be in a familiar spot.
You're neither happy nor unhappy. You have a "ticket to ride" (as in the Beatles song) and you know the day is coming soon. But a part of you regrets the change. Regrets the loss of the familiar.
A Ticket to Ride. Like a date with destiny. A date to see the great places of the southwest. A date with Denali in Alaska. A date with the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico. A date with friends you haven't met yet. A date with the outdoors and hiking and picking apples off the tree.
A date with a whole *new* life. And you know you're excited. Except your mind hasn't quite caught on. Your mind wants yesterday. Your mind wants for everything to stay the same and never change.
How complicated we are sometimes. Having learned about visualization, it's understood that we are the masters of our lives. We aren't puppets; we have free will. We're intended to dream grand things and then go about making them come true.
That's our gift. We are creators of our lives and it's intended that we learn to be in control. Notwithstanding the guidance we are sometimes given, we should be about creating our dream. It's written in our DNA: "Master and Creator of the Universe". Or at least *our* little Universe.
So you have a last sip of coffee. Put aside the books. And leave the bookstore. Because you're about doing. The funk will pass soon. It's a fleeting attempt of the old "You" to preserve the past.
And You -- You know that the past doesn't exist. You live in the here and now. And You take control back because you have this incredible "Ticket to Ride". Your date with destiny. Grand things lie ahead and you know it.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
3. Play the Game
So this was it. I could play the RV game and pretend to have great fun, great adventures. And the price of the game was to meet this undiscovered fear that I never knew existed. And so it went, day by day, reading of great trips, meeting new friends, having exciting adventures --- all to my great delight --- accompanied by an occasional glimpse of the "alone" fear, as it glanced over its shoulder at me.
I would have to face my fear. That's the purpose of the game.
Where were you, my intuition, when I needed you most? Could you not have whispered a word of encouragement or pointed a way out of the maze? Do you even exist? You leave me, like my fear, alone to decide. Alone to act and play the game or not, as I so choose. How alone is that?
Yet it has no fear connected to it. No panic. Just a decision that no one else is going to make for me. And I can deal with that. So I *will* play the game and when the boogie-man returns, face that when the time comes. I am not without fear, but I am not fearful either. The game can continue.
And so it did for a year. Two years. And on the third year a moment arrived when the game could become reality. If I choose. Was I alone for this moment? I can't be sure. Intuition had not been around much, and I was left to fend for myself. But it wasn't a fearful time.
When I found the fifth wheel that would become *my* fifth wheel --- when I talked to that man and heard the excitement in his voice describe all the neat goodies in this rig --- when that happened, I could feel both a joy and excitement deep inside. Was this you, intuition? Was this a sign? Are you talking to me again?
There was nothing to do, but to see the thing first-hand and make one of those command decisions. Knowing full well that in the blink of a moment the game would become reality. Excitement, laced with terror. The days passed, as I worked my way down to Benson, AZ to see this rig. My faithful little Honda carried me without complaint and I marveled that it could travel so far on a few tankfuls of gasoline. 2100 miles.
Half a continent. To me it felt like the other side of the world. The desert is no ordinary place. I tried to think of home, but it didn't exist anymore. It was like Michigan turned into a gigantic sink hole and there was no place to go back to. Yet, the strangest thing is that it didn't seem to matter. Home was not a place anymore, it was where I was at.
There was nothing to do but to continue on and live in the moment. There was no past. It ceased to exist as I drove through some super-sonic time wave and came out the other side in a different universe. No mere illusion, I could literally *feel* the past disappear. I was living in the now and there was no past. (Fortunately the fifth wheel owners were not disturbed by this and they appeared to be quite normal as I quietly contemplated all this).
When the decision was to be made, there was no doubt that this rig was meant for me. In my own mind, that is. There was a sense of excitement that may have been intuitive guidance, but I can't be sure. To add to the hilarity of the situation, I had been driving for many hours with my belt too tight. This had never occurred before.
But apparently after several days of nearly non-stop driving, my stomach decided to pay back this punishment by creating an intense pain. Clearly this is not how intuition communicates, so I charged ahead and consummated the deal.
That afternoon I called Dale, who was a mere 400 miles away in California. Of course he'd like to come out and see it, he said over the phone. So a day later, my RV mentor met me in the RV storage area and checked out my purchase. He quite approved and left me feeling that it had all been worthwhile.
The game had officially ended. The RV Game had become reality. As Dale and I parted ways, I pondered the meaning of this and of the hidden fear that I had discovered.
The words "It is finished" popped into my mind, like a joking biblical reference, and I thought "What is *that* all about?" Yet, while my pain persisted, my mind was relaxed. I would just have to take this one step and a time and not let it overwhelm me. Whatever had happened, I was happy with it.
Intuition would just have to get with the program if it disapproved. I had taken charge of the situation and hoped that it was with the guidance that I so often sought. For now, I had to return to the past. To find that place that no longer existed. With a sore stomach. But happy, nonetheless.
I would have to face my fear. That's the purpose of the game.
Where were you, my intuition, when I needed you most? Could you not have whispered a word of encouragement or pointed a way out of the maze? Do you even exist? You leave me, like my fear, alone to decide. Alone to act and play the game or not, as I so choose. How alone is that?
Yet it has no fear connected to it. No panic. Just a decision that no one else is going to make for me. And I can deal with that. So I *will* play the game and when the boogie-man returns, face that when the time comes. I am not without fear, but I am not fearful either. The game can continue.
And so it did for a year. Two years. And on the third year a moment arrived when the game could become reality. If I choose. Was I alone for this moment? I can't be sure. Intuition had not been around much, and I was left to fend for myself. But it wasn't a fearful time.
When I found the fifth wheel that would become *my* fifth wheel --- when I talked to that man and heard the excitement in his voice describe all the neat goodies in this rig --- when that happened, I could feel both a joy and excitement deep inside. Was this you, intuition? Was this a sign? Are you talking to me again?
There was nothing to do, but to see the thing first-hand and make one of those command decisions. Knowing full well that in the blink of a moment the game would become reality. Excitement, laced with terror. The days passed, as I worked my way down to Benson, AZ to see this rig. My faithful little Honda carried me without complaint and I marveled that it could travel so far on a few tankfuls of gasoline. 2100 miles.
Half a continent. To me it felt like the other side of the world. The desert is no ordinary place. I tried to think of home, but it didn't exist anymore. It was like Michigan turned into a gigantic sink hole and there was no place to go back to. Yet, the strangest thing is that it didn't seem to matter. Home was not a place anymore, it was where I was at.
There was nothing to do but to continue on and live in the moment. There was no past. It ceased to exist as I drove through some super-sonic time wave and came out the other side in a different universe. No mere illusion, I could literally *feel* the past disappear. I was living in the now and there was no past. (Fortunately the fifth wheel owners were not disturbed by this and they appeared to be quite normal as I quietly contemplated all this).
When the decision was to be made, there was no doubt that this rig was meant for me. In my own mind, that is. There was a sense of excitement that may have been intuitive guidance, but I can't be sure. To add to the hilarity of the situation, I had been driving for many hours with my belt too tight. This had never occurred before.
But apparently after several days of nearly non-stop driving, my stomach decided to pay back this punishment by creating an intense pain. Clearly this is not how intuition communicates, so I charged ahead and consummated the deal.
That afternoon I called Dale, who was a mere 400 miles away in California. Of course he'd like to come out and see it, he said over the phone. So a day later, my RV mentor met me in the RV storage area and checked out my purchase. He quite approved and left me feeling that it had all been worthwhile.
The game had officially ended. The RV Game had become reality. As Dale and I parted ways, I pondered the meaning of this and of the hidden fear that I had discovered.
The words "It is finished" popped into my mind, like a joking biblical reference, and I thought "What is *that* all about?" Yet, while my pain persisted, my mind was relaxed. I would just have to take this one step and a time and not let it overwhelm me. Whatever had happened, I was happy with it.
Intuition would just have to get with the program if it disapproved. I had taken charge of the situation and hoped that it was with the guidance that I so often sought. For now, I had to return to the past. To find that place that no longer existed. With a sore stomach. But happy, nonetheless.
Monday, January 8, 2007
2. Intro to RV Lifestyle
But it hasn't worked that way. A messenger came in the form of a friend. Dale is one of those persons who has little regard for wealth. "Loser" he is called by some, since he tends to wander around. His last job was when he was 55 and now he's 74. Yet "Loser" is not the way I see him.
Dale is a friendly person, with a kind word for everyone. Over the last three years he has become my mentor. Mentor in the sense that he introduced me to the concept of fulltiming in one giant sweep, before I even knew much about RVing.
Dale had been gone for 8 or 9 months and suddenly reappeared at Patsy's Restaurant. That's my favorite haunt. Here I was sitting at the counter and in walks Dale as if he only left yesterday and sits next to me. During the ensuing hour he explained the whole concept to me.
And when the restaurant closed, we sat in his car and talked a couple hours more until my head was totally filled with new ideas. I left with these ideas and the name of a web site: escapees.com. That would change my life.
Intuition, this was like an end run, a "hail mary" out to left field. Was this your work? To what do I owe this event? There were no comets in the sky to signal an important event. Nor did you follow any of the procedures that I had learned earlier. Was this simply a cosmic accident and had no real importance? This was contrary to my plan for security.
So a decision was made: to play the game. To take the idea and toy with it. To consciously *not* take it seriously, but just make believe. And so I became a child again. There is a kind of joyous feeling that accompanies this childlike approach.
I agreed to pretend to become an adventurer and follow this imaginary path. The game began. And I read the escapee web site every day, as in a ritual. Little by little I could see myself in an imaginary vehicle, traveling the byways and crossing the country. I became strong as I climbed hills and hiked as the Wanderer (Lloyd) did.
I made friends and sat around the campfire telling stories. I saw the great sights of the National Parks and savored the essence of a creator who was kind enough to give us such beauty.
And then it happened. After many hours of collecting data and reading stories, I had an emotional crisis. The thought crossed my mind, ever so lightly, that some of these times I would be somewhere, totally alone. Not the same kind of alone when you curl up with a bowl of popcorn and watch a special TV program by yourself. No, Alone is the sense that you feel this profound loneliness. Where the darkness is so great that it devours the flashlight.
Where one comes to face the fact that not only do we come into the world alone, depart the world alone, but that we are surely alone in the dark of night as if there is no world at all. And I cursed this dastardly thought. Even as I knew it to be true, that I would have to face my fear to play the fantasy game.
Surely death is not so accursed. When we die, it is a return to the creator. We are back home again. We are no longer alone. But in life we have no such certainty. When the endless darkness surrounds us, we know only that we exist and there is a nagging doubt that perhaps there is nothing else. No other.
Alone is such a cold word, you can feel the frost emanating from the very letters. It is like cosmic space, filled with nothing and barely a degree above absolute zero. It is truly nothingness. And so that's it: I fear the vast nothingness of which alone is just a descriptor.
Had Dale come like some dark angel to cruelly help me discover my greatest fear? Was this a cosmic joke and I was the punchline? I wondered. Then, just as suddenly, the thought went away. The panic subsided.
But I knew then that the "alone" fear would one day return. It would have to be faced some dark day. More fearsome than death itself, I would have to pick up a lance, mount the steed, and face my challenger in a dual. But that would be another day.
I was thankful for the peace as this sense of terror left, granting me a few hours or days or weeks until it would return again. And like a man condemned to die, I breathed easily again, knowing my hour was not yet.
Dale is a friendly person, with a kind word for everyone. Over the last three years he has become my mentor. Mentor in the sense that he introduced me to the concept of fulltiming in one giant sweep, before I even knew much about RVing.
Dale had been gone for 8 or 9 months and suddenly reappeared at Patsy's Restaurant. That's my favorite haunt. Here I was sitting at the counter and in walks Dale as if he only left yesterday and sits next to me. During the ensuing hour he explained the whole concept to me.
And when the restaurant closed, we sat in his car and talked a couple hours more until my head was totally filled with new ideas. I left with these ideas and the name of a web site: escapees.com. That would change my life.
Intuition, this was like an end run, a "hail mary" out to left field. Was this your work? To what do I owe this event? There were no comets in the sky to signal an important event. Nor did you follow any of the procedures that I had learned earlier. Was this simply a cosmic accident and had no real importance? This was contrary to my plan for security.
So a decision was made: to play the game. To take the idea and toy with it. To consciously *not* take it seriously, but just make believe. And so I became a child again. There is a kind of joyous feeling that accompanies this childlike approach.
I agreed to pretend to become an adventurer and follow this imaginary path. The game began. And I read the escapee web site every day, as in a ritual. Little by little I could see myself in an imaginary vehicle, traveling the byways and crossing the country. I became strong as I climbed hills and hiked as the Wanderer (Lloyd) did.
I made friends and sat around the campfire telling stories. I saw the great sights of the National Parks and savored the essence of a creator who was kind enough to give us such beauty.
And then it happened. After many hours of collecting data and reading stories, I had an emotional crisis. The thought crossed my mind, ever so lightly, that some of these times I would be somewhere, totally alone. Not the same kind of alone when you curl up with a bowl of popcorn and watch a special TV program by yourself. No, Alone is the sense that you feel this profound loneliness. Where the darkness is so great that it devours the flashlight.
Where one comes to face the fact that not only do we come into the world alone, depart the world alone, but that we are surely alone in the dark of night as if there is no world at all. And I cursed this dastardly thought. Even as I knew it to be true, that I would have to face my fear to play the fantasy game.
Surely death is not so accursed. When we die, it is a return to the creator. We are back home again. We are no longer alone. But in life we have no such certainty. When the endless darkness surrounds us, we know only that we exist and there is a nagging doubt that perhaps there is nothing else. No other.
Alone is such a cold word, you can feel the frost emanating from the very letters. It is like cosmic space, filled with nothing and barely a degree above absolute zero. It is truly nothingness. And so that's it: I fear the vast nothingness of which alone is just a descriptor.
Had Dale come like some dark angel to cruelly help me discover my greatest fear? Was this a cosmic joke and I was the punchline? I wondered. Then, just as suddenly, the thought went away. The panic subsided.
But I knew then that the "alone" fear would one day return. It would have to be faced some dark day. More fearsome than death itself, I would have to pick up a lance, mount the steed, and face my challenger in a dual. But that would be another day.
I was thankful for the peace as this sense of terror left, granting me a few hours or days or weeks until it would return again. And like a man condemned to die, I breathed easily again, knowing my hour was not yet.
Friday, January 5, 2007
1. And So We Begin . . .
Intuition.
I deal with you every day. Searching the scaffolding of your heights. Spanning your arches and then plumbing your depths. You are the hidden guide without a voice. Who guides me in strange and mysterious ways. I know not your purpose, yet sense your presence. Who are you, who propels me in this strange direction? To what end? What knowledge of the future is in your sails, that would carry me from place to place, land to land?
My religion has not prepared me for you. Nor my parents, who only alluded to your existence. No admonition to follow your intuition; only acknowledgement of your existence. And now, too late, I can not ask what I should have, years ago. The self I think of as "me" supposes that some person is in command. I beg to differ. I only pretend to be the commander of this ship.
Some other force appears to be calling the shots; too many things have come about quite by chance. And when I truly have to make a command decision, the awareness begins that two of us are needed to steer the rudder. This "guide" who only hints in the most subtle way a suggestion here, a thought there, a feeling that is less than a thought. How do I decode your messages?
These pushes, these nudges. They come at times of their own choosing. Not as a plan, but as a step. A single step, isolated, out of context with everything else. And I can only guess that this is not some piece of indigestion, or hiccup in thinking that I am feeling.
To know who you are, I ask simple questions:
"Who will this hurt?"
"How does this affect the lives of those around me?"
"Does it break any laws?"
"Is it harmful to my self?"
And if no harm can be found and no laws broken, then perhaps it won't hurt to accept this guidance one more time. It's probably a good thing. It won't do any harm to try it. Then yes, I let intuition be the tillerman for a little while more. Accepting the bidding of some divine source. And look to the horizon to see from whence I came and to where I go.
My plan had been to horde my money for a rainy day. To settle in and wait for old age . . . and finally death . . . to claim me. Safe. Secure. A moment of bored safety while awaiting conversion to dust. It had a comfortable sense to it, too.
People would call me smart for being conservative with money. My nieces & nephews would call me generous as they raced to spend my money. And everyone would be happy.
I deal with you every day. Searching the scaffolding of your heights. Spanning your arches and then plumbing your depths. You are the hidden guide without a voice. Who guides me in strange and mysterious ways. I know not your purpose, yet sense your presence. Who are you, who propels me in this strange direction? To what end? What knowledge of the future is in your sails, that would carry me from place to place, land to land?
My religion has not prepared me for you. Nor my parents, who only alluded to your existence. No admonition to follow your intuition; only acknowledgement of your existence. And now, too late, I can not ask what I should have, years ago. The self I think of as "me" supposes that some person is in command. I beg to differ. I only pretend to be the commander of this ship.
Some other force appears to be calling the shots; too many things have come about quite by chance. And when I truly have to make a command decision, the awareness begins that two of us are needed to steer the rudder. This "guide" who only hints in the most subtle way a suggestion here, a thought there, a feeling that is less than a thought. How do I decode your messages?
These pushes, these nudges. They come at times of their own choosing. Not as a plan, but as a step. A single step, isolated, out of context with everything else. And I can only guess that this is not some piece of indigestion, or hiccup in thinking that I am feeling.
To know who you are, I ask simple questions:
"Who will this hurt?"
"How does this affect the lives of those around me?"
"Does it break any laws?"
"Is it harmful to my self?"
And if no harm can be found and no laws broken, then perhaps it won't hurt to accept this guidance one more time. It's probably a good thing. It won't do any harm to try it. Then yes, I let intuition be the tillerman for a little while more. Accepting the bidding of some divine source. And look to the horizon to see from whence I came and to where I go.
My plan had been to horde my money for a rainy day. To settle in and wait for old age . . . and finally death . . . to claim me. Safe. Secure. A moment of bored safety while awaiting conversion to dust. It had a comfortable sense to it, too.
People would call me smart for being conservative with money. My nieces & nephews would call me generous as they raced to spend my money. And everyone would be happy.
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