Okay, so I'm not dead or in a coma. And I didn't have a motorcycle accident and get amnesia and begin a new life as a reclusive suburban hamster whisperer, secretly reconciling estranged owners and their rodents. (Though that would have made for an interesting entry.) I've just been seriously neglecting this blog. Apologies to the six of you who actually read this blog....and have apparently returned about 80 times each to see if I've gotten my butt back in gear!

So, back to the matter at hand: wrapping up my walkabout and the lessons it taught me.

I went back to the Omega Institute for a few weeks at the end of the last season. Omega is a retreat center in rural upstate New York featuring a smorgasbord of workshops throughout the year (excluding winter) offering everything from more traditional courses like yoga, meditation and art classes to the outer fringes of the new age culture ("Past-Life Therapy Training" or "Shapeshifting into Higher Consciousness").

In exchange for part-time work in various departments supporting the campus (kitchen, maintenance, guest services, set-up, etc.), we "volunteers" get room and board, access to various facilities and activities (sauna, tennis courts, lake canoes, concerts, daily tai-chi and dance classes,etc.), as well as a multitude of courses offered just for the staff. These are generally more modest courses than the workshops and are often taught by others on the support staff itself. These classes also run the gamut from meditation to sweat lodge ceremonies to psychic healing.

Appropriately enough, since I tend to cruise in to Omega for a few weeks at a time, I usually work in the "Float Department", which places us wandering souls in whichever other departments need more staff during the ebb and flow of work each day. An important element of the staff philosophy is an emphasis on service as spiritual practice. Karma yoga in action. But it's easy to lose sight of this lofty sentiment when I have to dice forty onions or make beds for three hours straight, or, on the flip side, when I'm gleefully zooming around the lush campus in a golf cart, ostensibly delivering luggage. So, as usual, it is largely a practice of remembering to practice.

And it's always great to get back in touch with the sweet souls that flit about the Omega flame-----some flying high, others spreading their wings for the first time, and a few on fire (interpret that as you wish). There is a core staff who make a career out of working at the institute, but us "seasonal staff" are a fairly transient bunch. It's a treat (and a challenge!) to rub shoulders with this colorful crew of multi-talented gypsies as we all work on opening our minds and hearts.

My artist friend Young whom I had met on my walkabout came up from New York City to visit me. As I showed her around the campus, we reminisced about her art show in Poughkeepsie that I helped her install and she caught me up on the activities of the other artists I had met. Although it had been only a year earlier, my time in New York City felt like ages ago. She generously offered to have me be a part of a multimedia interactive performance art piece involving the NYC police and the homeless, called MetroPols. But I felt that I wasn't quite suited for the New York art scene, so I turned down a role coordinating the homeless. Later, Young told me that the police got cold feet and pulled out, so she had to cancel the whole experimental event.

As usual, my time at Omega was an exhilarating mixture of work, play, and practice. Well, actually, between the work and all the play, my meditation practice usually gets a bit neglected. But of course there are ample opportunities for the practice that I try to implement in my daily activities: developing awareness, relaxing, accepting, and letting go. My results are fairly mixed, especially since each successive step is a little more challenging than the previous one. But my self-awareness has deepened somewhat and I have some small victories, like when I let go of jamming my schedule full of too many tantalizing distractions or when I relax into dicing those forty onions.

Speaking of playing, it was great to enjoy sports again, namely tennis, ultimate, and basketball. I'm usually one of the best tennis players at Omega, but I found myself in a humbling match with a visiting staff member who beat me quite easily. And man, did I suck at basketball! My first day back on the court, not only did I go scoreless, but I never even managed to hit the rim with any of my shots! After a while of this shooting debacle, I was matched up against a young woman (the only female playing, bless her bold heart!) to make the teams fair. She was almost a foot shorter than me, which is saying something, cuz I'm not exactly a Pau Gasol out on the court. (Think 'Spud Webb'.) And I still sucked really bad!

Through all the basketball games, I tried to enjoy everything (the competition, the camaraderie, my sucking, the indifferent Basketball Gods), but only managed meagre results. Afterwards, however, I did have a good laugh. I played on a couple of other occasions and still never made a single basket, though I did manage to throw up a few rim-rattling "bricks", which, I guess, was a minor victory in that I finally managed to draw some iron.

Which finally brings me to another walkabout lesson: Failure is my friend.

While one could reasonably argue that my walkabout was a "success" since I was able to live the better part of a year as a wandering beggar monk, I certainly experienced my fair share of "failures" too.

First up, I failed to free myself from my primal fears. (Again, I'll tackle these bogey monsters directly in another entry.)

I repeatedly failed at my relaxation practice ("letting go") during competitive activities such as chess, poker, and the sports I mentioned above. I also had some angry moments with several homeless guys. (Yet another one of the entries that I didn't write when I got behind in this blog.) And I lost my cool with some of my artist friends in New York and even reacted angrily during some tense moments with Carol and her mother during that difficult last month of her life in Los Angeles. Clearly, I've still got plenty of buttons that are too easily pushed.

This blog itself is a glaring example of my limitations. I have failed to stay up to date and had to skip several entries when I got behind. This blog has become an albatross around my neck (well, that's a bit much----how 'bout a seagull or a big pigeon then?) and despite my efforts to make this writing a practice in liberation itself, I still struggle mightily because I turn it into a grinding slog.

So it has become quite clear that my ego has claimed this blog as its own, another shiny bauble to agonize over and keep polishing, for it reflects me. My perfectionistic anal-retentive proclivities take over, constricting any kind of free-form intuitive flow. Where's the mental laxative to help me unblock my creativity? Oh yeah, it's the re-laxative ingredients of meditation itself. So, meditation in action, Monkboy. Breathe deep, be aware, relax, accept, let go, move forward. And don't forget to laugh, humor being one of the greatest laxatives!

So yes, I experienced failures big and small on the walkabout and beyond. But as a Taoist seeking to balance and harmonize the yin and yang polarities within me, I am called to embrace the dark and not cling to the light. This is a direct contradiction of my usual impulse to push away negative experiences (e.g., pain, insults, eggplants, the Celtics) and grasp at positive ones (e.g., success, knowledge, mint chocolate chip ice cream, bikinis). By unraveling my instinctual rigidity, I would be free to walk peacefully in the light or the dark, in harmony with the great Tao itself. And perhaps then I'd see that my delineations of "negative" and "positive", or "light" and "dark", might not be so accurate after all.

So failure is my friend. Defeat is my guru. And every foible and fiasco is actually a veiled opportunity, a secret key to the back door of liberation.

If I can truly embrace failure then I will free myself from the crushing weight and limited horizons imposed by the yoke of the failure/success paradigm. I will be free to breathe easy and be at peace through all my triumphs and disasters (Kipling's "imposters")----and all the ordinariness in between. When the vagaries of life no longer dictate my feelings and actions, then I can access true unconditional peace, happiness, and love. I can act from the heart instead of react from fear and craving. That's a pretty good definition of freedom for me.

So can I really live the wisdom imparted to me by a friend's young son that I quoted so long ago?: "If I enjoy both winning and losing, then I never lose." Can I truly imagine how liberating it would be to fail, and yet laugh anyways? To taste defeat, and enjoy the bittersweet tang of loss? To crash and burn, and still come up smiling, scars and all? To be the Fool, and keep on dancing?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I can imagine it. I can visualize shooting air balls, receiving criticism, typing a mangled sentence, losing an argument, getting fired, or being dumped by a girlfriend, all the while maintaining a relaxed and open attitude, appreciative of the play of light and dark, and keeping an eye on the greater Game of Life itself. I can almost taste it, and that's a great first step toward moving beyond these self-imposed games of winning and losing, and thereby achieve a much grander victory: freedom.

I can almost feel the weights falling away from my shoulders, my mind clearing, and my heart opening. With the internal struggle removed from my endeavors, I could taste the fruits of the Taoists' wei wu wei, or "effortless effort". I can imagine the reserves of energy and creativity that would open up if I could truly let go of my fear of failure. Yet I must be careful that any new-found effectiveness is not my primary motivation, or else I'm back where I started: grasping at success. It's a tricky process, for I am attempting to succeed at failing, and this requires an open and balanced approach to the nuances of "success" and "failure".

Hah! Time to burst this frothy bubble! For I usually lose this game too. I fail at embracing failure. I am still piqued by defeat at the chess table. I juggle humiliation on the basketball court. Criticism directed my way still carries its barbs. And I continue to bang my head against this keyboard in frustration. I want to win, to succeed, to be right, and the sting of self-judgment still accompanies defeat. Failure is still a bitter pill to choke down. (Don't get me wrong----I'm a good sport, win or lose----it's just that I'm a long way from enjoying losing as much as I enjoy winning.)

It's a tough goal, this trying to succeed at failing, for it runs against ALL of my genetic programming and social conditioning. I am designed to win at all costs, to experience a heady rush of endorphins during victory and corresponding depressive chemicals when I lose. My genes scheme for me to be an alpha male in the tribe, claiming status, power, territory, mates, resources. Exacerbating these pre-programmed impulses, our society indoctrinates me further in the cult(ure) of victory. We pay lip service to the notion of sportsmanship, yet we idolize those who actually "win"----in sports, in our literature and movies, up the corporate ladder, in politics, and on the battlefield. Losers aren't lionized.

Our culture pushes us to achieve our "highest potential" with the not-so-implicit message that we are somehow less of a person if we don't attain these lofty goals. Personal progress must be ever upward. I'm having difficulty unraveling all this inherent hard-wiring and downloaded social software. How can I hope to swim against such a strong current that flows all around me and even within the genetic core of my being?

Ah, but here is another opportunity: I can embrace my failure to embrace failure. And if I fail at that, then I have yet another opportunity to embrace that failure. And so on and so on. This line of failures and the opportunities they provide can go on and on. Ma Universe is infinitely generous with her remedial lessons for knuckleheads like me. Somewhere along this line of practice and failure, my brain usually cramps up from all of the mental gymnastics.....and I let go. I chuckle and sigh and manage to accept failure at some level, sometimes even enjoy it. And if I don't, well, ultimately that's fine too. And there I am, smiling at failure.

So while my ego still tends to sweep me along in a flood of testosterone and adrenaline during the heat of battle (chess, debating politics, chucking air balls, watching "Survivor"), I have managed to loosen up my previously rigid notions of "defeat" and "victory". Perhaps I have even learned to take both a little more gracefully. So who cares if my glass is 98% empty or 2% full? For if I embrace both emptiness and fullness, then I'll savor my Absolut 100% of the time! Drink deep, Monkeyboy.

This practice is a form of psychological sublimation where one uses so-called "negative" experiences to achieve "positive" results. Hence why I refer to it as sneaking in the back door of liberation. It's similar to practices found in various "left-hand paths" such as tantra yoga which seek to channel our energies---"positive" and "negative"---toward spiritual goals. Anger, fear, sexuality, intoxicants, death----nothing is off limits for a tantrika to investigate, master, and eventually use toward spiritual awakening. Left-hand traditions are willing to get down and dirty and mix it up with the shadows, for they teach that the Divine exists in the world and within us too-----and it does not limit itself to only the well-lit alleys of the world and our psyches. Not quite the "Dark Side of the Force", but left-hand paths definitely have their own special set of pitfalls. These traditions are clearly not for everyone, and so they tend to keep to the shadows, away from the glare of the limelight.

(This brief description doesn't do justice to the multi-faceted and controversial field of left-hand paths. Yoga tantra itself consists of multiple traditions with varying beliefs and practices. I feel compelled to clarify this because the word "tantra" has been appropriated by some in the West where it has come to be synonymous with "sacred sex". Indeed, there are sexual practices to awaken kundalini energy for spiritual realization, but these are only one aspect of the varied landscape of tantra philosophy.)

And what of right-hand paths or "front door" traditions? Well, these disciplines tend to view divinity as external to the material world. Personal transcendence is achieved through association with this divinity, usually in the form of deity worship. They generally have a more rigid perspective on dualism, especially "good" and "evil", and so they shy away from the "dark" and cleave to the "light", cultivating "positive" qualities. Their main practices focus on renunciation and purification as a means for transformation. These are the majority of practices, East and West, and are primarily embodied in the world's main religious traditions.

Again, these are broad generalizations. Separating traditions into left hand and right hand categories is a dubious undertaking at best and many would chafe at these distinctions. As with all dualities, there's a lot of gray area and overlap between the polarities. While there are some clear differences, many of the practices are very similar. As I've said before, the left-hand practice of embracing aversions is the flip side of the right-hand practice of letting go of cravings. (E.g., embracing criticism is a practice in letting go of self-image.) Both paths seek self-mastery to transcend the limitations of our conditioning. And ultimately, the goals are pretty much the same: Liberation, Salvation, Divine Communion, Transcendence, Awakening, Realization, Enlightenment, The Cosmic Hoedown, whatever you want to call IT.

Whether I enter through the front door or the back door, the House of Liberation remains the same. I'm sure there are plenty of other doors too, for it's a big ol' open house. The servant's entrance---Karma Yoga---is another door that comes to mind.

And I'll bet there are a whole bunch of pretty windows we can break into too!


(To be continued...)



"You're the man, Zum!"
---Omega basketballer, mocking my court skills


"Yeah, I know that and you know that, but I think everybody else is gonna need some convincing."
---my response


"He who has the most fun wins."
---Izzie, Omega staff member


"Meditation: it's all fun and games until somebody loses an I."
---spotted on a shirt at Omega


"Humor allows me breath and space to pursue my spiritual path."
---Steve, Omega staff member


"We couldn't figure out how we could afford to staff Omega, and then we realized that we could just get slaves!"
---Elizabeth Lesser, co-founder of the Omega Institute, joking about the "volunteer" staff


"Success is the proper utilization of failure."
---anonymous


"That by which we fall is that by which we rise."
---Yoga Tantra aphorism


"My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure."
---Abraham Lincoln (I love this quote, though I'm pretty sure that Lincoln is concerned that we not be content with failure----the opposite of how I prefer to interpret the quote.)


"How can they say my life is not a success? Have I not for more than sixty years got enough to eat and escaped being eaten?"
---Logan Pearsall Smith, essayist (1865-1946)

Okay, so I went through my old walkabout notes and wrote up one of the entries that I had previously skipped when I started getting behind in this blog way back in March of last year. I tried to backdate it in so that it would show up in the right spot, but the Gaia Gods would have none of that.

Looking back on it, I'm not sure why I took all the time and effort to write it all out. I guess I'm being a bit anal and probably need to let go of the past. Which is pretty darn ironic since the entry is largely about the past's influence on the present.

Sheesh.

Oh well, here it is:


Past Present

One fine day I was wandering by Reed Park (originally Lincoln Park) in Santa Monica when I realized that I was near the apartment that my family lived in during the first year of my life. Amazingly, despite all of the commercial development along busy Wilshire Boulevard, those apartments still remain above a few small shops. (But Santa Monica has made it a point to maintain its small-town charm, so I guess I shouldn't be so surprised.) The only memories I have of that early period of my life are of a neighbor's boxer dogs named Beanie and Buffy, and some kid's toy train set that entranced me as a toddler.

Stumbling upon my family's old apartment gave me pause to reflect on my life coming full circle back to my humble beginnings. Interestingly, after some brief nostalgia, my next thoughts were that I hadn't accomplished much with my life, especially considering my even more humble current homeless status, no matter how intentionally self-inflicted it may be. On the face of it, I don't have much to show for my crazy kaleidoscope of a life-----just a box of old photos, a few scars, a paper bag full of tangled memories, and a few kooky notions borrowed from some old dead guys with names like Lao-tzu and Patanjali.

My knee-jerk reaction to this kind of personal assessment is usually to start defending myself by reflecting that there are many kinds of accomplishment beyond just material assets and other standard ideas of achievement. Luckily, I usually realize what I'm doing and am able to remind myself that I am working to free myself from the crushing weight of hopes and expectations regarding accomplishment itself. (Again, accomplishment itself is not a problem, except when I let my desire for it ride me roughshod.) Ironically, letting go of accomplishment is quite an accomplishment for me.

In many ways, the past keeps elbowing it's way into the present of my walkabout.

The yellow school buses used to transport us to and from the overnight homeless shelter are exactly like the buses I rode to junior high and high school. (Except that the city is apparently required to tape over the word "school" wherever it appears on the homeless bus.) I grew up in a black neighborhood in South Central Los Angeles-----a conscious decision by my parents to raise my sister and I in a minority neighborhood as a personal effort to help integrate society. Yep, they were riding high on that wave of idealism ushered in with the Civil Rights movement.

So it was a little ironic that with the school integration programs I was bussed with my black friends to "white" schools on the West Side. They were long bus rides---upwards of an hour each way as we made multiple stops and muscled our way through rush hour traffic---so I spent a large chunk of my formative years on those buses. Whenever I get on the homeless shelter bus, childhood memories come flooding back as I make my way down the crowded aisle. It's worth noting that as a half white, half Japanese kid I never experienced a single incident of racism from the black community. (They never made me sit at the back of the bus!)

One recent Sunday morning I visited the same Quaker meeting house that my family attended when I was a kid. Upon learning my name, some of the members even remembered my family, especially my father who was very active with the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker organization which works on social justice and development issues domestically and internationally. I don't remember much of my childhood at the meeting house, but their egalitarian and somewhat iconoclastic philosophy definitely struck a chord in me. Their doctrine of a direct and personal communion with the divine probably sowed some seeds for my future interest in mysticism. And their practice of "silent worship" is so akin to meditation that I really couldn't say what the difference is. After this recent service, I helped make a couple hundred cheese sandwiches "for the homeless". Two days later these very same sandwiches were handed out to us homeless folks at the Ocean Park Community Center. Talk about things coming full circle.

A slightly frustrating reminder of my more recent past has been watching others play sports. There are basketball courts in almost all of the parks that I frequent, as well as tennis courts in Lincoln Park. And there was even an ultimate (frisbee) tournament on the Santa Monica beach. These are three of my favorite sports, and while they elicit many memories, more often they trigger my longing to get in the game and play. But I've been holding back from getting all sweaty cuz of my limited access to showers. I hate going to sleep all sweaty and sticky. Humph!---free monk indeed!

One night I dreamt that my mother saw me playing basketball with homeless people and sent a young cousin to come after me. There were people dancing conveniently next to the basketball court, so I ended up stage diving into a mosh pit of anonymity. Apparently the guilt of not telling my family about my walkabout is weighing heavily on my unconscious. My conscious self too, for that matter. But evidently not enough to come clean just yet.

There's a Tommy's "World Famous" Burgers franchise on the corner of Lincoln and Pico. I often walk past it as I bounce back and forth between Santa Monica and Venice. Tommy's is famous for its chili-cheeseburgers, a delicious mess of artery-clogging gastric-frightening joy. You can also get fries smothered under a mound of toxic chili. Tommy's is such a popular joint that most of the franchises are open 24/7. At the original little shack not far from downtown LA, there can be a line of fifty people snaking into the parking lot.....at 2am! But the line moves fast as the servers bang out burgers made to order in about 10 seconds. Throw down your money, grab your burger and a can of soda from the fridge, then get the hell out of the way.

Besides being a frustrating temptation for the growling stomach of this hungry monk with his small ration of Vienna sausages and snack crackers, the smells emanating from "the shack" bring back great memories of our infamous "Tommy runs" when I was ostensibly attending the University of California at Santa Barbara. Whenever I or one of my friends shouted "Tommy run!", we'd dutifully pile into someone's beat up old car and hit the road south on a quest for the holy chili-burger. Invariably, this would happen quite late at night, so we'd end up making the four hour round trip to Los Angeles and back in the murky hours reserved for lovers and meth addicts. Well, we were neither, but dang if we weren't gonna have our "fix" too---usually a double chili-cheeseburger with all the fixin's. So we rumbled down that late-night wide-open highway, sharing the closest thing to a consensus religion: the road trip and the freedom it represents.

Our pilgrimage was a tribute to the Lords of the open highway (and perhaps the Gods of gastro-intestinal duress). This was our hajj, to our Mecca. (Uh-oh, if some grumpy imam sees this, I might get a fatwa slapped on my infidel butt.) And, like most crusades, jihads, inquisitions, or other poorly thought out religious campaigns, it was a good excuse for a male bonding ritual-----females usually being too uptight (read: intelligent, mature) to be cajoled onto such an asinine lark. For even the pimpliest of young men retain within them the latent DNA of the nomad, the explorer, the hunter, the warrior seeking out new territory, new spoils, and, in a sense, a new identity. So we pushed beyond the boundaries of the ordinary, even if that meant into the realm of inanity. Hey, anything was better than the mediocrity we associated with the status quo. Well, at least that was my motivation. The other guys may have just wanted a chili-burger, for all I know.

But there was definitely the wisp of mystery in the night air as we rattled and hummed down the highway. Possibilities beckoned in those magical hours after midnight, even if they only turned out to be the promise of severe indigestion and the likelihood of a different kind of Tommy's "runs" in the morning. At the very least, it was a great way to procrastinate that paper on "Platonic Ideals" due at 9am the next morning. Heck, you could make a Tommy's run after midnight and still have five hours left to write the paper before class! (Yeah, I've always had problems with writing...)

On one Tommy's run, we took a late night detour and drove onto the campus of UCLA. "Onto", as in on the walkways, bike paths, and even the grassy commons. We were nowhere cool enough to carve tire-screeching donuts into their main plaza, but we zoomed around a few of the buildings with wild abandon. UCSB was considered a pretty lightweight institution back then, and this was our juvenile way of thumbing our noses at our more prestigious UC brethren to the south. (A big shout out to all the hard-working students who have come along since my slacker college days at UCSB and bolstered the school's reputation, making my neglected diploma so much more valuable!)

This was a chance for us mild-mannered semi-nerds to be bad boys, to break the rules, to channel our inner warriors. It was our tribe vs. their tribe. Of course, us bold warriors were very lucky that the campus police didn't show up and throw our warrior butts in jail. In another act of brazen warfare, we even used the women's bathroom in one of the campus buildings! Take that UCLA! We were amazed at the heartfelt and lonely graffiti on the walls of the toilet stalls, especially when compared to the usually crude and unimaginative scrawlings in the average mens' restroom. We rumbled home, stomachs full, chests puffed, yet also somewhat humbled by the poignancy of womens' bathroom graffiti.

Several years later, as a somewhat less-than-responsible resident assistant in one of the on-campus dormitories, I once tricked quite a few of my student charges into "joining me for a chili-burger". We jammed twelve of us into my pick-up truck and hit the road south. My truck was a Nissan (nee Datsun) King Cab with a camper shell on the back, containing thick foam padding and a bunch of pillows inside. So while a bit crowded, it was a comfortable ride. After we'd motored through Santa Barbara, they began to wonder when we'd get to this burger joint that I'd been speaking so highly of. We played an extended version of "Are we there yet?" with me continually responding that we were almost there. After about an hour they finally gave up and resigned themselves to the forced socialization of sardines.

We finally reached Tommy's and poured out of the truck, uncoiling cramped bodies. It was a distinct pleasure to introduce so many virgin palates to the wicked combination of gastric anxiety and bliss that make up the Tommy's chili-burger experience. And while perhaps not quite a spiritual awakening for them, they were at least appreciative of a good burger. Sated, we piled back into my truck and headed back up the road. They all soon fell fast asleep and I drove back through the quiet night, proud of my contribution to their cultural edification. For days afterwards, some of them would threaten to take me out for a taco.....in Mexico.

I grew up not far from here, so it's really no surprise that my past keeps shouldering its way into the present. But how much influence does my past have over my present? Does the past really pull all of my strings, as the determinists would have me believe? Am I a slave of the past? Am I beholden to my past doubts and hopes, sorrows and triumphs? Am I doomed to repeat my conditioned behaviors? (Am I condemned to keep reminiscing about the past?!) Well, of course, I hope not. After all, liberation philosophies are based on the premise that we can break the chains of the past.

(A notable exception is the controversial teacher Ramesh Balsekar with his radical take on Advaita Vedanta philosophy. I visited him in Mumbai (nee Bombay) to try to come to grips with his provocative doctrine. I won't go into all of it here, but one of his fundamental teachings is that everything that happens is God's will. Whatever beliefs that we have or choices that we think we make have actually already been pre-determined by God. Hence, we should surrender our notions of free thought and free will. So let go into the stream of life and be "free". This will also help us realize that our belief in our individual identities is an illusion. The true fundamental nature of our reality is pure consciousness, God. It's an interesting form of religious determinism.)

Long before Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now or Ram Das's seminal Be Here Now, spiritual traditions have been exhorting us to focus on the present moment to free ourselves from the burdens of the past and our worries about the future. Without the phantoms of the past and the future obscuring our vision, we can learn to experience Reality directly. After all, the present moment is all we really have, right? Well, to be honest, sometimes I think we don't even have that. Whenever I look for the present, I can't seem to find it anywhere. It's just the name we've given the point where the bruising shoulders of the past and the future bump up against one another. This point, this present moment, has no length or breadth to it. It's gone before it even begins.

At various times, I'm able to convince myself that the past is all we have, or that the present is all we have, or that the future is all we have, or that none of them actually exist. Even time itself is just a human invention---a conceptual tool to measure the rate of change. It's not even standardized everywhere: time passes at different relative rates depending upon proximity to mass. (Scientists proved Einstein right by showing that an atomic clock flown in an airplane high in the atmosphere---thus farther from the mass of the Earth---ran incrementally quicker relative to a similar clock on the ground.) With no past, present, or future---no real time even---I'm left swimming in a Buddhist ocean of emptiness. I guess it's not such a bad place to end up, as long as I can enjoy swimming without clinging to anything. Ah, I'm starting to wander off (swim off?) again. Well, how about one last reminiscence then?

My recent encounters with the police keep reminding me of past run-ins with the law. After a tough break-up with my first girlfriend, I took a short hiatus from college and went on a meandering drive-about around the Southwest. I had barely just arrived in Phoenix, Arizona when I was pulled over by a police cruiser.

I was traveling around in the same pick-up truck that I later used to shanghai my dorm residents onto that Tommy's run. I really loved that truck. (Laszlo Emilio Rizzoli by name, for those who are interested.) Much later I would drive it all the way up to Alaska, then drive it back down four years later. The connecting window between the front cab and the back camper shell had been removed and the opening had been widened so that I could just climb into the back from the front cab without having to walk around outside to enter from the back. When I was traveling around, I would just pull over and park anywhere at night, and then climb into the back and go to sleep. With the aforementioned foam padding and copious pillows, I slept quite comfortably. Tinted windows and homemade curtains assured my privacy. Even when I turned on the inside lights for some late night reading, it was impossible for anyone to tell that I was inside.

Oh, and there was a pink plastic lawn flamingo that rode up on top of the camper shell. (His name was Rex, later to be replaced by Dex, Lex, and finally Tex as each one was stolen in turn). Well, apparently the Phoenix police weren't big flamingo fans (especially when they were perched on vehicles with California license plates). So the officers generously advised me that there wasn't anything for me in Phoenix and that it would be best if I just kept on moving out of town. Well I'm not a big fan of heavy-handed Big Brother tactics, so I thanked them kindly for their advice and let them know that I was actually planning to spend a bit more time exploring the charms of Phoenix than I'd originally planned. Heck, maybe I'd even relocate.

Now I'm not the paranoid type, but almost everywhere I went over the next two days there was a police car magically a few cars behind me or a few cars over or just around the corner. I was amazed that they would waste manpower following a lightweight like me. I became a very very law-abiding citizen, driving well below the posted speed limits and stopping well behind the crosswalk lines at intersections. I wouldn't even think of jaywalking. They followed me less when I was on foot, so I drove less. I finally discovered Arizona State University and began hanging out a lot on campus. After a couple of days, the police lost interest in me. Or so I thought.

Several uneventful days passed (well, except for a strange encounter at ASU with a red-haired, red-bearded, red-robed "wizard"---long staff included---who tried to convince me that I had amazing magical powers and that he could teach me how to unleash them) and then late one night I was jolted awake by someone banging on my truck. I looked outside to see a policeman smacking my camper shell with his baton. And five police cars arrayed around me. I climbed out and he informed me that it was illegal to sleep in my truck.

Considering the possibility of a night in jail and maybe a fine to boot, I decided that my best course of action would be diplomacy (i.e., groveling). So in my most apologetic and naive tone, I asked them if they knew of a place where I could sleep in my truck. Why, just my luck, the policeman did happen to know of such a place! With a sly sideways glance at his comrades, he told me to follow him in my truck. I caught that cunning little glance, but I was still too rattled and tired to think much of it. Besides, what was I supposed to do?---say no thanks, I'd rather spend the night in one of your charming jail cells?

So in the middle of the night I got a five car police escort to the middle of a huge parking lot. (It was probably next to some stadium, but again, I was too tired to really notice.) I thanked them, bid them farewell, and promptly went to sleep in my truck, amazed that even The Man could be big-hearted sometimes. Or so I thought.

Very early the next morning I was shaken awake by what I thought was an earthquake. But as my truck continued to tremble and rattle, I opened my curtains on an astounding sight. Tanks and other armored vehicles were rumbling around my little truck as soldiers marched all over the place. Not sure if I was having a bad dream, I scrambled up to the front cab and drove wicked fast out of there, steering well clear of any military hardware. After I was out of the area, I tried to collect my wits, but it still took me a while to figure out what was going on. I hadn't realized that it was Veteran's Day. The army must have been using the large parking lot as a staging area for some kind of military parade for the holiday. I had a good laugh, appreciative that even Big Brother has a sense of humor.



"Head the future off at the past, part the freeway, let my people go free"
---Exene Cervenka (member of the punk rock band "X"), engraved on the Venice poetry walls

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
---F. Scott Fitzgerald, from The Great Gatsby

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."
---George Santayana

"Free will is overrated."
---frazzled robot having a drink at a bar in a framed cartoon on Ramesh Balsekar's wall

"I'll have a double chili-cheeseburger with no meat and no chili."
---vegetarian Laurie, one of my dorm residents, ordering her Tommy's burger

"What's your power rating?!.....I've been watching you. You are very powerful!.....I can teach you how to make women fall in love with you!"
---the Red Wizard at ASU

"You look like one of the Monkees. What was his name? Yeah, Micky!"
---ZZ, a drunk fellow I met one night in Chess Park (back in the relative present)

"No he doesn't, man. He looks like that little alien dude on the Flintstones. That's him-----the Great Gazoo!"
---homeless Dwayne, referring to when the Flintstones jumped the shark

I spent almost two months at the end of last year with my great friend Rebecca at her log cabin up in Maine. The cabin occupies an ideal spot on the tip of a wooded peninsula named Fox Point. The peninsula juts into an inlet off of the Bay of Fundy not far from the Canadian border. The bay has one of the highest vertical tidal ranges in the world, so the low tide will practically empty out the inlet while the high tide will reach almost up to the front door of the cabin.

The cabin is the only dwelling on the whole peninsula and building codes prohibit construction along the inlet's other shorelines, so it's pretty much wilderness as far as the eye can see. (The cabin itself was built long before the building codes were implemented, so it occupies a primo piece of shoreline.) Fox Point makes for a beautiful and solitary lifestyle, especially since the cabin has no phone and is about a mile and a half hike in from the road. It's off the grid too, so there's no electricity except for a small solar panel that powers a couple of lights. It's like stepping back in time a century or two ago and was a nice respite from the urban hustle and bustle that made up most of my walkabout.



And of course there are plenty of critters amongst all that wilderness. Among the feathered are the requisite seagulls, crows, and ducks of all kinds, as well as kingfishers, loons, woodpeckers, and great blue herons. A bald eagles' aerie overlooks the inlet from the arms of a dead tree towering above the forest. Its inhabitants often trill to one another as they soar overhead, making the waterfowl nervous.

The rest of the wildlife is a bit more elusive than their winged brethren. Deer, rabbits, porcupines, and foxes (of course) forage and hunt in the woods and there's a lone seal who occasionally fishes the inlet during high tide. I've also spotted bear tracks in the tidal mud flats not far from the cabin. We once saw a cute scampering ermine whose fur had prematurely changed to a rather conspicuous white before the snows had come. And of course when the snows do come they provide a nice record of all the critters' comings and goings, including evidence of a pair of playful otters sliding down the sloping trail.

Ah, and what of Rebecca? She has been a real blessing in my life. She spent a good chunk of her childhood at Fox Point and the place has definitely left its mark on her. Quiet and calm, Rebecca has been an anchor to my reckless and scattered ways. In this way, she has helped me find some balance within myself. We first met in Alaska many years ago and have been on many journeys together, internally and externally. So compassionate and reflective, Rebecca has taught me much over the years as we parse the myriad dialectics of self transformation. I'm sure we will always remain great friends until one of us finally jumps this mortal coil.



At the cabin, my main task is to fell dead trees, saw them into smaller lengths, and then split these on a chopping block for wood to fuel a heating stove and the "Little House on the Prairie"-style cast iron cook stove constructed in 1896. For this city boy there's a visceral satisfaction I get from having my physical labors translate directly into such a tangible end product, especially something so primal as fire to keep us warm and cook our food. Life at Fox Point is a very basic existence embodying the zen ethos "chop wood, carry water".....with the possible additions "read lots of books, stoke the fire, and poop outside". (There's no indoor plumbing.)

A few years ago I bought a kayak for Fox Point. (My only purchase on eBay, no less.) It made life a little easier since we could then transport groceries in without having to hoof them in by backpack. It also made life a little more fun since we could take it out on excursions to explore the coast and other inlets. And it helped us get even more in tune with the rhythms of nature since we had to be very mindful of the tides, winds, weather, sunset times, and temperatures. Mainly, our trips had to be planned around the extreme tides of the Bay of Fundy since they create dramatic tidal currents as the ocean rolls in and then out twice a day. Occasionally we would return after dark, paddling silently under the magnificent Milky Way spilled across the night sky.

The kayak also came in handy in another way. As the weather starts to turn cold, mice and squirrels move into the cabin for shelter and warmth. We bought a live trap and baited it with nuts, dried fruit, and peanut butter. Almost every night we'd hear the trap door clang shut on some interloper. In the morning one of us would transport the captive across the inlet to an island we dubbed Alcatraz. After transporting dozens of mice and squirrels over to Alcatraz, we started to worry that we might be overpopulating the little island. I was concerned that they might deplete the island's resources and we'd have a miniature Easter Island eco-disaster on our hands. I kept an eye out for monolithic carved stone rodent heads, but the shoreline---and our consciences---remained clear.



Except for the occasional chittering of the squirrels in the trees, the woods are eerily quiet. A couple of years ago I spent a few months alone at Fox Point. One of my projects was to cut a new path through that tranquil forest. I used to love taking breaks and just soaking in all that stillness. It's a silence that seeps into my bones...when I'm lucky.

Another project was to channel Henry David Thoreau and his Transcendentalist simplicity. For the most part, my hungry mind kept wanting to feed its usual appetite for stimulation and distractions---books, NPR shows on the radio, playing a little electronic chess game---but I did eventually manage to get a taste of the calm freedom offered by a simple lifestyle. (This, of course, was all very similar to the practice at my forest monastery.) But ultimately, for all of the peace and quietude I experienced at the cabin, I still felt that I wanted to see if I could cultivate these qualities living a basic lifestyle in the midst of our hectic society. This was a major part of the motivation for my walkabout.

So, encouraged by the simplicity of life at the Fox Point cabin, I'll start again with the basics of my walkabout lessons.

Lesson: I can survive out on the streets.

When I initially set out on my walkabout, I didn't know if I would come running back after only one cold night with my tail tucked between my legs. It was a nervous moment (to be followed by many others, fersure) when I stepped off the Omega Institute grounds and headed down that lonely lane over a year ago. But I managed to stick it out and the world opened up in ways I never could have imagined. To be clear, I didn't survive because of any great skills on my part or even due to any "street smarts" I may have picked up, but because of the generosity of others and our society in general.

Support came in three main ways:

1. Anonymous donations to my begging bowl. These were sporadic and I surely could not have survived on these donations alone.

2. People who got to know me and then proceeded to provide me with food and/or shelter. Examples of these kind folks include my artist friends in New York, my Santa Monica chess buddy Rob, and Carol's mother Maria Teresa.

3. Society at large: food programs, homeless shelters, public bathrooms, water fountains, etc. These amenities were the majority of my support out on the streets.

I should also give a shout-out to the generous friends who supported me along the way. Shine and her delicious Mediterranean cooking sustained me as I transitioned off the streets of Los Angeles to Austin, Texas. And then she convinced me to join her for our escapades in the Yucatan. In Colorado, my good friends Jim, Nomali, and Gyanbindu sheltered and fed me as my walkabout wound down to its conclusion.

So my social experiment was largely a lesson on dependence and interdependence. After all, we all rely on the world to succor us. For all of my interest in liberation, true independence is a myth. (Of course, the freedom I'm working on is psychological, while the dependence I'm talking about here is material.) The most hypothetically independent person we could imagine is still dependent on the world for basic sustenance such as food, water, and shelter. Even "breatharians" with their wild claims of surviving solely on air are still at least dependent on air. (Anyone who wants to attain these amazing powers need merely pay 25 million dollars---"No Refunds"---to the Breatharian Institute of America. As a bonus, the introductory workshop "includes a visit to Earth Prime in the 5th dimension".)

In this way, my walkabout was also a beautiful lesson in Trust and Faith-----trusting people, trusting society, trusting the world, trusting the Universe (or trusting God, if you prefer). This amazing planet provides everything for us on a constant basis. Not only were my basic needs covered, but I was also blessed with new friends and opportunities throughout my monkabout experiences. (See previous 67 blog entries.) So I have a newfound sense of gratitude for these blessings, and, as I've written before, I'm thankful for the things I used to take for granted. I have a new appreciation for healthy meals, hot showers, beds, a roof over my head, and not having to carry my life on my back everywhere.

Surviving on the streets showed me how dependent I am on others, but it also provided me with challenges to help me spread my wings a bit too. The nitty-gritty of homeless life---sleeping in alleys, being hungry, changing in public, running from the cops, peeing in bushes, waiting in long lines, humbling myself for handouts, etc.---became easier as time went on. By pushing the envelope I was able to expand my comfort zone considerably. This sent a strong message to my primal self---the survival fears and hungers that drive much of my life. I wanted my primal self to confront these issues on a fundamental level---to experience the truth of them directly. And my Id apparently got the memo: I know on a deeper level that I'll be okay---at least with respect to food and shelter---and my fears and hungers appear to have correspondingly loosened up a bit. (At least until the economy totally tanks and the safety net is completely yanked from under us!) But I will get more into this later when I address my fears and hungers more directly.

A related lesson: I can be happy with very little.

Except for my broom and dustpan, my walkabout life fit snugly in my backpack. While my shoulders took on more physical weight, the psychic weights fell away. Not knowing where I would be or what I would be doing the next month or week or sometimes even the next day, I learned to let go of concerns about the past and the future. Sometimes I would bed down late at night in one of my alley nooks with such a soaring sense of freedom and joy from having let go of these concerns. Of course, letting go of these concerns may be much easier in a homeless lifestyle. The challenge for me is to do it now: "let go", not as in "push away", but hold gently, openly, as I move forward with my life. Learn from the past and plan for the future without being emotionally dependent on outcomes. Loosen up these tight fingers that cling and grasp. Breathe deep.

Indeed, many would argue that it's actually easier to be happy with less stuff. Less stuff often means less worries. Simplicity = Freedom. At least that's what Thoreau and a whole host of half-naked yogis would have us believe. Yet our acquisitive culture lives by the opposite creed, proclaiming that accumulating more stuff is the road to happiness. The right clothes, cellphone, television, car, house, job, friends, or partner will surely bring the happiness that must be lurking just around the corner. And often these new acquisitions do indeed buoy us. No one can deny the drug-like highs of "retail therapy". (Actually, it probably is a drug high, since I'm sure that buying stuff we want triggers "happy chemicals" in the brain.) But those half-naked yogis would sigh and chide us that these temporary highs just reinforce the cycles of craving that create an underlying sense of discontent in our lives.

And perhaps now more than ever since the Great Depression we are learning this lesson the hard way. Our global ecosystem has been paying the price for decades (centuries even) and now it looks like the wheels are coming off of our culture of consumption. We'll probably manage to patch up those wobbly wheels and ramble on---after all, our economy survived the Depression and other recessions too---but I hope that we will have learned an important lesson on the excesses of an unchecked rampaging consumer culture. Can we make the choices to lead simpler lives? Lives with less stuff? We don't have to become half-naked yogis, but maybe we don't really need that third DVR for the bathroom television either.

My walkabout showed me that true contentment can be as simple as a full belly, a place to pee, and a place to sleep on a rainy night (ideally, a different place from the pee place). We don't really need much to survive. And perhaps we don't need much to survive happily as well.

To be fair, acquisitiveness is not just limited to the material plane. One can also be hungry for all sorts of other "stuff" too---information, entertainment, skills, attention, achievements, friends, adventures, etc. Addictions come in all shapes and sizes. I am a prime example of a greedy "experiential materialist", acquiring diverse experiences like valuable antiques to store away in the attic of my memory.

And I still tend to jam my life with activities, information, stimulation, distractions. There's nothing wrong with these interests, of course, it's just that my tendency to bounce from one diversion to the next doesn't allow for much calm. By constantly feeding my appetites, I make my life more hectic and stressful as I speed up all of my activities to fit more in. And in my haste I become less aware of what I am actually doing.

This is when most of my accidents happen. I break the glass in the sink as I'm washing the dishes quickly so that I won't miss the the Lakers beat the Celtics. I trip on the cat as I rush out the door to visit some of my homeless homies. (Poor little guru, she is always trying to get me to slow down.) I forget that my dang queen is en prise (at risk of capture) when I bring her out into the fray too soon. I bite my tongue as I'm devouring some potato chips while discussing job prospects with my mother. (So I'm not a great multi-tasker either.) As long as these accidents don't cause too much bloodshed, they are actually nice reminders to slow down, to be more aware, to wake up.

Lesson: Slow down, monkey boy. No need to hurry.

Like the antiquated lifestyle at Fox Point, my walkabout was largely a practice in patience. Common daily activities took ten to a hundred times longer than normal. Using the bathroom, taking a shower, having a meal, or getting admitted to a shelter involved time to transport myself to the area, usually on foot and carrying my backpack. Then we usually waited in lines, sometimes for hours, sometimes in the rain, and sometimes just to register for services for the next day. I would often muse that I had traded waiting in rush hour traffic for waiting in lines, lines, and more lines.

But the homeless lifestyle is blessed with a surfeit of time---it is the one true wealth of the homeless---so even though everything took much longer, there was still no need to hurry and I was usually able to let go and relax into the long waits. (This was often when I'd have interesting conversations with other homeless folks.) And, of course, it was always good to remember that these wonderful services were all free. A lesson in patience and a free meal---you can't beat that.

If I'm really lucky and I slow down and relax deeply, then sometimes all of my concerns fall away and the present moment looms up, startling in both its breadth and intimacy. I remember to just BE and my grimy window on Reality gently opens. I open, and begin to see as if for the first time. Grace unveils her infinite delights-----sparkling, radiant, and completely ordinary. Boundaries dissolve as I recognize that space and time stretch beyond all horizons. I am humbled by the scope and mystery of this very moment. Peace and gratitude wash over me and my heart swells. Everything---broken and perfect---is okay. Nothing needs to change. And in a deliciously ironic turnabout, as I let go of change, a fleet of possibilities unfurls its sails. I bow down to All.....even my grimy window, cracked and distorted as it may be. And the world comes flooding in.

Are these 47 seconds---or 30 minutes, or even a day---of blissful clarity worth all the effort to learn how to not make effort? Damn straight.

The 47 seconds leave their mark. I have seen a new perspective, tasted a new way of being, and it has gently changed the way I look at myself and the world. The boundaries between things have blurred. We are all interconnected, part of the grander cosmic dance that has been whirling along for eons. And while I realize that I don't know where this dance is taking us, or even what my own future holds, I'm okay with that. I worry less. I am calmer. I see and hear more. I laugh more. I breathe easier. And the planet breathes with me.

I'm sure there have been other subtle shifts in the substrata of my being, though Buddha knows, I'm hard-pressed to say exactly what they are. But who cares?.....because the light from the garden, off the water, through the window, in your face, is somehow more achingly exquisite now. And I am shattered for it.

Okay, having gone to luscious extremes to describe the benefits of learning to slow down.....this is taking forever! I better get my butt in gear and wrap this up or I'll never finish. But gently, monkboy, and mindfully. Cuz of course there's a way to move quickly when necessary without creating stress or anxiety. I can move smoothly and fluidly while maintaining a relaxed and aware state. Breathe deep again. Be Peace, as Thich Nhat Hanh would say. Now move. This is my main practice in daily life. Yep, even as I wrassle this monster entry.

But first, how about that inauguration? What a beautiful moment in history, and oh so appropriate on the day after MLK day. Obama's speech was so moving and inspiring that even this jaded vagabond got all choked up, teary, and snuffly. I knew that it would be thoughtful, eloquent, and broad-minded, but it still took my breath away. His open-handed approach to internationalism was especially heartening. It gives me hope that one day we may transcend all the petty conflicts over our differences.

Recently, Obama admitted that he "screwed up" on his nomination of Tom Daschle as Health and Human Services secretary due to Daschle's tax problems. It's an important issue, but even more importantly, Obama took responsibility for the situation and owned up to his mistake. I have immense respect for a man who has the integrity and courage to admit when he's messed up. So already we have a major departure from the self-serving, narrow-minded, stubborn, immature, never-admit-mistakes previous administration. Bush's stay-the-course-no-matter-what modus operandi---besides being arrogant and immature---didn't allow for policy evolution as circumstances change. This moribund approach deserves to be buried alongside the neo-cons' neo-Cold War ideology. (Uhh, what did I just say about "transcending all the petty conflicts over our differences"?)

I was very enthused that some of Obama's first acts as president were to ban torture and close down Gitmo and its farcical military tribunals. But before this turns into hagiography, let me be clear that I'm also very disappointed that he chose to keep the horrific CIA rendition programs. And I ain't too happy with some of the pork in the stimulus plan. (There's no such thing as "clean coal" energy.)

So yeah, we've got some major challenges ahead of us---oh, say, an economy in free-fall, a couple of intractable wars, a damaged global ecosystem, a crumbling infrastructure, the proliferation of nukes, the powder keg that is the Middle East---but maybe this really is the beginning of meaningful change. And maybe these major challenges will actually be part of the impetus for us to transform our domestic and global politics into a new age of enlightenment. Perhaps this truly is the dawn of a new era of modern day versions of Lao-tzu's humble emperors and Plato's idealized philosopher kings. An era where wisdom rules the day and peace walks the land, and our leaders display a passion for truth and innate humility, evolving from mere politicians into true statesmen and stateswomen. And thus inspire the philosopher kings and queens in all of us.

One afternoon up at Fox Point, I kayaked a captured mouse across the inlet to another peninsula. I dragged the kayak onto shore and took out the cage trap with its prisoner. I released the mouse by an apple tree so that it would have plenty to eat to start off its abrupt new life. It quickly ran up the tree and that's when I saw just how big and juicy those apples really were. I began picking as many of them as I could hold and even began filling up the cage trap.

Finally slowing my apple picking frenzy, I turned back toward the water and was stunned to see the kayak happily floating out to sea, already about forty feet from shore. The sneaky incoming tide had crept quickly up the shore and set it free. That was bad enough, but sitting on the kayak's "passenger seat" was my laptop computer (in a waterproof bag) since I was also heading to the local library to get on the internet. I dropped all the apples, grabbed a paddle which had thankfully not floated off, and splashed into those frigid North Atlantic waters.

I waded in, cursing at the awol little craft. When I was in up to my chest---just before I would have had to start swimming---I reached desperately with the paddle and managed to snag the rear storage rigging cord. With a few more choice words, I pulled the insubordinate boat back to shore. I guess I've learned to trust in Allah, but I still need to work on tying up my camel.

Back on dry land, I poured the water out of my boots, then quickly set off again in the kayak for the neighbors' house about a mile away. It was a cold day, but the sun was out, so I managed to paddle over to the neighbors before hypothermia set in. The neighbors had a good laugh and threw my wet clothes in their dryer. I borrowed some overalls and quickly headed off to the library to make it before it closed. I was really appreciating the well-heated little library when I noticed the librarian looking at me a little funny. I looked down and realized that I had the overalls on backwards. (See, monkeyboy, accidents happen when you rush. Or was this a lesson in apple greed?) Well, at least the overalls didn't have one of those butt flaps, cuz I wasn't wearing any underwear either.

Hey, every inner philosopher king needs his philosopher court jester.



"There will be no end to the troubles of states, or of humanity itself, till philosophers become kings in this world, or till those we now call kings and rulers really and truly become philosophers, and political power and philosophy thus come into the same hands."
---Plato, from The Republic


"When the best rulers achieve their purpose
Their subjects claim the achievement as their own."
---Lao-tzu, as translated by Peter Merel at TaoTeChing.org


28 And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:
29 And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
30 Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?
---King James Bible, Matthew 6:28-30


"What you don't have you don't need it now."
---U2, from "Beautiful Day"


"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."
---Janis Joplin, from "Me and Bobby McGee"


"Ain't nothing as afraid as a million dollars."
---a woman interviewed by Studs Terkel in 1971 regarding the Great Depression (Studs, the great chronicler of the masses, recently passed away)


"If you're poor, ugly, and stupid, then your friends are real friends."
---I can't remember who told me this


"Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify."
---Henry David Thoreau


"I so much regret the loss of his rare powers of action, that I cannot help counting it a fault in him that he had no ambition. Wanting this instead of engineering for all America, he was the captain of a huckleberry party."
---Ralph Waldo Emerson, speaking at Thoreau's funeral


"You can just go back to the streets, right?"
---my mother, commenting on my job prospects during these difficult economic times


"If I knew the meaning of life, would I be sitting in a cave in my underpants?"
---a New Yorker magazine cartoon of a half-naked yogi speaking to a spiritual seeker

I went back to California to be with family for the Holidaze. I dug through some boxes of photos I've got stored at my mother's house and found a couple of pictures that were relevant to this blog.

I'm especially glad that I found the shot of our Pakistani guide by the avalanche on Mt. Rakaposhi that I mentioned in the entry 9/11.

I also found a photo from my Alaska fishing folly that I mentioned in The Fickle Gods of Fishermen. And for the same entry, I found a pic of the derelict "Wolf Blade Razor" on the internet.

Rated: PG for occasional non-PC content

(...continued from previous entry)


The more I flow with the stream of my life, open to the divergent currents (even the back eddies), and respond in flexible ways, then the more I am able to move freely through my world. (Here in the West, we tend to limit our conception of flexibility to the physical, and so we are drawn to the practice of hatha yoga, which develops flexibility of the body. But the "higher" yogas-----raja yoga, bhakti yoga, karma yoga, jnana yoga-----practiced in the East focus on developing flexibility of our mental, emotional, and spiritual dimensions as well.) I endeavor to embrace reality---in all of its forms, light and dark---and respond flexibly. So I bow down deeply at Kali's fearsome feet, and yet dance nimbly to avoid those treacherous toes!

I rode the waves of my walkabout, the ups and the downs. The crests brought me to my wonderful artist friends in New York, numerous generous and funny homeless friends on both coasts, chess in the park, a beautifully mad lark to Mayan ruins with Shine, and an opportunity to help Carol during her final days. The inevitable troughs involved hungry days, dodging the cops, a rainy night with maniacs, sleep deprivation, and too many deaths.

Death, the biggest Change (from our bio-centric perspectives), barged into my walkabout in all manner of ways. It came gently on soft feet for my aunt Rosie who passed away at the age of 90. It came slowly and painfully for Carol as cancer claimed her body, spectacularly, horribly. It was shockingly sudden for my mother's young Japanese boarder Tepei who died in a tragic skateboard accident. And it was all too violent for Terry and Nate, two homeless people who were murdered in Poughkeepsie, NY and Venice, CA, respectively. (Recently, Los Angeles has experienced more murders involving homeless victims. An especially horrific attack occurred when some young men burned a homeless man to death by dousing him with gasoline and setting him on fire. In another shocking incident, five people were killed in a homeless encampment near a freeway overpass. No suspects have been identified in either case.) Kali will have her due.

As we are witnessing, economies also change, stumble, crash. Perhaps my experiences with the homeless are becoming a bit more socially relevant during these days of widespread home foreclosures, vanishing savings accounts, and epidemic job layoffs. The ranks of the homeless are surely swelling as I write this. Budget deficits are prompting local governments to make cuts in medical and mental health services, food programs, and youth and senior programs. Homeless shelters in Los Angeles are already reporting a sharp increase in the number of families using their facilities.

And, of course, political regimes change too. (Thank God!....er, Kali!) In fact, "Change!" has been the battle cry of Obama's presidential campaign. I'm optimistic about the possibility of Obama implementing real systemic changes, but I'll believe it when I see it. Cuz I'm talking about actual structural changes here, not just policy shifts. Pulling out of Iraq is a much-needed change, but it is merely a lateral policy shift. I look forward to evolutionary changes to our socio-political systems themselves.

Oh, maybe stuff like:
---Campaign finance reform to curtail rampant influence peddling to the deepest pockets. (I won't hold my breath on this one.)
---Universal healthcare (an especially nice boon for homeless people and wayward monks!)
---Real steps toward creating a green economy to address energy dependence, pollution, global warming, natural resource depletion, etc.
---Ending the horrific Bush Doctrine policies of pre-emptive war (what a nice euphemism for "attacking whoever the hell he wants"), misinformation (another nice one for "lying"), warrant-less (i.e., "illegal") wiretapping, and "enhanced interrogation techniques" (can you say "torture"?) will be a great ("no-brainer") first step. But I'm hoping we can switch gears entirely and implement a more proactive international diplomacy to defuse conflicts at their roots-----yes, even with those some would call our "enemies". Okay, maybe this is more of a policy change.....
---Well how 'bout putting the damn solar panels back on the White House then! (The ones that Carter put up and then Reagan tore down. How symbolic was that?!)

Whoa! How did that soap box get under my feet? So much for the detached composure of this ex-monk.....

Before I get too caught up in the nitty gritty details of recent changes, it would probably serve me to remember the big picture. Otherwise, I can get worked up into the kind of lather that spawns the conflicts that I am seeking to cure, internally and externally. So I will try to balance my subjective observations with some objective considerations about the nature of Change itself. I remind myself that Ma Nature teaches me that destruction and creation---the left and right hands of Change---are inter-dependent. The old gives way to the new, and the new becomes the old. Endings are beginnings, beginnings are endings.

So if I look closely enough, I may start to see that creation and destruction aren't so different after all. Maybe they are actually the same thing dressed up in different language depending upon the context. The creation of a sculpture or a painting is also the "destruction" of the original state of the media (the block of marble, the acrylic paints organized neatly in their tubes). The demolition of a building is also the "creation" of a mound of rubble and dust and memories and possibilities. Creation and destruction are ultimately just the change from one pattern of matter and energy to another pattern. We usually call it "creation" when the new pattern is one we prefer or is more recognizable. We use the term "destruction" when the new pattern is less preferable or less recognizable. Our distinction between "creation" and "destruction" is merely the result of judging Change through the filters of our biased perspectives.

Sound bleak? (Cup half empty or half full?) Well, not if I recognize that, as the Great Terminator, Kali is also the destroyer of ignorance, of evil, of the odious and odorous-----in other words, of all things Bill O'Reilly. Kali doesn't choose sides-----she's an equal-opportunity destroyer. So the next time she relieves my nagging headache or evaporates my writer's block or slaps down the Celtics' winning streak or throws the bums out of office, I'll try to remember to tip my hat to the Goddess of Garbage Collection. Kali's dance of destruction is simultaneously a dance of creation.

In a year, these ramblings will mean very little. In ten years, even less. In a hundred years, they will be long gone and forgotten. (So relax, ex-monkboy. Breathe deep, let it go, let it flow.....) In a thousand years, empires will have risen and fallen. In a million years, human civilization---if we survive---will be unrecognizable to us now. And in a mere billion years, I'm sure us humans---as we recognize one another---will no longer be around. We may very well have "naturally selected" ourselves out of the evolutionary race* by then. But I'm an optimist and I envision a future where we will evolve into much more complex and capable beings. A future where we will truly understand the unity of humanity and transcend the petty conflicts we inflict upon ourselves. A future where we will recognize the unity of life and learn to support our brethren animals and plants. A future where we will realize the unity of the Universe and build bridges to the stars, without and within. A future where both sexes can pee standing up.

*Now there's a concept: an "evolutionary race". I can imagine the "Evolutionary 500... ...Billion":
".....and as we come out of the first turn of the four and a half billionth lap, humans are in the lead, followed closely by the cetaceans, with apes not far behind. In the middle of the pack are about 10 million other species jostling for position. Working their way up on the inside are the cockroaches, whose pit stop for radiation shielding may soon prove to have been a stroke of genius. Struggling on the outside are the polar bears and snow leopards who have faded as things have begun to heat up. The reptiles are still looking nervously over their shoulders ever since that cataclysmic smash-up that wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million laps ago. And bringing up the rear are lemmings, tapeworms, WWE fans, and smart toasters."

Of course, this is a very anthropocentric treatment where I've deemed intelligence to be the leading edge of evolutionary development. Humans have only been around for a few million years at most if you go back to homo habilis. If we instead use the measuring stick of species longevity, then the truly long-lived animal species-----sharks, crocodiles, ants, mollusks, and various single-celled organisms that may go back a billion years or more-----could make a strong argument for already having won the race! (And the plants and bacteria may just be laughing at us, entertained by all the animal species rushing around the planet, here and gone in the blink of an eye.)

And yet, the race goes on. Does it ever end? I think not. Species continue to evolve and I wonder what other intelligent creatures will come along over the next hundred million years. Whales already sing---will they develop a taste for poetry and theatre too? Will cats and dogs hold rallies for the right to vote? Will chimps shun technology if we make a mess of things?

And evolution continues to work on us too. (Keep hope alive, WWE fans!) We are living longer, getting taller (well, at least the rest of you are), and our brain genes continue to evolve. And apparently the gene for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder has become much more prevalent over the past couple thousand years. (Really, no joke. The gene is a form of the dopamine receptor gene DRD4. And here I thought all along that ADHD was MTV's fault!) As I've said before in this blog, we find ourselves at an interesting threshold: either we will evolve into wiser beings or we will probably select ourselves out of the picture. It's quite an elegant design, actually. (Intelligent or otherwise.) It remains to be seen if our species will be the ultimate "winner" of the Darwin Awards!

Jeepers, look at the size of this behemoth entry! My apologies. Obviously, I chose way too big a topic for my first lesson here. And I shall endeavor to be much more concise on my future lessons, or I'll never finish this. Though it may seem that the writing floodgates did finally open, I've actually been sporadically tinkering away at this for a few weeks now while I was up at the cabin. I bow down at the feet of Kali and pray that she may one day gently massacre my resistances to writing.

Funny. All this talk of Kali and I only just remembered that I met her at a small temple in a remote part of Kathmandu, Nepal. Her disciples called her Kali Mata ("Mother Kali") and she was supposedly the earthly incarnation of the Goddess of Destruction herself. She didn't have eight arms or a garland of human heads, but she did have the grim goddess' deranged glare down pretty good. What I remember most was her taste for expensive whiskey and the resulting mood swings between jocular hostess and imperious goddess.

But now the librarian glances at the clock and considers me through narrowed eyes. Ah, Mighty Kali, Goddess of Time, stamps an indelicate foot, her impatient sword gleams red. The library is closing now and I'd best head back to the cabin if I know what's good for me. (Ah, the cabin, now don't get me started.....)


Lesson #2: Everything takes longer than I planned.




"Don't worry about it. It might be the best thing that ever happened to you."
---black-robed Kali-das ("Servant of Kali"), responding to my query regarding the prevalence of malaria as we walked a dusty path along the Ganges in Rishikesh, India


"Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another."
---John Muir, naturalist


"The difference in mind between man and the higher animals, great as it is, certainly is one of degree and not of kind."
---Charles Darwin


"In your pet's universe, you are called 'the ape that brings food.'"
--- Scott Dikkers, from You Are Worthless: Depressing Nuggets of Wisdom Sure to Ruin Your Day


"Black Guy Asks Nation For Change"
---a decidedly non-PC article on the Obama campaign in the satirical Onion News


Merry Christmas! (Oh....and Joyful Kwanzaa....and Jolly Winter Solstice.....and Happy Hankunnah.....Chunkyhun.....ChakaKhan.....uh, that Jewish Holiday!)

(Dang, am I being all un-PC again?!)

Okay, I've been putting this off long enough already. I said that I'd try to sum up what I learned on my walkabout. And most questions I get involve what lessons I gleaned from my time as a wandering monk.....as long as we also count "What the hell were you thinking?!" (Actually, the most common question has been "What was it like?", to which my mouth and brain usually seize up as a thousand different thoughts and feelings logjam in my frontal lobe. Luckily, the part of my brain that keeps me from drooling usually remains unaffected.)

Some lessons are obvious. Some I've already covered in previous entries and will be somewhat of a rehash here. Others are lessons I've encountered long ago, but have been reinforced during my monkabout. And a few are even brand spanking new from my time on the streets.

As usual, getting this all down here will also help me clarify to myself much of what I experienced, though I still struggle against the writing process itself. (What, me procrastinate?) As you can see, without the urgency and simplicity of my walkabout lifestyle, I have found ample diversions to distract me from this blog.

And I better get to it too, before my notoriously slippery memory loses its grip on events, external and internal. Some of the salient details are already starting to slide into that murky fog that masquerades as my memory. Not surprising really, since much of this past strange year already feels like a surreal dream to me now.

So let's see, what other chestnuts did I forage from this experience, other than the aforementioned earth-shaking revelation that my socks don't need to match? Wow, there are so many lessons-----where do I start? Well, perhaps my fading memory itself is as good a place to start as any.

Lesson #1: All things fade. All things change. All things end. Paradoxically, change is the only real constant-----the only thing that doesn't change. We've all heard the old adage that you can't step into the same river twice. We all see everything changing all around us. Everything is a river. Energy and matter stream through everything, even solid-seeming stuff like rocks and Hummers---the flow is just a little slower with these, so we don't see it so easily. Just come back in a geological blink of an eye and see how that Hummer is doing in a million years.

This fundamental force of Change was a daily lesson for me in my wandering monk lifestyle. The transitory nature of life is so pronounced amongst the homeless. Faces come and go on a daily basis. I never knew when---or if---I would see some of my homeless friends again. I often didn't know when my next meal would be or where I would sleep that night. Each day was a practice in staying open to what the world would throw my way. I bounced from New York to California to Texas to Mexico to Colorado and finally back to California.

And sure, this lesson is pretty much a no-brainer: everything changes, get over it. But as I've said before, for most Buddhist traditions, a deeper understanding of annica ("impermanence") not only gives us insight into the workings of the Universe, but also helps us loosen up the rigidity at the root of so much of our personal strife. The more I accept change and let go of clinging to static expectations, then the more easily I am able to move with the natural ebb and flow of the tides of Time.

And the less I will struggle against Ma Kali, Goddess of Time, and her relentless dance of destruction. Fierce eyes bulging, tongue lolling, numerous arms bristling with pointy, slicey, bashy, bloody implements of havoc, she thunders "Cling to anything and you will suffer! Fight me and you will lose!" Eventually, Kali tramples all. (Including any insights or clarity I may have gained, so I try not to hold them too tightly either.)

But give battle we do. Aging is one of our primary battlefields. Armed with a plethora of colorful drugs and emboldened by battalions from the cosmetics industry, we flail against the passing of the years and our waning youth. We even have some victories: we cure diseases; we extend lifespans; we stave off the signs of aging. But Kali's implacable foot and bloody sword are ever descending. We are still mortal. (Of course, this may all change some day-----after all, everything changes, right?-----especially if we unravel the secret of "programmed cell death" or learn to store matter as data. Then, oh boy, is Kali gonna be pissed!)

In a strange sort of reverse nostalgia, I sometimes catch myself imagining an idealized dotage where I am too old to care about my appearance or self-image in general. I am a wise old man, free of the immense burden of caring what others think of me. When I become aware of this fantasizing, I give myself a few gentle mental smacks and remind myself that I can be free right NOW, right HERE. Even as I write this. I don't have to care how this turns out, what it "looks like". I breathe deep. I relax. But the moment is ever fleeting as my brain and chest soon tighten up as I struggle to hammer out sentences. There isn't much "moving naturally with the ebb and flow of Time". But it is a practice, a process, and perhaps my lesson is to be content with this slow trickle of words and not count on the floodgates opening anytime soon. (Perhaps, laughs the zen master, the smacks were not hard enough!)

This talk of "going with the flow" reminds me of a story told by Chuang-tzu:

One day Confucius and his pupils were walking by a turbulent river. They saw a man dive into the raging torrent up ahead. Thinking that the man sought to kill himself, Confucius sent his students to try and save him. However, when they reached the river's edge, the man was already walking along the riverbank, singing to himself. Astounded, Confucius asked him how he had managed to survive the wild waters. The man answered, "I go under with the currents and come out with the flow. I just go with the Tao of the water and never think of myself."

Again, I feel it is important to reiterate that "going with the flow" does not mean passive submission to whatever comes along. It means finding an appropriately harmonious response to what is before me. This response may be as "simple" as laughing along with the trash-talking chess player who is ridiculing my play as he slices my army to shreds. Or it may be as "difficult" as asking "God" to stop singing so that the other 150 of us at the homeless shelter could get some sleep. And it may be as paradoxical as "going against the flow" of my own programming or social expectations when I am ready to transcend these limitations. After all, the whole gamut of options from Yin to Yang are available for implementation.

But Lao-tzu cautions us to favor the gentler Yin responses, for we are a formidable aspect of Life, already full of strong Yang impulses. (Just look at our impact on the rest of Life on the planet.) In a way, it is a call to empower more of our nurturing feminine energy to counter the more destructive aspects of our male energy. (Madam Kali notwithstanding!) My job is to find the balance, the "center point of the Tao". For to be stuck in any extreme is to lead a life of self-imposed slavery.

(To be continued...)



"Yes, God is everywhere, but we should worship his different forms in appropriate ways. We worship God in the guru by bowing at his feet. We worship God in the hungry child by giving him food. We worship God in the poison by putting it safely away out of reach. We worship God in the thief by arresting him and bringing him to justice."
---Chandra Swami (This is not an exact quote. I am remembering something he said a few years back. Actually, he didn't "say" it because he has been in mauna ("silence") for the past fifty years or so. He responds to questions by writing his answers on a sheet of paper that one of his disciples then reads aloud.)


"It was humbling, educational, weird, sad, exhilarating, scary, maybe even liberating. But mostly it was humorous."
---a typical response when I am finally able to engage my brain and mouth to answer the question "What was it like?"


Happy Holydaze, All!

It's been wonderful transitioning back into my previous lifestyle and getting back in touch with family and friends. So yeah, lots of fun and light stuff, as evidenced by my last entry. And on another light note, my sister and I have reconciled our differences about my walkabout, mainly agreeing to disagree. We still value one another too much to let differences of opinion stand between us for long.

But, as always, with the light must come the dark. Lately, I've often been feeling a bit burned out, or even used up. Obviously, part of this is due to my transition back into my sped-up lifestyle. I haven't been meditating, yoga-ing, and tai-chi-ing very much, so it's no wonder that I have been feeling less centered while more scattered and tired. But there may also be a certain amount of bone-tired weariness from my walkabout finally catching up with me too. It's possible that since I'm no longer living on the edge, my defenses have relaxed and now I'm feeling the deeper fatigue of my monkabout. Or perhaps this hungry life of travel and adventure has left me jaded and a bit world-weary. Lately, I feel like I have been "On" so much and now I'm looking for the "Off" switch. Sometimes when I drive late at night, the city lights beckon, promising sweet anonymity.

And on a much darker note, there have been what feels like an inordinate amount of deaths.....again. A very dear friend of my mother's who long ago had once been our housekeeper passed away a couple of months ago. She was a pillar to her family and was beloved by so very many. She was a beautiful soul who always prayed for my well-being, sensing that my wandering ways could use a bit of divine vigilance. She was in her nineties, so her passing was not really a surprise, but a couple of other deaths came as quite a shock.

The daughter of another of my mother's good friends was recently diagnosed with cancer and then died two weeks later. But perhaps the most surprising death was that of one of my mother's former boarders, a young student from Japan. I had gotten to know him during my break from the walkabout to be with my family for my Aunt Rosie's funeral and the holidays over this past winter. He was a high-spirited and active guy, enjoying all sorts of sports like surfing, golf, tennis, and even skateboarding all over our neighborhood like I used to do when I was younger. He had only recently moved out of my mother's house to live with his girlfriend when he went skateboarding down a big hill and lost control. He fell and hit his head on a curb and died. Since he was an only child, his death came as an especially hard blow to his parents. And then just a couple of weeks ago, my newly married cousin's (see last entry) grandfather went for a walk on the beach and fell off a cliff and died. He had been in fine health, so it was quite a shock to their family.

And again, I'm not sure what to make of all these deaths. (See "Going Home" for my somewhat befuddled approach to multiple deaths.) I guess it makes sense that knowing a lot of people means experiencing a lot of deaths. And I've gotten to know so many people, especially over this past year of walkabout. Perhaps the lesson for me is that ultimately I can choose my response to death. Different people will take different lessons from the same experience. Two people might remark on the ephemeral nature of life and respond oppositely, one choosing to be more careful while the other tosses caution to the wind in a newly minted carpe diem approach to life. And of course, both responses are totally valid.

For me, the fleeting nature of life lends it a deliciously bittersweet beauty. So I choose to grieve as appropriate, but most of all, I choose to honor and celebrate both life and death. And I will try to remember to do these before those dear to me reach the end of the road. And despite Dylan Thomas' best exhortations, when my time comes, I hope to go gently into that good night, and not "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." I watched Carol fight to the bitter end, and her days were filled with frustration, anger, and pain until that final dark night descended upon her. And yes, that's totally valid too, but I wish to seek the peace and harmony within the light and the dark. Of course, that's easy for me to say now when I am not faced with my own imminent demise. We'll see what happens when it's my time to turn out the lights.

Personally, the most palpable manifestation of this latest sense of internal darkness has been an anxiety that has crept into my dreams and meditations. Dark visions filled with menace and conflict have invaded my sleep. This is nothing new of course, what with dreams being a primary processing plant for the unconscious, but the nightmares have been more frequent than usual. And during my meditations I have become aware of an underlying apprehension.

For the most part, I still feel pretty upbeat, if a bit tired, but I know better than to ignore these less-than-subtle messages from my unconscious. If I ignore them for too long, then a persistent unease can easily build to a very discernable stress, which in turn can grow into sickness and even disease. Again, it might be some repressed angst that I am finally releasing from my walkabout experiences. And it very well could be apprehension over my very unplanned future. Probably some of both of these, and it could be some other emotional issue(s) that I'm totally clueless of. (Hey, I'm a guy, after all.)

So I will explore these shadowy woods and do my best to embrace the spiky beasties that lurk within. Fears and sorrows and pains, oh my! And if I can learn to play nice with the beasties within, then maybe the beasties without won't seem so frightening either.

So what---beyond the clichéd psycho-babble---does it actually mean to me to "embrace the dark"? Well, for me, this means engaging so-called "negative" feelings as fully as possible, on mental, emotional, and even physical levels. (My psychic pains usually have a corresponding physical pain somewhere in my body. I tend to carry a lot of stress in my shoulders, but this time my discomfort resides mainly in my lower back and stomach.) To do this, I meditate deeply on my feelings, attempting to understand them, accept them, and, above all, feel them---emotionally and physically.

And often, just emoting my darkness is enough. (Intellectually understanding it is often not really necessary, though it can help to learn the root causes.) In this way my unconscious realizes that its communications of unease have been received and they can cease their urgency, even stop altogether. After all, my beasties are usually just messengers who have been kept in the dark too long.

It's important that I approach them with acceptance, not as an attempt to be rid of them or even "release them". For it is also a practice of becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable. And an opportunity for the paradox to reveal and reconcile itself: the less I need the light, the more the light becomes apparent. The less I need to feel better, the better I feel. The darkness is a doorway itself. For ultimately, the dark and the light are one.

One night as I walked the forest paths in my monastery, I had a revelation. I was thinking how much easier it was to make my way in the dark when the moon was full. And then it struck me like a thunderclap: the moon is always full.

Just like us.

Seize the night.




"I saw the crescent,
You saw the whole of the moon."
---the Waterboys


"One dervish to another: What was your vision of God's presence?
The other replied, I haven't seen anything. But for the sake of conversation,
I'll tell you a story:
God's presence is there in front of me,
fire on the left, a lovely stream on the right.
One group walks toward the fire, into the fire,
another toward the sweet flowing water.
No one knows which are blessed and which not.
Whoever walks into the fire appears suddenly in the stream.
A head goes under on the water surface,
that head pokes out of the fire.
Most people guard against going into the fire,
and so end up in it.
Those who love the water of pleasure and make it their devotion
are cheated with this reversal.
The trickery goes further.
The voice of the fire tells the truth, saying I am not fire,
I am fountainhead.
Come into me…..and don't mind the sparks."

---Rumi, "The Question" (translated by Coleman Barks)


"And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the radiances shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotus-lands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven."
---Jack Kerouac, from On The Road


midnight crescent moon
whispers its divine secret:
I am always full

---a haiku I wrote at the monastery


"Brokenness is the Way." (among others)
---me, responding to a friend's insistence that I sum up my walkabout in a single sentence


“Hey, at least I’m alive!”
---a guy I met walking down an alley in Venice who recently suffered a stroke

It’s been a busy few weeks as I transition back to my life before robes.

I flew back to Los Angeles and it's been great to be back in the warm glow of family again. I finally fessed up to them about my walkabout activities over the past year, but they didn’t have much time to chew it over before we all headed down to San Diego for a cousin’s wedding and the big Takahashi family reunion with the relatives on my mother’s side.

My cousin’s wedding was a beautiful celebration near the beach on Coronado Island. The bride was lovely, the groom charming, and it was all a very sweet low-key ceremony, as evidenced by all the bare feet walking down the aisle.






It was great catching up with all of my relatives at the wedding reception and especially the next day at the reunion on the beach. Fun was had by all, tons of food was eaten, sports and games were played, and we finished the day off with a bonfire. We even had a watermelon eating contest and a donut eating contest with the donuts suspended on strings and the competitors not allowed to use their hands. After my past year with limited access to food, it was slightly strange to be a part of all this conspicuous consumption. I'm not judging it---cuz hey, watermelon eating contests are a fine slice of Americana---I'm just recounting my initial awkwardness. I played way too much volleyball and spent the next couple of days recovering from over-exertion and aches.




And of course I spent a lot of time trying to explain my walkabout. The most common questions dealt with my motivations, biggest challenges, and lessons learned. (I plan to write a future entry to try to sum up some conclusions.) I was pleasantly surprised---okay, extremely relieved!---that my mother took the news really well, and was actually looking forward to reading this blog. My sister, on the other hand, had the completely opposite reaction and was very angry with me for being dishonest with the family, especially when I was close by on the streets of Los Angeles.

Of course, her point is totally valid: it was very uncool of me to keep the family out of the loop. It was just a matter of being the lesser of two evils since I didn't want my mother to worry about me over the whole year. Not telling my family the truth during my walkabout was actually the most uncomfortable part of this whole monk experience. (Okay,  maybe "God" threatening to slaughter me was a little uncomfortable too.....and alright, the whole episode with Carol was pretty overwhelming...)

I returned to some of my "old" haunts in Venice and Santa Monica. I've only been away for a few months, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Well, perhaps a lifestyle ago. I drove around the roundabout that I shared with a sculpture of a nude female torso where I used to eat my Vienna sausage dinners while watching the surf movie projected on the wall of a nearby restaurant. I drove past my Venice alley nook and saw that someone had significantly upgraded it by placing a comfortable looking chair in it, though it must cut down on the limited sleeping space considerably.

I wandered the Venice boardwalk, taking in the comfortably familiar vibe and characters. I looked for Sean and Rebecca, my two homeless artist friends who were trying to carve out their survival selling their art along the boardwalk, but I couldn't find them anywhere. I did see Mr. Choeng Kim at his bike rental shop and he said that business is doing much better now that summer is in full swing. And as I drove to Santa Monica, I went past a fellow waving one of those advertising signs and then realized that it was Derrick, the Christian apologist who tried so hard to save my soul. I would have stopped to say hello, but I was already late to meet up with Rob.

I met Rob at Chess Park and it was great to catch up with him and some of the other guys I'd gotten to know over a chessboard. Kind Ronald, the homeless El Salvadoran illegal immigrant who had been so generous to me, was as congenial as ever. Gruff “Download” was showing his genuine sweet side, playing a game with a little boy and keeping his conspiracy theories under wraps. Sir Charles was trash-talking as much as ever as he chased Dwayne's pieces all over the board.

Dwayne is one of my more eloquent homeless friends. What he lacks in chess skills, he more than makes up for in street smarts from various life experiences. He is one of the few who have actually chosen to be homeless, seeing it as an opportunity for adventure and learning. Originally trained as an army engineer, Dwayne has held various jobs all over the country, including lumberjacking in the NorthWest and being a stockbroker on Wall Street. (Although he does admit to being a pretty lousy stockbroker.) He had run across a book a while back and had been holding it for me. It's called Practical Mysticism by David Samuel. It kinda looks like a typical New-Age/self-help distortion of Eastern traditions since it bills itself as a path to "...self-awakening, financial growth, and harmonious relationships", but I'll try to keep an open mind and give it the benefit of the doubt.

Of course Rob and I had arranged to bike down the beach along the bike path just like the "old days". He treated me to lunch at the Baja Cantina and then we headed off down the beach. I made it down to about Manhattan Beach and chose to be humbled in a game against his chess computer while Rob continued biking down to Redondo Beach. Besides being quite generous, Rob is also quite an excellent chess player. When he returned, he soon helped me with my humility practice by thumping me in a couple of quick games.

We got back to Chess Park too late to see if my zen buddy Gentle Gene had showed up. And I was a little disappointed that I had also missed both the skill of Duckworth and the antics of the Great Carlini. Jocular Shoma, the Russian immigrant who had been injured when he was hit by a car, was still not well enough to return to battle at Chess Park. And Wolf, the native Apache who turned his life around after prison, hasn't been seen since he moved from his apartment near the park.
 
Later that evening, I met up with Kevin and we had a nice conversation about his homeless status and his political blog at BTCnews.com. It was nice to hear that he's on track to get out of the homeless shelter and get his own housing. He's still looking after my bike, which is a win-win situation for both of us since it comes in handy for him when he needs to run errands. Seemingly contrary to his leftist leanings, Kevin has an interesting take on the presidential election. He actually believes that a McCain presidency would be better for the country in the long run. However, this is because Kevin thinks that McCain's Bush-style policies would further drive the country into the ground which would in turn provoke the radical will to turn this country around on a grass-roots level. Not quite a revolution perhaps, but a resolve to implement New Deal style changes birthed from a depression.
 
The next morning I met exuberant Ruben for some paddle tennis out on the courts at Venice beach. Ruben is a jovial friend who was living out of his car. He has since moved in with his girlfriend and is also enjoying bonding with her young son. The paddle tennis was a blast, especially since it was a lot easier to play than regular tennis. But again, I overdid it as we played for four hours and I ended up exhausted and well-cooked by the blazing summer sun. Except for a bit of biking, this monkabout year has left me fairly out of shape and I'm paying the price as I transition back into sports.

As expected, my life has sped up again. There are definitely less moments of calm comtemplation, especially as I bounce all over visiting friends and family. Distractions and activities abound and I'm pretty much back to my old scatter-brained ways. But then again, I was a pretty scatter-brained monk too, so no big difference really. I do seem to be maintaining a fair amount of self-awareness, and this helps me remember to relax into the unpredictable flux that is my life---an occasional calm in the eye of the storm.

I remain appreciative of beds, hot showers, plentiful food, and the roof over my head, among other things. Gratitude has been one of the big lessons on my monkabout and I definitely don't take these blessings for granted. At least for now. I'm very well aware of my propensity to get used to the status quo and start taking things for granted, so we'll see how long this lasts.

There are lots of little things I'm getting used to doing again, like using money (borrowed!) or wearing different clothes. I got so used to wearing my simple monk robes that it felt strange to choose shirts and pants to wear. I do miss my robes a little, but it's also nice not to be a walking sideshow freak. (The Amazing Homeless Kung-fu Janitor! Watch him sweep the street! Look at him run from the cops! And you can even feed him too!)

An example of not quite choosing appropriate clothes occurred when I visited some friends who live in the San Fernando Valley. To avoid the traffic, I had gone early and read in a park until they got home. I had forgotten how hot the Valley gets in the summer (upper 90s fahrenheit that day) and had dressed in long pants and a black shirt. It made for quite a sweltering wait.

Whenever the heat starts to get me down, I try to remember something I saw in the city of Lucknow in northern India. It was 117 degrees and I was slogging my way through the heat to a market to buy some fruit. As in other third world countries, Indian merchants and peddlers often set up tables along the sidewalks to hawk their wares and skills. I was bemoaning the oppressive heat when I looked over and saw a tailor happily working away at his sewing machine. He sat in the direct sunlight, right next to a large patch of shade. He could have easily moved his little table into the shade, but he seemed oblivious to the heat as he sewed away, humming a tune to himself. And he was wearing a black long-sleeve sweater.

On the other end of the spectrum, I remember seeing a picture of some very young Japanese schoolchildren walking to school through the snowfall, wearing only shoes and matching red shorts. The mind can be so powerful if we give it some room to flex by removing the constrictions of previously conceived notions and conditioning. When I remember to let go of my resistance to the heat, I definitely suffer much less. I've tried this with the cold too, but have gotten mixed results since I find it harder to relax into the cold.

Anyways, I ended up falling asleep in the park, so I guess I haven't given up all of my homeless ways just yet.

So what's my Plan? Well, I will soon be heading back to the Omega Institute in upstate New York. This will bring my walkabout full circle since Omega is where I first set off on this monky path a year ago. And, appropriately enough, "omega" is the last letter in the Greek alphabet. (The institute's name is derived from Teilhard de Chardin's concept of the "Omega Point": the endpoint of complexity and consciousness toward which the universe is evolving.)

And yet, I have another wedding to attend in San Diego in October! This time it's a couple of good friends who are operating under the delusion that the event is all about them and audaciously neglected my needs when they set the wedding date.

And at some point relatively soon, I will need to make some life decisions about what direction I want to head in, probably involving some form of employment since the jig is up regarding my monk gig.

But for now, this wandering boy with his wandering mind and wandering eye is on the move again. For the road is singing its siren song, the horizon is opening its arms wide, and marvels are blossoming on all sides, especially when I remember to keep an eye out for the miraculous in the mundane.

Ever stalking Wonder.



“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”
---Jack Kerouac, from On The Road


"So how's it being back home? Monk all gone, spastic boy back?"
---email from a friend


“I have come to accept and make peace with the way you live your life.”
---my mother


"I don't want to talk to you because it will probably end up in your blog."
---my sister

 
“You’ll end up in the street.”
---an aunt, predicting the fortune in my fortune cookie at a Chinese restaurant
 

“Next victim!”
---Sir Charles, exclaiming victory in his chess match against Dwayne


"I should note here that I’m not advocating individual or mob violence as a solution to financial difficulties; only the credible threat of it."
---Kevin, on his blog at BTCnews.com

Okay, not surprisingly, I am way behind in this blog again. Right now I am actually in Colorado, hanging out with friends in Boulder and Longmont. Yeah, really.

Again, I promise to write and backdate the entries for the rest of my Mexico trip with Shine and our final days together. I'll post notifications when I do so.

So how did I end up in Colorado? Well, after our trip to Mexico, Shine and I returned to Austin, Texas and I was soon preparing to travel again. With my family reunion looming on the not-so-distant horizon, I was anxious to hit the road again before I headed back to California to be with family. I finally decided to head north because I have some friends in Colorado and figured that it would be a shorter distance to get back to California than if I headed east.

I was getting ready to try hitchhiking north and was even planning to make some cardboard signs-----"Monk Needs Ride" and "Will Share Chocolate Chip Cookies!". (I've had great success in the past with the latter sign.) But then my friend Jim in Colorado got wind of my plans and generously offered to buy me a bus ticket instead!

Now I was truly torn between both options, for I was really curious to find out how this monkabout would play out on the highways and byways of America. But weighing in on the other side were the sizzling Texas heat (over 100 degrees daily) and the fact that a friend had told Shine that hitchhiking was illegal in Texas and Colorado. Neither of these factors would have eventually deterred me from at least trying to hitchhike, but the final kicker was that I didn't have a lot of time before my family reunion. If it took me a long time to hitchhike to Colorado (almost a thousand miles on the minor highways), then I would have very little time to visit with my friends there.

And hey, as well as embracing the challenges strewn across my path, my practice is also about accepting the largesse of the Universe, this time in the person of my friend Jimbo. As it turned out, the Greyhound bus ticket was quite exorbitant on such short notice, so he ended up buying me a cheaper flight instead. So it was time for an all-too-quick, yet sweet, farewell with Shine and she dropped me off at the airport. (A few days later she flew back to Israel for her summer break from the Ph.D. program.) I had packed much of my stuff into a box, including my long-handled dustpan, but my broom wouldn't fit. Arriving at the airport in my robes and carrying my broom, I looked like a reject from the Harry Potter Fan Club. I was tempted to tell the ticket agent that I had to fly by plane because my broom was broken.

It's been a nice soft landing here in Colorado. Jimbo is ever the generous host and it's been great catching up with old friends. The conversations have been deep, challenging, and meaningful. And they've kept me busy in other ways too. I've been playing tons of disc golf, as well as some tennis, basketball, and even some ping-pong and billiards. Jimbo also coaches a little league team, so I've attended several of their entertaining games. And then there was that exhilarating African dance class where I learned that it is logistically impossible for me to shake my butt like an African woman.

And of course Colorado is home to these gorgeous Rocky Mountains. I went with a couple of friends on a challenging hike straight up the Calypso Cascades to Finch Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. And I even went on another beautiful hike in Roosevelt National Forest with someone who contacted me through this blog. I had to keep reminding myself of all the natural beauty along the trail (Ceran St. Vrain) since I was so easily distracted by all of the stimulating discussions on spirituality, philosophy, and politics. Except for my trip to Mexico, my walkabout has been pretty urban-heavy, so it was wonderfully refreshing to relax and breathe in all that glorious wilderness. I missed it more than I realized.

And all of my friends have been feeding me so very well. Jimbo often takes me out to dinner too despite my awkward objections about how much money he's spending on me. He's also treated me to a couple of action flicks. ("Wanted" and "Hancock", both entertaining, if a bit violent. Hey, I voted for "Wall E". Wandering through the theater lobby in my robes, I look like a man-child searching for the latest showing of "Kung-Fu Panda".) But the most interesting movie was a documentary that one of my friends helped film called “Hidden Sorrows: the Persecution of Romanian Gypsies During WWII”. It's a tragic and important testament to a side of the Holocaust that too few people know about.

Another friend re-introduced me to the Enneagram personality typing system. Apparently, I am a number seven, "The Enthusiast", the busy, variety-seeking type: spontaneous, versatile, acquisitive, and scattered. And supposedly I keep busy to avoid underlying pain and fear. Hmmm.....

With all this busy-ness and fun, there hasn't been much time for sweeping either. Of course, there isn't a whole lot for me to sweep up in uber-clean Boulder. But the fact remains that I haven't been very monkish here in Colorado. And in truth, this "walkabout" has been winding down.

July 13th marked the one year anniversary of my monk-a-thon. Granted, I took a long break from this monk shtik to be with my family for my Aunt's funeral and the winter holidays, but I feel that this experiment has gone on long enough. It's been a beautiful, mad year with many challenges and lessons, and I've decided that it's time to hang up my robes. As with most endings, it's a bittersweet decision for me. I will miss this gig and the carefree days and ways I've been cultivating.

So now I'm heading back to Southern California for my family reunion. I've borrowed some money for the flight and I've packed away my robes, begging bowl, and dustpan. Again, the broom remains free, reminding me of who I was (still am?). I'm still not sure how I'm going to tell my family about my shenanigans over this past year, but it should be interesting. I just hope it doesn't upset my mother too much. She's used to my wanderlust and crazy ideas, but this monkabout may be a bit much even for her legendary openness. But I'll cross my fingers and hope for the best. After all, it will be the return of the prodigal Zum.

And though much of this past year has been about facing my fears, perhaps I will now finally face my biggest fear (cue menacing music): Fear of the Ordinary!



"That's okay-----it's a magical broom. It can't be damaged."
---me, responding to the airline check-in agent who wanted me to sign a form releasing the airline from liability for any potential damage to my broom

"The monk is a bird who flies very fast, without knowing where he is going. And always arrives where he went, in peace, without knowing where he came from."
---Thomas Merton (This quote was recently sent to me by a friend.)

"Oh, by the way, you're going to be the only man."
---Nomali, informing me just before we walked in the door for her African dance class (approximately 15 women)

"Tear man out of his outward circumstances; and what he then is, that only is he."
---Johann Gottfried Seume

"My mother gave me the same advice about girlfriends."
---me, responding to Savitri's comment that she preferred to have a dog that she can overpower (Sorry Savitri! All that great conversation on spiritual philosophy and this is the best I can do!)

After Chichen Itza, Shine and I spent a couple of days in Merida, capital of the state of Yucatan. It's a great old town, and yet very modern too: lots of colonial architecture, public art, good museums, numerous cultural events, and, in typical conqueror fashion, many Catholic churches built over destroyed Mayan temples, often constructed from the very stones of the destroyed temples they replaced. It's a lively city with music and dancing all over the place, especially on weekends when they close off the town center for pedestrian traffic only and numerous bands play latin music (mainly salsa and mariachi ballads) in the parks and streets.



In an attempt to avoid going shopping with Shine, I got a haircut in a local mercado. I gave the hair stylist free rein to do as she pleased and I ended up with it buzzed pretty short on the sides with a poof of hair on top. Not bad really, but unfortunately I wasn't able to weasel my way out of shopping (Shine doesn't know Spanish) and we spent much of the next two days looking at clothes and jewelry. Ho hum.

Next we headed to the charming seaside city of Campeche, capital of the state of Campeche. This old colonial town on the Gulf of Mexico was a favorite pillaging target of pirates for hundreds of years, so the Spanish eventually secured the city by encircling it with a fortified wall and bastions. Most of the wall is now gone, but the bastions remain. It was fun to explore the old cobblestone streets lined with buildings painted in bright pastel colors.




Then we headed further south into the state of Chiapas to explore the Mayan ruins of Palenque and encounter the jungle proper. We stayed in an area called El Panchan located in a lush jungle setting not far from the ruins. The place was overrun with cute wild kittens.



And so the next day we explored the amazing ruins of Palenque. There were far fewer tourists than at Chichen Itza and we were allowed to climb on most of the pyramids, sometimes even being able to go inside some of their narrow, murky, dripping passageways. At the more obscure sites, we often had the place to ourselves and even managed a furtive dip in the Arroyo Otulum stream. I especially enjoyed exploring the dark catacombs within various structures by flashlight.








The most discernable difference between Chichen Itza and Palenque is the scope of the surrounding jungle. The jungles of the Yucatan are lower and sparser than the dense, sprawling jungles of Chiapas. The hills, trees, vines, and wildlife all merge into a huge profusion of surging Life. The plants climb all over one another, stretching for the high jungle canopy and the precious sunlight above.

The first structures we visited were a line of towering pyramids, and yet the hills and jungle still loomed over them, endeavoring to swallow them back up and reclaim their territory. At one area, I saw workers using machetes to cut the branches and vines back in an endless effort to keep the encroaching jungle at bay. I am still reading Kerouac's On the Road, and appropriately enough, he also headed into Mexico and appreciated the jungle's penchant to blur boundaries.




We spent a lot of time at El Palacio ("The Palace"), a fun labyrinthine complex of corridors and courtyards. Shine feverishly sketched even more complicated color patterns that she "saw" on the walls and other structures. And while she's still unsure what any of this has to do with her system of healing, she has learned to be patient and wait for answers to become clearer in the future.






We explored the structures in the Templo de la Cruz ("Temple of the Cross") area, climbing more pyramids and enjoying the vast views out over the ruins and the jungle. After investigating a couple of the more remote sites, we finally came to Los Banos de la Reina ("The Queen's Baths"), a picturesque waterfall pouring into perfect limestone pools. Unfortunately, no bathing was allowed, so I had to settle for scheming to sneak back in after hours.






That night Shine felt called to Agua Azul ("Blue Water") to perform her moonlight rituals. Agua Azul is a river area with a long series of gorgeous stepped limestone pools. Normally, the waters are a beautiful shade of turquoise, but during the rainy season they are a murky greenish brown. They were also about an hour's drive away on winding roads in the pouring rain through a notorious robbery zone (at night) at a cost of about $100 US for the roundtrip taxi fare. And of course the park would be closed to the public at night so we would have to sneak in again. We considered The Queen's Baths at Palenque as an alternative, but with the pouring rain and the fact that we were feeling pretty tired, Shine decided to hold off on any nighttime rituals.

A curious coincidence: Being back in the jungle and seeing a large spider, I was reminded of an incident I witnessed back in the jungle/forest of my monastery in Thailand. I described to Shine how I saw a large spider and what I thought was a fly rolling around on the ground. They separated and I thought that the "fly" had escaped the clutches of the spider as they both moved quickly in opposite directions. And then they came together again, rolling around a second time. And again they separated. And came together again.

Extremely curious, I went closer to try to figure out what was going on. The "fly" turned out to be a wasp that was continually stinging the hapless spider, which had finally succumbed to the onslaught. The wasp then methodically ripped off all of the spider's eight legs with its powerful mandibles. And then, to my wonderment, the wasp somehow pulled out the spider's own silk thread, wrapping it around both of them to strap the spider carcass to the underside of the wasp's body. Even with its legs removed, the spider's body was still bigger than it, so the wasp set off on foot through the forest. I followed it until it reached the base of a tree, whereupon it calmly climbed up and went into a hole about ten feet up the trunk. I imagined that it was probably going to lay eggs in the carcass so that the hatching larvae would have something to eat. (I was reminded of the movie "Alien".) In the jungle, the roles of hunter and hunted are often interchangeable.

Then, a little while after I relayed this story to Shine, we came across a bright blue wasp dragging a large spider across the jungle path. I grabbed Shine's camera, but only got one blurry picture before some people coming from the other direction scared the wasp away.



The next day we went to Agua Azul in a collectivo van that the locals use. The pools and falls were indeed beautiful, though a bit murky from all of the rainy-season run-off. We walked way up the river and swam near a small village and picnicked on the shore. On the way back, a generous woman gave Shine a beaded necklace and matching earrings.




The ruins of Palenque reminded me a lot of magnificent Tikal, located in the remote jungles of Guatemala. I went there almost twenty years ago with a girlfriend, a Brit named Carol. Like Palenque, the ruins at Tikal are set amongst a lush jungle setting. But being so remote, there were very few tourists and the wildlife was correspondingly quite abundant. Numerous monkeys scampered in the trees, including loud howler monkeys bellowing away. We also saw a gray fox walk straight up one of the ancient walls in the ruins. Colorful birds of all shapes and sizes squawked and chattered away in the foliage. (Toucans, quetzals, parrakeets, etc. There was even one strange bird that made a musically metallic sound as it repeatedly swung on its perch to hang upside-down!) It wasn't hard to imagine jaguars lurking in the shadows.

And of course the pyramids and other structures were awe-inspiring in their jungle milieu. We excitedly explored all the amazing complexes by day, and when night came it was easy to sneak off and enjoy the ruins after closing hours. From the top of a pyramid, we watched the moon rise and illuminate the ancient city in its magical light.

But when we headed back to our lodge, we got lost in the jungle. We were still on paths, so I wasn't too worried, but the jungle definitely shows its more menacing side at night. The thick foliage conspired to make all of the paths look the same and the shadows threatened at every turn. But despite the jungle's best efforts to swallow us up before daylight, we somehow managed to stumble back to our lodge.

For me, jungles are equal parts enticing and intimidating. So primal and visceral, they inspire both fascination and fear with all that sprawling nature humming, throbbing, chittering, twisting, breathing, consuming. All of this seething Life feeds on itself, and everything else too. Boundaries blur between plants, animals, the elements.....and me. If I listen too closely to the jungle writhing around me, I begin to understand its soft susurrations, murmuring that it is coming for me, whispering of my end, and dreaming of our inevitable reunion.

It's an interesting contrast, these "dead" ruins amidst this thriving jungle scheming to reclaim its ancient baubles. Will the jungle succeed some day? Will our cities be reclaimed by the wilderness in a thousand years too? A hundred thousand years? A hundred million? Will we have moved on to other planets or solar systems leaving a lonely (relieved?) Mother Earth behind? Will we have evolved into a new species? Will anyone even remember names like Confucius, Caesar, Cleopatra, Christ, Muhammad, Genghis, Shakespeare, Einstein, Picasso, Gandhi, Hasselhoff, or Bush? Will we mature past this critical threshold where our technological power seems to have outstripped our moral development? Or will we kill ourselves off? As it stands, we are mere children juggling hand grenades. (And yet I remain pretty optimistic cuz we're pretty dextrous children.)

But perhaps the Earth itself is impassive. Maybe it doesn't really care. After all, it will survive no matter what we do. (At least, until we develop enough power to threaten the existence of the Earth itself.)

But we are bio-centric. We favor life over non-life cuz that's what we are. Maybe someday we will come to realize that the line between life and non-life doesn't really exist. (Scientists still haven't quite figured out what viruses are. And even fire satisfies many of the criteria for a definition of "life".) All life is composed of the universal matter and energy building blocks that form the foundation of our being. Our sweet Sol warms us from without and within. Our lonely Luna tugs at the tides of our inner seas. The dust of dying stars mingles in the marrow of our ancient bones. And, just maybe, supernovas explode in our brains.

Ah, I have wandered far afield again, lost in the tangled jungles of my mind. And perhaps my machete isn't quite sharp enough for me to be straying so far from home, rambling on and over-stretching metaphors. So I will slice at these discursive vines, try to scrape the moss off of my memory, and rail against the shadows of my ignorance.

And as I shake my fist, the seething jungle hushes.....and Jupiter trembles.



"...I realized the jungle takes you over and you become it.....For the first time in my life the weather was not something that touched me, that caressed me, froze or sweated me, but became me. The atmosphere and I bacame the same.....I began to tingle all over and to smell of the rank, hot, and rotten jungle, all over from hair and face to feet and toes.....I didn't even know if branches or open sky were directly above me, and it made no difference. I opened my mouth to it and drew deep breaths of jungle atmosphere. It was not air, never air, but the palpable and living emanation of trees and swamp. I stayed awake. Roosters began to crow the dawn across the brakes somewhere. Still no air, no breeze, no dew, but the same Tropic of Cancer heaviness held us all pinned to earth, where we belonged and tingled."
---Jack Kerouac, from On the Road

"Maybe I'm just crazy and that's all there is to it."
---Shine, referring to the whole trip and her healing system

"Agua Lodo ('Mud Water')."
---our taxi driver, referring to Agua Azul during the rainy season

"I'm a student of life.....mainly cuz I don't know how to do anything else."
---me