Chop Wood, Carry Water, Tie Up Your Kayak

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