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Name: Paul
Country: United States
State: Bliss
Birthday: 8/6/1966
Gender: Male
Interests: joy, interesting stoires, Love, contact, photography (see my site), free WiFi, sound, Socratic Dialog, Ontology, Really good espresso, Really good beer, Really good just about anything, Quality, Tales from the other side, Tales of our elders,
Expertise: Sound design for Theatre and Film, Ontological Conversations, Photography (35mm and Large Format), cheap travel
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Entertainment
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
6/8/2004
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| My muse
is something that cannot accurately be described as here
but it is not quite not here, either.
She speaks with the voice of my greatest longing.
A hunter tends to take on the characteristics of its prey.
Such has it been between men and women since before time;
men have formed themselves around women’s deepest yearnings
and women have become that which lies within the heart of men,
and which they desire most.
For all prescient beings long to be with what lies in their inmost heart
and a human is prescient by design.
So it is with me and my muse,
craving.
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| landing.
I emerge from the pool steaming and nearly blind, for the moon has not yet risen. This troubles me not a bit, for the path I wish to take is made clear by the sound of the river bouncing off the trees. I navigate by echolocation, and as I approach the water the starlight white ground cracks and melts beneath my naked feet, leaving a trail of winter fossils in my wake.
The river, a tapestry of liquid silver, rolls over me like a million shards of glass gently caressing my skin in a dance of ecstatic brutality. Two minutes at the edge of tolerance and now I am sitting calmly on a rock that is literally freezing my ass off while a choir of angelic voices erupts from the cascading white noise of the river, permeating my brain and filling every pore of my being with the sound of living Ice. Somebody has tweaked the horizontal hold knob of the Universe, and the world is spinning back and back, ever back behind my eyes and up from my feet. Coiled in a squatting crouch, I feel my hands and feet sink into the rock and pull me down into the Earth below me. I feel her all around. As sound, sight and river begin to fade I wonder if Death waits nearby, watching, interested to see if this might be his big moment.
Not for the first time, my Love of Life stills the hand that moves his quickening blade. With stumbling difficulty, I rise and rise – a diver in slow-motion emergence from my own personal depths. Every step back to the pool is an act of Will. Without vision, without balance, nearly without consciousness – Step - -Step - - Step - -Warmth is just feet away and it is this certain knowledge alone that allows me to continue.
For just a moment I cannot tell heat from cold and the blazing pool is a chill breeze that knifes across my skin. I shiver the river from my bones, one great thrust of violent release and then the heat of life returning. Breath – Breath – Breath - and all that has come before flows away. Tension, worry, pain, blame, shame, all flow like poison from my pores, washing away into blissful profound relaxation and razor sharp awareness.
I am so glad to be Here. Here, where there are nights so dark you can’t see the sky; where you can stand still and hear your heartbeat in midday, where the crystal clear water that seeps from the ground and fills the springs in which you soak last saw the light of day when tribes of nomads were still crossing the Bearing Straits. And Here Now – Now when those who live here are talking about Renaissance, about Revival, about Unity and Inspiration, Art and Aesthetics, about creating a life of Wonder and Discovery in a place that Works and Thrives. This place – the shock of the cold river, the warmth of life rushing in. This is my Home.
I send you this – a kiss – a warm breath in the Brutal Ecstasy of Life:
Surrender
Forgive
Trust
Acknowledge
Risk
Rejoice
Repeat.
Much Love and Cheers,
Paul
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| Friday, July 16, 2004
Each of the last three days I have awoken at dawn amidst ancient evergreens, worked my body to exhaustion, eaten huge organic vegetarian meals, drunk pure spring water and soaked deep into wells of crystalline heat filling tubs of tile and wood, lovingly laid by those caretakers that have come before me. My days end with my grateful return to my tent in the trees, brilliant stars peeking through the two hundred year old canopy.
This evening I sit in the Garden Kitchen at the end of day three of my five-day working interview at Breitenbush Hot Springs. As I write these words, a parade of beautiful people weaves about me in a dance of community – children play about the place, someone strums a guitar, food is being prepared, shared and celebrated, wounds are being healed, friends share stories and laughter and plot their next shenanigans, and I sit listening to my friend Todd, his father and other old friends in their band “Last Fair Deal” as my own personal bootleg copy of their latest album pours through my headphones like ambrosia for my ears.
This sure does look like the life that I dreamed of and longed for, sitting behind my desk in Houston. I am not yet a part of it, not yet a member of this community – hence the interview – and yet I’ve somehow managed to attract the attention of some of the old timers and managers here, and I’m starting to feel like something of a celebrity. The business manager wants to meet with me, and a couple of the old timers have said things like “energetically it just feels like good timing for you to be here. I hope you stay with us.” Interesting.
And I am mysteriously uneasy.
This place is not perfect – certainly these well meaning folks do not always live up to their high-minded ideals – but who does really? Still, when I consider staying here something tugs at my conscience, and I find myself wondering if my coming here is not my attempt to escape from those responsibilities that I refused to be with. I left Landmark Education cold – high and dry if you will, and I was warned that I would become present to the gap created by a life that is no longer being given by a purpose greater than my own selfish wants and needs. Landmark provided a huge and powerful context within which I could generate my purpose in life. But with that context came huge responsibilities and commitments of time, energy and spirit that I just was not willing to give.
Or perhaps I am feeling the pull of my responsibility to my family. My mom cries every time I leave Minnesota. She keeps forgetting that I am not staying, so every time I tell her it’s like news for her, always surprising, always a fresh cut and some part of me sinks into darkness and feelings of guilt. It would be so much easier if she loved her life, if she didn’t feel belittled by having family members care for her.
Or perhaps I’m just nervous at the thought of joining such a complex community where I really don’t know many people. They have welcomed me with their voices and their eyes – I truly believe that they mean it. Perhaps I’m just wondering if I deserve this.
We’ll see.
p
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| I am participating in a revolution that is so interesting that I think my commentary bears repeating: back when I had an apartment (ah, the good old days), one of my favorite things to do on a Saturday was to go to Mr. Spot’s coffee house in my pajamas and return home with a gigantic Latte which I would sip lovingly while listening to my favorite NPR stations and surfing randomly through the net. This morning I sit in the parking lot of yet another Flying J in my home (aka, the Jetta), sipping a 20oz cup of Montana’s finest from Mountain Mud, listening to my favorite NPR programs and randomly surfing the net – wirelessly. I love my life. | | |
| This morning finds me by a crystal clear lake somewhere in North Dakota. I had no idea there was a lake here when I parked – the fog last night proved more than I was willing to navigate, and it was time for me to pull over besides. So at the next non-descript exit (number only, no name) I pulled off to get some shuteye. I was awoken in the middle of the night by a pack of coyotes about a half-mile away, baying at the rising moon. I dreamed of a dead snake that came to life and was leaping at me. . .
The next morning dawns cool and bright and shimmering off the lake that surrounds both sides of the road. I walk the deserted landscape accompanied by small birds playing around my body heat thermals, or perhaps hoping to catch a meal from insects attracted to that same heat. And heat, it seems, is not all my body generates this crisp morning. Glancing down at my long grassy shadow, I am shocked to see it outlined in a bright halo – very similar to the one I saw down in Austin. Looking down at my hands I see no aura this time, but the light around my shadow persists.
Delighted and curious I move into chi-kung to see what happens. I feel the earth come up through my feet, move into my center, shift and change and pour out through my hands. I watch as the field of light around my shadow increases in size as I move the energy around. Nice.
Returning to the car I am greeted by another surprise: scat on the asphalt just about a hundred yards from my bed. Looks like those coyotes were a little closer than I thought. Perhaps the snake scared them away.
Life is getting interesting. As I write this evening huge Peterbuilts and Kennworths cruise just inches from me. I am in the back parking lot of the “Kum and Go” somewhere in Eastern Montana. They have free wireless internet access all through their store and anywhere in the vast parking lot. I’m surprised to find this, but I guess I shouldn’t be – many truckers are now packing powerbooks of their own, and more and more truckstops are going the wireless route to attract their business. One of the largest chains, Flying J, recently started offering WiFi for not too much money at nearly all of their hundreds of stops around the US. I suppose little chains like the Kum and Go are offering free service to entice the drivers away from the big boys. I don’t mind one bit. I’ll write my stories and check my email and surf for classy porn while the back country Christian right and the long haul truckers get their gas.
My visits with family were. . . interesting. I recorded to digital some good stories from my dad and my mom. And I re-united with an old, old friend who I haven’t seen in about eight years and others I haven’t seen in at least two or three. I have probably got a lot to say about these things, but not yet. A good friend down in Houston mentioned to me that she was surprised that I hadn’t written more about our meeting, as it was rich and impactful and beautiful on so many levels. Strange – I’m not sure why, but there are some things I’m just not ready to write about – or maybe I just don’t need to. I’m not sure.
Meanwhile, I will continue to chug through Montana – hopefully I’ll get to Billings before my main coil wire gives out. I replaced the plugs, cap and rotor in Minnesota (thanks to a $100 gift from my sister, Anne), but for some reason I chose not to replace the wires. Guess I thought that $75 more was just too much to shell out for wires that I just replaced about 15,000 miles ago. I’m told they should last 50,0000. Ah well.
Anyway, that is neither here nor there. It wouldn’t be a road trip without some kind of mechanical problems, now would it?
Everywhere I go people have asked me to stay or, in one or two cases, asked me to take me with them. Am I selfish to say no? It’s so moving to be loved and wanted and missed. It breaks my heart every time I have to tell my mom (again, cause she doesn’t remember me telling her ten minutes ago) that no, I’m not staying in Minnesota. I thought, once, that I would, but something draws me away. Perhaps I just don’t want to get embroiled in family once again. Or perhaps I am unwilling to deal with the wild mood swings that Minnesotans call the weather. Yes, I am selfish, and I wonder what I need to do or create, who I need to be for that to be OK.
Much Love to All.
P
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