10/11: Santa Fe- Pondering Camels

"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24)

Chris and I had a wonderful conversation in Michigan on June 1st about evil, and I offered that perhaps greed and power lust are its fundamental root. Money is inanimate , and so cannot itself be "evil." However, greed is wealth's (Mammon's) engine, and power it's club. The club's damage is NOT limited to its victims; those who swing it, regardless of the rationale and justification, are damaged even if the ego believes otherwise! The Camel Quote has become a favorite. To his credit, Andre was by far the most "aware" of the affluent people I have associated, which isn't saying much. But, with a little reflection, I began to see why the above quotation, attributed to Jesus, is so powerful in its hostility toward wealth. I firmly believe that, on both a micro and macro level, wealth and enlightenment are diametrically opposed. The wealthy can argue and rationalize if they like. This fact will not change.

After I returned home from house-sitting, spurred on by the conversations with Chris in Port Townsend and the writing I had done at Katie's, I decided to actually open my unused Bible to see what the "presented version" of Jesus himself had to say about it. Using the familiar quote above as a starting point in Matthew, I expected a whole lot of ambiguity and interpretable "parable" to be the result based on the typical rhetoric I have hear endlessly emanating from "Christians." What I found literally astounded me. As I've said before, I'm (intentionally) no Biblical scholar, but dammit I CAN read! Just a few of innumerable examples; Jesus was far from "ambiguous" when it came to wealth:

-"Go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor... and come and follow me." Matthew19:21

-"No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon." Matthew 6:24

-"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" Matthew 16:26

-"But woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full." Luke 6:24

And, He seemed to despise hypocrites:

-"Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your Father who is in heaven." Matthew 6:1

-"So when you give to the poor, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be honored by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:2

Like Dennis, Andre was inadvertently providing something priceless in his own way: a naked glimpse at the struggle wealth creates for a man on a spiritual quest. At some level, he deserves a degree pity for his financial success. In this culture, it's unheard of to term of wealth as an "anchor," but that's the potential and likely spiritual sacrifice for a life of comfort, security, and power. It usually comes standard with a closed, sheltered existence barren of true experience & struggle needed for genuine empathy, compassion, and concern for others, as demonstrated perfectly by the rationalistic "debt is a state of mind" comment.

I believe I just answered my own earlier question regarding why it requires the sudden impending threat of mortality for many, particularly the affluent, to begin to take an interest in something beyond a materialism. It's simple: Why the hell would they? When a man has few "real" friends, is surrounded by those driven by self-interest, and an ego addicted to Mammon's Power, why would he desire to reflect inward? Without critical thought or conversation, and when surrounded by "yes men," it's easy to convince ourselves of whatever narrative we choose to author! It's a self-delusion that reminds me of Huxley's Soma from Brave New World; an opiate that seems to numb the human core and intellect in all of us. We've all been programmed to function on a consumerist, egoistic plane and they have succeeded, perhaps without having been taught the intellectual and emotional tools to truly empathize. It's a hard-sell to tell an externalized "successful" man to give up his king sized bed in favor of a futon! And, even for those who have internalized due to an inkling that "something's wrong," there's another foreboding quote strewn throughout Matthew: "Many are called. Few are chosen." I don't believe these words are necessarily meant to be taken literally, but it doesn't take much talent for abstraction to see the implication. When you arrive at this point, I believe "The Fates" are an egoistic, escapist mirage. Free will, ego, and intellect come into play when, and long after, you're "called." I believe that your own capacity, and more importantly decision to look internally with clear-eyes and then your own chosen, ensuing actions determine rather or not you're ultimately "chosen," however you choose to define it. I have a very different concepts of "called" and "chosen" than Christians of course, but I've come to highly suspect that the "language" used is irrelevant and inadequate. When you think about the barriers, for the wealthy, the path to self-actualization seems nearly impassible and perhaps even cruelly unfair.

Obviously, I believe Andre is handicapped by his wealth, ego, and the bubble in which he lives. From the beginning of my stay at Andre's, I was keenly aware of the lair I inhabited, despite the fact I was greatly enjoying the benefits! Periodically, I would find myself observing how Andre interacted with people, and more importantly vice versa, looking for behavioral patterns. Several times, I witnessed people seemingly afraid to deal with him honestly, obviously afraid to anger him. Toward the end of our stay, there was even adolescent talk claiming someone close was "just using him." And, of course Andre's protective of what he has; everyone wants it! This could lead a person to believe they are in a position to judge another's "worthiness," or to believe they know what's "best" for another. I can understand that. However, wealth alone does not grant one the power to superficially judge with generalizations, and when judgment and power turn to control- as they ultimately must- that person is likely doomed.

I also believe Andre, even with his noble and (I believe) genuine ideas, still has an epic battle ahead of him. In the end, he's inadvertently stacked powerful cards against himself and, even though it's sacrilege in the "Age of Hope," I'm sadly pessimistic. If he's committed to succeeding, and I believe he is, he has in my opinion failed to see the obvious: That despite his best rhetoric and intentions, his identity is still completely anchored to his ego & assets. His ability to "work magic" is, literally, his ability to write a check. His ability to "be of maximum benefit" is tethered to his ability to write a check AND pointedly wrapped tightly within his ego. I find it ironic that rather than envy him, I PITY Andre. Not because of the spider bite or his uncertain future, but because I ask myself this: "If all of Andre's money were to vaporize tomorrow, who would he be? Who would he see himself as if he were unable to work Monetary Magic? How many "friends" would still be there?" Of course, this is a single perspective, and I'm sure that this last question will result in some other folks I met in Portland wondering, "Is that asshole talking about ME?!?!?" Please relax, and realize I am not interested in issuing petty judgment. But, I would counter that it may be useful to ask yourself, "Am I one of the circling vultures?"

In the event you've assumed this is arm-chair psychological conjecture, I know a bit about a ravaged "external identity." When the radio show ended in 2002, and I was no longer Todd "Thompson," most of my "friends" vanished like a fart in the wind leaving me sitting naked asking, "Why?" The answer was clear: the relationships I had built were mostly based on the vocational "radio persona" I had fabricated, and I was now forced to ask, "Now that I'm not Todd Thompson, who the fuck am I?" If you have to ask, then have trouble coming up with answers, you have a problem! The ones who remained unchanged remain treasured friends, and I can count them on one hand. These are not easy questions to ask, are even harder to answer, and impossible to investigate without a commitment to truth; that Inner Dialogue Andre has admitted so much trouble with. Andre, despite his wonderful complexities, is currently struggling as a confused personification of his wealth, with little clue of how to actually escape it. How to grow, free from the anchor.

The very first quote above also ties nicely to the question of Chris McCandless and what I believe was his Poverty Field Trip. Friar Chris has often taken exception to my McCandless critique because he closely identifies with McCandless's background, and has struggled with my indictment, often replying, "What's a rich kid supposed to do? Just give up?" My verbal answer had always been that I honestly don't know. Do what you can, and hope for the best. Subconsciously, however, there's always been a faint smell of hypocrisy to even asking that question, as though wealth is somehow entwined into your DNA and inseparable from your existence. I've always suspected that the philosophical answer was simplistic, and as stated above, would sound something like "Get the fuck rid of it or quit touting your fraudulent Pauper Papers."

Of course that IS simplistic, and very few of us are prepared to sell all of our worldly possessions and sacrifice the security they provide! And, I honestly see nothing wrong with openly half-assing it, or openly doing nothing! To my knowledge, none of us are Saints nor aspiring to be. However, my blood pressure tends to rise when people are portrayed, or prop themselves as something they're not. Someone please tell Mr. Penn, Mr. Krakour, and the rest of the McCandless Cultists that Chris McCandless burned his money knowing he was a phone call away from a "line of credit" if he ever decided to bless his parents with his forgiveness. Rather he used it or not is immaterial; he knew it was there. To me, the shallow image of renouncing wealth, while never intending to do so, is condescending and nicely articulated by:

-"Whenever you fast, do not put on a gloomy face as the hypocrites do, for they neglect their appearance so that they will be noticed by men when they are fasting. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:16

Again, it takes abstract thought to comprehend that "gloomy face" can mean many different things, from countenance down to clothing and hygiene. If you're cleverly clinging the literal interpretation and employing it's companion rationalization, that could indicate something!

More often than not, I don't believe people use rationalization on a conscious level; I don't think they sit in their chairs at night creating clever, fictitious narratives to intentionally act as a comfortable, mental teet. I believe it's subconscious because, as The Sage pointed out later, it's challenging for nearly everyone to confront difficult things residing within themselves. That observation cut to the heart of my internal, "I feel like a dick" discomfort. I know full well how difficult it is, and I am not playing the role of the Encouraging Sympathetic Voice because from my experience I believe it's counterproductive. This simple train-of-thought demanded an investigation as to my evolving purpose; one long overdue.

It's answer was quite simple, and again, reinforced surprisingly from the Bible in quite an arrogant way! Somewhere, I seem to have successfully purged the need for personal approval, and no longer consider myself the protagonist in this presentation, therefore rather you "like" the messenger doesn't matter. I'm not trying to sell myself because, I don't matter much... and that's good! Besides, and here's the arrogant part, as I read thru Matthew, it became quite obvious that Jesus himself was sort of a... dick! His tone was that of a man obviously annoyed with the metaphorical blindness of people, intolerant of their rationale and hypocrisies, and I could completely identify with the man who entered the temple and violently overthrew the moneychangers table. Contrary to many descriptions of the "Price of Peace," tact and politeness seemed of little consequence to Him, even saying, "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword." Perhaps that "sword" is to cut off the fat of doctrine, dogma, and self-deception. And, if blunt honesty is good enough for the Jeebus... it's good enough for me!

Overall, the impression that I got from my little mini-excursion into a small part of the Bible was that, if true, you Christians are in a whole lotta trouble when your Messiah returns! I repeatedly (and to Shalain's chagrin) asked, "Have Christians even read this fucking thing? Or, do they simply rely on someone else to tell them what's inside AND allow them to manipulate what it means? Ambiguity MY ASS!" I found very little resemblance between what little I managed to read, and the acts of Jesus Inc. I have 100 scripture examples I could share, but I'll spare you and close by simply saying that I've come to believe that the greatest blasphemy on Earth is that perpetrated by organized religion and what it and its followers have done to the concept of God. I would stand tall and say that to Yahweh's face, quite certain that he's agree.

How about you?

9/22-10/9: Santa Fe- "Unpacking"

After a quiet day at home on Tuesday, the house-sitting gig started Wednesday amid wild anticipation of spending the entire week on the computer or buried in my notebooks writing for hours on end. I knew damn well that I had much to process, and as always upon initially returning home, felt highly motivated to get it done immediately in supposed marathon sessions. But, as usual, it didn't quite happen that way. Rather than a narrative, the writing promptly displayed a tendency to create more questions; deeper layers than I had originally assumed were there. That's always a good sign for me personally, but not always pleasant. Especially when many of the hardest new questions revolve around... me.

As I started to get near the heart of Andre's story, I noticed an intense feeling of personal wariness, especially about that Sunday, 9/13. The apprehension's intensity was quite rare, but I understood that his was no ordinary story and I was forced by its content to take a microscopic look at both my own insights and, more painfully, who I have become over the last year and where I was going. I had expected the simple moral question about how much detail to share, but the demand for self-analysis was something that was unexpectedly bitch-slapping me at the same time! If I was going to offer acute criticism of others, I was going to be providing it to myself... like it or not. A handy, oft-inconvenient tool I've acquired somewhere.

As I started to puke into the computer and make connections to both past events and those that followed in Port Townsend, an interesting contrast developed; something that would ultimately lay the very foundation for the immediate future. Despite the persistent questions, the words flowed; again a good sign. Nothing was forced or contrived and after questioning, challenging, and examining my insights it was obvious that they were solid- if not pleasant. They themselves then began spawning other multi-layered ideas. Yet, the potentially toxic, uncomfortable nature of these observations set off warning signals through my entire psyche. Was this just my ego going nuts? I began seeking out other opinions and through conversations with Shalain, Chris and The Sage, my extensive vocabulary again went on display as I described these intense, nagging emotions as "feeling like a dick," even though I felt like I was dead-on, even after psychologically beating the Hell out of myself and beginning the process of asking myself "who the hell I thought I was" writing these things. It was then that I came to realize that I'd had the sense that "I" wasn't writing these things. It was Stream of Consciousness- despite of myself! More than once, I (again) thought back to Randleman, and Pastor Snake... which REALLY set off ego-alarms! Seeing this was encouraging of course, but created more turmoil than it relieved.

The Sage suggested something that I had considered a few times: keeping two journals. One: the run-of-the-mill, fluffy "travel journal" variety. Something easier to comprehend, accept, and escape within (my description). The Second: one presumably only written that would contain my actual thoughts... therefore not causing any immediate discomfort to the protagonist. I seriously considered it... but not for long, as I slowly came to realize that the self-doubt wasn't internally based. It was the "critic's" voice; the self- censor voicing the imagined criticism of others. Furthermore, as Shalain astutely and repeatedly pointed out, to "edit for comfort" would be selling out; doing the very thing that I swore not to do. Reading these passages is voluntary after all, and the notion of producing shallow "bathroom fodder," as Chris puts it, is repugnant. No, this is by its nature occasionally unpleasant and very difficult. It's the "hard" that makes it worthwhile, even though it's sometimes unflattering, even to myself. I knew coming in that it would periodically be difficult, but I HAVE made myself accountable by having the courage to present it for consumption. It seems cowardly (and suspicious) to consider yourself a man-of-purpose then hide in your journal; the foundation of critical thought is to test ideas by allowing them to stand up to scrutiny! To cower would be something I wouldn't be able to tolerate, and that I even considered it made me question my own motives and presented the entrance to yet another powerful investigation: the difference between being "clever" and being right, which can lead to the egoistic practice of protecting a point-of-view through rationalization. Later in October, this directly led to my humble, uncomfortable Don Quixote revelation (stay tuned... if you dare!). Good, organic stuff!

With the end of the house-sitting gig came the end of September. As October began and I returned home, my "internal motives" question persisted but I decided to push forward and allow people to react however they chose. Thinking back over the summer, I reflected on how I had likely severed the pathetic "relationship" with my own father and two of my sisters... through simple honesty. Considering that The Hens had chosen to "de-friended" me on Facebook, choosing their traditional method of conflict resolution, avoidance, it suddenly seemed absurd to offer this blatantly self-interest-driven courtesy to Andre; something I had denied much more significant people!

There was much more to come as I contemplated my time with Andre in Portland. As I finally wrote up The Vanity Plate, Now What?, and Navigating the Rubicon, more agitation and an accompanying flood of ideas that was the byproduct. Surprisingly, much if centered around, of all things, The Bible...

9/15: Portand to Seattle, WA

Andre had Cody and I up and running early on Tuesday morning, determined to get out of Portland at a decent time. The tone of the day was again set immediately by an impatient Andre. It had long become quite evident that two Andres inhabited his body, and the thoughtful, patient Andre from the night before was again replaced by the agitated, terse, driven Andre. The two of us loaded the Range Rover while Andre tied up loose ends, and by 9:30 or 10:00 we were saying so long to the floating home and on the way downtown to the Mac store so Andre could purchase an apparent necessity for Cody's new I-Touch.

I had decided to take Andre up on his offer of the previous night and ask him to drop me off in Port Townsend, WA. Port Townsend is a bit of a difficult destination from Seattle and I-5 being, as Chris describes it, across Puget Sound from Seattle and on a sub-peninsula of the Olympic Peninsula. Somewhere along the way to the downtown Mac Store, Andre curtly asked me what I "had decided," and when I responded with Port Townsend, he was visibly irritated that I would have the nerve to take him up on a seemingly easy offer the night before. Oh, the humanity! He made it clear that, today, the three extra hours were of vast importance, and that if I wasn't going to Vancouver he'd be dropping me in Mukilteo. The loaded question on the tip of my tongue: "So, Astoria's out of the question, then? Why even bother to fucking ask?!?"

I had had just about enough of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Sitting in the back seat, I began to reminisce on the weekend and particularly at the Gale Force of Talk that had produced little wind in the sails. I was still in Portland, however, and free to disembark the USS Andre whenever I chose. At least I now knew where I would be resuming my travels: either downtown Portland, which would mean that my boat hitch with Andre and Cody the previous Thursday would have in fact netted a NEGATIVE 15-miles. Or, it would be the mythical Mukilteo north of Seattle, and presumably within range of Chris and his sister that night. As we approached downtown, I was weighing the pros and cons of each. The choice was far from obvious, and there was a significant problem: Hitching in Washington state is expressly verboten, and Port Townsend is not exactly in a geographic location flush with truck stops.

At the Mac Store, I learned that we were in the same building as the Portland Transit headquarters, meaning from here I could easily navigate the prolific public transit system and at least return to the bus stop where my return east from Portland had resumed from Dave's in 2008. This would put me back on US-30, and on course to Astoria once again. Yet, this would mean missing Washington State, unless I crossed at Astoria. To be honest, I'd never had much of a draw to Washington and had mentally crossed the state off as I progressed through the Dakotas, Montana, and Idaho the weeks before. I had connected with Chris in Boise, and there were no indications as to why I should go now. In fact, he had indicated that things there were "tense." So, why bother? Good question, and I have a pathetic answers.

Believe it or not, I heard my nephew Brad's voice in my head urging to to go to Washington, since I would be "right there." I had to confess, he was in a sense right. Excluding Washington, I had now visited every state not in New England, and having this single stray state out west would bother me! The mental ping pong continued as Cody collected his dire essentials. I exited the store to examine the bus routes posted outside, then to pace the parking lot knowing I had to decide NOW. Had his shopping taken just two more minutes, I likely would have acted differently, but in Andre's push to get moving I resigned to go with the established flow and try my luck in Washington. The deciding factor was that it would be terra incognita, and if I went toward Astoria I was sure to be retracing 2008's steps... again... this time down highway 101. Washington it would be. A fateful, rushed decision to be sure.

When Cody emerged with another item or two beyond the advertised life saving accessory, I found it amusing that Andre was no longer concealing his irritation with the Mac Store charade. When we stopped for cigarettes and coffee before departing Portland, Cody's credit card came to light and Andre tellingly (and snidely) asked, "I thought you didn't have any money?" My impression was that he was growing weary of being milked. At least THIS Andre was!

Once on I-5 and heading north, I completely disconnected. I was watching Oregon fade into the rear view mirror, not paying particular attention to anything going on in the front seat. I was quite happy to be moving on... somewhere... and fondly remembering, again, 2008's Two Day Rule! Crossing the Columbia River into Washington was not as much a sense of accomplishment as a checking something off the to-do list. I wished I were more excited about finally getting here.

Andre had not had time for breakfast, so we stopped at a Denny's about an hour past the border for lunch. I called Shalain asking her to play the role of research navigator because Andre had specifically said that he was going to dump me at the Mukilteo exit ramp. I needed to know how far Mukilteo was from I-5, among other things, and she outdid herself. She called back telling me that once I took the ferry from Mukilteo to Whidbey Island, there was a free bus all the way, 40-miles or so, from Clinton to Coupeville. In Coupeville there was another connection that would literally drop me at Keystone Harbor and the Port Townsend ferry. I was becoming quite impressed with Washington's transit/ ferry system, and I had yet to even see it!

After lunch, Andre began to feel the lack of sleep, and since Cody had no license and was Canadian, he chose the lesser of two evils and asked me to drive. Before I knew it, we were through Olympia and Tacoma, and I was zipping along in Seattle. Not only have I not had a particular interest in visiting Seattle, it could be said that I've had a peculiar and acute aversion to it. I've listened to innumerable hippies proclaim its "progressiveness," and after Santa Fe, took that as a sign that despite the legendary WTO riots I would hate it. Finally driving through it did nothing to change my mind, even though The Sage lived in Seattle for a long time and loved it. Was I being a bit unfair? See what hippies do to me?!?

Chris had mentioned Mukilteo in an email the night before detailing specifics of how I could get from I-5 to Port Townsend. "Mukilteo?" I wondered. What the hell is a Mukilteo?" Andre explained that it was a little town north of Seattle, and he too assured me that I'd be able to utilize the ferry system to get to Port Townsend. This quaint little tourist trap is less than a half- hour from Seattle, and in fact could be considered part of the outer fringes of the Seattle sprawl. Andre was in better spirits after his nap, and thankfully decided to look for a place to Internet here, meaning I wouldn't have to walk the busy, 5-mile divided highway into town. We stopped at a grocery store where I used an ATM and learned that there was in fact a bus stop across the road. The bus ran into town and would drop me, literally, at my first destination: the Clinton Ferry. Life was good, and this was it for Andre and Cody.

It was an odd goodbye. Much had happened over the past 4+ days, but now each of us were focused on our immediate futures. Not exactly present! Cody was going home to Canada, Andre had treatments to concentrate on, and I had no idea what the hell I was doing in Mukilteo, Washington. We shook hands, hugged, and made the obligatory promises to stay in touch. I finally offered Cody a card to the website, knowing full well that it would likely throw him into an eventual tizzy! He and I also pledged to meet on Facebook, etc. I remember having a distinct feeling that this particular Bullshit Exchange was palpable, but we would have to wait and see.

With that, I was off to catch my series of buses and ferries to cross Puget Sound, and feeling good to be moving again despite a recurring, nagging pinch in my left Achilles...

9/14: Portland Finale- Now What?

From its beginning, Monday held a distinctly different feel; as if I were back in Santa Fe the weekend before I aiming towards Devils Tower, trying to figure out how this next phase was going to look. However, the difference was also glaring: I had relinquished control and left things in Andre's hands. Cody was growing increasingly restless, despite Andre's constant demands to "stay present." He apparently didn't take into account that it is much more difficult when the "present" is constantly changing and the control of another, even if you are their dinghy! Andre had apparently underestimated the extent of what needed to be completed before departing for Vancouver. However, keep in mind that he wasn't preparing for a simple sailing trip; included were the treatments in Vancouver, and a trip to England to undergo further, experimental procedures to deal with the brown recluse bite. As morning became afternoon, it was obvious that the possibility of an early evening departure had faded away. The details were never-ending, and he seemed to surrender late in the afternoon. After taking the boat out one last time to clean it's hull, followed by another short sight-seeing seeing tour, Andre set midnight as the new target.

And so it went. Cody had learned that due to Andre's chat with her boss, his mother had decided to accept his offer, fly from Ontario to British Columbia, and join them on the sailboat. I thought this was beyond cool, and remember thinking that he had somehow married different aspects of his nature by giving Cody's mom the opportunity to eliminate excuses, AND taking further control of the situation by proactively taking her boss out of the equation himself. That was ballsy AND effective: Andre at his best. There were problems, however. The uncertainty surrounding our own departure made setting a time for hers difficult; coordination was needed in order to meet her. In addition, there were complications in purchasing an Air Canada ticket from the US. Andre curiously seemed mostly oblivious to all of this.

As for me, I was feeling like a ping pong ball. The idea of sailing in Vancouver was, surprisingly, not a big deal. I wanted to see Vancouver, definitely wanted to learn to sail, and loved the random nature of the trip. However, it seemed more and more to be checking something off of a list, rather than something I was supposed to do. Plus, considering Cody's situation with his mom, this seemed like it may be a good time to bow out gracefully, and let them have their time. I could take it or leave it, and considering the potential complications at the border? Well, I had a decision to make. My options were relatively simple. I could just continue on the path I was walking 4-short days ago: reuniting with US-30 toward Astoria. Or, I could take my chances getting into Canada. If that failed? Then, I'd be sitting in northwest Washington state somewhere near Bellingham, but this wasn't bad either. Chris had long since arrived at his sister's place in Port Townsend, across Puget Sound from Seattle, so reaching Wendie's little haven would be relatively easy provided I could figure out the ferry system. I ran the idea past Chris via email, and they all seemed fine with it despite an appreciated warning from Chris that we would be sleeping in the yard, and a mysterious, tense "weirdness" on the ground in Port Townsend. Monday evening, I leaned toward going for the gusto. I really liked the idea of "going international," knew Vancouver was gorgeous, and perhaps a different setting, however unlikely, would allow Andre and I to further discuss things. If I was denied entry? Well then... fuck Canada, eh! It would be a good story... eh!

Shortly After midnight, Andre surprised me and decided to sit down for a chat that began with a surprising, brief analysis of ME for once! How ironic! Andre had many nice things to say about me, reiterating how he had been impressed with my compassion and adding descriptions like honesty, forthrightness, and one that stunned me because, to my recollection, I had never heard it applied to me before: Noble. I was flattered, but a bit taken aback. It was not lost on me that the terms "honest" and "forthright" are double edged; easy to appreciate when their blades are not facing you! Yet, I also took his choice of adjectives as an indication of things he respected and appreciated. We would, obviously, see!

We then briefly revisited both of my proposals from Sunday, and discussed some of the logistical details and problems of the assistant position we had superficially discussed late Saturday. I was a bit surprised, but he seemed to be moving in a positive, yet pragmatic direction with it. Andre moved on to make a point to observe how he had liked an earlier comment of mine, "Portland seems to like me," saying it sounded genuine, and had a tone that resonated with him. It was genuine, I explained. I had always gotten a great vibe from Portland, and Oregon in general. If anyone would have told me that this visit would increase it ten-fold, I would have gone into hysterics. Yet, wonderful things happen here. I've meet tremendous people like Andre, Dave, Karen, Stacie, Bree, and others in Portland; there is an energy here that powerfully agrees with me. I laughed out loud as I realized, for the first time, that I had made more friends in Portland over the last 4-days than I have made in Santa Fe over 2 1/2 YEARS! When I expanded that to the previous month and hitching from Wyoming thru the Dakotas to Oregon? Well, it became a comical, yet fierce personal indictment of Santa Fe! I began to ask myself, again, what the hell am I still doing in Santa Fe? I'm a recluse whenever I'm there, having no further interest in "tuning in" to its special breed of pretension. There is most definitely "something about Santa Fe," as they like to say, but it's not what they would like you to believe! I've said it before numerous times, Portland and its inhabitants,on the other hand, seems to be much more genuine. Don't ever let them tell you that "everyplace is the same" or that "people are the same wherever you go." There are most certainly different personalities everywhere!

I tried as best I could to explain this to Andre, and he got it. Then, he began to suggest other possibilities for me-- IN Portland-- naturally latching on to my radio background. When I emphatically explained that I had NO interest in re-entering the corporate-media cesspool, he added that he knew the owner of KBOO, one of the most renowned, public, progressive, radio stations in the country. And, one I had been introduced to at Dave's in 2008. I conceded that this may be something I'd be interested in, but not now. Andre was trying his best, but still could not completely understand this compelling need to continue what I'm doing... right now. "All who wander are not lost!" I repeated that I knew I was where I was supposed to be, and that any sort of "vocational opportunities" would need to be explored in that context; in conjunction- not as a replacement. I elaborated that I would, however, likely be very interested in a part time position at KBOO, if I were also working with him, and possibly learning more about his land development concept at the same time.

With that, the conversation returned to Vancouver. He wisely admitted that it was too late for him to make the drive all the way there this late; it would just have to wait until morning. He asked where I wanted to go, and I countered by asking what was on the table. Andre stunningly offered to drive me to Astoria if I liked, and when I mentioned Chris being in Port Townsend, he offered to drive me there as well! It would be a longer drive, but he would enjoy the route, being more scenic than I-5. Of course, he added, I was welcome to come along and try my luck at the border. I asked him if I could let him know in the morning, he said sure, and we were off to bed to get rested for what shaped up to be a pivotal Tuesday.

9/13: Portland- The Vanity Plate

I mentioned in the opening of my September 12th miniseries that periods of time seem to have their own life-cycle. Sunday the 13th was the first scene of the concluding sequence. In a matter of an hour, I would begin to see how this intense stay would likely end. Then later would come an intense introduction to a new, and powerful idea: Reductionism. (Introduced by Steve, henceforth referred to as The Sage) This contrast would also awaken a temporarily dormant distrust of affluence, and provide a classic example of dueling identities. Which would prevail? Good stuff!

Almost immediately, I noticed that intense energy of the previous night had vanished, been replaced by something far less appealing, and realized that my suggestion of acting as Andre's little personal assistant was unlikely, at best. The Andre I had seen on the couch just a few hours earlier was replaced by the business man. It was still a possibility, but there was no way at this point to know anything, and I was about to be personally introduced to Andre's duality, and his personal battle.

My first order of business was to make good on my pledge to reiterate a heartfelt apology to Cody, which I did, trying my best to make clear I felt responsible, and bad, about our little spat. He was gracious, and shortly after Andre was once again talking about my dental work, saying he would surely call the dentist at home later in the day and if he couldn't reach him, definitely first thing Monday. Monday?? Wait! Cody and I were under the impression that the Vancouver sailing trip would begin today! Andre was obviously plotting revisions in "plans" (HA!), and not sharing the changes with us. We were evidently the dinghy tied to Andre's metaphorical freighter: Where and when he went, we were unquestionably towed. This was to be expected and I am getting used to this sort of life, but it was frustrating Cody! He had begun arranging for his friend to meet us in Vancouver, since the sailboat slept seven. But, this uncertainty left this friend potentially hung out to dry. We each gently prodded Andre several times, and his response was an ambiguous suggestion that "first you create the 'miracle,' (teeth) then add the details later." It appeared that Andre was prepared to postpone the sailing trip temporarily to accommodate my as-yet confirmed dental appointment, and from that moment until the moment we left, the two of us would be left in a confusing state of limbo.

I could not have cared less. As far as I knew, my schedule was open at least thru at least 2012, but hearing Andre talk about the dental procedure again continued bothering me for several reasons. First:the logistics. He had done this for people before, and the procedure came with a seven day recovery process included standard and free of charge! Inserting Titanium sockets is major surgery, and involves drilling directly into the jawbone. Not something to take lightly! And, by the way Andre, where exactly was I going to convalesce? In my bivy in the middle of the Rose Garden? That I could answer myself: No. This was not a "detail" I would "fill in later." That was of course significant, but a much larger sliver was infecting my mind: while still grateful for the offer, I had finally identified the source of my hesitation.

If you'll recall, when Andre first suggested this I was thrilled. Yet his well-meaning explanation, that it would "increase my confidence" immensely and as a result "doors would fly open" never set well. Let me ask you a question, dear reader: Do I seem to suffer from Confidence Deficiency Syndrome? Hopefully you've not answered with an emphatic, "HELL NO! You're an arrogant ass!" but, I do have a healthy confidence where it's important: I believe in myself, my ideas, what I'm doing, and where I'm being taken. What Andre referred to was a restoration of "vanity." Let's call it by it's proper name. "Words ARE important" after all. Like my father (henceforth referred to as Ward... as in Cleaver), not being raised with him was a blessing in disguise, having to suddenly then constantly deal with my appearance (and how it got that way) ultimately reaped significant long-term benefits. It helped me to steer inward- by denting the exterior. Yes, it HAS sucked, and yes... I would love to have them fixed... but do I NEED that? Is replacing a constant reminder that "strength is internal" with an expensive, titanium vanity plate how he "could be of maximum benefit to me?" Of course not. If it were, I would be in more trouble than I care to admit: It would indicate an excessive concern for how people react to me. Sound like anyone we all know? Dennis, perhaps? No, this was most certainly NOT how Andre could be of "maximum benefit" to me. And, I decided to tell him so. Let's see where his heart really was. Was it really to be of "maximum benefit," or to languish in the role of a philanthropic "God" performing whichever arbitrary acts that made him feel the best, rather than being of the greatest benefit? That reeked of agenda-induced charity, Pastor Snake's "arrangement," in this case where the agenda was ego.

Andre had, unwittingly I believe, set an extremely high bar for himself with his own dear "words." Always ferreting out authenticity, it was time for me to cross reference his ego's account with his mouth's as-yet uncleared checks. As I had heard all weekend, words, are most definitely important. Yet, so are the actions behind words. However, for me- the intentions behind actions sit at the very top. People can be coerced or shamed into action, and acts executed under duress are utterly meaningless. You learn a person by offering a clear choice, then allowing them to act unimpeded as they see fit. It was time to parse Andre's words on the Plane of Reality, then reconcile them with his ensuing action, thereby giving him the opportunity to put some meat on the verbal bone. Would this skeleton too remain bare?

Focusing on these motives, it's important to note that I suddenly became acutely aware of the biblical verse that says it's easier for a camel to pass thru the head of a needle than for a rich man to get into Heaven, and also my repeatedly preached, "YOU are the easiest one for you to fool." I love my metaphors, so let's turn on the faucet, and push some water into that pipe. He liked the idea the night before, right?

"Debt is a State of Mind"

Our lengthy conversation of the early morning had ignited my mind. Even in my sleep I was connecting dots and exploring alternatives & possibilities. Shortly after Andre had woken up, and we had gone through his morning medication ritual, I decided to pounce. Let's see if he was really committed to being of maximum benefit, or if, as I was beginning to suspect, it was more accurate to change his question to a statement: "This is I how I wish to be of benefit to you." Words are impor... Hell, you get the point by now, right?

I had come up with a few alternatives to the new Vanity Plate; ones that would be infinitely more "beneficial" in the long run. The one I had settled on was bold, but Andre preached "going for it all" in business; Why not here? My suggestion was to get an estimate for the dental/ vanity procedure, then take that amount and secretly deposit it into Shalain's account. When she discovered it, then regained consciousness and picked herself off the floor, it would be made clear that it was there solely for her to eliminate debt. I elaborated to Andre that, despite sometimes great difficulty, she has stood behind me through this long odyssey, from radio to present day, and for the most part shown great faith in what I was doing. Without that support, I would not be here; she deserves as much credit as I. Unfortunately, she has only lived these incredible experiences and powerful moments of synchronicity/ serendipity like you: second-hand. I thought, rightfully so, that she deserved to have something unbelievable, and tangible, happen to HER. Something that was directly connected to my odyssey... and her support of it. And most importantly, Shalain has been struggling to begin a similar journey of her own. Albeit one that does NOT entail sleeping in the weeds! She too wants to begin expanding her realm and perspective of existence. Without what she perceives as shackles of debt, I explained, Shalain could focus fully on her "voice" thereby helping she and I to move closer to a similar playing field, rather than having the game played solely on my turf. I thought long and hard about this, and without question this would be of "maximum benefit" in perpetuity, and cost no more, if not less than a superficial Vanity Plate; a piece of titanium for me to smile with.

His response? A simplistic, "Debt is a state of mind."

"Really, Andre?" I said to myself, steaming. "Yet, vanity driven self-consciousness isn't?"

Water, meet crack. Shit! That didn't take long. What the hell am I going to do with the rest of my day?

He didn't explicitly say so, but his face betrayed that he detested the idea, and actually appeared offended! Presumably at the perceived rejection of the "new smile." He then ditched discussion by claiming it would "mean more if we eliminated it ourselves," as if it were something for which we'd proudly receive The Economic Participation Achievement Award, complete with commemorative plaque! Again, Andre was either lost in rhetoric, or had sadly misinterpreted me. It had to be rhetoric. In comparative context to the dental work, I could NOT imagine he actually believed that! Not being obtuse, he had to see the glaring disconnect in, nearly in the same breath, claiming that it would be the "best thing in the world" to fix what drunken rage was responsible for?

No friends, this was not an issue of a simple disconnect at all. This was about ego. It later occurred to me that on some level he was practicing a curious "secondary" empathy, yet he had actually personalized the Vanity Plate; made it his own (identified with it) because he was projecting his own insecurities onto me. Recall, he had admitted he "fucking hated" that the medications had caused a significant weight gain. Fixing my teeth could be a way of treating in me what he couldn't in himself: an ego tormented by self-consciousness and vanity. This... was about him, and how helping me could be of maximum benefit to himself. When I countered with something (anything) different, of course his ego was "offended," I had exposed it, and left it standing in the corner alone.

With that, came a flurry of connections. I had been absolutely correct in deducing that his "maximum benefit" question was a gross semantic misrepresentation and rather than asking, he was in fact saying ("words are important!"), "I have decided that this is how helping you will be of maximum benefit to me." Again, the thoughts and intentions behind actions are much more important than the precluding chest pounding proclamations. At least they should be. Particularly to a person professing a commitment to truth and spiritual growth, all the while advertising intentions to do "the most good while he's here." Andre set this bar of expectation all by himself by dramatically touting his intentions. However, it now seemed a more authentic narrative would be one involving some elk, a Santa suit, and mercifully losing the pretension of espousing himself a "Worker of Magic." And, to finally quit asking his now exposed, egoistic, misleading question. The Sage's "Reductionist" idea would have been helpful here, but as of yet I had no idea what it was!

There were now fresh questions, but what bothered me most was what I now perceived to be possibly disingenuous claims indirectly mocking things I strongly believe in. I took into account that he probably had never considered ANY of these difficult concepts, due to an admitted inability to ask critical questions of himself. I also knew honesty was in order. Yet, I was in his home and challenging him in front of Cody, whom Andre assumed viewed him as his heroic benefactor, would unleash his colossal ego's vicious attack dogs! That, and several other red-flags were flying high. One of which needs some explanation.

Not often, but anger is on that rare occasion a gift. I even seem to remember a story about Jesus rampaging through a temple once upon a time! Picture me at the money changer's table for a moment as I express (rant? no! I prefer "expressively explain!") the root of a long-held, deep distrust for "The Moneyed." As mentioned before, I've seen its abuse and am quite sensitive to the use of wealth as power, and as a way to toy with people. But it's a useless battle. Wealth IS power- if you submit to it. And, make no mistake, that's at least partially what I am discussing here. Disguised, misleading charity is the act of asserting the ego through a manner of control: power. The source and explanation of the disguise is irrelevant, and the trick to combating it is a simple defiance; not allowing yourself to become submissive to that brand of subjugation, ever. Leave that ego in the corner, regardless of who it belongs to.

My mother's ex-husband served as my indoctrination into how money and lust for that control can rot people from within; their greed transforming them into little more than control-obsessive trolls, who in the end are left wondering why no one admires them the way they themselves do! Our story's protagonist is a particularly grotesque gargoyle who carries the last name many of you in Michigan remember, and is the founder of a very successful tool fabrication business in Litchfield. He's made boatloads of money, and he is the most miserable prick, in both senses of "miserable & prick" I've ever known. I mention him because, when my mother filed for divorce, he refused to pay child support despite his success, in an effort to "force her to come back." I have a vivid memory, as a boy of 6 or 7, of watching as he grabbed my mother by the throat and choked her in a blind rage; a rage borne from an inability to accept that his wealth could not "buy what he really wanted." That- will leave an impression.

He and my mother have a daughter who was partially handicapped in an auto accident as a child, my half-sister, whom I must reiterate, he NEVER helped to support or raise. Jane's neurological damage is degenerative, so she can now barely walk, has been stranded for hours in her own tub, just recently had eye surgery, and, due to a swindler of an ex-husband, had her accident settlement money "legally" stolen from her. Unable to afford legal assistance or even bankruptcy, she lives in Fresno with her two grown children, who themselves cannot find work due to the "economic crisis." The three of them inhabit a house they can't maintain, she's physically unable to work, pay the utilities, or even drive. Like my friend Kim, Jane was, unbelievably, denied disability so she was forced (yes, forced) to use credit cards just to survive- for a matter of years. She is now over $100,000 in debt. My mother, who draws minuscule social security, has been using HER OWN food assistance card in Michigan to mail food to Jane in California!

Allow me to switch gears for just a moment. Remember that, "Debt is a state of mind" comment? Forgive me, Andre, if nearly two weeks later I finally show my sensitivity and invite you, now that you're visiting MY home, to take that particular simplistic, arrogant, aristocratic comment and lodge it squarely, firmly and deeply up your ass. That remark could be construed to have been spoken by someone who, like my beloved Charity-Adventure Travelers, is on a Philanthropic Field Trip to the Ghetto: arbitrarily handing out $20 bills then returning to the gated community, singing their own praises of "life-changing charity" to the other bubble-buddies... and Master Craft passengers. (Yes, I heard all of that. How's that song go? Oh oh, ohhh... Voices Carry?) I've wondered, do any of you posses a legitimate concept of, or concern for, the Plebeian reality beyond anecdotes about your amusing, random encounters with those of us "down here" who are lucky enough to be randomly graced with your presence and influence? Because it was off the cuff and obviously the repeated, talking-point variety of cliche', that single comment possibly said more in a split second than the hours of rhetoric over the days before. MUCH more on this coming... Stay tuned.

I'm such a tease.

As for Jane's father? He is, not surprisingly, estranged from both of his daughters, and despite Jane's destitution he has willed his millions... all of it... to Hillsdale College. Yeah, they fucking need it! But, while his daughter suffers, maybe he'll get a building named after him. I clearly don't speak to him but as best I can gather, he himself has been significantly incapacitated by a stroke, and although he is explicitly aware of Jane's situation, rather than empathize he has chosen to sit on his hands and let her and his grandchildren teeter on the brink of homelessness and struggle for the most basic of necessities. Apparently, she had refused to "behave" the way he would have liked. But, who knows? Perhaps you can call and ask him then let me know. In fact, I encourage it. Once he's on the line simply say, "You owned JVDW, right? [Yes.] Then, why is your disabled daughter unable to pay her utility bills and having food MAILED to her in Fresno?" Then, in the unlikely event he hasn't hung up, smile with your voice and cheerfully tell him, "Todd says hi, you despicable fuck." Perhaps now you can understand why I want this repugnant, vile creature's putrid name amputated from the rest of mine.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

With that comment, my toggle immediately switched to the "off" position. I had allowed myself to be an active participant in his game for a day, but my water had reliably found its crack. Seeing my sister's face, as well as those of Kim, Pat, Ciel, Jo, Howard, Lonnie, both Wills, my out-of-work friends in Michigan, AND the multitudes of other folks I had talked to on the road, Andre had silently infuriated me with this clueless, blatantly-bourgeois remark. Rather than argue, however, it was just time to disengage, resume my happy role as The Quiet Observer, and just let Andre show who he was. I had laid it all out by making a genuine offer of mutual assistance and showing him the reality of how he could be of "maximum benefit"... if he truly wanted to. Now, it was up to him. I immediately relinquished my participatory membership card, and gleefully hopped back in the side car. There was nothing else to do but reflect, think about Vancouver and beyond... and enjoy myself!

Moving On... Right?

The rest of Sunday was tame, but fun. I had half-expected the reaction I had gotten from Andre, albeit without the snide remark. My reaction to his resembled way Chris and I had handled our recurring tensions out east, and surprised me a bit. After the initial, intense anger quickly dispersed, I just moved on. We all went to work preparing for the now-delayed trip to Vancouver; cleaning the boat, sleeping quarters, the kitchen etc.; whatever Andre wanted help with. Later, the three of us went out for groceries and pizza and Andre took us on a very cool sight-seeing trip around Portland as I laughed at the fact that this was the first I had actually seen of Portland's interior since floating into his place Thursday night! Included on the Andre Itinerary was Suicide Bridge which is located in the affluent "Hills" area. Andre told of how former tycoons had made good use of this bridge, "former" being the key word. It was here that they had messily relieved us of their presence after losing everything. Later came a swing through the famous Rose Garden, a visit to REI for Cody's gear cleaner, then back to the house to continue to prepare for Monday's supposed departure.

For his part, Cody was on a roller coaster and impatient to get moving. He asked repeatedly when Andre planned on leaving, receiving ambiguous replies... if any at all. It didn't seem to matter much to Andre, nor did the fact that it did matter to Cody matter to Andre. Why should it, right? I noticed the telltale signs of being ready to go myself. I was getting a bit more irritable, less tolerant of redundancy, and Andre's spell was beginning to wane on both Cody and I. Andre's "presence" reminders become annoying, especially being tired and spending most of the day pondering the events of earlier and the previous evening. I started to seriously rethink Vancouver all together after learning that our pacifist neighbors to the north are Draconian when it comes to admitting DUI offenders! It's an "excludable" offense, and if disclosed admission into Canada is completely at the discretion of the border agent. Andre contacted his lawyer Sunday evening, having similar concerns, and we would hope to hear more from him the next day. Andre and Cody got into a rather deep discussion about Cody's family so, being tired anyhow, I returned the favor Cody had done for me the night before and retired shortly before 1am giving them some privacy. At that point, the "plan" (HA!) for driving to Vancouver had been pushed back to Monday evening. We'll see...

9/12: Portland- "What Do You Want?"

"What do you want?"

With this simple, yet mind-bendingly complex question, Andre opened a floodgate. This was not the first time he had asked it, but I had left it unanswered until we were able to dive in unrushed , and uninterrupted. Finally, here we were. Andre tends to dictate rather than listen, so he had a inadequate amount of background information to understand a specific answer. To provide some context I recapped, as briefly as I could, where I had come from over the past several years, and how that shaped the moment we were in: the present. This led later to why, I believe, he found me standing at Dave's marina. For the new kids, who haven't read much of the earlier text, my backstory includes a history of alcohol abuse that stemmed, not from "disease" or addiction, but from being cut off from myself; trying to fit into the pre-constructed box called the Amerikan Dream. Since I do not yet have a dedicated page to refer you to, I'll recap briefly below. If you've read this, jump a few paragraphs.

I had a relatively successful radio career that could have been much more profitable but in the end made me no happier than making mufflers. Once I found myself hurling stacks of CD's across the studio (and drinking as much as I ever had) the awareness that the answers weren't "out there" began to slowly sink in. Ill-equipped for this, I soon hit rock bottom emotionally. Only when the status quo became more painful than change could I embrace true, naked self- examination. This was in August 2004, and over the next 4-years I came to see that the feelings of discontent were actually my greatest asset; the depression that people tried to convince me was a "chemical imbalance" was in fact simply due to not living the life I knew I was meant to. I quit believing that "they" knew what was best; how I was supposed to live my life. I had little idea what that life was, but knew it had nothing to do with "their" expectations, or "their" predetermined notions of success. I would re-define these things, if not jettison them all together, and looking back that act transitioned into a steady process of eliminating the "crap" to which I was attached, and thus tethered. Arbitrary possessions ceased to own me.

Over the next four years, and through a series of social, political, and most importantly, spiritual realizations, I found myself on the road with a backpack in May 2008, with visions of Survivorman dancing in my head! Literally, in a matter of 3-days, however, my rapidly developing, instinctual notions of a synchronicity/ oneness with the rest of you took over. These supposed "coincidences" continued, then accelerated like a spreading California wildfire. I consistently met the right people at the right time, and slowly discovered that the insights and lessons I received from these experiences and interactions would prove colossal, and at times even overwhelming. I've been doing this now for nearly 18-months, with breaks of varying degrees when I need them to process things or raise money. I immediately and unexpectedly learned that I loved writing and documenting this experience; you'll notice that the entries have become much more in-depth and have added a bit of clarity (I hope!) over time.

I told Andre that I genuinely hoped not only to tell a story but also show people that, despite bizarre proclamations that I'm doing something courageous, I'm not at all remarkable. I believe nearly everyone is capable of these life-driven revelations, but in their own ways, along their own paths. Voltaire wrote, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." I explained to Andre that I hoped to use myself as a mirror in an effort to help those with whom this resonated to muster the courage to go on their own journey. Not take to the road, but venture inward. Answers and [your interpreted] salvation lie within, but there is no shortcut. No "miracle" is coming. I wish I would have realized 20-years sooner that The Miracle, The Messenger is You: that little voice we too often ignore. Thankfully, mine was too much of a cantankerous prick to be ignored!

After all this, I answered his question: I told Andre that quite honestly... I had what I wanted. For once, I didn't long FOR anything else, or to BE anyone else! The look on his face was priceless! People have such a difficult time believing that a person can be content sleeping in the weeds, sitting on exit ramps, eating cold instant oatmeal, and drinking my nephew Ben's favorite: cold instant coffee! But, from where I sit I would say that I can't imagine how a person can be happy sitting in a box 1/3 of their lives, only to go home and hand their wealth to someone else! Trading 1/3 of your existence for a sliver of safety and security never has made sense to me. How is this not mental slavery? Give me the freedom and exhilaration of uncertainty; waking in the weeds then speeding down the Willamette 12-hours later! I've never gotten a satisfactory answer to this one simple question: How is this life not preferable to a lobotomizingly monotonous existence that's dependent upon the illusion of safety and security? If you had to choose, which would you define as "living?" But, no man can tell another how to live; these are my hard-fought realizations and I hold them close. Yours will be different. All I hope is that you take the time to consider discovering them.

A Naked Soul

With that, I began to see a side of Andre I had yet to see. Despite our comically antithetical positions in life, we had found an incredibly powerful common ground. Sharing my background is not always easy; sometimes impossible. Chris and I have experienced it quite often, having realized that people either instinctively "get it or they don't." I long ago learned not to elaborate much to those who don't, but Andre more than got it! Smiling and nodding, he would often finish my sentences, and when I'd finished, it was Andre's turn and he began telling me about himself. He spoke with some surprisingly intimate detail about his life from early childhood to the present day, and how being forced to confront his own mortality had affected him. It was remarkable and moving to look on as this powerful, dominant personality periodically broke down in tears while talking about his late mother, father, and the success that he'd had in his life. This was the moment that helped to define Andre for me and gave a naked, exposed look at who he was, not on the surface, but at the core. Rather than feeling sorry for himself the cards he was dealt by a random brown recluse, he was... HAPPY! Andre was shedding tears of JOY as he sat in his chair, reflecting back on the incredible life he had been blessed with! He would have been forgiven, but not once did Andre fall to the depths of self-pity; he chose to focus on the positive, and thanked the stars that he had been given what he had. I was slowly coming to the realization that sitting before me was a man who may have accepted his fate, and was in the process of reflecting back while preparing for the future. It was, I thought, not dissimilar to an elderly person looking through boxes of pictures and letters, contemplating at the end the chain of events that weave into the tapestry of life. This helped to explain his intense reaction to the video tape the night before, and when I asked him if that was the case, he weakly confirmed that perhaps it was. I was astounded, and asked myself (he was mirroring me) how I would react sitting in his chair. My answer was not entirely encouraging ...

Andre's monologue went on for a long time; probably 90-minutes to two hours while I sat there mostly silent, intently engaged: listening. I was learning about this enigmatic, complex man, and as he continued to share these private thoughts and aspects of his life, I began to glimpse details of the bare-foundation of this peculiar "How can I be of maximum assistance?" question. He was genuinely grateful for his abundance, but also had come to the cold realization that amassed wealth will do him no good once he's gone. To him, a collection of "shit" was meaningless in the end; a man's legacy is in direct proportion to how he's benefited the world: Is the world a better place upon your exit as compared to your arrival? Andre strongly desired to do the best he could, "Make Magic" while he was alive. This was a thunderous, extraordinary example on display before me.

Our conversation then turned to metaphysics; the ideas of synchronicity/ serendipity, presence, Sit Down & Shut Up, Center of the Universe, and a plethora of others. As I had repeated constantly, he and I were nearly identical in our beliefs. Andre was a disciple of the Celestine Prophecy, which was also my cornerstone after reading it in 1998. Andre took it a bit more literal than I, believing that every meeting is potentially important if it's explored. I took the book as more of a biblical parable; best used as a tool to fertilize already fertile spiritual ground, and to help expand, in western prose, the sometimes confusing base of eastern theology. We talked a great deal about this and after exchanging several examples, I confessed that since I had arrived, I'd had a strong sense that I was supposed to be here; a sense that went all the way back to that morning in The Dalles. Admittedly, precisely what that reason was had been elusive and unclear. I had by then concluded that I was in the right place, but other forces were active elsewhere: Center of the Universe. My instincts would again, eventually, prove accurate.

"Make it Happen"

At this point, I confess that as the Sunday sun began to rise over the Willamette, Andre had begun to have an interesting effect on me. His constant reminders of presence, as well as berating the phrase "Words are important!" had begun to stick, and I found myself applying them in my mind quite often. Another of these phrases was, "Make it happen" meaning, to be blunt, shut the fuck up and get it done. After all we had shared over the now- past several hours, I felt secure enough to verbalize a thought that begun as a quiet whisper, but was now screaming fanatically in my mind. I believed I had finally figured out why I was there. It was one of those "gems of circumstance," where the Dennis Lesson could be applied reciprocally. It was obvious, Andre agreed, that he needed help. And, I wanted to see how his story progressed. My suggestion was for me to possibly act as his 24-hour personal assistant in exchange for a small salary, housing, and the opportunity to just watch this incredible situation play out. I could act as an extra pair of hand and feet for him, and rather than replacing my teeth he would provide the opportunity to fund the next phase of this adventure, wherever it took me from there. More importantly, to me at least, this story could continue being told. I continue to be almost unbearably curious to see the application of his epiphany, AND the evolution of his beliefs. In addition, Andre had made an odd comment suggesting that perhaps he needed counseling to further explore his budding, powerful, spiritual beliefs- due to a perceived inability to have a dialogue "with himself." I found the thought of entrusting the development of personal spiritual beliefs to an "institutionalist" horrific! I pointed out that I would be more than happy to have more of these chats with him. It is after all where I thrive!

Obviously, this was a bold proposal! But, it made perfect sense as an opportunity for each of us to "be of maximum benefit" to the other, and Andre liked the idea. He saw the benefit of such an arrangement, but his leaving for Vancouver (supposedly later that day), then for his treatments in England complicated things as did upcoming renovations of his home. We chatted about some of the details, and agreed to revisit the idea when things had calmed a bit.

Understanding Cody

The final piece of this unbelievable Saturday- that- had- become- Sunday was his stunning reaction to how I had handled the Family Theater in Michigan back in June. I gave everyone involved the opportunity to show who they were, good or bad, while utilizing my Water through the Pipe technique: keeping the pressure on until the "cracks" (The Hens) were revealed. It was by now well after 7am Pacific time, and after hearing these thoughts and the ideas behind them, Andre sat thinking for a moment, then hopped up saying, "Let's work some Magic." He grabbed the phone, and in the end, details about Cody, that I had not been privy to, made me feel even worse about how I had treated him earlier.

I was wondering who Andre was calling at 7am on a Sunday, until he pointed out it was 10am in Ontario. On the other end was Cody's mother. I wont get into specifics, but I learned that their relationship had been a bit strained, and that he and Mom hadn't seen each other since he had left in April. Andre was pushing water through the pipe, and giving Cody's mom a chance to eliminate excuses- by offering to fly her to Vancouver to join them on this multi-day sailing trip he had put together. "Shut up and make it happen." Being of modest means, his mother was blown away and had no idea how to react. Andre was relentless however, almost too much so! She made it clear she needed to talk to her boss before she could agree, but anything less than a yes was unacceptable to Andre! In the end, thankfully, he removed himself from business-mogul mode, and seemingly left it open until she talked to her boss. I say "seemingly" because I later learned that Andre called her boss, explained the situation himself, and easily got her the needed time off. That's... Andre.

This final event was the perfect ending to the day, believe it or not. As 8am approached, I had experienced nearly every emotion imaginable, and possibly had seen a myriad of doors open. All that was left was the well-deserved dose of shame and humility I had earned earlier. When I began to grasp where Cody had come from, I got that industrial-strength dose- and another for good measure. We had similar backgrounds; I could understand him better than most. I had sensed an insecurity in him, but hadn't bothered to realize that it was one quite similar to my own from years past and had trampled all over it. I had exploited a treatable weakness out of little more than selfish impatience. I could understand him better than most, yet I chose to quickly judge him on the surface and through an unfair prism: mine. These pretty words would mean more if it weren't the hundredth time I've typed them. I vowed to repeat my apology to him the next morning (or mid afternoon!), and to be sure he knew I had regretted what had happened.

And with this, Saturday FINALLY came to an end! The rest of Sunday would be yet another important day; seeing a number of questions answered and a few more created. By now, I was invited to join Andre and Cody on their sailing trek to Vancouver, and because Sunday was the target day for departure, the end of my stay in Portland began when I awoke later that morning...

9/12: Portland- Aborting My Inner Redneck

For context sake, it may be important to elaborate on the progression of my friendships with Andre and Cody. Saturday afternoon, Andre expressed something I found quite remarkable; I had made an indelible impression by simply offering an arm to help him of the boat! I had never consciously thought about it; that's what (I thought) people... just do. Apparently not. He shared that there are people who after realizing he is sick, refuse to touch him. This immediately reminded me of Dennis and the damage done to him by thoughtless, mindless cruelty. Andre is attune to the little things in people and, in his words, this showed him much. He was also, again in his words, impressed by the fact that I had shown a degree of genuine empathy & concern; asking questions and showing compassion in what he was going through. Again, this is something that an extraordinary percentage of people apparently avoid, presumably out of discomfort with the topic of mortality. I took this a step further, solely inferring that he was likely aware of the vultures circling overhead, hoping to profit from his demise. A bit of authenticity was probably a breath of fresh air.

The two of us had lightly tinkered with both the metaphysical and spirituality topics, and I had commented each time that we seemed to be nearly on the exact same page. Andre was HUGE on the now-familiar idea of "presence." Remaining focused on where you are, in the moment, rather than where you once were or may be going. The regular, emphatic reminders to "stay present!" were appreciated. They took me back to The Dalles, and showed in real-time how remaining present that particular morning was still paying huge dividends. Andre and I happen to share the same birthday, 9/19, and since he has a strong interest in astrology, loved to point out that we're both Virgos; meaning we're intellectual pricks who are difficult to argue with. Fair enough! Also, Andre was very concerned about the proper use of language, repeating, "words are important!" often and reminding me that this was a concept I held dear. Saying precisely what you mean is key to truthfully conveying thoughts, feelings, and ideas. "Call each thing by its proper name." And, it can be difficult. English has its limitations! As the weekend went into full swing, these commonalities began to break through a thin shell, and this early Sunday morning would see it's eruption. But, not without some tension. Can we say, drama?

Shortly after we returned, my mood had poignantly drifted off to an odd, peculiar, and unpleasant place. I had been pondering Andre's idea of replacing the teeth, and there was something about it that bothered me. And, the fact that it bothered me... bothered me! I was also getting a bit antsy to see where this little sub-adventure was going, and while struggling to stay present, I was not in the mood to be reminded of it! With another of these reminders, Andre added the footnote that I was putting off an "agitated energy," and asked why as we settled in to the living room. I admitted that I was a bit perturbed, but assured him that it had nothing to do with him. I was rather argumentative, combative even, as Andre perceptively warned Cody away from a verbal spar with me, explaining that "as a Virgo," I would systematically dismantle him, and not be gentle about it! From there, Andre did me a favor and began himself to challenge my verbal and mental limits, getting me out of my own head and onto my treasured playing field. At the same time, he was studying rather I accurately parsed phrases, and if I identified his clever little argumentative fallacies. When I realized this, I rudely pointed out that I was NOT Cody, warning Andre, "I'm a bit more formidable than him!" He laughed, agreed, then continued on taking joy in our little exchange, as did I. My mental state thankfully went from agitation to focus, and I got the impression that he was starved for a little competition.

Lauren herself seemed to enjoy watching Andre and I playfully go back and forth. She resonated on a frequency close to Chris, Steve, Andre, and I, but didn't realize it. That frequency is something Chris and I have become sensitive to receiving; I like to say I can "smell" it. Lauren seemed, to me, to be slightly lost and conflicted; cut off from herself and even remarking that no one sees the "real" her. But when she tuned in, that resonance just flowed! There had been a slight connection between us from the beginning, but she acted astounded... again... when I displayed some degree of a developed intellect! My healthy ego got a boost out when she declared, "Todd, you're really fucking smart!" Uneducated Todd's ego likes it when college grads proclaim his genius. Cody? He... did not seem so thrilled!

Our playful banter was the prelude to serious discussions, but as the chat developed, Cody degenerated into what resembled a sensitive child feeling left alone in his crib, metaphorically jumping up and down while screaming, "HEY Lookee MEEE!" Since I had known him, Cody had intermittently displayed the maddening habit of lobbing infantile non sequiturs into serious conversations. For example, when Andre would mention presence, Cody would respond with how he "loved getting high." Or "chasing tail." How Andre's neighbor was hot. Hey, when was the trip to Vancouver beginning? Or, how Andre needed to buy him an accessory for his new I-Touch. It was interesting to glance at Lauren after these little verbal twitches. The two had developed a bond, but there appeared to be an unspoken, subtle conflict as to how to deal with this periodic Cody Dichotomy. For me, however, patience is not yet a strength. Especially this night! His intellectual farts drove me to, then beyond the border of Batshitsylvania! My tolerance for Romper Room evaporated when we finally broached the topics that I had hoped to explore with Andre, and even Lauren. I dropped a few direct hints as that "line" quickly came in to sight, trying to keep it light, but at Cody's final attempt to nuke this talk, my passport was stamped. I snapped.

I was suddenly infuriated, and don't remember exactly what he or I said, but my contribution was likely loud, and something to the effect of, "Why don't you just shut the fuck up if you have nothing to say?" I had challenged Tarzan's manhood in front of Jane. Sitting next to him on the couch and in an adrenaline filled/ alpha male state, I then acutely eyed how Cody, who had been so full of bravado to that point, reacted. He was more than a decade younger, had 50 pounds on me, and had the woman he was wooing watching from across the coffee table! This... was not the smartest thing I have ever done! But, from the start I had sniffed out and identified an insecurity in him, and instinctively knew that I had an advantage. He would probably snarl, growl, timidly show his teeth... then whimper and put his tail between his legs. After a few exploratory, pride-driven barks that I returned each time with an increasingly and authentically enraged Shut the fuck up!, that's exactly what happened. And, thank God!

Inner Redneck conceived........ Inner Redneck aborted!

For now, and with a little help anyhow.

Andre watched this brief exchange with what resembled an odd, annoyed amusement. He didn't bother to intervene, nor did Lauren, who was stunned by the sudden intensity in the room. They quickly resumed chatting, while we sat quietly on the couch and I tried to deal with a sudden overdose of adrenaline. My heart was pounding, I couldn't catch my breath, and was actually shaking a bit; never good signs for me. I didn't realize how angry I had actually become! As I calmed, I could finally see the reality of the situation... and felt like an ass. Maybe on some rationalized level I was technically justified, but this was a perfect, undeniable example of one of my greatest, lingering shortcomings: intolerance. Cody after all is just 21, and actually light years ahead of where I was at his age. I all too often lose sight that people are at different points in their own lives, and fighting their own battles. Center of the Universe, anyone? Amazing how versatile that simple little idea has become! I quickly apologized to Cody, and meant it. He returned it, and we moved on.

To be fair, Cody has a ton going for him. I like Cody, but then again so does everyone, and that's engineered. He's a good looking, charismatic, smart kid who seems to face the familiar battles, but on the surface seems to spend little time on the plane of introspection. In retrospect, my intensifying frustration was actually a backhanded compliment, stemming from rare, but remarkably insightful comments that were borne from his experience. It seemed a pity that most of the time he prefers a place at Puberty's Brothel, and uses his looks and personality to manipulate and snake-charm folks into making him the center of attention. My radio days exposed me to innumerable attention-addicts; I can smell them out in a minute. It took about 10 seconds to see this interactive dynamic with Cody & Andre, one Andre enjoyed. As a rule, those who are the most "charming" usually have the greatest need for your approval; perfected charm is poorly concealed insecurity. However, and to Andre's credit, I had overheard comments on the boat earlier that implied Andre not only understood this perfectly, but enjoyed encouraging Cody's role as court jester.

Not long after, Cody and Lauren were off to bed, leaving Andre and I alone in the living room. It was probably 2am, but I was primed. With one simple question, we were off and running a marathon. It was time for us to get to know each other, and for me to figure out why I was here. Andre could not for the life of him comprehend what I was doing. He assumed that I was looking for something specific "out here" and for the 50th time asked me, "What do you want?"...