Santa Fe: Watching the Wheels

People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing,
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin,
When I say that I'm o.k. they look at me kind of strange,
Surely your not happy now you no longer play the game,

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell that I'm doing Fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?

A Christmas Eve Mea Culpa

How's that for dramatic? To a degree, it's accurate but honestly I just wanted to use the cool title. In honor of the birth of Our Redeemer, I've decided to eliminate the full display of the f-word. For today and tomorrow, f*** will be presented as f***. Happy birthday, Jesus!

This was supposed to be a venom-filled rant tearing into some of the most basic of human weaknesses. I would like to say, "Christmas Eve is not the time for such things; I've been filled with the Holy Spirit!" That would be a disingenuous feces-filled crock, although I concede that today is hardly the day to crucify anyone! Verbally or otherwise. I shant be doing much of that, but will offer a bit of some personal, clarifying insight into what's been happening with me over the last few months- it may or may not surprise you. What will surprise you is what made me realize it!

It would appear that these concepts of self-delusions and "faking beliefs" to fit a purpose have been much more powerful than I realized. It's inadvertently forced me to take another near-complete personal inventory, to "borrow" again from A.A. I've mentioned often that I've pummeled myself as much as Andre, Wendie, Chris, or anyone. It would appear, however, that I've been hammering away not only at me and my ego, but at the very foundation of my core-beliefs and looking for weaknesses. I was trying to actually CREATE then FIND fractures-of-inconsistency not only by provoking others, but... myself. I must fascinate the mental health community! But, it's necessary. It bears fruit. What you've seen over the last 100 days is a public evolution!

The amusing part of this is how the simplest of things provided the proper perspective to see all of this from the inside. I was wrangling and trying to reconcile my agreement with Alison's violent rejection of "everything happening for a reason." A few scant months ago, this was a primary fundamental; synchronicity etc. Meanwhile, via the creepy-wonderment that is Facebook, I was reunited with a HS classmate, Jennifer, who commented on that post; on this very topic. In a flurry of thought, I realized that based on what she had read, she probably had NO idea that we were likely in near agreement on this. It was then thrown into momentarily crystal-clear focus exactly where I had ventured since returning to Santa Fe in September. I was continuing on a grand scale (and publicly) something I've done a hundred times in my journals over the last 5-years: subjecting my ideas and beliefs to brutal beatings to see if they'd survive... or if I was just full of shit. As Chris so eloquently put it, I was "beating the f**k out of myself." Guilty. Not surprisingly, Chris is also of the opinion that I should be easier on myself (and by extension others).

Not surprisingly, I told him to go f**k himself. (Kidding. Or am I?)

So here's mea maxima culpa quod explicatus: If you've yet to notice, I tend to be a bit unforgiving & impatient of those searching for, or walking the path I have perhaps already stumbled! My frustration (and anger) is born out of legitimate concern and love for people, believe it or not. I wasted too much time assuming "someone or something would show me the way" before realizing I was the one I was waiting for. So, realizing that, I have what I consider a gift I desperately want to give to myself 15-years ago! But, after digging thru my journals I was reminded of some things I learned a long time ago, and had apparently neglected to remember:

“Wisdom is not communicable. The wisdom which a wise man tries to communicate always sounds foolish... Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.”

"When someone is seeking ... it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking; that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything ... because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal."

And my favorite: "The deity is within you, not in ideas and books. Truth is lived, not taught." -Hermann Hesse

In short: Sit the f**k down, and shut the f**k up! Sound familiar?


Before I'm accused of backtracking, bite your tongue! Nothing would be further from the truth. Self-delusions are a peculiar human epidemic, but alas: perhaps they must be for the vast majority of people. We're born, bred, and die immersed in illusion. If you don't believe that, imagine a year-long power failure. In this presentation, comfort & illusion are what keeps most of us sane; from contemplating the reality of mental/ societal slavery. Huxley's SOMA, or Cypher's Matrix. Take your pick, but people...

"given the choice, will select entertainment... over information; citizens will prefer to have someone else handle the responsibility for their lives rather than face the burdens...; we will willingly choose slavery over freedom. Political and intellectual slavery are noting more than accepting the security provided by a benevolent authority." -Donald N. Wood Post-intellectualism and the Decline of Democracy p. 211

This is a quote that when I first read and contemplated it rattled me out of my progressive stupor. That being said, it's vital to understand one simple thing: I've not been intentionally attacking man-en-mass. My method is to attack ideas. The manipulation of truth/ self-delusion is an idea that is, unfortunately, attached directly to the individual; identifiable on an individual level. Identifiable in each-and-every one of us if we look hard enough. (Notice I didn't say "long enough"; it's there right now!) I used my previously futile attempts to quit smoking, and how the identification of them helped me to quit last month in order to illustrate it in myself. I could use many more over the last few years. In fact, I already have. Those on the email list already know, after 14-emails, what I'm talking about! I'll elaborate for the rest at the end, but if you look to the right side under archives, you'll see "2006" has appeared. So shall 2004, 2005, and 2007 very soon. Wendie (for me) and Andre in particular were powerful examples but, unfortunately, so am I. In fact, I'm living in a town I despise because of these self-delusions! Allow me over time to illustrate.

All of this probably wont mean much to my pathetic blob o' blogosphere. It's an egotistical waste of time to "try" to educate people. It's arrogance to believe you can intentionally instigate a Magical March to "Enlightenment." Why am I doing this then? That's a good fu****g question! It's alot of work! But, I've found my "voice"; it's just something... I... must... do. Like departing in the first place: it just must be done. That's the one thing I've written that will make artsy douchebags smile! Don't get cocky hippie; that ain't an opening.

Once I add a bit more to "2007," you'll get more of a clear understanding of what I mean by "voice." I'm not referring to the Moody Blues song The Voice or the internal compass I've repeatedly referred to. This time, I mean the message that some people feel compelled to convey. Comedians struggle to find theirs, as do radio-folk. I never quite got there consistently while behind a microphone. I had access to the ideas, passion and fire, but never had the proper, comfortable venue. It's hard to talk seriously about the illusions of life between live-reads for Bob's Used Car Palace and Connie's Fecal Art Emporium. Capiche? That voice is something I've been struggling to harness for a long time but as Herr Hesse just pointed out, my voice needed me to just let go. Again, one of those things that are likely to sound like jibberish unless you have a frame of reference.

That's been my week. How's yours been?

Tomorrow's Christmas, and I have a gift for all of you! This 100-days has ended. No more Don Quixote. No more self-delusion. The topic may come up again later of course, but now it's time to turn my head to what lies ahead, and there are some grand things! Shalain & I are going to Boise for New Year's to meet my "new" sisters, Lynette & Shelly, and my nieces and nephews. (Not sure if Dave's kids consider me an uncle... but to hell with it... I'm lumping them in!) Shelly's flying in from Ohio for the holidays, so we figured this was a ready-made opportunity to introduce everyone. Just as important to me: it's symbolically fitting! Considering what 2009 was, ending it and kicking off a new decade with Lynette & Shelly is perfect and needs to be done if at all possible. I'll write more on this after Christmas.

Is it me, or does he look like Val Kilmer c. The Doors?

After Boise, I'm literally days or weeks away from setting off again, this time for the ENTIRE YEAR 2010! Thanks to Katie, several Craigslist bargain hunters, and eliminating cigarettes, I've figured out how to budget from January thru December. Details are slow in coming, but I'm steadily zeroing in on a departure date, likely the middle of January but possibly sooner depending on how things go in Idaho.

Let me know if any unaltered f-bombs snuck through....

The Big Quit

With everything I've written and said about Don Quixote and a commitment to self-honesty, an ironic thing happened. With all my scathing self-righteousness, I quickly became further disgusted with myself in one area in particular. Smoking. Specifically, the empty talk and proclamations that I was "gonna quit." "Gonna" seeming to always be the operative word, rather than "quit." Words are importa... (Shut up Andre. We get it.)

Always "gonna." When might that be? Was I waiting for C.O.P.D.? Perhaps deep down I enjoyed spending $10 for a pack in New York City? No. I even managed to convince myself upon leaving Bash Bish State Park that I just "wanted" a cigarette... after "patching-up" and going 24-hours without one. "Well, no shit you wanted one, fool! You're an addict!" With my new-found focus on "self-delusional awareness" I could now say for certain that this and every other excuse was utter bullshit. Not that it took a genius to figure it out; I still remember Chris's smug look of amusement.

The final insult to injury... literally... was in Boise, and it happened to be photographed. My 16-year old nephew, Ben, and I somehow got into a friendly wrestling match, while it's essential to stress that I did NOT lose, at the end of it all, I was on the verge of cardiac arrest! Not only was I unable to breathe, while I had him pinned on to the floor, (despite what you may hear otherwise, he WAS pinned- squirming futilely, not unlike a roped steer), I literally felt ALL of the energy in my body drain out through my feet! What the hell is that? That, and the fact that even in my emaciated state I still had him by 10-15 pounds... and struggled due to poor conditioning... was a cold smack in the face. I told Lynette or Dave, right there, (after 10-minutes of loud wheezing) that this was it. I WAS quitting. I got the same look I received from both Ben & Brad in Ohio, when I told them I'd be hitching to Boise to see them ("yeah, right!"), and I still remember Chris's smug look of continuing amusement.

When November began, so had a plan. It was time to just shut up or do it. I've tried to quit several times using the gum (nearly had a heart-attack after chomping on it for an hour... not realizing that's a no-no!) and the free-patches. The only things that have worked? Boot camp and a well-timed case of the flu. Taking cigs out of the equation. The flu immediately followed my aborted bicycle tour and for reasons similar to Ben, except detailed biking my then 190-pound ass and my 85-pound bike/ gear up Colorado mountainsides. Another story for another time, but that quit lasted for a month or two, then found me progressively smoking "one or two" more-and-more, until I finally gave up upon our return to New Mexico to play "radio" with Skippy the Super Douche.

I've regretted re-starting since that job ended, but nicotine's a motherfucker. People who have never been addicted think it's so simple, and when they say, "Just don't LIGHT them!" I wanted to inflict harm. If only it were that easy. It becomes a significant part of your psyche; part of who you are; especially after 23-years. (Yes, Einstein, I'm saying I was 6. This isn't math class; keep reading.) Even when you quit, it can be like losing a good friend, and that "urge" to smoke never really goes away although it does become manageable. It's like a mental scar; a lifelong rude reminder, and that's what the urges eventually become: persistent reminders of how powerful nicotine really is. The brain reacts in much the same way it reacts to heroin, and that's why people will continue to smoke while hooked up to ventilators, knowing full well that it WILL kill them if they don't quit. Some people would rather smoke than live. Or, perhaps it's better to say they would rather die than quit. Either way, it IS that powerful.

I knew ALL of this going in, and to my credit had been gathering weapons to add to the arsenal when/if the time came. During our time in Michigan this June, I talked with Brian about the prescription drug Chantix, since he had quit two-years before and raved about how it had worked for him, despite still living with a smoker. Having been he and Joey's roommate for nearly a year, after first working with him, I know how he loved his cigarettes! When he described how the drug works, it made sense. It simply blocks the receptors nicotine uses in the brain, while triggering a tiny stream of dopamine. Dopamine's the chemical the brain produces, in massive quantities, when you're smoke or drink (among other things.) Its effect is a sense of euphoria so addicting that lab rats will literally starve themselves to death if dopamine is an alternative to food. They would rather die than quit. Dopamine's fascinating, and there's a reason NO A.A. meeting is ever likely to be smoke-free.

Chantix may be a wonder-drug, but it is also expensive as hell! One requiring a prescription, which meant an out-of-pocket doctor's visit; the Vagabond, Inc. HMO ... is a bit thin on coverage! This is where October and these notions of self-delusion, became a powerful and ultimately continuing & essential asset. Plus, seeing the cost, playtime was over! I was forced to ask myself IF I wanted to quit at all, and if so, why I hadn't quit yet. The flimsy excuses were no longer working because I knew they were excuses. Funny thing about self-awareness: it's not always convenient. On that Tuesday 11/3, in a moment of motivation, bravado & haste, I called the office Joe had suggested and luckily got an appointment for that Friday, 11/6. That was the first big step but the smokes were far from done with me, and how clever they can be!

The next day I found a laptop of Craigslist. A brand-new HP "desktop replacement!" 4GB RAM! Upgradeable to 8GB! Dual Core Processor! Windows 7! 17" screen! It.. was... fucking... perfect! It even came with the receipt, so if I wanted a different one I could return it; the last computer I'd need for years and would cost more than $200 less than it was new! I sent an email, offering $100 less than he was asking, thinking there's NO way he'd bite. He bit. There was no way I could afford to get both the laptop AND the Chantix, so I quickly rationalized that if I spent the money on the laptop, it would force me to quit smoking on my own! THAT surely would be better for me! It would teach me something and Pfizer would get none of MY money! I quickly agreed with my inner Rationalist, and at 6pm that very evening I picked up my shiny, spiffy new laptop. It WAS perfect.

It was re-sold the next morning.

Shortly after picking it up I came to realize what I had done. I had created my own little delusion; my own special narrative. I knew damn well that if I canceled that doctor's appointment I'd still be puffing away come July... still talking about how I'm "gonna" quit. When I realized what I was doing, I literally told myself to shut the fuck up. It's a bizarre feeling to be disgusted with the outdated and antiquated voice-of-habit- in your own head! I wanted the laptop, was afraid of what it would take to actually quit, and the computer was my habitual excuse to avoid it. Simple. Disgusting. But, a glorious sight to behold from an outside perspective!

I immediately called Shalain to see if her co-worker was still looking for a computer. She quickly called back to say that Katie, the woman I had been house-sitting for, wanted one and asked me to bring it in to show her. She liked it (of course... it WAS perfect!), and that night I had recouped exactly what I had paid, losing nothing yet gaining some invaluable insight in the process... and into myself for once. That theme would continue.

I was a bit concerned about getting the prescription that Friday morning, and felt a little dirty about "asking my doctor if Chantix was right for me." I haven't been to a doctor in at least 15-years (probably much longer) and was NOT eager to take part in the drug-dealer charade. Plus, the cost was ridiculous considering what she was doing: asking & answering questions then writing a prescription. The process was painless and before I knew it I had my coveted salvation drug. I later chatted with Brian & Fast Joe (he used to work for Pfizer) saying thanks and asking more questions about the drug and its creepy "Quit taking Chantix IF..." laundry list. I laughed realizing that the drug's side-effects sounded awfully similar to nicotine withdrawal! How the fuck would you know if the drug's making you psychotic... or it's the jonesing for a smoke?!? Silly Pfizer.

The morning/ night regimen started that Friday, 11/6. You continue smoking through the first week, supposedly to let the drug build up in your system, but I noticed effects almost immediately. First, the almost metallic taste to the smoke. Plus, I was smoking like a chimney; not getting my usual buzz. That Sunday, I felt what were later seen to be my first withdrawal symptoms, despite still smoking... albeit less. The symptoms? I was a raging prick. Unpleasant? Sure. Expected? Absolutely. A general change in demeanor? Not likely. That theme would continue.

Luckily, Katie and her husband had unexpectedly needed to return to California again, so I had another week house-sitting; one that coincided perfectly with the quit. My first dosage increase was Monday, and early Tuesday I noticed (and later in the day finally identified... with an ironic laugh) more severe withdrawals. The identification was hindered, again, by the fact I was still smoking, and a bit freaked-out by the "You may go apeshit!" warnings from Pfizer! I wasn't going apeshit; I was withdrawing. The drug was obviously doing its job, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it now. Even if I chain smoked, it wouldn't matter. After I came to understand what was happening that was a HUGE help. The gun's chamber was all but empty.

The rest of the week at Katie's was calm, quiet, and boring. I played on her (what had been my) laptop most of the time, and ate. I began to count my cigs, and had gone from 12-18 down to 3-4 a day, and they were simply out of habit. A persistent habit. On Brian's advice, I signed up for the online "Get Quit" program that's part of the purchase, and as my (their) quit date approached with Friday, the fact that this was real began to set in. I knew damn well I wasn't quitting Friday, and didn't bother to try. It was as though I knew a friend was leaving, never coming back, and I wanted another day with my pal of 23-years! You may surely laugh, but I'm not kidding!

Saturday was my quit date, and after dumping the rest of my loose-leaf tobacco in the toilet with much fanfare Friday night, I did well on Saturday while somehow failing miserably at the same time. I decided to drag Shalain to go see 2012, both out of a perverse interest in seeing the world end and killing 3-hours in a place I couldn't smoke. However, the movie had sold-out. This was the day after my final dosage increase, so I was predictably menstrual. Being pissed off at the sell-out quickly escalated into just being pissed off at Santa Fe in general, then to anyone who looked in my general direction, which led onto "The Fuck It Express": smoking the final pack, which had been left at the house when I went to Katies. No one said this would be "easy" even with the drug; this was a sucker-punch in the gut to remind me.

Lighting the first cigarette on that Saturday evening was accompanied by an old, familiar, exiled and unwanted friend: shameful self-loathing and disappointment. This time however, the awareness of the delusion & the narrative went to work. I was actually able to identify something very important, and something that should serve me for a very long time: The old-habit of escaping into excuse filled self-destruction when internally things inevitably become too challenging. There were similarities between this moment and buying the computer earlier in the week: the flight instinct. This was an intensely interesting moment because it was old, even archaic THINKING at work, something I thought I had sequestered securely away, only to witness it again on full display: naked! Like picking up a cigarette was a nagging habit, so was this mental reflex. I could see it, but didn't fight to stop it. I absorbed it, felt it, and focused on what had happened and what running to that cigarette meant. I smoked that cigarette with quite a cranky scowl, and likely would have kicked a midget had one been handy.

I smoked normally the rest of Saturday night. At about 11:00, I was ready for bed and had a decision to make. By then, I'd had the time to process everything that happened throughout the course of the day and could clearly see, now, that just knowing the tobacco was at the house had given me all I needed to first fabricate, and then direct my little drama all the way from "Sold-Out" to "The Fuck It Express." Self-serving delusions? Alive & well in Santa Fe. I was right in my Quixote assessments. We will conjure up anything to fit the narrative! But realizing that and fighting them in reality is like fighting the ego: a constant battle only made possible (far from "made easy") by awareness. Knowing this, it was time to ask myself a very simple question: "Todd, are you going to keep finding excuses to smoke despite the fact that, if you do, it will kill you?" With that, the cigarettes were no longer killing me. I was. The nicotine was no longer the villainous foundation of my own self-destruction. I was. I finally owned it.

I stepped outside, had one final cigarette, and with NO fanfare then silently and alone dumped the rest of the full pouch into the fire. There was no sense of grandiose euphoria. There were no accolades or self-congratulation. I just sat there, watched the tobacco and the package symbolically burn away, and went to bed.

I haven't smoked since.

The first day, 11/15, was of course the hardest but also the most rewarding. All the ready-made excuses went out the window with the first full-day then again, and more so, with the first week. Shalain and I finally succeeded in seeing 2012 in all its apocalyptic glory on Day 1 which helped immensely, as did the unwavering support she offered throughout- despite dealing with an often-cantankerous prick. I can't overstate how important it was to have someone to talk to! Later in the week, I discovered that there were a plethora of things that kept me distracted. Writing for one. Imagine that! I managed to physically write more in that first 10-days than I had combined since February. The urges to smoke were still there but, again, I made an effort to own rather than avoid them, and it's worked. They've steadily decreased in frequency & intensity, and are now little more than pesky reminders. There was such an incredible surge in energy after a few days (when the carbon monoxide was gone), that I actually started running... and I hate running! It almost killed me the first day, but has gotten easier as my lungs and heart have been recovering. I just feel... better, and it's nice not to spend money on those things.

I know it's been only 19-days at the time of this writing. I also realize... it's been 19-fucking days! Those who know me know exactly what I mean! What's important is that the nicotine addiction is gone taking with it any real excuses to smoke. The mental scars, the reminders, will always be there to some degree. Looking back, I have the mistakes I made with my '06 quit to learn from: allowing myself the (at-first) occasional cigarette. Looking forward, it's in my hands and the decisions I make. The addiction's been contained, so there are no more excuses other than compulsiveness, self-destruction, or plain & simple stupidity.

I guess I was "gonna" quit after all. "When might that be?": November 15, 2009. This, partnered with the powerful self-assistance from these introspective "October Rants" has once again provided me with a powerful new tool in dealing with these oft-problematic Quixotisms: Self-experience making tangible an organic yet, until then, only abstract theory.

As in August, this apparent "down-time" where I often appear lost in "idle reflection" and engaged in (as Chris called it) "cave thinking" rather than seeking out adventure and treasure in far-off lands, has begun paying real dividends, beyond the imaginary, anecdotal trips to band-camp.


Oh, as for the nagging thoughts of hubris and/or arrogance? Label me what you like, but it's only hubris if I'm wrong.

Don Quixote Re-Visited

I spent a good part of October and early November rabidly questioning rather I have simply "Quixoted" my experiences and the ideas I follow, ultimately finding myself hyper-sensitive to indications that either Chris or I, ourselves, are diluted. The answers, for myself at least, were quite quick and simple: I didn't go looking for any of this. It found me. And, when I finally mustered the courage to step out, I actually foresaw myself wandering around in the desert or mountains like a wannabe Survivorman! On 5/21/08, as I stepped away from Jackson Lake State Park, I was naively thinking mostly survivalist & "becoming money-free" thoughts.

That began to silently change for good in Fort Morgan first with Richard, then Dennis and our now-infamous ride across the Rockies. I was looking for neither a ride, experience, a "lesson," or... anything. My mind was blank; I just went with it:

...I decided to ride it out, and see where it took me. Part of the journey... part of the story... blah... blah...I think I'm going to look back on that as a significant moment. We'll see.

-5/24/08: "The Road Has Always Led West"

And, see I did. The experience followed, the "lessons" became more apparent later with the benefit of perspective, and most importantly were growing organically FROM these encounters. I applied no preconceived notion to fit them within a tenuous point-of-view, in fact the P.O.V. was amended to "Work in Progress," and some of this from Day #3 will sound very familiar. It's been the consistent foundation beneath nearly every idea:

... the [awareness of] serendipity kicked in. I figured out why he picked me up, and then had a pretty good idea why I was now heading west... Again, the conversation- as with the night before with Richard- centered on finding answers within yourself rather than Pink Floyd's "someone or something to show you the way"; or Leonard Cohen's "Waiting for the Miracle": "... The idea's getting clearer.

-5/24/08: "The Road Has Always Led West"

On some level, I was immediately shown that I had been looking in the wrong direction both on the map & in my mind; I started under the wrong impression as to what this odyssey was about, or that I could even know what that was. Any credit I deserve from that point forward centers on that initial ability to depersonalize the mistake, and let the odyssey define itself, which it did almost immediately... with Richard and especially Dennis... although I wouldn't see to what extent for over a year.

“Do you want to know who you are? Don't ask. Act! Action will delineate and define you.”

That first few days was my first cold reminder of a hard-learned lesson; one savagely beaten into my own skull before I had left. All the mental masturbation I can muster is useless without the test-of-action. Action that must consist of an unattached AND unbiased scrutiny of your own actions and ideas. This is one of the few places that outside help is useful, but honest scrutiny, regardless of whom it's from, can only come through a clear lens. One of clarity, application, experience, perspective, and truth. It's applying the scientific method to yourself and it must be done without a personal, sentimental, egoistic attachment to your original thesis or, worse, your "work of art." Otherwise, why bother? Maybe a fantasy novel would better suit.

Rather than being the painter of some intellectual, rebellious "personal truth," I was suddenly struggling to hang on as the lone passenger aboard this rudderless "Raft on a River," bobbing toward "truth" without a paddle and subjugating myself to the role of the observant passenger gawking at the landscape.

All this in the first week. I wish I had put more into the writing. Talk about a mind-fuck!

Chris & I later described it as the "Sidecar," and this is where I consistently meet the most incredible people. Dennis. Cesar. Pat. Ciel. Ken. Pastor Snake. Randleman. Leslie. Joel. Don. Andre. Every single time, I've been in the passenger- state, and have long since, with a few exceptions such as Michigan, tried to remain there. At times I've succeed; at times I haven't. At its best, I am completely unaware of the process! I believe this state of just being has many names, and the one that comes to mind is that which Brian provided: Flow. It's fundamentally impossible to achieve with the ego at the wheel.

Beyond Richard & Dennis, there are other examples of unexpected twists-and-wrinkles that have guided me in directions I otherwise would have purposely avoided. The most remarkable event (confined to '08) as it turned out was this little town in North Carolina. Randleman. Home of Richard Petty. This is one of the more remarkable examples of synchronicity, and odd in that it was the final event of the summer, setting the table nicely for much of 2009. I never intended to go to Asheboro and was taken there, if you recall, by a Guatemalan who spoke little English. I thought he was taking me toward Raleigh! Asheboro (then Randleman) itself turned out to be one of those Sit Down & Shut Up moments, and through sheer unexpected chance and freewill, I found myself with these Motley Crue Christians.

I was absolutely NOT seeking out any sort of spiritual insight! On the contrary. I have an aversion to religion, and avoid their gatherings like the plague. But, this one was different, and through the process of patience, intuition, and freewill, I was handed the seeds that would sprout into some remarkably powerful insights and ideas, and broaden my applicable perspective immensely.

Help me out here if you can, but I'm struggling to see where I have subconsciously engineered this. I'm NOT that clever!

Early 2009 was much the same idea, but the theme had changed. With Chris and I traveling together, ideas were much easier to exchange and develop, but we were also mirroring each other and struggling to soothe our powerful, egoistic identities. That, in and of-itself, was the "lesson" of the east coast while, as mentioned in the previous post, June in Michigan was the culmination of decades spent battling an identity-crisis.

More importantly, June was also the most extreme "test" of my personal armor, and I was confronting frightening demons with a sword I had personally forged. That took an amount of courage that I was surprised I possessed. However, I later realized that there was something more important in-play than the risk of hurt feeling and a bruised ego: knowing. Knowing the truth about this "mythical family" so I could draw accurate conclusions; ones based on fact and battle-tested experience. Excalibur and the armor held- with the help of recognizing something more important than myself.

I believe this says much about what I believe, and my steadily intensifying-intolerance for the excuse-making relativists: Reality Escape Artists. I myself am partially responsible for the time it took to meet Shelly, Lynette, and Mike. Partially out of cowardice, rather than "act," I deferred responsibility by offering every variety of excuse explaining The Hens peculiar behavior over those 15-years, and why they kept quiet. I knew all along, but continued deferring with, "Maybe..." this. "Maybe..." that. While in Michigan, I heard many more "Maybes" from many other sources. Through a little controlled confrontation, I offered the opportunity for the Escapist View to prevail. They were dead wrong. As was I for a decade-and-a-half.

Fear, and an abdication of responsibility through victimization while conveniently clinging to Utopian hope were my greatest failings. When deferring responsibility through externalized "hope" fails and becomes a crumbling crutch, one has to attack the responsibility for examining and dealing with raw-reality themselves... or take the initiative to immediately shut the fuck up and accept what comes with submission. This may appear to be a reference to June, but in retrospect it's been something that I've applied in more situations than I was aware.

"The trouble with self-delusion, either in a person or a society, is that reality doesn't care what anybody believes, or what story they put out. Reality doesn't "spin." Reality does not have a self-image problem. Reality does not yield its workings to self-esteem management."

I violently disagree with the notion that truth is subject to the whims of your ego. Since I've returned to Santa Fe, repeatedly reflecting on these nagging ideas has pushed me over an important threshold. I am moving quickly into a room filled with a rude, abrasive bitch named Personal Responsibility, and away from the escapist fairie tale telling that "The Fates" are so preoccupied and impressed with me, that they only live to teach precious me a lesson-a-minute from their classic: The Magical Book of the Mystically Mundane. No, I suspect we're required to at least occasionally learn without intervention from The Gods.

Fate and Karma are no man's bitch, as I've said many times. They will not be "forced into action" by disguised, self-serving egoistic action, no matter how eloquently they're spun and presented. We were given freewill and the ability to make decisions regarding our instincts for a reason. Yet, if we choose to relinquish our common sense or submit to compulsions thinly veiled by an overbearing, creative ego's voodoo linguistics, succumb to a self-centered and overzealous mysticism, or ignore common sense all together? Well, this isn't a first-class safari trip. To the extreme, the consequences can be as mocking, harsh, and unforgiving as any of the other brutal laws dictated by Mother Nature. Ask Chris McCandless.

“Don't talk about what you have done or what you are going to do”

I've also finally come to terms with my growing disinterest and shrinking sympathy for the hypnotized masses and my seemingly rude, expanding unwillingness to suffer and/ or encourage repeated rationalization by the self-diluted; those who are more concerned with protecting their comfortable, contrived narrative than knowing even a taste of Cold Truth. They are the modern-day descendants of Don Quixote, and the new objects of my attention.

Often, they are the ones trying to figure out a way to impress you with their past exploits or grandiose plans for the future. I've admittedly been guilty of the latter in particular. It's as though empty, shallow anecdotes of days past or proclamations of days to come reflect on who they are today! Only the egotist needs to display who they once were or who they "will be" tomorrow. They've yet to figure out that "You" are not the road you've traveled, nor is the future guaranteed. "You" are the patch of road you occupy NOW. If they're not sharing a particular experience by request, to entertain, or as an effective comparison to what's in the present, I inevitably hear, "This one time at band camp..."

Does this mean you automatically write these folks off forever? That's up to you, but people evolve until they're dead. And, the actual work needs to be done alone in dark solitude. Beyond sharing ideas, it's useless to try to "educate" or "save" someone, and it's ego of the worst kind to believe you can, or worse: should.

To believe you're special brand of wisdom and eloquence are capable of changing a man's heart for them may be the height of arrogance, and a lust for control. None of us have the right to deprive a man's personal path from him. On the other hand, offering tools or maps, for him to decide rather or not to use, may be the height of charity, and puts the responsibility squarely where it belongs: on the individual.

Finally, there is an important distinction I want to make and be VERY clear about: I have no interest in criticizing or condescending to the man living a life of luxury- while holding no airs of righteous superiority. I can respect the most vile capitalist if he has thought about, and is genuinely happy with where he is; not pretending to be a credit to humanity or Arm of God.

At the end, the successful life is the one that was happy, content, and fulfilled. If wealth and material possessions REALLY grant you that, consider yourself a rarity & have at it. It's the hypocrites, spending all day on the corner displaying a faux-erudition and righteousness, that I refuse to stomach; the trust-fund babies preaching poverty as if on-cue while returning home to the gated community; the sex-addicted priest preaching the villainy of adultery; the naive puppet taking the touristy, guided volunteer "field trip to a poor place," then claiming they have experienced and understand famine and oppression. Fuck... you.

What we fill our own private-minds with is fascinating! As long as it's comfortable (or at least familiar), it's usually welcome. Factual? Who fucking cares! It's easier to digest! However, recognizing this, like recognizing and engaging the ego in combat, is at first difficult, then empowering! And, I don't mean the "burn your bra" brand of empowering. It can help provide a bit of mastery over your habits, emotions, and ego, as well as helping to bring into the open these little narratives we all create in our minds. In short, it's the ability to stop bullshitting yourself, and I'm finally going to use myself as the prop again!

As November began, I was starting to realize and take notice of where I still needed work on this. There are a few examples, but one that was pathetic and obvious.

Cigarettes.

Don Quixote & Other Winter Rantings

Prelude: Portions of this will look VERY familiar to a few of you; particularly those on my email list. It's a work-in-progress that, originally, began as part of the 9/19 post. I quickly retracted when I realized that this Quixote idea was going to have enormously long legs and run far... even up my own leg! Much of this was written in early- mid October. It's been edited, re-edited, and will likely change again in the near future as I add and condense ideas. When I'm relatively certain it's done, I'll add it to the link-bar at the top. While it's sure to offend some and disquiet others, as it should, it's by no means a manifesto... at least not yet!

Don Quixote is a wonderful book. If you're enjoying my little perspective on things, I highly recommend it as companion reading, for the perceptive reader! In fact, highlighting my business cards, along with this URL, is this famous Picasso painting of Quixote, Rocinante, and Sancho Panza. I chose it for 2009 to remind myself not to "go fighting windmills." In other words, fight to see things as they are; not as I would choose them to be.

If you've read Don Quixote, you know that the wisdom of following he and Sancho on ANY shortcut would be dubious at best. With that in mind, Chris and I had a short conversation in Port Townsend about the iconic Alcoholics Anonymous phrase, "Fake it to Make It." The conversation ended when I expressed a vehement disgust for the notion and it was obvious that we would have to agree to disagree. If you've read the Cervantes classic, you already know where I'm headed.

"Fake It to Make It"

I endured having this cute, infantile phrase, Fake It to Make It, beaten into my skull years ago while a young, state-ordered, A.A. apprentice. At the time, I loved it because it relieved my drunk, lazy, frightened and diluted ass of the responsibility of actually becoming the person I wanted to be. "Are you saying that if I just dressed up in pretend, mental armor and acted like that person, faked it, I would appear to myself to be so! Then, I could imagine everyone else saw me that way too! Halloween for the self-esteem!" Sweet.

It's The Don Quixote Folly: "If you want to be a knight, just act like a knight!" Fake It to Make It. Rather than making the necessary internal changes to actually "become a knight," it suggests to the desperate or lazy soul that the external & superficial acts of "dressing up" in imaginary fantasy or doctrinal costumes will result in these desired changes magically seeping in from the outside, until one day you'll supposedly wake up with an invitation to the Round Table. Taken in this context, the base idea is obscene.

I concede that it provides a useful, temporary sanctuary for those who are too (understandably) frightened or ill-equipped to confront their dragons; as long as it's presented as temporary. Unfortunately, in my experience, it's not and encourages blatant self-delusion as a watered-down substitute for authentic self-confrontation; addressing the external symptoms rather than attacking the internal cause. "You too can make rationalization work for you!"

Been there.

Playing "Make-Believe" is something we discourage children from doing at a certain young age, yet we encourage it in addicts? Odd. To my knowledge, Wendie and A.A. have never been introduced, and to be clear, the conversation Chris and I had did not involve her at all. But, after watching the daypack fly the day I left Port Townsend, combined with the entire tapestry of my experience with her, that silly "Fake It To Make It" phrase popped came to mind, and immediately reminded me of Don Quixote & Sancho!

To understand why, you first need some fundamentals.

From Chris's descriptions, I had unfairly, high expectations of Wendie from the very beginning. They have an incredibly close bond but beyond base ideology, where I expected similarities, they are nothing alike. Chris is never visibly upset and takes pride in that, externally at least, he appears to feel nothing but somatic peace, joy, & happiness. I've never seen Wendie exude any sense of calm. Yet, she is a practicing Buddhist, the dogma of meditation, forgiveness, and an inner serenity! Including our short time together in New Jersey, I've always perceived an obvious, amusing, and glaring inconsistency: A cavernous disconnect between her professed, abstract belief system and her tangible energy, vibe, and persona: an unexplained negativity channeled into non-stop, frenzied intensity. I often wanted to ask, "How's that Buddha working out for ya?" but I was entertained, and feared my health would suffer for such a query.

Arriving in Port Townsend, I had recently experienced something similar thing in Idaho, so it was still rather top-of-mind. From my own history, I'm hyper-sensitive to disguised, seeping anger and have always noticed it gently oozing from Wendie; the tension Chris warned me about? It was always just... there. The difference in Washington, I suspect, was that it had intensified due to an infringement upon Daniel's turf. I never saw it, but Wendie was probably forced to juggle and soothe much more of his polite-yet-keen annoyance with visitors than I/we were privy to. Still, I can understand having me sleep outside, but even letting her brother? For the better part of what turned out to be a month? When there's an empty couch?!? I doubt that came from Wendie, and it doesn't take Dr. Phil to phigure out phrom whence the added "tension" sprung.

Quite honestly, I' not concerned with any of the personal, internal dynamics of Casa Wendie y Daniel, nor are they my business. It's the pretense of to the-letter Progressive Pamphlet Ideology and the accompanying affection for eastern theology that piqued my interest. To be more specific, touting philosophies that claim peace, love, & contentment... while exuding quiet anxiety or anger when you laugh!

Next to baseball, people watching is my favorite spectator sport. Most of my best insights come from moments when I'm not involved in setting (like watching backpacks fly); when I can forget bantering and silently study linguistics (beyond language), as well as body language, attitude, ego indicators, tone (dominant/ submissive?), and just feel the tangible energy exchange referred to in the fictional Celestine Prophecy.

I hold no preconceived notions of "I'd like to think all people are good/ bad," so I'm not hampered by rose or shit-colored spectacles and can tell, very, very quickly, who I'm dealing with. The process begins before we even speak; with that "energy." You may laugh, but this INITIAL wordless assessment is accurate 80-90% of the time! And after engaging in or listening to a conversation? I am almost always right in the end. Call me arrogant, but it's a fact. Ask Shalain!

After intently listening and watching her, my intuition (and that's all it is) has been unwavering from the beginning: that there's something much deeper not-so-gently working Wendie. It appeared to me that (admittedly after only limited interaction) that she's likely hiding, protecting, ignoring, or coming to terms with something frighteningly powerful and that this "something" is probably old, ugly, and clawing to get out. There were similar elements in Boise, but Wendie invokes in me a disturbing resemblance to by estranged half-sister, Christine. Where exactly that familiarity comes from, I don't know.

Tectonics

With all this said, and keeping in mind the theology/ ideology, I began a long time ago to speculate if, rather than turning to REALLY face it, perhaps she had tried to find peace like so many others: "Playing with [insert deity]"; hoping to "fake it to make it;" hoping tranquility seeps in from "out there" and suffocates the beast while escaping into external agenda and the frenzied, non-stop activity to avoid the monster... in case it's not working.

Instead of allowing hard-earned, original, organic beliefs be the fruit of fearsome introspection & their unique experience, many people of all theological or ideological persuasions cloak themselves within the Jesus/ Buddha blanket, or mimic their approved "Books of Chivalry." They then stand proudly on the mountain for the world (and themselves) to see; and conveniently further conceal what still lurks beneath. It's common to read eloquent words and want to feel that they are the "magic bullet" or the "cure." Once you do, from there it's an easy step to simply place these ideas atop a dangerously active seismic foundation without first really applying the ideas internally.

This whole process is blood for my shark's nose; I can smell it miles away because I've feasted on it, and when I do I'm keenly observant and sometimes relentless in outing it... often to a fault and the end of my more shallow relationships! But, from my own experience I am comfortable declaring that The Quixote may momentarily work, but only as long as your emotional tectonics are stable and you can completely control your environment (reality?) allowing no one to mirror or challenge you, while most importantly refusing to challenge yourself. Inevitably however, once there's enough built-up stress, discomfort, or tense conflict, the core rumbles and fault lines ultimately appear... sometimes flying down the steps!

This "seismic activity," while painful, is in fact a blessing for those who have the courage to both acknowledge it then look deeply into their core. I'm convinced it's the soul kicking and screaming to be heard; refusing to be suffocated while simultaneously struggling to expose the problem. But, unidentified or ignored, it can also manifest itself in many forms, including alcoholism, drug abuse, depression, anxiety...

The Splinter in the Mind

It's quite a simple idea once you strip away plain rhetoric and agenda. You feel physical pain in your body when somethings wrong, correct? Would you trust a doctor that treated your broken bone by only numbing the area and telling you to alter how you use the limb? Hell, no! You'd demand he find the break and set it! Then you'd let it heal and move on. You'd treat the cause, allowing internal healing to relieve the pain AND renew functionality. Why then is it such an unnerving thought that we may feel psychological pain when something's off-course? And, why do we assume that it's a defect within the person, when perhaps it's culture itself that's the tormentor?

Why is that never discussed or even seriously considered, that maybe... just maybe... men were not intended to give 1/3 of their lives in exchange for what, to many, becomes a comfortable, sterile cage? Maybe the institutional hamster-wheel of "Produce-Consume-Repeat" should cause some discomfort. Perhaps those that can't deactivate that pesky nerve to numb the Splinter are actually "healthier" than the assimilated. You may disagree and that's fine, but I'd retort by asking: Why are more & more people like Wendie, in varying degrees, becoming aware of and leaving the construct behind in whatever ways they can? Chris and I, along with many others have both seen and noticed it. Let me guess... the financial "crisis?"

**Fun Fact! This general idea began as my working social-thesis (Survivorman) but seems to have shifted & dovetailed into a related theological-thesis somewhere around Randleman! My political-thesis will be short and simply titled "Fuck 'Em All."

This simplistic little analogy is obvious: Attack the cause, not the symptom. But the problem is, where it takes a specialist to set a bone, only we ourselves can be certain to locate, AND TREAT, our internal fractures. We can gather guidance & insight as to how, but with no X-Ray or standard anatomical schematic, the procedure is ours to perform with only honesty and courage as instruments.

Unfortunately, we're usually afraid to even look at the wound for fear of what we may find. So, we'll cover it up with a blanket like a child hoping that if it's concealed it will either vanish, or we'll forget it's there. To compound things, you may hear people eager to tell you, for a fee, that they have the elixir! More cultural assimilation. Or, a higher dose of escapism: You need to work harder to buy more shit! Perhaps a shot of Responsibility Relinquishment: Completely submitting to man's doctrinal version of Jesus/ Buddha/ Mohammad, Inc., thereby externalizing all good and evil! "The Devil made me do it, dad!"

Or... when they just are tired of bothering with you... "You need pharmaceuticals!"

With all the mental-flak and distractionary cover-fire, the ones who are subconsciously and violently fighting not to be lobotomized stand starkly in contrast to the masses that have docilely accepted role of numb, neutered consumer. There's a rare, third breed: those who have considered carefully and chosen their states willingly, often due to circumstances like familial concerns or even an admitted sloth! For them, comfortable consumerism may HAVE to work, and they deserve respect for at least taking responsibility for their own minds.

Many of the zombies will loudly try to convince us that they belong inside this little haven. A conversation and few well-placed questions later, the standard cliches appear. These folks illicit different reactions from me at different times, ranging from pity to disdain, depending on my mood, and I will usually disengage this brand of conversation quickly, unless I feel combative. It feels like arguing physics with Forest Gump... in Greek. Especially when the defensive egos kicks in! That's when you see the Quixote phenomenon in all its glory.

Technopoly

I am beginning to take many more of my cues from nature. I love to watch it work at both a macro and micro level, because there are stunning consistencies throughout and I believe that's how you can to some degree watch "God" work; it's as close to something tangible as we'll ever get. One of the primal laws is "Adapt or Die," and my canary-in-the-coalmine is this "Culture" blindly obliterating one of its fundamental tools for generations, choosing instead to hide beneath technology's flimsy tent, while furthering ignorance and infantile dependence with each spawning event. Meanwhile, we collectively hurdle toward Idiocracy. Think I'm wrong? Let's kill all the power for a month. Then, since no one has any real sustainable skills, we'll see another of Nature's laws go to work: "Survival of the Fittest." Scarey, aint it? We're a catastrophic power outage and ammunition supply away from becoming prey. That should speak to "technopoly" and our dependence:? we've traded comfort & convenience for self-reliance. Should we be pitied for that?

Despite my attentive ranting and beyond disgust (or pity), I'm just not generally concerned with (or for) most of them. The Zombified are content to be social & economic prey, are snoozing while fused to their La-Z-Boys, and there's no arousing the obese, content, lobotomized masses... unless there's a Doritos shortage or a new reality show for them to star in! Then, watch the fuck out! Balloon Boy and the Heene family are the perfect examples of American priorities. Rather than vilify, we should revere and honor them with a postage stamp! They're our creation AND our perfect reflection! Our Falconstein.

As for the self-professed "enlightened" ones: Even if you are "enlightened," you will NOT be heard over the cackles of the Sarah Palins or Ryan Seacrests. No social-revolution is coming. There is no "mass-intervention" capable of rendering The Biggest Loser, Dancing With the Stars, Survivor, & *cringe* American Idol impotent. Accept it, treat 'em as a spectator sport while seeking each other out and trying to remain functioning within the framework of reality. It's those who scratch at this Splinter in the Mind that are worth engaging.

Escaping Enchantment

Introspection and self-directed critical thought (Andre's 'Inner- Dialogue'), will, eventually, come naturally to a person seeking only simple truth; treating their lives like a research project rather than a role-playing game. It's generally hampered in those clinging to (identifying with) a comfortable, yet tenuous agenda or point-of-view: those desperately needing to believe they've "free the maiden." The ego prevents considering the possibility, even to themselves, that maybe they really were just attacking muledrivers. Feeling right is more important than being right. I've been guilty; all of us have. No one "wants" to feel "wrong" and in most people this tendency runs deep; well beyond ideological or theological boundaries.

It's important to just remember the simple difference between being clever & being correct, AND the clever techniques for confusing the two. If you're not simply terrorizing ancient Dutch technology, you should be able to easily prove it, with a little effort. Yet, fearing that they may actually "see the windmill" keeps most from really opening the eyes and looking...

While I understand fear, once exposed I have little tolerance for intentionally clinging to an antiquated, self-delusion. Pretending, professing, or even praying to believe something because it's an easy solution; a ready-made, convenient, external answer to your questions simply wont work for those with truly tuned-in, focused or developing sense of self and self-purpose. For those intentionally mistaking engineered consumerism or delusion for "Knight Errantry?" Point it out, then enjoy the show. It's all you can do! Some will never leave Plato's Cave and others will actually want to kill you for trying to expose their comfortable illusions. Right, Cypher?

Everything has to begin and grow from within with an unwavering focus on truth, reality, and self-honesty. And, in my opinion, it's better to read nothing- to know no philosophy- than to get lost in it by sacrificing our own personal compass; being consumed by pre-packaged doctrine while being reduced to incessantly parroting and re-enacting what amount to Quixote's Books of Chivalry. Jefferson put it best:

“He who knows nothing is closer to the truth than he whose mind is filled with falsehoods and errors.”

Or, not.





Addendum:I've learned that Wendie ended her & Daniel's co-habitation, and I feel a twinge of persistent apprehension about sharing some this, particularly (and perhaps unfairly) using her as a symbol; the same I felt surrounding Andre. However, the Quixote idea sprung from my visit there, and its nexus is important. Even on an abstract level, I think it serves as a powerful illustration as to how clever & conniving we can be with ourselves.

It took more than a month to fully grasp the scope and depth of this simple idea, and while not a comfortable process, applying it to myself has provided a most powerful tool! One becoming immediately indispensable and eventually assisting from beginning to completion in my most difficult accomplishment to date. It also helped to put to rest nagging self-doubts and set the table for the next chapter of this mini-epic... All while making me a little more less congenial! How was that even possible?!?

10/12-31: Filling Tanks & Adjusting Sails

Early- mid October saw a bizarre repeat of what happened after I returned home in 2008, and almost to the day. Once the house-sitting was done, I almost immediately went into a funk; just as last year I had done the same after finishing my initial work with Jack. I didn't realize it until reading back through my journal and seeing that if I were to write that night I would scribble nearly the exact same words... exactly a year later! I've come to greatly enjoy these moments when I sincerely have no choice other than to laugh at myself. They seem to be on the rise!

As the intense, unpleasant scrutiny of myself, and others, continued. I began questioning people's ability and/ or willingness to see things as they really are, and a tendency to apply their own "personal narratives" to the experiences in their lives, rather than letting truth be the compass: "See things as they are, not as you would like them to be" is such a simple concept, yet at the same time I know first-hand how difficult it is to adhere to; how easy it is to hide in and project our own interpretation from our own mind. Some believe it's impossible altogether to witness things accurately, saying, "We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are." (Anais Nin or the Talmud) Many hippies have gleefully latched on to this distorted White Flag and embraced the idea of relativism with the loud declaration: "My Reality." Rather than looking further inward to identify and purge their prejudices and what's skewing their perception of reality, they've taken the route of the helpless alcoholic who's decided that, since he's been told he's "diseased," he has no choice other than to drink every day. Hey, that absconding of responsibility is "his reality," right? In retrospect, this escapism was the first Progressive Red Flag that has long-since escalated into a genuine, open disdain for escapist rhetoric, and further- how agenda has quietly hitched its wagon to the ideological horse. Somehow, people have convinced these children that self-lobotomization is the answer; that whatever they choose to "believe" is in fact their reality, encouraging a legitimization of self-delusion by teaching egoistic, protective escapism rather than an unattached commitment to truth. It manages to lend transparent credibility to the practice of placing point-of-view above truth. I have a quiet, short-fused, internally turbulent reaction to these hippies, even though we inevitably seem to travel similar paths. With that being said, ultimately the mirror had to be turned, and it was. I spent a good part of October and early November harshly questioning rather I inadvertently had skewed my perception of these experiences, and the ideas I pursue as a result, ultimately finding myself hyper-sensitive to indications that either Chris or I were diluted. The answers I came up with, for myself at least, were quite quick, obvious and for once...simple. But, they needed to be asked for my own sake.

**Rant Alert**
Through this patience- testing process, I kept hearing Andre's, "Words are important!" and subsequently noticed an increase in my intolerance for "mystic bullshit." Fancy rhetoric attempting to espouse or defend a "spiritual" idea, but failing miserably once the sentences are parsed; when the bullshit's shoveled to the side, there's often nothing left! It's a vacuum wrapped in verbosity!

It's like trying to debate that the sky is pink instead of blue. Relativists will say, "Sometimes it is! And, what if I'm colorblind? That's MY reality! Who are YOU to say?" My answer? Your internal defect, and unwillingness to acknowledge, address and compensate for it, does NOT change the language we've all agreed upon; the proper description of the general color of the sky is: FUCKING BLUE!

This is that asinine Every Kid Gets a Trophy at work, only now it's Every Kid Gets a Reality. "No Moonbeam, you're not "wrong!" You're NEVER wrong, and you NEVER lose... if you TRY! If you think the sky is fuchsia, it's fuchsia! That's your reality!"

I can't adequately express to you how that mentality pisses me off, but allow me to try to convey it to Moonbeam. Hey Moonbeam, sometimes you ARE wrong, sometimes you REALLY DO LOSE; some people REALLY are flawed. See, this is the harsh law of Nature and it even applies to you, precious Moonbeam. As you can see on display all around you every day, we are neither created, nor treated, equally, and though it's plainly neither pleasant nor fair, no amount of politically correct, voodoo-linguistics will change the REALITY of NATURE'S LAW. Progressives are the people who universally tout a special "love & appreciation" for nature, so for them to ignore Her most basic law? Well, the hypocrisies are astounding! Now, precious Moonbeam- tell your parents I said to smoke a joint then feel free to fuck off and quit wasting my time. Maybe I'll see you at Burning Man in a few years.
**End Rant** brought to you by Starbucks, proudly serving pretentious dickheads (and the rest of you) since 1971!

Once that process was undertaken, the funk lifted. I originally had come to the conclusion that the return to Santa Fe was likely a mistake; that I should have continued on toward California on foot before returning home. After purchasing ANOTHER phone to replace the one damaged sleeping outside at Wendie's, I had barely broke-even after the bus ticket, and was now forced to go into fund-raising mode to get back out there this winter.

I decided on a whim to re-list the injured Saturn on Craigslist, at a reduced price, to see if anyone with extra cash or mechanical aptitude would be interested in buying and fixing it themselves. I was quite surprised when the phone started to ring, and in a matter of a few days had sold it to a man in Albuquerque. To clarify, I was VERY up-front about the mechanical issues, which oddly had seemed to vanish when I started and drove it for the first time in six-months. I even offered to let him leave it in the parking lot until he could have it looked at here in Santa Fe. He refused, opting instead to drive it 60-miles down the interstate to Albuquerque. I sold the car on the Saturday the 17th, and on Tuesday the 20th I received a call telling me that the entire transmission casing had dropped while he was driving it around. He wasn't upset, but did share that he estimated it would cost over $2,000 to have the tranny replaced. I reminded him that he knew the car was broken when he bought it, and that I HAD offered to let it sit here until it was able to be fixed, and he'd refused. I believe he was meekly fishing for a refund after realizing he had probably fucked himself treating it as a fully-functioning vehicle without first having it looked at! That... was not happening. That... was why he got the car so cheap in the first place. I... was now thrilled to be rid of that car.

With the Saturn sold, I learned the same day that I was in-line for another week's house-sitting. Katie had to return to California, and was happy with the way things had gone in September. With that, I had just quadrupled my money in about in hour. This was quite a good Saturday, and the decision to return home suddenly looked quite astute. Shalain and I drove to Albuquerque's REI then next day where I finally got the backpack I wanted. It was costly, but a good investment. Thanks to Lynette and Dave, I would never have to buy boots again, and now with this Osprey (Kermit?), I would never have to buy another backpack... or I could return it for a cheaper one if I was in a real fix. Call me the money masseuse.

The second week at Katie's was better than the first in most ways. The dogs remembered and welcomed me with open paws and I managed to get a good amount of writing done, most of it this time in my written journal, coming to a few hard-fought conclusions. After this summer, things had begun to feel less like recess; it appeared to me that my metaphorical "play time" had ended and things were likely to change; already were if fact. Leslie and I had been in regular contact since I had returned, and we began to bounce around more ideas for the end of November, when she took her winter break at DePaul. I chatted regularly with Chris, who was on his way from Seattle to Massachusetts to see his dad and setting Halloween-goal to get there hitching... via San Francisco. Following this was his bizarre trip to England to see another ex-girlfriend, and from there it was anyone's guess for both of us. We lightly discussed Mexico and South America again, and then- to my surprise- Florida. The idea of taking Dave's suggestion temporarily took root, with the two of us concocting a grandiose plan to go to the Atlantic Coast of Florida and trying to find a "live-aboard" situation where we could work in exchange for becoming certified as scuba divers. Then, we could presumably march into Mexico like Cortes and find work as scuba instructors! It's not as far-fetched as it may seem; apparently Dave had actually done the live-aboard part. I ran the idea past Leslie, and for a few days, visions of the three of us invading Florida danced through my head... until I realized that it felt ALOT like the kayak idea. And... that I had really hated Florida when I lived there! Why was I going there again? To maybe learn scuba diving? Couldn't I get certified easier in, say... Albuquerque? Why, yes I could! No, I was looking for adventure to compensate for a lack of inspiration; a destination. Abort!

Leslie and Chris independently came to the same general conclusion for different reasons, and the conversation shifted from traveling to Florida to me possibly just traveling to Chicago for a visit, then perhaps the southwest if Leslie still wanted to come out n' play. Arizona & California's deserts appeal much more to me in the winter than Florida, believe it or not. Nothing was decided, however, and as Halloween came and went, I was no closer to knowing what the rest of the winter held than when I arrived. I just knew I was in the right place at the right time. Sometimes, that's all a guy can ask!

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...