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?!?

9/19: Turning 29... Again

When Chris and I finally fell asleep late Friday night, the weather was clear with a beautiful star-filled sky. I had grown used to the aridity of Idaho and eastern Oregon, and apparently forgotten how quickly weather changes on the coast, particularly Oregon and Washington. When I awoke on my birthday, Mother Nature immediately reminded me, with a soggy, frustrating "gift." I had fallen asleep with the waterproof, external zipper wide open. Because I had only closed the bivy's bug netting to enjoy the night air, when it began raining the inside commenced collecting water. In a fog of sleep and haze of laziness, I semi-consciously pulled the goretex forward without sealing it, and went back to sleep. The old college try would not quite cut it, however, and when I awoke around 6:30 I found my phone, sleeping bag, and camera lying in a puddle! My camera's waterproof, thank God, but the sleeping bag was about to be stashed in the backpack for 2-solid days on the bus. Yay, mildew! And, the phone... yes, the damn phone again... was not working. This had a familiar feel to it! Happy 29th birthday again, Todd! We're off to a fantabulous start!

Cursing the memory of Bobby's pool, I deduced that the battery had either gone dead or the phone was... phucked. To compound matters, I was the first one awake and, unsure if Wendie & Daniel were up, was afraid to open the noisy garage door- behind which, the rest of my belongings... including the charger and spare battery ... were stashed. There were things I could do to try to salvage it, but needed to have power. I paced around the front of the house in frustration until 7:30, when it was time to wake Chris.

The two of us were under the assumption the four of us were leaving at 8 or 8:30, so when I got the all-clear to enter the garage, I began something resembling hasty emergency surgery. I got signs of life and a signal with the other battery, but when I called Shalain she couldn't hear me! Also, there was a short somewhere, making sending texts impossible. Contrary to popular belief, wet electronics are remarkable resilient... as long as you don't plug them in to a socket when they're wet; let them dry completely. When I had returned home in July, to my horror, I actually washed AND dried my little mp3 player! Having gotten damp in Iowa, it was giving me fits before I washed it but, to my shocked delight, it has worked perfectly AFTER a cycle thru the washer & dryer! Remembering this, I borrowed Wendie's hair dryer and hoped for the best. I had limited success, and after a bit, I was able to at least make normal phone calls, but half of the phone's navigation buttons still were not functioning. This I was fine with. I dried the bivy and sleeping bag as best I could before packing them away for our supposed 8:30 departure. Then, it quickly became clear that I wasn't the only one having a shitty Saturday.

As Chris and I waited expectantly outside, there appeared the final, most dramatic manifestation of the now-famous tension within. Daniel and Wendy had disappeared, and it soon became apparent that we were not going to make the earlier Bainbridge Ferry as planned, and as I'd feared the day before. I was quite glad I had not yet bought the ticket! Daniel then appeared, surprisingly wished us well, and went to leave- separately. Next, came the flying backpack. Wendie was clearly not pleased, and stepped outside hurling her daypack half-way down the steps, which run the length of their two-story house. Again hearing past comments about "The Buddha" in my head, rather than feeling the uncomfortable, I myself was silently amused. "How very, very... Zen!" With visions of Don Quixote's windmills combining with Phone Debacle II, I was ready for Port Townsend and the rest of Washington to be behind me.. if I had to crawl all the way to Portland from where I stood.

Racing a Silent Clock to Seattle

Shortly after the daypack had skidded to a stop, Daniel was on his way and so were we. I sat silently in the back of the car, watching the clock as we drove toward the free- ferry from Bainbridge Island to Seattle. At this point, all I wanted to do was get on my bus, watch my scenery, and wait for my birthday to mercifully end! And, it wasn't even 10am! This definitely had begun as the least enjoyable of all my 29th birthdays. I called Shalain from the car, and again asked her to hold off on making the Internet purchase until Chris and I were on the ferry because, despite Wendie's proclamations, I was still far from certain I would make the Greyhound terminal in time. It was obvious that, even in a best-case scenario, I would need to hail a cab once I got across Puget Sound into downtown Seattle. Missing this bus would have far-reaching implications, and may have put my little house-sitting gig in jeopardy.

At the terminal, Wendie surprisingly gave me a hug, A strange embrace that reminded me of the Cody Hug! I was asking myself, "Really, Wendie?" and quickly thought how life would have been much simpler for everyone if had I just continued on to Astoria from Portland! At this point, the entire escapade into Washington seemed like my own foolish, ego-driven, "Attack on the Windmill" undertaken simply to eliminate a solitary state from some perverse, imaginary list. This was not too far from the truth, but would prove to be a bit simpleminded... eventually.

My mood lightened a little at the ferry terminal once I knew my fate was once again in my hands. The ferry's schedule seemed to give me ample time to get from the Seattle terminal to Greyhound, even if it would have to be by taxi. Our "plan" (ha!) was for Chris and I to take the Bainbridge Ferry into Seattle, where we would split off: me taxiing to Greyhound, and Chris meeting friends. But, shortly after we settled in for the short wait he learned that some of the bus/ ferry routes he intended to use the next day didn't run on Sundays. He quickly reconsidered everything and decided to forget Seattle and return to Port Townsend from here. He hung out long enough for the ferry to begin boarding, and knowing how I guzzle the stuff, Chris even offered to pick up some Birthday Mate' from the pier and send it to me. What a pal! I gave him $10 to get some extra and after a goofy man-hug, he was off and I was aboard the huge auto-ferry into the heart of Seattle. I sat there watching the rain and repeatedly shaking my head as I thought back over this odd few days in Port Townsend...

9/15: Port Townsend, WA

Leaving Andre & Cody at the supermarket, it was nice to feel as though I were traveling again. Northwest Washington was definitely new territory for me, having only gone as far as Tillamook and Portland, the weather was sunny and in the 70's, and so far the people of Washington seemed quite friendly. The last fact for some reason surprised me. Even the bus driver smiled and said, "Welcome to Mukilteo!" as I climbed aboard. The bus took the scenic route all around the little town, and seeing my backpack, one particular gentleman took a personal interest in making sure I arrived where I was going. He offered ferry schedules and pointed out that once I got to Clinton there would be a free bus that would carry me all the way across Whidbey Is., confirming the information I had gotten from Shalain a couple hours earlier. He said that the bus was coordinated to meet my ferry, so as long as I immediately got off the boat when it arrived and went straight there, I would be sure to catch it. Since it was already 3pm, I was slightly concerned about having to camp for the night, but all indications were pointing to arriving in Port Townsend that night.

Andre knew what he was talking about. The bus did in fact literally drop me at the Clinton Ferry ticket window, and after a short wait I found myself on the auto ferry, sailing to Whidbey Island.I knew beforehand that this part of the country would be impressive to see, but once actually on Puget Sound it was breathtaking, reminding me of what I imagined the Alaska coast to look like. With the combination of mountains and sea, I was surprisingly mesmerized and thinking that this would be an incredible place to explore.

The bus was indeed waiting in Clinton, and was indeed free. I settled in and enjoyed the hour ride nearly all the way across the large island to Coupeville. Whidbey Island is beautiful. It's sparsely populated and forested, with quaint little towns that reminded me of an episode of Father Knows Best. "Wholesome" was the word continually in my mind; something from a slower, calmer time. I thought about the Twilight Zone episode Willoughby in which a stressed out New York ad executive is transported by a magical train back to the late 1800's and the slow paced, wholesome town of Willoughby. He initially fails to get off the train to investigate, but becomes obsessed with it. At the end of the show, he musters the courage to exit at the Willoughby stop... and in the next scene it's good ol' 1955 again, where rail workers find his body assuming it was a suicide. Willoughby. Whidbey. You Devil, Rod Serling!

My Coupeville connection was painless, and the next stop was Keystone Harbor where the Keystone Ferry would sail me to Port Townsend on the northeast shore of Washington's Olympic Peninsula. Just missing one, I spent about 90-minutes waiting for the next ferry as the afternoon began to fade to early evening. As we sailed toward Port Townsend and yet another meet up with Chris, I snapped dozens of pictures. It was incredibly beautiful. I had long since nearly lost my bearings and had no idea what I was looking at, but I loved it! I called Chris via Wendie's phone as we approached Port Townsend let him know I was there, set up a place to meet, and marveled at the scene before me. Port Townsend in an incredible setting. There were sailboats glistening in the sunset, and I felt like I had been transported to another country. That wouldn't last, but it was nice while it did!

Soon enough, Chris and I were jabbering as usual, catching up on the events of the last couple of weeks. We had parted ways in Idaho something like 10-days earlier, but it felt like a year due to the events crammed into those 10-days! He had met me near the ferry terminal, and we walked to a co-op to meet his sister, Wendie, and before I knew it we were dropping my pack into her garage and having dinner. Since meeting Wendie in New York City back in May, I had wanted to meet her boyfriend, Daniel. By all accounts, he sounded like an interesting cat. He was a unique person, having along the way combined survivalism with environmentalism while working with the government and other organizations in somehow maintaining hiking trails.

Through the course of the night, the conversation took an amusing turn as the three of them began discussing a "feeling" they had that there may possibly be a "devastating, apocalyptic earthquake" in the next few days- particularly on that Friday, the 18th. Since my birthday is the 19th, I made it quite clear that I would not tolerate Armageddon striking on this particular weekend. It would have to wait. As fun as the conversation was, there was one particular point of quiet contention; one that will have a familiar ring to you the seasoned reader.

Wendie has always struck me as a strange yet familiar breed: the most intense "Buddhist" I know. She also seems to me to possess a similar type of anger boiling just beneath the surface that I sensed in Lynette, and that I am sensitive too. I have always wanted to ask her how Buddhism, the religion of peace, enlightenment, contentment, and acceptance of where one "is," was working out for her, but after a week with Andre, I was in no mood to challenge anyone. Especially not in their home- where I was not particularly welcome in the first place! However, During our Apocolypto discussion I did ask if the earthquake and ensuing devastation did actually happen, would be a good idea to have guns to go along with a garden, oatmeal, and goodwill toward man? She replied in her familiar, forceful tone that she believed "the Port Townsend community" would rally together supporting each other, and there would be no need for firearms to protect anything. "Apparently a drum circle followed by a chorus of Kumbaya conquers all evil." I thought. "Again, let me know how that works out."

I, of course, found this laughable and not wanting a confrontation, worked very hard to contain myself in the tenuous setting! Perhaps this would be the case if, like on Little House on the Prairie, an orphanage caught fire or there was a barn razing. But this was not the context of the conversation. We were discussing a Katrina-like, cataclysmic disaster, where the unprepared become desperate for survival and either anarchy or martial law reigns. In such a situation, when those who don't have inevitably become desperate they will just "take" without any concern for morality or harming the supposedly "evolved" of our precious species. This is fundamental human nature, survival instinct, and you need look no further than the inner-cities or other poverty stricken parts of the world. Would you carry prime rib thru streets in Ethiopia, counting on the conveyance of your philosophy and the moral deference of desperate men? If so, you deserve to lose it. Again, with all due respect, and much is due, this seems to be the case of a separation from "An Inconvenient Truth." Unless Port Townsend, Washington is the one place on earth where human nature is subjugated to Progressive Ideology, I suspect that once word of their Haven of Bounty spread... Well, I'm reminded of a line from V for Vendetta: "What usually happens when people without guns confront people with guns?"

I've heard this worldview also manifested by those hippies who call for "bloodless 'social' revolution." Che Guevara understood this perfectly well: First and foremost, people will NOT revolt to change when they're fat, comfortable, and content; there needs to be a real sense of anger and desperation for people to even adjust their asses on the metaphorical couch. And, that desperation had better be accompanied by something more than a willingness to blog, mindlessly chant angry slogans with a mob, and espouse philosophy because, when sufficiently annoyed, The Establishment will gleefully "Kent State" them. Google the rhetoric of Ohio's governor in the days leading up to the Kent State shootings; and these protests were mild by many standards. I would love to be wrong in this case, but the 60's proved that simple "hope" and noble-want for human evolution and togetherness doesn't quite equate to Utopia on the Hill. Worse, in a real post-apocalyptic world it would be suicide.

I surprisingly quoted our beloved Musty to Chris later on: "Evil has the advantage over good because evil doesn't care if it kills you." Sobering. Annoying. An Inconvenient Truth. What's worse, is that once the Ideological Idiocracy has worn off, they will likely realize that they are just as much at the mercy of nature as those who have lost the ability to organically provide food for themselves. The Primary Natural Law is Survival of the Fittest, not Survival of the Wittiest. If the world ever returns to that point, please surround me with them gun-totin' rednecks in Michigan, North Dakota, and Montana. We've walked Hippie Road before, and it's a dead end. Literally.


As for the expected "tension," it was indeed present, despite well-intentioned efforts to contain it. Chris had thankfully prepared me for this, and in the meantime heightened my senses to where I was now curious to see where it manifested itself! I was initially expecting to camp in a local public park, where Chris would presumably join me and we'd relive old times. However, this plan was inexplicably altered and I joined Chris, who had been for a week sleeping in the yard next to his sister's house.

As Tuesday came to a close, I had a laugh at the day; waking up in Portland, falling asleep inside the bivy in Port Townsend. Chris and I spent a good deal of time chatting about Andre and Chris' own trek through Oregon. I was quite eager to get a fresh perspective on my week in Portland and begin the process of mentally sifting, a process that what was sure to take some time.

5/9: Manhattan III- Angela

Saturday was filled with another trip to SoHo to see Wendie’s friend, Angela. Mary drove to the ferry terminal where we took the quick trip across the Hudson to a bus that would drop us within walking distance of Angela’s place.

Angela lives with her parents in a neat, industrial- feeling flat on the top floor of a building near Broadway. After a quick re- acquaintance and tour of the apartment, she took a break from studying as we all walked to a nearby coffee shop (always a good choice!) to enjoy some java, chocolate chip cookies and some surprising conversation.

Wendie, Mary, Chris, and Angela spent most of the first few minutes getting back in touch with each other while I resumed my familiar and enjoyable role as “people watcher.” Soon enough, however, the conversation suddenly turned to the topics on which I thrive: the state of society, life, and how people view their roles in it. The highlights (which will prevent a full- blown rant… I AM MERCIFUL!) included an examination of how we define seemingly simple terms and ideas; ones that are taken for granted, yet thinly understood. Terms like “happiness,”, “freedom”, “success.” We talked about how rather people were, in reality, living their own lives or those imposed upon them.

Ultimately, the simple- sounding yet complicated idea of “knowing yourself” was discussed, as was the idea of waiting for what I call “Leonard Cohen’s Miracle”. In a nutshell, this has to do with waiting for “someone or something to show you the way” (Pink Floyd); a divine, life- changing person, vision, or influence to alter your existence and “bring you” happiness. Something that magically enables you to lead a life of self- realizing authenticity. This, of course is a big barrel of bullshit. That’s what cults and religion are for: The manufacture of convenient illusion. They remove the notion of responsibility and accountability for our own happiness, and relieves us of the age- old realization that no one can “bring you” happiness. This creates the perpetual victim who has "waited half their life away" while failing to understand a very simple truth: You have to get off your metaphorical ass and go get it yourself.

These “miracles” exist, but they do not come as lightning bolts from the sky. They come from within; your own internal voice. Religions of all kinds have vaguely alluded to it in various ways, sometimes with cartoon characters (Casper the Holy Ghost?). Sometimes with ideas such as your “soul” is a little piece of “God” itself residing inside of you… meaning that We Are God! With this concept, the battle, the struggle that defines how we experience life, surrounds the elimination of the static that prevents us from seeing it: ego. It’s our handlers in the media’s job to try to be sure you’re never quite able to actually internalize; you may just realize how corrupt and self- destructive equating material- success to happiness REALLY can be.

Heavy stuff. I was right at home! I don't make a very good cocktail party guest...

This was one of the better conversations I remember having. It just flowed! We could pick up, then run with ideas and themes… taking them in new, yet applicable directions. This is rare and says a lot, since there were five of us actively taking part!

After struggling through conversations with Musty this week, it cemented my conclusion that these are conversations you can’t have with just anyone. These are concepts that the English language is just, sometimes, NOT equipped to articulate. If you’re having conversations with people who “get it”, you wont need to articulate them. There are ideas that need an "unspoken- understanding" to be discussed, and if the person you are engaged with lacks conceptualization, you may as well be talking to a stuffed Mr. Ed.

I thoroughly enjoyed Angela’s company, and I am glad I got the chance to meet her. She’s one of the people who can always add something to your life; and help you grow. Pretty high praise for someone I only spent a couple hours with! We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening walking the 40- blocks back to the ferry, taking pictures, then watching TV.

During the conversation, Mary mentioned something that reminded me of an email I had received a while ago. She had read some of my commentary regarding suburbs and the homogenization of culture. She vehemently disagrees, which I thought was great because she wasn’t disagreeing out of a defensive posture, she just thought I was wrong! It reminded me of a quotation that says “Agreement is not required. Thinking for oneself is." I’ve decided to post the email, with his permission, because it means a lot coming from him and perfectly articulates all that a person should hope to gain when seeking out truth, offering opinion & observation, and exploring ideas.

“No man can tell another man how to live…” Name THAT movie!

Hey Todd,

Just wanted to drop you a quick line. I finally finished reading your journal from '08 and have caught up with the new Te Nosce blog. First off, I just really enjoyed reading all about your adventures, struggles, triumphs. So often people don't follow through the way you have with full descriptions of everything they're experiencing. I'm talking partly about actually updating every day (I don't have that kind of discipline), but also I'm talking about your (sometimes brutal) honesty about how you feel about the given moment. It's just...cool. Growing up in California, I especially appreciated viewing through your eyes things that I had seen myself. Your slow journey gave me new perspective on the beauty of the state.

While I am wrapped up in this world of mortgage and work and taxes and such, you've made me think about it a bit more than I normally would have. Not what I expected when I started reading your blog, but I'm better for opening my mind to some of what you've had to say. We'll not see eye to eye on everything, but I think that you'll agree that that's okay.

For what it's worth, I am okay with my entrapment in this system. It works for me. That being said, you can also count me among the others you've mentioned who say they wish they could do what you're doing. And if it's okay, I'll be following along as if I'm out there too...not as simple escapism (though I suppose I have to admit that's part of it), but also...well, I'm just excited for you and to see where this all will take you. Hope that makes sense.

I don't know if it will work, but I'm going to try attaching a favorite song of mine by a group called Poi Dog Pondering (perhaps you ran across some of them back in your radio days, though never at a mainstream station I'm sure). Anyway, the lyrics speak to me when I think about your travels. If it doesn't work, maybe you can google the lyrics so you can see what I mean. The song's called "The Ancient Egyptians". I think you'll like it.

I'll catch you later. Safe travels my friend.

5/8: Sisters

This is the day I officially checked out of New York, and began looking west. Also, this is the day that Chris and I swapped positions from where we were in New Mexico! I now knew what it was like for him to be sedentary at our place while being anxious to get on the road east. The energy in the house was a bit odd. Not negative or unwelcoming as much as it was as though there were "opposing polarities" between Chris, Mary, & I and Musty. He was cordial, but it also was apparent he would like to have his house back, free of these misguided, spiritual vagabond kooks! I mean, who could blame him?

As Monday’s marathon Greyhound ride drew nearer, this was probably a contributor to the familiar feelings of agitation; the same as Cape May. This time the friction was subtly growing, rather than suddenly appearing, and it was becoming blatantly apparent that I was, potentially, significantly off- kilter. Yet, I was still at a loss to identify it. I hoped that Wendie’s arrival that night would interject some much-needed, new, positive energy to the situation. She most certainly did that, but in an unexpected ways for me.

After picking her up at the airport, the three of us stayed awake until the wee hours chatting about all sorts of life- things. Telling stories. Sharing experiences. It’s clear that she is someone who has a lot going and is willing to ask questions, and seek answers. I could physically feel the connection that exists between she and Chris, and it was nice to watch siblings that are that close. It drove home again, however, the admittedly juvenile feelings that I'd had six siblings withheld out of either selfishness, or cowardice; with two or three of which there seems to be developing a bond, even at this point in our lives, as we finally get to know each other. Yet, I wasn’t so much jealous as simply happy to see it on display between Chris & Wendie.

Seeing and hearing all this over the weekend slowly snapped into focus the fundamental purpose for my upcoming trek to Michigan: Getting to know the available members of that side of my “family”, and actually meeting the mythical “St. Shelly” for the first time. My mother always spoke glowingly about her, even though she was only a little girl when I was born. As a result, meeting her is something I have wanted to do for 30-years.

It is mind boggling to think that all of this “family stuff” has manifested just since February. It is particularly odd since I now have nothing to do with the two sisters with whomI was actually raised! Adding to the oddity, I had lost touch 8- years ago with the two sisters I HAD met from my father’s side, until a chance run- in on Facebook in January. The sole reason I was now in touch with Shelly was, once again, chance. She “happened” to be visiting, and in the same room with Pam while I was chatting with her one night, and “pounced” on the computer. You are forgiven for asking, “Why would she have to pounce on the computer?” In fact, I have asked similar questions often during the 15-years I have known Pam! (and Kim)

Yes… 15- years. Things that make you go… hmmmm! There are many of these “hmms” directed squarely at me. Over the last few months, I have finally begun to get answers thanks to Shelly. Lynn has helped a great deal, too, although probably without knowing it as we have only traded a pair of emails. Yet, a scant five months ago, I had only a few pictures a name, and 20- minutes with my father in a mall's food court. Now, thanks to Shelly’s patience and hard work, I have names, pictures, and nearly 400-years of history and a sense of where I have come from; a heritage beyond coded, biased anecdotes and watered- down hearsay. I still have two brothers with whom there's no contact, but oddly they don’t seem to play a role in anything.

Yes, the Michigan Pilgrimage will be quite significant beyond the traditional reunions with old friends and familiar places. I doubt much about it will be “familiar!” Not a lot happened on this Friday night that most would find interesting and “travel journal” material, but it would slowly play a significant role over the next few days and go a long ways toward a solution to a much-needed Mother’s Day Revelation-of-the-Obvious.

5/7: Manhattan- Day 2

Considering how late of a night it was, I felt good as we moved out of Ingrid's place on a search for coffee and a train to midtown. Just after we said our goodbyes, the skies opened up and let loose a deluge the likes of which I had not seen in as long time! This made the walk around Columbia's campus interesting, and we finally found a suitable coffee shop just as the heaviest rains began to fall.

Coffee is a wonderful thing! We had originally decided to make our way to Penn Station and head back to New Jersey, but after caffeine and walking in the rain, it seemed like wandering the streets of New York for a few hours more was the thing to do. We found our subway and eventually Times Square and the United Nations. I cannot explain why the UN was such a draw, it wasn't like we were going to take the tour or anything, but it's a place I've just wanted to visit for a number of years now. I can now cross that off the list.

We were on the bus back to Jersey by late afternoon, and as we approached his Mom's driveway, we noticed a few deer wandering through a yard adjacent to the road. The deer closest to us had no interest in running off as we walked by. There were a couple others on that side nibbling on grass and across the road and I noticed another, younger deer navigating down the steep, wooded hill onto the asphalt trying to join his friends. He was maybe 25 yards ahead of us, and as I looked up, I saw a car speeding down the hill toward us.

The next few seconds were in stereotypical slo- mo. The deer began to run across the road, as the car came around a slight curve in the road. The driver was gabbing on his cell phone and never saw the deer, slamming it directly with the center of his grill... NEVER hitting his brakes until his front end was smashed. With a loud "thud" and the sounds of shattered fiberglass, the car sent the deer flying through the air, then along the asphalt directly toward us, before coming to rest in the brush only a matter of a few feet to our left... thanks to the curve in the road. We initially thought the carcass may actually hit us. I could see the whole thing develop, and could only say, "I didn't need to see that" while fighting the urge to implant the old- man's cell phone firmly, and sideways, up his ass. There was no reason for him not to see the deer in time. His phone call was obviously more important than looking down the road.

Being sensitive to such sudden events, seeing that deer annihilated created distinct reactions specific to our different personalities. For Chris, it seemed to be a possibly ominous foreshadowing of events as they related to him or us. For me, it was an instant, disturbing reminder of something that had happened in Baton Rouge at the end of my Carnie Adventure in 2008.

I had been with the carnivals for about 2- weeks by then and this particular Sunday evening, I had been playing with a kitten that someone had brought along. A few minutes later someone sat on the front end of a trailer. The added weight caused it to tip on its wheels. Unbeknown to him, this kitten was sitting beneath the trailer. The frame landed directly on top of her back- snapping her spine. The last straw was one of the degenerates spewing the machismo- filled "Well, time to snap its neck!" With my affinity for cats, at that moment I wanted to hurt him more than I ever wanted to hurt a person. I instead put my efforts into trying to convince anyone with a vehicle to take her to a vet. That failed. I was on a bus 3- hours later.


Perhaps I am a bit overly sensitive to energy as some have suggested, but it was only later that I realized that the cat was a serving as a brutal metaphor for other things that I had sensed there. It seems that whenever something positive was introduced, it was "crushed". I had seen it with a few people who were obviously there because they were searching for something. Trying to get that "something- unexplainable" to take root... only to have the negativity of the place suffocate it. That happened with my Chickasha friend, Jimmy. He had led the Easter Sunday Indian- ritual outlined on my other blog. I learned when I returned home that someone had beaten him up shortly after I left.

My sense of the deer- experience was that it was time for me to exit New York, and I was now grateful that I had my bus ticket for Monday. What solidified this notion was Musty. His witty reaction to our anecdotes: "Is it dead? Good, one less deer in the world." His primary concern: his lawn. Regardless of the fact that he owns property in their habitat, he believes that his deed trumps any sort of natural- law or obligation to balance. They should all be dead because they create what he perceives as an "inconvenience!" Not that he is in the minority, of course. But, is it any wonder that we are where we are as a species if the prevailing attitude is that wealth, property, or even simple convenience dictate supreme law, and another's right to exist? Sorry, but that's unsustainable.

After Musty's commentary, I was reminded of his theory about how "evil" will never have any problem "killing good." I laughed at the obvious irony! Since he was happy to arbitrarily kill these creatures simply because he had judged them as "pests", I wondered (at great length) as to how he'd define "good & evil"... and where he'd fall on an authentic scale. Ahh, these annoying "abstract" concepts like good and evil! I see no "empirical proof" that, in the grand scheme of things, YOU yourself are "good?" In fairness, that's an inventory many of us could stand taking, especially when expanding the idea beyond an isolated incident in New Jersey. I keep hearing the conversations with Eric back in Denver about coyotes and prairie dogs...

Regardless, this was pretty much the end of my interactions with Musty other than the polite, obligatory, superficial small- talk.

All considered, I was happy to make it an early night. Chris' sister, Wendie, was flying in from Seattle the next day to spend Mother's Day weekend with Chris and Mary. I had been looking forward to meeting her, curious to see if she'd be likely to play a significant role later on.