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!

3/28- 31: A Weekend with Jack

The next to the last weekend in Santa Fe went as expected. Instant recall from September’s foray with Jack.

Jack is quite a character. He is now in his early 60’s and is an aging old- school hippie with long curly, graying hair. He still wears typically ripped black (always-black) denim jeans, and is lucky if he weighs 140. He is from the east coast originally, and still talks with what I define as a New York accent… complete with the New York attitude.

He was quite the activist, protesting the Viet Nam until some Pennsylvania rednecks fired some guns his way, got involved in the Civil Rights Movement, and even knew Jimi Hendrix, among others. Quite a remarkable history Jack has… great stories. He describes the 60’s in two ways: Pre 1965, and post- ’65. The “real 60’s” he implies happened before the Peace, Love, Dope era. He was involved in consciousness to some degree, and says it faded with mass- movement; when the hippies became pop- culture. Sound familiar, anyone?

Jack reminds me of the stereotypical troubled genius, and of Eric in a few ways, but is NOTHING like him beyond the fact that he likes to talk social issues. Jack knows his shit. He knows politics, finance, and sociology… with a depth and detail I have not seen since Michael Corbin. And, he can tie it all together. I was a bit skeptical in September, until I realized that many of the predictions he made have happened and our conversations have made me realize how hard of a “right turn” I have made ideologically.

His prediction for the future? Cataclysmic comes to mind. The future is never bright for a docile, compliant, unquestioning population, and history bears that out. It’s quite disturbinging how many of these so-called liberals, who were screaming about civil liberties not a year ago, have become “Political Chickenheads”, chanting, “Hope…Change...” in lockstep with their handlers. People get the government they deserve, and quite honestly, I am beginning to believe that it is over for you. When the government is trying to outlaw growing YOUR OWN FOOD complete with the Adam Sutlarian scare tactics, and the hottest topic is American fucking Idol? You deserve your cage, and so will the new generation of vassals bred not to think. For the rest of us? Well, we hear a lot from the Left about freedom FROM religion; what about freedom FROM government?

Although I suspect he would prefer another adjective, Jack is also a perfect case study in what has happened to the Baby Boomers, and how some of them exist in social Limbo; borderline hypocrisy. Sometime, in his own words, he realized that living his ideals was not going to sustain him into old age. As with my ex- landlord, Lawyer Bob, he talks lovingly about some aspects of the 1960’s, but was co-opted by a lust for money.

While Lawyer Bob openly flaunts his wealth (living in Christy Brinkley’s old home) , Jack loves to try to impress with offhanded commentary concerning how much rent he pays, what he paid for his truck, what a collectors piece is worth, etc., etc. He lives simply, but still loves verbally displaying his wealth as much as the person driving a Lexus does visually. Half the fun of knowing Jack is noticing his contradictions. He is very health conscious about the chemicals he puts into his body, which is VERY “Santa Fe”, but also still smokes pot…while deriding me for eating drinking Coke and smoking my Pall Malls.

Unfortunately, this move did not end on a positive note, and we each share some blame for this. Jack lacks people skills. I lack patience, especially now. I began to tire of his “interpersonal style”, and at the end of the day Tuesday, after the move was completed, I told him that he “was getting on my fucking nerves” and that I did not want to work more than 2-3 hours on Wednesday. This after a few rather loud displays of displeasure during the course of the day in response to his impatience and inability to convey direction.

Just like last year in the two weeks before I left, I have no tolerance for any perceived bullshit, and the fact that I was curious as to how Chris was coming along getting on the road Tuesday made it much worse. I tried to make it clear that I would still like to get together with him when Chris gets here, but I am not at all convinced that will happen!

Meanwhile, still no word from Chris about his departure since Sunday, and I was quite curious what was going on. We had a long conversation Sunday about the “departure philosophy” and how oftentimes the hardest thing to do on a voyage is... leave.

7/17: Denver iv- Day 3

I had continued to notice the frequent irritation with certain things, but oddly that I ALSO had a new sense of overall calm. I have been known over the years to have a bit of an edge, and let little things provoke me. That had stopped since I had been back, at least as it pertained to the insignificant. I was content to let life drift by, worrying about what I could control and seemed important. However, there were certain instances when that calmness and serenity annihilated at seemingly inexplicable times. Stores seem to provoke these times!

I walked down to King Soopers to get some cigarettes and to stop in to the coffee shop to hang out for a bit. Outside of the Capital Hill King Soopers, there are usually activists collecting signatures and money, for whatever cause they’re pimping that day. Today it was for my least favorite organization not named PETA: Greenpeace.

I saw the guy well before I went in, and felt myself getting angry just at the sight of this seemingly college- age kid wearing the hippie- uniform complete with the Greenpeace upper- body billboard. He used the “you care about the environment, right?” line to try to guilt me into stopping to hear his schpeel and of course grab my signature. I said something to the effect of “Yeah, but I hate Greenpeace.” They are trained to respond to these negative reactions to their activist- panhandling by saying, “Well, you have NICE day too…” with the now- standard upward inflection on “too”!

It was such a canned, pre- arranged response from this little leftie- puppet that before I knew it, my rage had built to the point where my mouth had lost its filter. I told him, in a rather loud voice, “I’ll have a VERY nice day if you’ll go fuck yourself.” With the upward inflection on “fuck yourself”. He had vapor lock, not knowing how to handle this. Keep in mind he was in a public setting, at a business, dealing with someone who was obviously belligerent toward his organization. So much so, that this someone was willing to cause quite a scene if he continued to press the issue.

Greenpeace, PETA, and extremist organizations like them are constantly fighting a P.R. war. They’ve both done more harm to the “causes” they claim to advocate simply by appearing to be eco- terrorists, all the while exploiting the naive, idealistic, well- intentioned sheep who are too young know better than to support them with labor, money, and signatures. Having a loud argument at the entrance to a supermarket with someone who simply wanted to be left alone would NOT exactly be a public relations coup, especially for these wannabe extremists.

As I walked inside, I noticed that the manager had heard the exchange and quickly walked outside to speak with Hippie McDouche. Mr. Manager was doing all of the talking. He did not seem pleased. Mr. McDouche remained, but I doubt he continued to use the obnoxious line with which his handlers provided him.

After I had left the supermarket I was a little disturbed, but also quite encouraged. I was not disturbed by fact that I had yelled at a puppet with Greenpeace’s paw up its ass, but at how FAST and to the degree that I had gotten angry. It was a bit frightening, and not in character for me. Usually it takes weeks for me to build up that kind of anger! The only conclusion I could come to, at the time, was realizing how far I’d come from being that Liberal Agenda Dog myself 5- years ago.

Sometimes the things that bother you the most are the things that remind you of yourself. There was more to it, but that was the only thing I could come up with at the time.

The encouragement came from the fact that I obviously had tapped into or developed some resources I had been lacking: crystallized ideas and more importantly unwavering confidence in them. The self- doubt that has plagued me forever, as it pertains to action, is drastically dissipating. That was encouraging, but only the first example of many that would show me that I now had to learn how to deal with it!

I walked back to the Friary feeling quite ornery, but with no other confrontations, thankfully. We went to Barracuda’s later and I was feeling quite agitated and unsettled, not only about the incident at the store, but with everything that surrounded being in Denver. I told Chris what had happened, and he just chuckled saying he thought that I had possibly gained more focus. I was not sure. I just knew that I was unexpectedly perturbed and could not figure out why!

We managed to stay out until 2am helping Angela celebrate her birthday, and I had decided that I was going to take the bus back to Santa Fe the following morning. I thought that maybe some time back there would provide a foundation for reflection and comparison so I could process, and maybe figure out what exactly had changed.
It was a quick and surprising 3 days in Denver. It was obvious by now that I NEEDED the interlude this time and that I was entering uncharted territory with myself.