Battle of Wounded Knee

Wed. 25 May 2016. 16:13
Niš, Serbia

8 days on the road, 580km. Took the scenic route. Searched the wild path. Forked into the unknown. Chose the mountain forest over the river highway, just to keep things interesting. Camped 7 of 8 nights, rained out the odd one, nice to have a room. No rules, no record to break, nobody to brag to, no rush, no destination – just a vague direction. Riding to ride, to be present, not to get anywhere. Stopping often to take it all in, snap a picture, ingest calories like an animal without formality; more often letting the beauty pass by; you need to draw a line somewhere, and stay in the saddle, skip the photographic memory. Leg and core muscle memory came back surprisingly quick. Attitude fell right into line, about hills and rain and traffic and bothersome thoughts. Positive thinking, or the neutral, empty, meditative, fully-present void. I did all right.

Early into Day 7, my old friend the Wounded knee, returned. Stay calm, give it love, massage the tender tendons which burn during stationary moments, sensitive to the touch, stretched too tightly across my kneecap. You’re doing great. And together we managed 96k that day. Ow.

Day 8, maintaining a high milage to stay one step ahead of pending rain, today we’re tackling the incline of all inclines: straight up to 800m for the first 12k; and upon hitting the asphalt we learn today’s 2nd crucial fact: there’s a full-on head wind, like 50km/hr head wind. Up we go, so slowly, in my first gear, wind pushing me and my 115 pound bike back down, but my will makes sure we’re making a net positive.

All this alone time has, for once, been its own challenge. See, my mind’s currently still a muck of unresolved feelings regarding a troublesome epoch of my recent past. This undistracted vipassana leaves plenty of opportunity for me to deal with these thoughts; it’s all an exercise of moving on towards lighter and happier things, and it takes a tremendous discipline to dwell in the light.

This hill presented me a with an interesting proposition: Get to the top without stopping, and I’ll give you the power to say No (to temptation) and Yes (to discipline) regarding a certain nagging loose-end. So I basically challenged myself to a task of strength, will and endurance, in order that I may arrive at a place of greater discipline at the top, another greater ongoing and permanent challenge, the implicit agreement that accomplishing the former will give me the strength to tackle the latter.

Slowly, surely, with absolute resolution that it was a fact that I was going to the top, I pedaled into the sky. After an hour or so, enticed by a lovely lookout and picnic area over the city far below, my empty stomach growled loudly at me, and from the looks of it we might actually be there, so I checked my odometer for the first time that I dared to: 8km. The sky really opened up here, I watched my eagle brethren hovering in the updrafts, and the wind increased, blasting from the sides in addition to the relentless head wind. Up up and away, swerving and shaking resolute to my destiny.

Finally, at 14th km, the upward tilt was over, but the wind grew only stronger. My gut and I were anxious for nourishment, but in this simultaneously hot and sunny, freezing windy highland there was no shelter, so we ate at the road’s edge, all my things flying away including my patience. Where I anticipated the usual reward of a big hill: some down-hill, there was none, just gently rolling unprotected gusty highlands… for the next 20km. I recalled an audio snippet I made a couple days back, while moving at a good clip up a considerable incline. I screamed: “It’s my life.! It’s my challenge! It’s my glory!” But I wasn’t feeling the glory any more.

Alas came a descent, and 1km-down I stopped at a petrol station cafe to enjoy an orange Fanta – not at all too sweet in Eastern Europe – and the temporary lack of wind. I wanted to regain my composure so I could enjoy the descent. Topping out at 64km/hr on the steepest grades, my greatest highs seem to come with getting low these days. I’ll spend my next 3 days happily grounded at a friend’s place and resting Wounded knee for the next battle.

Orphanage

22:09, Feb. 13, 2013
Picha ya Ndege (translates to “bird picture”), Kibaha, Tanzania

Today is pretty special, a very new setup compared to all mine previous. I’m sleeping under one roof with 26 children (plus a few adults) at an orphanage with no name.

In Tanzania, pretty much all the volunteer work I’ve come across is with orphan children. It was never a line of work I considered myself qualified for or even interested in, but here it just seemed a most logical path to take.

I must say I don’t like the word orphan so much, as it sounds almost derogatory, conjuring too many pathetic preconceptions. It seems to me a misguided label, calling someone by what they don’t have: which is biological parents on-hand, instead of by what they might have instead: like a big family of beautiful and assorted souls, (hopefully) compassionate and committed caretakers, good energy and love in scarcely-seen abundance.

At the risk of glorifying happenstance that one would probably never choose given a more “nuclear” alternative, I must admit that I’m thoroughly surprised and impressed by what I’ve seen. After spending last week at one home and now beginning another week here at another, at least here in Tanzania where the big cold institutionalized approach and infrastructure is missing from what I’ve seen portrayed in the media, there’s a lot of love to go around. The culture must play a large part in it, as we’ve quite easily met a ton of Tanzanians in a few short weeks, all of them amazingly kind, warm, and caring. The life force is strong with these ones, and this energy is Love; this wouldn’t be possible otherwise.

After much musing and comparing (which I’ll spare you), these orphanages seem more like a family than anything else I can think of. That’s my impression, and I’m happy to convey it.

What isn’t in abundance is money, and even the basics are scarce, even in nice homes. Electricity, water, and food are on the hotlist everywhere. Next that come to mind are teachers, books, and school supplies. In a country where a majority of people are living in mud brick homes without doors, these basic needs overshadow pretty much everything else I can think of, which would practically fall into a relative class of luxury. (Let’s not forget health care, jobs and whatever makes a strong economy happen.)

So what would I have to offer here? I had no idea coming-in. Talia’s qualifications include that she was a teacher and loves working with kids, even ones with disabilities (next stop: disabled kids’ home in Kenya), but I’ve never had any such rapport with young people. But it all made sense soon after I arrived.When we rolled up the dirt road in a borrowed 4×4 (the equivalent of riding the red carpet in from the bus stop a few miles away), dozens of smiling jumping beans ages 4-14, eagerly awaited us. When we stopped, they pulled us and our bags from the open doors, hugged our legs and held our hands. “Welcome” came in many forms: in Swahili of course, plus English, Smile and Hug. (And they don’t do the fake smile, or even hug much here, for the record.) These kids were pumped.

When they’re not in school, and during the day when some of the littlest, sick or ‘challenged’ ones have stayed behind, we Play. Swapping English and Swahili words and phrases is a most natural way for us to communicate. Teaching skills and chores (like cleaning, food-prep, caring for the animals) is another. Singing any songs we can think of. Making stuff, drawing, playing games. Pretending and laughing. I’m so new to all of this (and Swahili) that I’m probably learning more than they are, but boy do they Beam when we’re doing any of it. It’s fun, (as much as I’ve got energy for!) Talia is a great inspiration and teacher for me too, (but I have much work ahead of me to match her brand of marathon playtime.)

A bunch of impressive elders run the show. I still don’t know how exactly everyone is involved; people of all ages help make it happen. Some are the oldest kids. Some might be local volunteers. Do they receive stipends, or is this their job? And who is this wonderful, fabled director who is away in the city, whom we haven’t met yet but received many gracious compliments? All I know is everyone seems to take care of everybody in a most natural way. Anyone, even visitors who are just dropping-by, will pick up a crying kid or chase rambunctious rascals around the barn. Everyone is amazing and extends enthusiastic gratitude for our being here to play with and teach the kids.

Those volunteers who preceded us have usually left in their wake some contribution, which became their legacy. Some made purchases: mattresses, cement to become a floor, others labors of love. Every little bit helps things progress, or at least stay afloat. Talia and I are lowly volunteers, not in a position to be amazing patrons, but we are happy to assess what they’ve got (which is practically nothing beyond walls and beds) and do what we can with the money that we are saving by staying here. (Our daily budget isn’t necessary when we’ve got room and board), so today we put that money into some foodstuffs from the market and art supplies for doing activities and some sprucing-up around here. We’ll see what flows next. What I like is that nothing is required, as our presence is definitely appreciated, but it just makes sense to help out when it’s obvious how advantaged and abundant we (very thankfully) are.

If any kind readers wish to contribute anything, I can assure you that we can definitely put it to a huge benefit for many people out here. As we will progress up through Tanzania and into Kenya, we’ll be visiting many such places (as is the obvious path). Any penny saved can be easily redistributed to grateful kids.

Cheers and thanks for reading! And Happy Mother’s Day, to all those with and without your kids (for any reason, God bless), and a special thanks to the ones who share your motherly love with so many, whether your ties are with blood or without.

(Addendum: oops it’s not mother’s day but My Momma’s birthday! I’m getting old – or it’s late-nite senility. Happy Birthday Momma P!)

Staying in Sodwana

20:39, Nov. 25, 2012
Sodwana Bay, Kwazulu-Natal, South Africa

So much life happening, all kinds of things big and small. I stepped out of New York and into a rural beach community in eastern South Africa called Sodwana. I’ve begun writing this blog ten times, but I was trying too hard to summarize a month in one place. This aspect, that I haven’t been “traveling” in the usual sense, but rather living in one place, or more accurately in one big scenario, is the biggest thing for me.

Since my arrival at the airport, I’ve been practically adopted by my host Ronell, and her family, friends, her world really.

Introducing my hosts, Ronell and Felix. I make a peace-offering of a seashell for him to suck on. (Mmm salty feels good on sore gums.)

The only other time I’ve stayed put for a month was at the World Rainbow Gathering in Argentina two years ago, a chapter amongst the best of my life for so many reasons, and I wonder why I haven’t rooted-down more often. In both cases I feel like I started a little life somewhere else, complete with family, friends, work, and a lasting connection to the place. Everyone I’ve met here is local, or at least South African, and by each I’m asked How I ended-up here?

How did I end up here?

After over a year without spending any significant time on a farm, staying as a Wwoofer at an organic family farm-stay was my first desire. Dirt, plants, animals, organic lifestyle, permaculture, the intimacy of family life, local culture… this is the antonymous universe to life in my home city. Sure, we’ve got all those things back home, but it wouldn’t be traveling if it wasn’t different in every respect.

Situated on the edge of a natural reserve, at the end of a dark dirt track, way out in the middle of a sparsely developed rural wilderness, it’s far far from home. We’re off-grid too, generating power by wind, pumping water from a bore hole, and eating much food from a huge garden that encompasses this plot, the main house nestled with a low-profile into the hill.

Ronell is serious about permaculture, so it’s been serious fun learning all about her impressive setup and systems, not to mention it’s so hooked-up. We’re living comfortably, with good plumbing and flush-toilet (in addition to an outdoor composting one), solar hot water, wind-generated electricity, refrigeration, washing machine, and even air-conditioning (brilliant engineering). It’s pretty sweet. I’ve even got my own cottage of local trash. And it’s all so beautifully conceived and tweaked to be as sustainable, environmentally friendly, recycled and abundant as possible.

Air conditioning. A fan in the terrace draws outside air underground, where it cools on the way to being piping into the house through vents in the floor. Ingenious!

So what do I do here? I’m a happy helper. I’ve spent my days with Ronell learning and helping to run this homestead and ambitious garden. Gradually, I’m tending to it and harvesting food daily with increasing confidence. Half the day is spent sharing chores, meal preparation, doing handyman projects, computer projects (including making a slick funding-proposal for her NGO), and most shockingly: learning to occupy a 10-month-old baby. Can you imagine me a manny? (Thankfully, I was never asked to change any nappies :) And the kicker: for a majority of this time the husband Charley has been away guide birding expeditions in Madagascar and spotting cheetahs in Kruger National Park. I wouldn’t say he’s had all the fun tho!

Upon Charley’s homecoming, much celebration and feasting was our natural response. After 2 weeks without him, I don’t know how we made it.

Besides all of this, I’ve been graciously hooked-up as a guest. Back in Joburg, I was fetched by Ronell’s sister at the airport and driven an hour away to their parents house in Balfour, and spent a half-week there with the family. We ate together, they showed me around the garden, her mom drove us on scenic backroads and told me much of the local history, and we visited her workplace, where she teaches English to black kids. (It sounded funny to me first time too – the racial landscape is indeed interesting.) As soft a landing one could hope for, for I was jet-lagged and still exhausted with a spiritual hangover; I felt like I had to steamroll my way out of NY this time, and I luckily escaped hurricane Sandy by 2 days!

My first stop: relaxing on the veranda at Ronell’s parents’ beautiful and rustic hand-built home.

Her Dad builds homes, including the one in Sodwana. He’s very handy, and well-known for his ingenuity.

Ronell’s Mom taking us out for a spin around rural Balfour. She’s a fountain of knowledge, and a great oral historian.

The Felt holds many tales. Their family has owned and sold many of these farms in earlier times.

When Ronell was done with all her city stuff (so conveniently timed with my arrival), she and I, along with baby Felix, doggie Cressida, and my luggage, smushed into the littlest car, and took a 9-hour road trip to her home in Sodwana. We even tried to drive through the nearby Game Park at sunset en route so I could see my first big game (= amazing animals), but a flooded road made us turn back.

And here in Sodwana, I’ve been well-socialized into the friendly community, met everyone (numerous times; it’s a small place), attended dinners and brais (bbq). Heck, this morning I was washing dishes after a party they had in the local coffee shop last night! It was full-on, with dancing, bonfire, a band, led by the school principal on guitar – but it felt more like a family affair, or a big byob house party, only the whole village was there.

Ronell and I regularly went on outings and joyrides (to relax baby), wildlife-spotting missions (ongoing, at all times really), to the beach, and nearby Lake Sibaya, where I saw wild hippos for the first time. We’ve since had one visit us at the homestead, grunting at us from just outside my cottage!

Another part of Lake Sibaya

Across this Indian Ocean is… India of course!

For the last four days I’ve been on my own. The family had to go away and I had the opportunity to stay and house-sit, which I happily jumped-on. It’s like vacation, getting even sweeter with time because Sodwana just gets better, I’m set-up in Ronell’s gorgeous world, and I feel at Home. And my duties got a lot easier; they even took the dog! I’ll be onto the next adventure after this week on my own (which is sort of not true, as I’m never really alone, I’ve been hanging out with the neighbors of Hippo Haven almost every day, who also coincidentally happen to be the other awesome Wwoof family I contacted back in the States to be my first stop in South Africa! And so it goes, when you plan to Stay in Sodwana.

Early to bed, early to rise. I often see the sun rising around 4:30AM.

H I P P O P O T A M U S

Hippo tracks (and trails)

23:36, Nov. 7, 2012
Sodwana Bay, Kwazulu-Natal, South Africa

Bugs, schmugs; I’m in Africa. There are much bigger fish to fry (before they fry you!) I’m on Lake Sibiya, a breath-taking natural reserve, and HIPPOS live here. In fact, when they were building the main homestead on this land, a hippopotamus was seen right here on this very spot, at the corner of the property. I’m in hippo-land. Hungry-hungry, man-flattening Hippo-land.

Did you know that hippos kill more people than all other people-killing mammals combined? (That includes lions, tigers, bears, and elephants.) It’s because they don’t fake-charge. They simply Charge. And this is exactly what happened to us yesterday.

Ronell, my gracious Wwoof host and “barefoot nature doctor” to the community, escorted me and another volunteer from next-homestead (aptly named Hippo Haven) down to Lake Sibiya. I drove the 4×4. On the way, just before the Jurassic Park theme sounded and we entered the gate, we saw 15 giant amazing hippo skulls in front of the park rangers’ station; should have been a clue. Nevertheless, moments later I could not stifle my jaw-dropping surprise of finding a family of hippos playing in the lake, splashing about, exhibiting their cavernous mouths for all to see. From a safe distance we watched this sunset vision.

Like Sibaya

Alas, onward I drove. When we were approximately upon the family, who were now obscured by tall yellow grass between our crude dirt path and the lake’s edge, I asked if it would be foolish to get out to sneak a peek. Ronell suggested we keep driving a bit further, with good chances of seeing more up ahead. Sure enough, a big blobby hippo crossed our path. Amazing! And look, another one over there! A baby! They’re close enough that we were shooting video.

The following events took place in a blur, but by combining our fragmented testimonials and disrupted videos we’ve pieced together this story:

The hippos suddenly started running. For enormous pink blobs, they move incredibly fast. For no apparent reason they changed directions, and were heading straight for us! I was glued to my camera. We all started screaming. Ronell repeated “start the car, start the car!” (so I cut my video) but it wouldn’t start. She fumbled over the driver’s controls, and inadvertently sounded the horn. All I could think was: hippos are charging and are about hit us broad-side, or shall I say driver’s side; And how a 12-inch hippo tooth like the one back at her house can slice through this car like a tin can. I think the horn spooked them, because in the final moment they barely missed us. The baby kept running, the big angry one stopped behind our car and glared at us until we drove away.

What a rush! We were all amazed, and happy to be alive. Here we were, with mother and 10 month-old child, and we’re all laughing. Doc says it’s amazing; never happened before. Africans live among stunning wildlife, and life-threatening experiences are all part of the fun. (Aussies share this brand of national masochism too.)

Anyone for a swim?

(Crocodiles don’t fake-charge either, when you can’t see them sneaking-up beneath the water’s twilight reflection.) Gotcha bitch!

Spooky Things

21:11, Nov. 6, 2012
Sodwana Bay, Kwazulu-Natal, South Africa

Today’s approximate proximities of the local wildlife to me:

2 swarms of African killer bees. (2 smoke fires later, we drove them away.)
2 Hippopatamuses charged us. (only bypassing us by 2 car lengths.)
1 scorpion. (1 foot from my foot, 1 step away from my chapel bush cottage.)
1 beautiful brown owl. (perched 1 meter away from the 4×4.)
20 centimeter millipede. (20 centimeters from my bed.)

As is my usual style to go on about pretty and extraordinary things, I feel it would be more fun tonight to write about spooky things.

I’m staying in a remarkable little cottage on the edge of the property here at the permaculture homestead I’m volunteering at. It’s a stand-alone, medium-sized room, built in the form of a little chapel, comprised exclusively of recycled plastic bottle ‘bricks’, and covered in a smooth concrete finish, painted all-white on the inside.

The Chapel, where I sleep (at sunrise.)

Next to me is an similarly sized, but differently-shaped dwelling, the ‘Green Haus’. Here, a Zulu couple is taking refuge from their own homestead, where ‘little men’ have overrun and deemed it unfit for their living. It’s round, inspired by the traditional Zulu mud and thatch-roofed huts, but made instead of quick and inexpensive green metal. Its inhabitants, Sibongile and Mfanseni are having some domestic issues: yesterday she chased him with a garden hoe clear across the neighborhood, to another homestead, or so he told my host, Ronell. We got a clarification later in the afternoon, directly ‘from the horses mouth’ so-to-speak, as she confessed to a neighbor she was trying to kill him.

I haven’t seen either of them since shortly after the incident, although eerily-enough, for the last two nights, the door of the Green Haus has been left ajar, lights-on, all night. It’s only 5 meters away, but I haven’t been bold enough to go pop my head in to see if everything’s alright. (Honestly, I don’t think I could handle it if it wasn’t.) Ronell found in both cases that nobody was home.

I’ve had mixed feelings about this room since I first stepped-foot inside. It looked a bit, shall we say: abandoned. Bedding and rugs heaped in piles, a lot of dirt and sand collected, a line of five red candles in holders alongside the bed (ritual?) News of Sibongile’s dwindling mental health had reached me long before I entered the space she occupied most recently and during the last episode, which spanned the month prior to my arrival. It _all resonated. I promptly dashed-open the curtains and windows, collected the linens to wash, swept the space tidy, and moved-in. It’s cozy and quite charming.

Except that the door handle is broken (falls off) and the lock can’t be engaged from the outside. So I can lock myself-in, but not out. And being so close to the edge of the land, [to the little men in my head] it doesn’t feel 100% safe. And I hear noises outside. Could be dogs? Tonight it sounded as if dirt was being thrown at my big bay window. Or could be bugs buzzing into the glass. (Very likely.) Swarms of bugs.

We really did have to fend off swarms of African killer bees yesterday, and today. But that’s another story.

Just after I locked myself in tonight, a buzzing at the door startled me. From beneath it a beetle buzzed and entered, (unsolicited, mind you.) The next moment, a giant millipede just trotted under behind him. And one more, something we can all relate to: inch-and-three-quarter roach (just big enough to be too-big) scurried from somewhere near my bed to the other side of the room, and I didn’t even get up from my typing to chase her. I suppose these _are the other native inhabitants. (Shiiit, I didn’t kill the scorpion I found outside my door this morning either.)

Really, I’m just the new guy here, and I’m getting used to all this new stuff. For every thing I’ve mentioned that one might find questionable, I’ve got three more I could wax lyrical about. But this was the spooky blog.

Speaking of spooky, I heard a big phantom swallowed-up Halloween this year?

Song of Tropicbird

I hear some crazy shit on this boat.

Swishing & gurgling of 12,000 foot deep ocean currents against the ship’s wooden hull (a mere 1.5 inches thick), my body laid only 6 inches on the dry side of it. water all around me whispering in strange tongues, long slippery multi-syllabic serpentine words, swelling up and under me in deep blue scales, melting away like ice cubes in a whirlpool.

I hear music, all kinds of music. if there’s no Jambox on, it’s not coming from a speaker.. (which it almost never is).

The auto-pilot motor is a perky tireless laughing gasping leprechaun, hee hee, hahahahaha.. heee, heee, ooh ah hahahahaha. aaaah! it’s creepy, and strangely comforting.

The wind rushes and wails, but sometimes it calms down, causing the giant 40-foot headsails to billow.. sounds like thunder, or a really big Thumper.

Is Sea Foam a color? yes. Does it make a sound? indeed: fizzy – like a really big carbonated drink.

Drawers slamming open and closed are straight-up poltergeists. BOOm!

General banging around inside the boat could probably be best imitated by Animal from the Muppets on his drum-kit.

The rigging and electrical wires run up the two aluminum masts, slapping down some flagpole percussion as they clatter inside like a runaway dog that’s still on-leash, racing along a resonant floor.

Voices, voices, voices. Voices of girls, of men, of tortured demons through a portal to hell. Evil voices, groaning and throat-singing throughout the night. why does the gate open only after dark?

There are three things out here: the water, the sky, and this boat. Who’d think there could be such a varied, imaginitive (its not me – it’s the musicians), multi-dimensional and thunderous soundtrack?

[ insert Lady-leprechaun GaGa-haha Remix here ]

How to win all the time

23-may, 4:21am

Be Here Now. Almost on land, altho I hardly ever think of it that way, or succumb to the countdown. in fact, I’m the voice of opposition on-board regarding this, asserting politely that I’d rather not know any countdown-related statistics. (It’s really an opposition to Time, a principally oppressive concept.) I’m very particular about this, as my crew-mates would tell you, although to me it’s perfectly acceptable to celebrate our progress. “10 days down!” or “1500 miles behind us!” are to me quite positive statements compared wih “20 days to go” or “1500 miles to go”, as the latter sound like glass half-empty statements to me. To call attention to how much we haven’t accomplished yet has a tendency to make time drag its heels, and isn’t constructive or feel-good at all.

I’m similarly snappy about calculating end-results. like when we’re playing cards, I’m abhorred by those keeping constant tallies of who’s in the lead, or when asked how many cards I’ve got left. count your own cards. to me it’s invasive when people are so concerned with what I’m doing.. worry about yourself.

both of my peculiarities are borne out of an attempted practice of being Present, living for this moment and not for the future. In the present, a continuous satisfaction can be achieved, instead of living for an uncertain payoff later, a momentary peak or spike in an otherwise uneasy air of anticipation.

Winning. (This is a bit of a rant, and a tangent, but it’s related.) I’m not saying it’s right, but in being consistent with the Be Here Now outlook, it’s natural for me to play games with the intention of exercising skill and to have fun in the moment, preferably so that’s mutually satisfying with my opponent; not to prevent them from scoring. A good analogy might be made with Sex — can you imagine how terrible it would be if you were only aiming to please yourself, or even worse just to have an orgasm? (Okay, analogy ends here.) In cards and in sports, I play more offensively than defensively, because it doesn’t hurt me if my opponent smiles and enjoys the game too – it’s better actually. to me it’s just more fun to flex some skill and make some goals, without being preoccupied about the outcome; and there’s an abundance of opportunity within a game for plenty of this to go around. and regarding the outcome, I don’t care if I lose, as long as I’ve played to the best of my ability, and everyone had a good time. it’s playing for the moment, not to Win. one thing I don’t like about competitive sport, whether it’s playing cards, ping-pong, or verbal debate, is that if there’s a Winner there’s also a Loser. it’s ironic to me that you’re often competing with friends. in my opinion, among friends, if there’s one Loser, then everybody loses. I see winning as an ego-driven satisfaction at the expense of another, dominance of the strong over the weaker player. this is why competitive sport among friends can be counter-productive, and why intention matters so much. It’s all energy exchange; make it pretty, keep it positive.

I realize I’m up against the very fabric of our society, as we’re bred to compete, dominate, kill or be killed. It’s a bit Buddhist of me (and aligns with my veganism too) that many of my actions are guided by the intention to alleviate suffering in the world. When we live in the future, it’s either at the expense of the present moment, or can cause us suffering when it doesn’t turn out how we had planned. So forget about it!

Leg 2.9 (almost there)

23-May 2012, 00:43
Leg 2 to Marquesas, Day 21

Almost there! By the end of my watch tonight we’ll be in the 300’s on our countdown trip odometer, three days. I said it aloud multiple times today, so I’ll say it again now: I’m so glad to have done the long leg of this trip, and not because it’s almost over, but because it only gets better.

With each passing day and in every realm, I feel (in no particular order): my head gets clearer; my well-being is more easily sustained; my culinary artistry is elevated (food tastier, style more efficient and intuitive, and it’s more fulfilling to serve); the sunrises and sunsets are more unmissable; the heavenly bodies grow more familiar, like neighborhood friends; my company more pleasant, and our camaraderie more sincere (random acts of kindness abound); my body gets stronger and my balance feels more like a super-power; and I enjoy music and literature like never before, nourishing myself with the fruits of so much creative spirit. (I’ve read all my books, except the Gita, and re-read all my Hess.)

My inner-world has grown from a crowded room into a vast warehouse (that I wander through in dreams). In thought and in heart, all the strings of my relationships feel strong, tangible, as vital and regularly called-on as the ligaments and tendons of my own corpus. I wonder if these strings tug back on the souls from which they’re strung… and do the objects of my affections have any idea that, independent of the time whence we last communed, that they are still regularly accessed? In my meditations and dreams, twenty years ago might as well be twenty mites ago, the time is so brief and unimportant. It means that everyone and everything counts. Yet another reason to fill your present world with only things that add value to your life, and cut loose the crap! Because if you permit it in your conscious world, it may very well exist in (and toxify) your subconscious world forever. I revisit both sides, and am working to reconcile the negative feelings I’ve endured and which are still a part of me.

Going forward, I feel like spending time at sea is a wonderful stage on which to nurture what you’ve already got, and tap into the inner truth that may often be obscured or smothered when we’re busy, and distracted by the noise of our lives.

Listen, do you hear that? That’s your mind. What does it sound like?

I hope it’s beautiful.

Lights: above and below the horizon

22-May 2012, 02:17
Leg 2 to Marquesas, Day 20

Forgive me for writing incessantly about this same theme since my first night aboard the boat in Panama, but it’s always new to me!

For the last two and a half hours (on night watch of course) I’ve been having a most wonderful light-gazing. I first noticed the sky. This time I can confidently say with a superlative that I’ve never seen the stars more bright or clear in all my life. The milky way looks like a tremendous Lite-Brite, a million points of white beaming down with laser-like intensity. Moonlight has been absent from the nighttime sky for a week, but the nights are bright with star light. My hand against the sky, the boat before me, the water below the horizon – these things appear black. The sky itself is deep purple, lighting up the night without the moon or light pollution.

As usual on particularly starry nights, I’ve lounge on a bench in front of the cockpit, identifying stars and constellations using my Starwalk app ’till my head hurts. Usually I need to use some imagination to make out the forms completely, but not tonight… when everything is crystal clear! Interesting how much of this is only visible in the southern hemisphere… crazy, there are effectively 2 skies! I’ve noticed, traveling steadily west all this time and just below the equator, that I’m always star-gazing off the port beam (south) instead of north… I guess they’re just more brilliant from this location (makes sense). Now I can readily point out the constellations Scorpius, Virgo, Corbus, Centaurus and the Southern Cross, the Northern and Southern Crowns, Ursa Major, Leo, Gemini, and the Serpens (head & tail). Easiest to spot are Venus, Saturn, Mars, Sirius (brightest star) and Canopus (2nd), as they’re so close and bright. Limited only by the amount of time I feel like looking up and the Earth’s rotation, which spins the view so quickly, I feel like I can learn much in little time. We’ve got some Celestial Navigation books on board too, but that would be too practical! Playing Where’s Waldo in the sky, or more accurately “What’s that? and checking out on my live key map is way more fun.

I can now easily imagine the early astronomers naming these heavenly bodies, a majority of them 1500-2000 years ago. It’s hard to imagine that these clusters “stay together”, made up of stars and galaxies with such tremendously varying distances from us (from, could you believe, 125 to over 6000 light years away!) Considering that their distance is measured in time, (a “light year” being a distance unit that light travels in a year, or approx. 6 trillion miles), it makes sense that any relative movement would take thousands of years to perceive.

Then, while peeing off the beam, I noticed the bio-plankton are especially vivid here. The phenomenon varies significantly everywhere I’ve seen it; here, they’re really big and bright, flaring-up for only a moment but with great intensity. The deep blue sea is alive and illuminated with these sparkles, twinkling on and off like christmas lights. The boat itself makes neon waves and an accompanying soundtrack, droning faintly like the surf breaking on shore, by the force of 23 tons plowing through the undulating surface. As I gaze out I can see bright disturbances down below, like green traffic signals flashing, indicating fish scurrying and disappearing in their own clouds of light.

So similar actually, between the heavens above and the phosphorescent plankton below, the world is contiguously luminescent.

So freakin’ in love with my life

20-May 2012, 23:14
Leg 2 to Marquesas, Day 18

(This was to be a private entry, because I felt like gushing and thought it would be fun to write it out for myself. At the risk of sounding too self-aware, too self-absorbed, too happy on my flying unicorn, I decided to heck with it.. think what you want: I’m Happy.)

Euphoria sets-in. I had one nagging issue on this trip, resolved 5 days ago, and ever since I’m full of giddy bliss. Sounds silly but I found, out on a boat in the middle of the ocean, that my life is perfect.

I thought my company was going to be a bummer… but it’s just the opposite. In reality they don’t matter much. Applying my general outlook regarding people in my life: they’re not the source of my happiness or unhappiness.. they just are, and so am I; my happiness is not dependent on anyone but myself, and I alone am complete… it’s all within me, everything I need to be stable and happy. Perhaps I previously let perceived virtues or shortcomings of my crew-mates color my disposition on the boat. Since I found my voice, and made it clear what I’m here for, and what I’m willing to contribute, everything is hunky-dory. Now I see that we don’t need anything from each other, only to contribute what we want to, and viola! we are balanced.

I spend so much time thinking about how grateful I am for everything. I say prayers and thank-you’s throughout the day and night, when I close my eyes before bed, or before I take a bite of food. Meditations, work-outs, and Love-Reiki sessions each include an invocation of the Universe. I’ve come to see many of my actions throughout the day as iterations of various cycles, ones that I am practicing and perfecting. It’s not so much calculating and repetition as it is an acknowledgement, stating an intention, so that my actions are clear, with purpose, and dynamic. Life is not a rehearsal. The results are that everything I do becomes a prayer, a motion of intended perfection, beauty, grace and elevation.

I woke from a quick nap this afternoon and jotted down my dream: I was with a good friend from home, whom I’ve shared many an adventure and much of the same company over the years. Simple-as, we were reminiscing, waxing lyrical about how great our lives have been, so many good people and experiences on our paths, and how fortunate so much of it has come to pass together. We’ve bathed in each other’s radiance for so long. Thank You, Sandra! Namaste.

Things that have been filling my head lately:

• I care deeply about so many people. From all spheres of my life, in all times, spaces, and dimensions, everyone lives in me. Fresh, right now, eternally in my rich blood. I’d like to go and revisit each and every one of you unrepeatable and magnificent spirits, so that I may indulge in your unique, unforgettable essence again… this stockpile of beautiful souls, alone, might be the greatest fortune in my life.
• I’m so excited to keep going on this path, although I have no ideawhere it will lead. Only thing I feel for sure is that the Unknown cradles me securely in her loving arms, and I need never worry.
• This vantage point is one of the purest, most direct links to the universe I have known. good-bye World of Man, hello World of Gods! Elemental basics: being carried across the skin of our planet by the wind and water, under a fire in the sky… beholding everlasting morphing giants of the land, sea, sky and superstrata… and by night the always dramatic uncloaking of the Infinite cosmos above, the true key to our place in the universe! Is there Nothing out here, or Everything? Not sure if I’ve simplified or overwhelmed my inputs!
• I need to Create. Not so I have something to show for these mental exercises, but because I want to connect. We can do this together. Again, no idea what or how – and not stressing it. Can start with my every actionbearing the intention of Creation.
• Life is too good. and if I died tomorrow, I would have no regrets. I have seen and felt so much, and it keeps coming at a rate I can scarcely process. i’m so thankful and aware of the abundance in this life, grateful to have the thinking mind be conscious of it, and I’m immutably humbled for this opportunity to live.