On June 30 six years ago we put my mother's mother's ashes in the ground after celebrating her life.
On June 30 three years ago I bought a train ticket and rode the train tracks north on the Hudson River, until I was met at the station by my friend Brad. He brought me home the final hour ride, and dropped me off at the head of our road. I walked the final mile, past the Christmas Tree Farm where I had my first job, down the hill, up the hill, onto our property, the fields and trees green in June, and then finally to our house, which I had been away from for the longest period of my life at that time. My sister screamed when she saw me through the window, and my mom accidentally swore in surprise and gave me a very long hug, and my dad was napping so I walked upstairs and poked him in his belly with my bamboo stick and told him I was home. A few nights later I had a campfire with my friends, and I was in the best mood of my life. I was still alive, and I'd seen what I wanted to see and done what I'd wanted to do. 7 months of traveling from New York to India, through ten countries, and several plane flights, cost a little over $7,000. The cost of living in any major city in America would have easily exceeded that during that interval of time.
A year ago I woke up in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I had been sleeping without a tent up on these rocks in the forest, and I could see the faces of the men I'd read about to get pumped up for the journey across the land named America. I drove through the Black Hills all day, into Wyoming, where I arrived at the first national monument, Devil's Tower, shortly after 10 pm. The last visitors were leaving, and I faced the fear of walking alone through the dark and walked the circle around the tower in the moonlight, as opposed to doing anything crazy like trying to climb it. It was truly peaceful yet completely silent in a necessarily eerie way. I only saw one animal, but it ran away quickly, whatever it was. I remember when I was a young suburban kid and I was afraid of going in the basement.
I stared and studied the Devil's Tower with respect and awe. It was magnificent and surreal and one of the strangest things I've ever seen in my life, especially when illuminated by moonlight. I walked the circle around it. Devil's Tower is only one more option worthy of our awareness, but ultimately worth walking around and then returning home. I've never climbed it though. I wonder what it's like up there. Perhaps like the top of a rock.
After that I got back in the car and spent hours in the northwest corner of the Black Hills trying to find a place to camp. Every site was taken, and that search took between midnight and 2 am with all the back roads. I finally said keep moving and went back to the same area where I'd started the day. I slept so that I would wake up with the driver's steering wheel in front of me.
Today I finished moving from San Francisco to the East Bay, where I'm living in a nice two story apartment house on a quiet residential street. It's not far from downtown Berkeley and the University of California. It's only for a month, but it's a welcome change of pace from the 101 highway and a huge hill every day. I enjoyed the view from the hill when I was willing to walk up it, which was often. I loved the experience of having my own place in San Francisco, even if there were cars rushing by and people fighting from time to time. I had a balcony when I needed not so fresh air, and plenty of room to learn, imagine and create. It was the perfect artist space to inspire creativity and perhaps the strangest way to begin my reintegration into residential American society.
It was a simple move, but I stretched it out over a few days so I didn't burn out over it. Strangely, my old roommate Terence moved back in today after having left a few months ago, so we talked and caught up in my empty room. Then I went upstairs and got to talking with a new tenant who had just moved into the room of the dramatic woman who had been evicted weeks ago. This new woman I had met before, as she is close friend's with the house manager and mother of the landlord. Apparently his dad and her ex-husband was one of the Olympic athletes famous for that photo holding his fist in the air. This new woman is her best friend. She's also a poet, an artist, a sculptor and a songwriter. She was gushing with information and advice and breaking out into recited poetry with a paint brush in her hand. The paint brush reminded me of where this whole journey started, painting houses in Cambridge to save money for India.
She kept saying to me, "Choose where you want to go. Your mind is truly a spaceship, and if you focus your intention on what you want, you'll get there before you even know. But keep moving and living and don't stress about your journey because you're still on it. But choose what you want to do. You have to drive. You have to choose based on the inner drive you feel," and she grabbed her chest and patted it for the beat beneath.
We walked up to the corner and I showed her the Pyramid of the Sun, which she had never noticed before in all of her years of visiting this house. She said, "God Bless You," and wished me well on my journey. I stood in front of the pyramid painting for a minute and thought about where I wanted to go, and the choices I have to make to get there in a style that is most pleasing to the universe and those who might await me at the destination I choose.
Then I got in the car, put my foot on the pedal and steered the wheel to my newest place to be.
On June 30 three years ago I bought a train ticket and rode the train tracks north on the Hudson River, until I was met at the station by my friend Brad. He brought me home the final hour ride, and dropped me off at the head of our road. I walked the final mile, past the Christmas Tree Farm where I had my first job, down the hill, up the hill, onto our property, the fields and trees green in June, and then finally to our house, which I had been away from for the longest period of my life at that time. My sister screamed when she saw me through the window, and my mom accidentally swore in surprise and gave me a very long hug, and my dad was napping so I walked upstairs and poked him in his belly with my bamboo stick and told him I was home. A few nights later I had a campfire with my friends, and I was in the best mood of my life. I was still alive, and I'd seen what I wanted to see and done what I'd wanted to do. 7 months of traveling from New York to India, through ten countries, and several plane flights, cost a little over $7,000. The cost of living in any major city in America would have easily exceeded that during that interval of time.
A year ago I woke up in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I had been sleeping without a tent up on these rocks in the forest, and I could see the faces of the men I'd read about to get pumped up for the journey across the land named America. I drove through the Black Hills all day, into Wyoming, where I arrived at the first national monument, Devil's Tower, shortly after 10 pm. The last visitors were leaving, and I faced the fear of walking alone through the dark and walked the circle around the tower in the moonlight, as opposed to doing anything crazy like trying to climb it. It was truly peaceful yet completely silent in a necessarily eerie way. I only saw one animal, but it ran away quickly, whatever it was. I remember when I was a young suburban kid and I was afraid of going in the basement.
I stared and studied the Devil's Tower with respect and awe. It was magnificent and surreal and one of the strangest things I've ever seen in my life, especially when illuminated by moonlight. I walked the circle around it. Devil's Tower is only one more option worthy of our awareness, but ultimately worth walking around and then returning home. I've never climbed it though. I wonder what it's like up there. Perhaps like the top of a rock.
After that I got back in the car and spent hours in the northwest corner of the Black Hills trying to find a place to camp. Every site was taken, and that search took between midnight and 2 am with all the back roads. I finally said keep moving and went back to the same area where I'd started the day. I slept so that I would wake up with the driver's steering wheel in front of me.
Today I finished moving from San Francisco to the East Bay, where I'm living in a nice two story apartment house on a quiet residential street. It's not far from downtown Berkeley and the University of California. It's only for a month, but it's a welcome change of pace from the 101 highway and a huge hill every day. I enjoyed the view from the hill when I was willing to walk up it, which was often. I loved the experience of having my own place in San Francisco, even if there were cars rushing by and people fighting from time to time. I had a balcony when I needed not so fresh air, and plenty of room to learn, imagine and create. It was the perfect artist space to inspire creativity and perhaps the strangest way to begin my reintegration into residential American society.
She kept saying to me, "Choose where you want to go. Your mind is truly a spaceship, and if you focus your intention on what you want, you'll get there before you even know. But keep moving and living and don't stress about your journey because you're still on it. But choose what you want to do. You have to drive. You have to choose based on the inner drive you feel," and she grabbed her chest and patted it for the beat beneath.
We walked up to the corner and I showed her the Pyramid of the Sun, which she had never noticed before in all of her years of visiting this house. She said, "God Bless You," and wished me well on my journey. I stood in front of the pyramid painting for a minute and thought about where I wanted to go, and the choices I have to make to get there in a style that is most pleasing to the universe and those who might await me at the destination I choose.
Then I got in the car, put my foot on the pedal and steered the wheel to my newest place to be.
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