Part III: Yosemite

(...continued from Parts I and II)

              Waking up in your car isn’t actually as bad as it sounds.  Sure, you’ve only gotten four hours of sleep, at most, and you slept in a very awkward position in an area that was in no way intended for such a restful activity.  But there’s something about the peace of mind that comes from sleeping in a place and position that wasn’t intended for it, and being satisfied that somehow your body was able to overcome the environmental limitations and still find a way to relax and restore itself.  The best is when you wake up a little early, go outside because nature is calling, see the moon still out above the towering hillsides, and then crawl back into your space and pull your hoodie over you as a makeshift blanket, realizing that you’re actually looking forward to being back in your sleepy driver’s seat.

            The whole process is even better when you do finally wake up for real and realize that you’re only ten minutes away from a brand new day filled with beauty and glorious natural splendor.  All you have to do is move the driver’s seat back into position, re-arrange a few objects, turn the key and get back on the road.

            That’s what happened the Friday before last when I woke up in a large open dirt area near the gates of Yosemite.  It was disappointing to find out that the campgrounds were all full at 2 am.  It had been a frustrating 9 hour ordeal of finding my way out of San Francisco, across the bay, confusion in Oakland, missed turns on the highways and then finally arriving at a destination with no vacancy.  On the plus side, I didn’t have to pay to camp that night, which meant that besides gas and food, my Yosemite experience would be entirely free.

            After the turbulent tests of patience, stamina and wakefulness the night before, it was beyond a welcome relief to begin the day with a calm drive through a sunlit valley early on a Friday morning, well before throngs of tourists flooded the one road into the park.

            I eventually made my way to Yosemite Village, where I enjoyed a simple breakfast and stocked up on a few basic food supplies such as cereal, fruit and Clif Bars.  Then I proceeded to the Wilderness Office where I obtained a free two night permit to camp in the wilderness.  The line wasn’t that long, but unfortunately the people who were in the line hadn’t camped much before, or at least not in a national park.  This was evident because of their continued stream of questions about everything the park ranger told them about the conditions of their stay.

When I finally got to the desk the girl asked if I knew where I wanted to go, and I said that all I wanted was a short hike to somewhere free to be.  She said there were plenty of lakes and rivers that could meet those conditions, but started off with suggestions of “non-strenuous” six mile hikes to secluded areas.  So I changed my conditions to “I don’t mind if there are other people around” and she directed me to Lake May, which was only a 1.2 mile hike after a 45 minute drive up to an elevation of 9,000 feet.  This was High Sierra territory, and the actual gain from the hike to the camping area was only a few hundred feet.  The lake was supposedly small, and there were even cabins on one side where people who didn’t want to rough it could make reservations to stay.  Next to that was an area for people like me to set up their tents.  There was an outhouse with a flush toilet, a pump with drinkable water, and steel bear boxes for storing extra food.  Last summer I would have shunned such conveniences and crowds, but the entire point of the journey was simply to find a place where I could lay down my sleeping bag and rest at night.  The beauty of nature was merely a bonus.  On top of that, I didn’t have any energy for long hikes, especially not with huge backpacks carrying tents, food, clothes and my sleeping bag.

All of that being said, she seemed eager to direct me to possible hikes where I could get the most out of my experience, and was happy to point out that the campground was only a couple miles and a thousand feet elevation difference from Mt. Hoffmann, which happened to be the epicenter of Yosemite National Park.  It seemed like a worthwhile trip the next day, if I had the energy, but for then I was just happy to know that I had a place to go for two nights and that I wouldn’t have to spend any time during the next 48 hours planning where I would go next.

In fact, after the Wilderness Office I headed over to the main information building to find out if there was an internet connection somewhere in the park.  I not only needed to check e-mail, but I needed to continue to apply for September sublets in the Bay Area.  After all, I didn’t want to be homeless.  It was merely this strange interval period between visiting home and the first of the next month that had left me in this situation.  Even so, I hadn’t had any responses to my applications.  I’d only found five within my price range at the time, but still no luck.  I wasn’t panicked yet because I still had over a week to go, but I couldn’t put it off too long.  Luckily there was a lounge at a village nearby, Curry Village, where I could get free Wi-Fi.  So I went to that lodge and explored Craig’s List and applied to three more apartments.  I also went onto the state park reservations web site and booked a tent site at Half Moon Bay for Sunday night so I wouldn’t be scrambling again on Sunday before having to work on Monday.

After an hour or so of enjoying a simple connection to the outside world, I bought a few more grocery supplies, got back in the car, and drove an hour up winding roads to Lake May.  Of course, there was that huge wildfire burning at the western edge of the park, so that was something to be aware of.  Maybe I'd get some good photos of it from Mount Hoffmann.

From the highway it was another two miles on a narrow bumpy road, and when I arrived at the parking lot near the trail head, it was already packed because it was the starting point for many other hikes.  I’d already gotten my pack ready for the hike, so there wasn’t too much preparation time, and I was back in the wild once again.  Well, wild probably isn’t the best word, but compared to the city it might as well have been.

The air was much cooler and crisper at the high elevation, but I still managed to sweat intensely as I carried a stacked pack with my sleeping bag and pad strapped to each side and a two liter bottle of water in my hands.  Then again, it was only just over a mile, so it didn’t take long.  The only challenge came from the fact that I was so wiped out from the week before.  I don’t think I could have done six miles if I tried.  I passed many other hikers, so I knew I was going to a populated area.  Everyone seemed to have a smile on their face, and people coming back the other way told me I was in for a real treat.

They were right.  I was overjoyed to see the sparkling lake and mountain side cascading down to the opposite shore.  I was even happy to see the tents of fellow campers with ample room spread out in between.  It wasn’t even close to being a crowded car campground, while on the other end, it wasn’t complete isolation.  Some other time I might have been put off by that, but I wasn’t seeking a solitary experience.  I kind of liked seeing other humans enjoying the area, walking around the lake with hiking poles and smiles on their faces, warming their hands around campfires and sharing camping stories.

I found a spot on the edge of the grounds so I could have a little privacy and quickly set up my new tent.  After some dinner I walked to the other end of the lake in my bathing suit and got prepared to swim.  We were allowed to do so, but not at the camping end because that’s where the water for the pump came from, and they didn’t want us stirring up all sorts of things that live in the dirt at the bottom of the lake.  Luckily the sun was still sparkling on the water at the other end, so it was a little warmer, despite it already being close to 5 pm.  I found a log where I could easily go in all at once as opposed to slowly subjecting every inch of my body to freezing cold water, and then I dove in.  It was ice cold, and it was glorious, because I hadn’t showered since Wednesday morning.  I was in for about ten seconds and then got out to dry off immediately and put on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

After that I went back to my car to get a few more food supplies and my laptop so I wouldn’t miss a day of writing.  It was right around sun set, and it was absolutely silent on the walk down and back, which was much easier without all the weight.

When I returned to my tent I got into my sleeping bag and finally began my new library rental, Maya Angelou’s third book of memoirs.  She’s 18 years old and has a baby, and is working in San Francisco to simply get by.  Then she goes to San Diego and somehow ends up pimping two women for a few months until the operation falls apart and she decides to go back to Arkansas.  Maya Angelou was a madam?  Who knew?

Soon the sun had set and the sky grew dark and swept by starlight.  I moved my sleeping bag outside my tent and listened as a man with a loud voice at a nearby campfire told stories about encountering bears on the trail.  It wasn't long before I'd had enough of that and put on my headphones so I could listen to Ludovico Einaudi, a modern minimalist Italian composer and pianist who my sister turned me onto just days before my journey to India began in 2009.  “Passaggio,” “Questa Notte,” and “Ancora,” played well with the Milky Way.  After a starlit concert I crawled back into my tent and went to sleep nice and early.  I may have been in a tent again, but at least it was my tent and my space, and I could sleep as peacefully as I deemed necessary.  There was no one snoring or rustling through a backpack in the bed next to me, or going in and out of the dorm door.  There was no one insisting I stay awake for just one more Swedish massage.  There was no need to keep my eyes open and focus on the highway lest I doze off and die behind the wheel.  I was totally exhausted and very happy.

_________________________________

I tell you half the story, the rest you fill it in…

“Dead Presidents II” – Jay-Z

            I slept very late the next morning.  Even though I kept waking up to that same guy who was telling loud stories, I had no trouble falling back asleep in my comfortable purple and black sleeping bag.  Eventually I got up to eat breakfast, put on some clothes and read some more Maya Angelou.

            I overheard some passing hikers say something about a “four hour round trip,” and I just assumed they meant Mt. Hoffmann.  Just the sound of the words “four hours” made my already aching bones and muscles want to crawl back into my sleeping bag, and I figured my one idea for a decent hike wouldn’t happen after all.  It was fairly cold to begin with, and I had nothing in the tank.  Besides, I was hoping to enjoy a very different, minor, yet absolutely spectacular Hoffmann-esque journey in nature that day…

While you ride the bench, catch me swinging for the fence…

            After my breakfast I began to re-read all of the highlighted areas of the first wisdom packet I had put together for my Oriental journey in 2009 and 2010.  The soular source shined upon and fed all the life within and around me, the waters flowed peacefully and the breeze blew through the trees as I re-read the wisdom of Coehlo, Campbell, Jung, Smith, Robbins, Whitman, Einstein, Rilke and so on.  Meanwhile, a beautiful inner peace was blooming inside of me, further revealing the divine beauty of all that surrounded me.  There was nothing truly absent to see.  Just a shining radiance bathing the universe of be.

            The wisdom reminded me of just how lucky I had been to be everywhere I had been, to see what I had seen, to meet who I had met, to learn what I had learned, to experience the joy and satisfy just about every experience for which I had yearned.  It hadn’t been easy.  It had been incredibly difficult and soul-testing and awful and ugly at times, but it had always compensated for the down times in spectacular fashion.  And as I read these pages that made sense to me four years ago when I put them all together in the same web of words to guide me around the world, I realized that they resonated within my soul with far more brilliance than I could have imagined at the start, making me realize from the bottom of my heart that the journey itself was a work of art.

            Meanwhile, blue jays with raven colored scalps hopped about.

J-A-Y hyphen

Controlling, manipulating, I got a good life, man

Don’t get it corrected

This **** is perfected

            I packed a smaller backpack and decided to go for a walk around the lake.  But before I did that, I decided to cut through the forest to check out a new view of the valley from which I had hiked the day before.  I listened to a few songs on my headphones so I could feel these moments at their utmost magic, commencing the ceremony with Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun”.  The previous night’s stars belonged to Einaudi, so today’s sun would start with the incomparable emotional energy from Hiromi, revealing the magic spin ball as fun and fancy free:  “Pachelbel’s Canon,” “Green Tea Farm,” “Somewhere,” “Wind Song,” “Place to Be,” “Brand New Day,” “Rainmaker” and “Joy.”  Yes, everything was worth the exertion.

            Then I returned to my campsite to drop off my backpack.  I brought a Clif Builder’s Bar, my camera and my iPod on the walk to the other side of the lake.  I sat beneath the sun and felt as one to Aphex Twin’s “I,” Phish’s “Bliss,” Radiohead’s “Treefingers,” Einaudi’s “Eden Roc,” Christopher O’Riley’s Radiohead covers of “Thinking About You,” “You,” and “I Can’t.”  Then I got up to walk through the forest and along the edges of the sparkling water to Einaudi’s “Laissez Moix en Pais,” “Chanson d'Amour,” and “Dessert Dans Le Dessert.”  Then Kamakawiwo’ole’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World,” Dylan’s “Forever Young,” Ben Harper’s “The Three of Us” and “Blessed to Be a Witness,” Bach’s “Joy of Man’s Desiring,” Ry Cooder’s “She's Leaving the Bank,” and Dylan’s “River Theme.”

            At this point I was already climbing up rocks and along the cascading edge of the mountainside, walking slowly and stopping repeatedly to breathe in, take pictures and be in the moment.  There was no goal, I was simply walking and enjoying nature with little baggage.  I didn’t have any water, but I did have a Clif Bar, which I bit during “Dessert in the Desert.”

            Eventually I realized that it just might be possible to circumvent the entire lake, and even better, you could see the upper edge of Yosemite Valley rising above the trees on the opposite side.

            I was making great progress when I realized that there was a five or six foot gap filled with water that I would either have to leap across or wade across.  I had plenty of room to get a running start and make a leap of faith, but the landing side was a jagged rock, and I didn’t like my chances.  Meanwhile, it wasn’t a big deal to remove my boots and walk through it.  So I carefully removed the hiking boots I had bought at the enormous PARCO mall in Japan the day before I climbed Mt. Fuji.  They had served me well on that hike, on every hike during the America move the previous summer, while standing on suspended beams working harvest at the winery, and just about every time I hiked Bernal Hill in San Francisco to take in the cityscape and see the crescent moon rise in the east over the bay.  You can buy some excellent shoes at PARCO, but you have to take them off if you want to walk in the life water.

            When I reached the opposite bank I stretched out my bare feet on the rocks and let the sun dry them off as I listened to Bela Fleck & The Flecktones’ “Big Country,” reminding me of every beautiful journey, especially the previous summer’s automotive camping spree in the home of the brave and land of the free, spread about before me as I set my sights east.  Sigur Ros’s “Svefn-g-englar” as a divine chaser.

            I finally returned to the side of the lake where my tent was pitched, but first I rejoined a path that appeared to head west as well.  It was then that I saw a man and his girlfriend returning with some climbing gear.  I recognized him instantly.  The day before I had met him in the parking lot as he sang “My Favorite Things” at the top of his lungs.  I said, “I remember you!”

            He said, “I don’t know, that was yesterday.”

            “You were singing about your favorite things.”

            “Ah, yes.”

            “Were you just doing one of your favorite things?”

            He appeared to be exhausted, but he nodded and said they had been climbing and something about Mt. Hoffmann.

            “Is this the path to Hoffmann?”

            “It sure is.”

            “How far away is it?”

            “Oh, I don’t know.  You look like a fit guy, and you’re not carrying much weight.  Maybe 45 minutes.  It’s been 35 since we descended the summit.  You can’t miss it.  They’ve piled tons of cairns along the way.”

            “Do I need climbing gear, or can I walk to the top?”

            “You might have to climb up some rocks at the end, but you don’t need gear.  Be careful though.  It’s a scramble to the finish, but then it’s a complete drop off at the edge, and you don’t want to go over.”

            “Good to know.  What time is sunset?”  It was already 5:30.

            “Probably in an hour and a half.  John Muir said Mt. Hoffmann was his favorite place to watch sunset.”

            “Excellent.”

            The glory of Hoffmann was swimming in my senses in more ways than one, and I had overcome the morning’s sluggishness to rally and be extra enthusiastic about life.  I put on my headphones and resumed Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s “Storm” and returned to my tent.  They have these amazing drums that evoke images of preparing for battle, which came in handy as I packed my backpack.  This time I had plenty of water, some raisin bagels, carrots, a long-sleeved shirt, a hooded sweatshirt and a headlamp for the walk back.  I went to the bear box to get some more supplies when a man in a purple shirt asked me if I knew anything about moon rise trends.  How did he know?

            “Well, what time did the moon rise last night?”

            “About 9:15.”

            “Then tonight it will be around 10 or shortly thereafter.  It’s somewhere around 50 minutes later every night.”

            “Thank you.  Last night it was gorgeous.  You could see it rising over Cathedral Point.”

            “I fell asleep too early last night, but I’ll definitely be awake this time.”

            “Enjoy!”

            “You too!”

            I relaxed on my sleeping bag for about twenty minutes to restore my energies, because I didn’t want to rush anything.  By then the sun was already behind the closest hill, so it would be a dusky ascent, which is the way I like it.

            Of course I began the journey up the hill to “Wagon Wheel,” and then some Enya (Don't judge me!) for atmosphere and then Bob Dylan’s “Main Title Theme (Billy).”  Sometimes I took off my headphones to feel the stillness of nature, but I’ve climbed many a mountain in silence, and this time I wanted the musical inspiration to propel me.  It’s more fun that way, as simple as that.

            Unfortunately, although there were many cairns, there were also many stray rocks to begin with, so the path wasn’t nearly as clear as they suggested it was.  Plus it was dusk instead of sunlit.  I paused many times to scan the landscape and spot the next marker.  A few times I strayed, but I always found my way back.  I passed two hikers on the way down who were surprised I was going up so late, but I said I had a headlamp, so they were appeased and let me go on my way.

            By the time I finally got to the final stretch, I was already utterly exhausted.  I hadn’t eaten nearly enough carbs during the day, and I could already feel my muscles converting stored up fat into energy.  But the sun was setting, and time was of the essence.

            I was well aware of all of the mental lessons I had learned from masters in books and previous climbing experiences, and that each step up the mountain held the entire journey and was all that mattered, and the mountain was there first, and I was there to respect it by experiencing it because someone had to, and that I couldn’t use it for my own purposes, but merely be thankful that it included me in its purpose, whatever it was.  Even so, I had to keep moving if I was going to make it.

            During the final stretch I actually listened to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.”  I’m serious.  I used to detest that song.  I hated it with a passion.  It evoked memories of drunken sorority girls swaying to and fro and shrieking not to lose faith that they would continue to live an easy life, get a lucrative job, and land a wealthy husband who loved them for who they really were.  It reminded me of the resurgence it enjoyed due to its being performed by the characters on Family Guy, whose absurd non-sequitur humor over-packed with below the belt blows at B and C celebrities just might be one of the reasons I did stupid things like climb mountains named Hoffmann with passionate pineal poetry.  Not that I wasn’t a ragged clown.  I wasn’t a saint who never made mistakes, or enjoyed the simple pleasures that life makes for us to take.  But ever since I was a young human standing on Lake Champlain’s and the Great South Bay’s shore, I knew that the universe held something more in store, with magic and passion galore, for whoever was willing to believe that there was always something more beautiful and worthwhile at the core.

            When the song finished the playlist, I walked the final stretch without music.  It was steady and simple until the final wall of rocks.  I wanted to stop and breathe and rest more than anything else, but I could feel the ticking of the clock.  Besides, a unique moment such as this, being amongst the universal bliss, is certainly nothing to mock.

            I screamed and groaned and growled and went “Ughhhh!” with every lunge and push and propulsion up the boulders, and had to remember why I was doing this.

            “Love!”

            “Argggh!”
 
            “Magic!”

            “Yahhhh!”

            “Beauty!”

            “Ahhhhhhh!”

            I didn’t care if my words floated through air to cynical ears filled with insecure fears.  I had already found a Snickers wrapper on the path that day, and thrown it in the trash where it belonged.

            “LOVE!  MAGIC!  BEAUTY!  GRRRRRR!   LOVE!  MAGIC!  BEAUTY!  UMPHHHHH!  LOVE!  MAGIC!  BEAUTY!  That’s… my… only… duty…”

            “Love… magic…

            “….beauty…”

            

___________________________________

            
I walked back through the dark under the stars, and saw the yellow moon rise before I walked through the forest to return some weight to my car.

Nine years earlier I had been sleeping on the floor of a hotel room just outside the park.  I was with four other friends.  We'd spent the day hiking and the evening in the jacuzzi near a rushing river.  I could never sleep well back in those days.  It was hard for me to fall asleep just about anywhere.  I wasn't very adaptable.  So to help me relax I listened to several soft ethereal songs from Moby's Play which I had just copied from my sister.  Billy Palinski gave it to her.

I remember the song "Inside," where I imagined I was flying up high amongst the mountain peaks, with the stars sparkling in the sky above.

9 years later I was walking around a lake beneath those stars about which I had dreamed, and recalling all the glorious beauty I had seen in between.  Moby's "Inside" helped me enjoy the ride, as did "Fireworks," of which I have great memories meditating to on a mountain top in the East beside a Golden Buddha while waiting for the Moon Queen of Love.

________________________

After escaping the Disney-like crowds at Yosemite's headquarters, I was on the road and heading back to the coast.  No one had replied to my requests for a place to live the next month, but I had found three more places to e-mail.

When I gassed up halfway home, I got a call from a place in West Oakland, which is where I write this post.  There has been a lot of confusion and back and forth the past week, but I think I am going to live here for one month, if not more.  Who knows what the universe has in store?  I have two weeks to decide if I'm going to give notice at my job and move back east, or continue to try my best to make it work out west.  Time reveals the truth soon enough.  Is this still a test?  Have I done my best?  I really need some rest before I embark on a new quest.

I returned to the Pacific Ocean after dark that night, and set up my tent on the beach.  I wrote in my journal and listened to my music, and enjoyed a glorious shower with soap and shampoo.

I awoke in the early morning to use the bathroom, and looked up at the sky...

Part II: Read Part I 1st

"The saga continues..."  

"Dead Presidents II" – Jay-Z

On Thursday, August 22, I woke up to peaceful silence in nature beneath towering California redwood trees.  It was the one year anniversary of my reaching the Pacific Ocean.  The previous summer I had taken 100 days to drive from New York to California.  I'd woken up at a campground in North Cascades National Park in Washington state on August 22, 2012, having just climbed and camped atop Pyramid Peak the two days before, and all I wanted to do was finish this journey and make it to the West Coast.  It was a five hour drive, and during the final hour the state troopers had pulled over at least three cars for speeding, and tailed me twice.  The second time he was right behind me, licking his lips, and I only had ten more miles to go to the ocean, so I put on Hiromi's "Place to Be," my theme song of the journey, and operated the vehicle calmly and coolly until I found a gas station where I could pull over and the police would leave me be.  Shortly thereafter I arrived in Olympic National Park in Washington to see the moon smiling wide over the biggest body of water in the world.

All I had planned back then was to try living on the West Coast for a year and see what I found.  I had a feeling I would live in San Francisco, but Seattle and Portland were also options.  I thought I’d teach English, but that wasn’t the goal.  Whatever I did, I had to resume writing and writing and writing, and what’s more, I had to start publicly sharing my writing.  Hopefully I would start a book soon.

A year later I had indeed moved to San Francisco, taught English, written and written and written, publicly shared and even completed an impromptu book which I have yet to market.  Maybe I would make a lot of money someday, but if that was going to happen I had to keep my focus on the quality of the story instead of the monetary or social rewards it might reap.  After all, just a day earlier I had taught my class about The Beatles’ song “Can’t Buy Me Love."

Then again, achievement and success are natural parts of life.  What did Huston Smith say those Hindus had to say about it?

The second major goal of life... is worldly success with its three prongs of wealth, fame and power.  This too is a worthy goal, to be neither scorned nor condemned.  Moreover, its satisfactions last longer, for (unlike pleasure) success is a social achievement, and as such it involves the lives of others.  For this reason it commands a scope and importance that pleasure cannot boast.

India acknowledges that drives for power, position, and possessions run deep.  Nor should they be disparaged per se.  A modicum of worldly success is indispensable for supporting a household and discharging civic duties responsibly.  Beyond this minimum, worldly achievements confer dignity and self-respect.  (p. 15, Huston Smith, The World's Religions)

Self-respect, huh?  Well, as absurd as it was to be waking in the woods, wondering where I would sleep that night, and driving over an hour to teach a class of international students in the city, I felt consumed by peace and very relaxed.  I had spent the previous two nights in a bed at a couch surfing host’s home.  Even though he was a masseuse enthusiast, he really stressed me out.  It turns out that what I really needed was to sleep in a totally quiet space in nature, be able to go to sleep whenever I wanted, and not feel like I owed my time to anyone.  The night before I had fallen asleep listening to Mogwai's “2 Rights Make 1 Wrong,” and I felt united with the loving spirit of the universe, the brilliance of simply existing, and how wonderful it was to be a breathing human with a brain and a heart.  Even when it was over and I dozed off, I woke up again to feel that same glorious feeling.  You can't buy that feeling, whatever it is.  And no, I wasn't on drugs.  My bank account is currently too small for such gratuitous graces.

It didn't take long to pack up my car and get back on the road.  I enjoyed a very peaceful ride through the winding country roads before finally rejoining Highway 1 along the Pacific Ocean.  The weather was overcast, so it wasn't as glamorous as it sounds, but it was still a great way to start the day.  Then again, my car was completely packed with everything I owned, so much that even the passenger seat was overflowing.  At least I didn't have to push a shopping cart along the highway to get to work.  Being temporarily homeless is stressful, especially when you still have to report to work in a city where it is very difficult to find affordable lodging, but it's not even close to the real thing.

The traffic wasn't too bad, and I got to work only a few minutes late.  The students didn't seem to care because it meant they could talk longer, or study for the vocabulary test longer.  Later someone would explain to me that a lot of these English schools that hand out student visas are partially a joke because most of the students are just trying to hang out in America and attend class only as much as necessarily required by their visa.  I have seen that to be true for many students.  Obviously there are others who care, because they want to improve their skills at a very useful language, get into a college to further their career, or bring their skills back home to work in the tourism industry.  So it’s not a waste, but I am speaking to an audience that is mostly thinking about socializing during class time and looking forward to when they can finally leave.  That’s not to say we don’t have fun or they don’t show me appreciation, which they definitely do, but I have no illusions of grandeur about my post.  Even so, I have this fortune in my wallet that says “any job, big or small, do it right or not at all.”

After a quick grace period for studying, I commenced the vocab test on the following words for our "Banking" section:

pay back, save up, settle up, fund, funds, finance, finances, fiscal, transact, monetary, deliberate, principal, balance, proportion, proportionate, terms, trend, venture, flourish, prospect, prospective, prospects, rather, bulk, graduated, odds, as a rule

I didn't choose the section because of my temporary annoying money issues, but simply because it was the next one in the book.  The sequence of chapters led to them studying "Vacation" and "Housing" while I was gone.

After the test we did some grammar, and some other lessons I don't really remember at this point.  But I do remember what I taught them in the afternoon.

When we came back from the final break, I handed out the most recent "News for You" articles that the school makes available for us to copy for the students' reading comprehension with respect to current events.  It was a week old, so the headline was "Crisis in Egypt."  We read about the violence over the transition of power, and then moved on to the lesson:

"Alright people, now we're going to do a listening exercise with two different songs.  They're both about money.  Does anyone know the band Pink Floyd?"

One person nods.  "Okay.  They're a rock group from England that was popular in the late 1960's and 1970's.  They were influenced by many of the drugs that were popular with hippies at the time, and if you go down to Haight-Ashbury where the psychedelic hippie movement began, you'll see a lot of Pink Floyd shirts and posters in certain store front windows, or worn by wandering hippies asking you for money.  Now there are two reasons we are learning about this band.  The first is the name of the song we are going to listen to.  It's called ‘Money.’  The second is the album this song was on.  Has anybody heard of the album Dark Side of the Moon?"

Shrugs, blank stares.

"Okay.  Dark Side of the Moon was produced by Pink Floyd in 1973, and it is currently the second greatest selling music album of all-time, in the whole world.  Thus, they became very rich and famous because of it.  And the fifth song on the album is called 'Money.'"

"Also, if you look at the album cover, you will see a black triangle that has a white light beaming into it, and then being changed into a rainbow.  We call this a 'prism'."

Many "ohhh's" expressing recognition of a familiar word.

"And if you buy the album, you'll see that they actually have many pictures of pyramids on the album jacket, like the ones in Egypt."

"Ahhh."

"So look at the lyrics I printed out for you, and listen to the song carefully and fill in the blanks as best you can, and we'll review it afterward."

I play the song, a few heads bob, pencils furiously scribble, and then we review during the guitar solo.

Money, so they say, is the root of all evil today,

But if you ask for a rise
it's no surprise they're giving none away.

"What you need to know about this song is they are very sarcastic.  The 1970s were when rock musicians started to make more money than ever before, and deal with more fans than they imagined, and get more fame and pressure than they ever imagined.  Pink Floyd was very sarcastic about the new culture of money that flooded their industry, even though they were the financial beneficiaries of the trend.

"Obviously, money itself isn't evil.  It's just a piece of paper that represents work done or property owned that can be exchanged for material goods and needed services.  You can't survive without it, because you need food and water, and even though you don't have to have shelter, homeless people live 20 years less than other people, on average.  But the idea that money is the root of all evil is that all too often people get so greedy that all they care about is how much money they have, and then it clouds the good feelings they have toward other people and life, and those feelings are ultimately what make life worthwhile.  Even worse, sometimes, the hunger for money makes people act in a way so that they don't mind ruining the lives and happiness of many other people in order to get more.  If that happens to you, then it is certainly consuming your shining moon, which reflects the light of the sun, with depressing darkness.

Some of them nodded their head knowingly, others laughed at whatever it was they were seeing on their iPhone or Android or whatever it was they were addicted to like crack.

"Okay, that's enough classic rock music.  We will jump to the modern era with our next song.  But first, can anyone tell me what I'm holding in my hand?"

"A dollar."

"That's right.  United States One Dollar.  What do we see on the dollar?  What shape is on the dollar?"

"... a pyramid."

"Correct.  And where do we find most of the pyramids?"

"...."

"We JUST read about this place."

"Egypt!"

"Right.  They recently closed the pyramids to tourists because of the violence in Cairo.  Now let's flip this piece of paper over and see what we find.  Who is this?"

"Benjamin Franklin!"

"Abraham Lincoln!"

"Bill Clinton!"

"....no."

"Washington!"

"Thank you!  George Washington.  And is George Washington alive or dead?"

"...dead?"

"Yes.  He is dead.  Which makes him a dead president."

"Ohhh.  Haha!"  (confused looks)

"Now who has heard of Jay-Z?"

(everyone's hand goes up)

"Good.  Why?"

"He's a rapper."

"He's married to Beyonce!"

"Right.  If you go anywhere after class today, you'll walk down the street and see a bus with an advertisement on the side, and you'll see Jay-Z's wife, Beyonce Knowles, telling you to 'Live in the Now' and drink Pepsi.  I have reasonable doubt that she drinks a lot of Pepsi, but I don’t doubt they gave her many large sacks of money to tell people they should forget the future, drink Pepsi, and possibly develop diabetes.  If you buy food you’ll see her on magazine covers, if you watch TV you may have seen her rolling around on piles of gold coins and telling you to buy cell phone plans, and if you dance in clubs she might cause you to move your butt in a way that will attract suitors and possibly help you fall in love.  Or at least get some action.

“So the next song we're going to listen to is by Jay-Z.  He wrote it 17 years ago, in 1996.  It's called 'Dead Presidents II', and it's from the album Reasonable Doubt.  Does anyone know what that means?"

"..."

"If you are accused of a crime, the government has to prove that you definitely did it, and when the jury decides whether you are guilty or not guilty, they have to be sure 'beyond a reasonable doubt' that the accused person did the crime.  That means the evidence shows that there is no doubt, or disagreement, in their mind that they did it.  And 'reasonable' means using your thinking power to decide based on the facts they give you, as opposed to saying, ‘In theory, aliens from the future could have come through a time portal and done it and then covered it up.’

“Anyway, Jay-Z named his first album Reasonable Doubt.  Can anyone guess why?"

"...."

"What song did we learn about on Tuesday?"

"C.R.E.A.M.!"

"By?"

"...Wu...Tang."

"Right.  Wu-Tang Clan.  And what did they sing about selling?"

"Clack!"

"Crack!"

"Correct.  And what did we learn about how Jay-Z made all of his money before he finally broke through as a rapper?"

"Oh yeah!  Selling crack!"

"Exactly.  He raps about it a lot on this album, and openly admits that he did it, because many poor black youths in the poor ghettos sold crack to either get by or get ahead.  When interviewed recently by Charlie Rose, Jay-Z admitted he was so good at it that he did it far longer than he needed to to 'get by', and was very well off by the time he quit.  He even thought that he would never become a rapper, and he was very close to giving up.  He was 26 when he finally made this album and quit drug dealing.  When asked about why he did it even though he knew it was ruining his community, he said he was a dumb teenager.  When the interviewer pointed out that he continued to do it until he was 26, he smiled and said he was good at it.  So this entire first album is about becoming decently wealthy by dealing drugs.  And as bad as I'm making this sound, it's actually often considered by critics as one of the top two hip-hop albums of all time, next to Illmatic by Nas, which came two years earlier.

“So now we're going to listen to the song 'Dead Presidents II' by Jay-Z, from his first album.  It's called 'Dead Presidents II' because his first ever single from his first full album was called 'Dead Presidents'.  But then he wrote a second version which, in my opinion, is much better.  It's probably the fastest lyrical song we'll ever listen to, so it'll be a huge challenge for you to fill in some of the blanks.  But I tried to spread them out and leave half the rhymes in so you can guess more easily.  And if you miss a lot, don't worry, we'll play it twice and then go over each line so you can learn slang and some interesting parallels with the history of American capitalism.

“Speaking of which, you’ll notice that at the beginning of the song Jay-Z says, ‘Roc-A-Fella.’  That’s in reference to his record production label, which is Roc-A-Fella Records.  It’s very common in hip-hop to mention your record label as a promotional tactic to sell more records and thank them for distributing your work.  Although he actually co-founded his label.  Does anyone have any idea why he named his label that?”

“Rockefeller?”

“Exactly.  There is a place in New York City called Rockefeller Center.  It’s this enormous building owned by GE, or General Electric, which is one of the richest and most powerful corporations in the world.  They own the NBC television network.  You may have seen pictures of an ice skating rink surrounded by flags from around the world.  That’s at the base of Rockefeller Center.  There’s also a picture of a large god-like figure shooting lightning from the clouds and saying ‘Wisdom and Knowledge Shall Be the Stability of Thy Time.’  I actually used to work across the street during my first job out of college, when I was a banking paralegal.

“Now the reason it’s named Rockefeller Center is because it was founded by John D. Rockefeller, who, when adjusted for inflation, is the richest human being in the history of the world.  He became this way by gaining control of 80% of the oil production in the world by the end of the 19^th century.  He got into the market right when it began.  He also never smoked or drank, and wanted to live to be 100.  He died at 99.  Sometimes he threw dimes to people in the street as a joke."

I didn't mention this in class, but when Rockefeller was 86 he wrote:

I was early taught to work as well as play,
My life has been one long, happy holiday;
Full of work and full of play—
I dropped the worry on the way—
And God was good to me every day.

Many people consider Rockefeller to be the purest symbol of evil greed and everything that is wrong with capitalism.  But he did turn to philanthropy after fellow rich industrialist Andrew Carnegie led the way, and his donations to medical research eventually found a cure for yellow fever.  Biographer Ron Chernow wrote:

What makes him problematic—and why he continues to inspire ambivalent reactions—is that his good side was every bit as good as his bad side was bad.  Seldom has history produced such a contradictory figure.

Speaking of contradictory figures, the reason Jay-Z named his record label after Rockefeller is obvious: he wanted to make a lot of money, and he’s completely honest about it in his music.  If you think about it, his selling crack is somewhat similar to selling sugar water: it makes you feel good when you ‘live for now,’ but then you feel worse after when the rush is gone, and in the long term the health effects can be devastating.  But not for him.  He claims he never used the product he sold because you'd have to be crazy to.  And now he is one of the richest record producers in the world, is married to a beautiful, famous and talented musician, and has a baby child too.  He even does charity work in Africa, and attended Barack Obama’s first inauguration.   In fact, Barack Obama is friends with him and once said:

'Every time I talk to Jay-Z, who is a brilliant talent and a good guy, I enjoy how he thinks. That's somebody who is going to start branching out and can help shape attitudes in a real positive way.'

I said to the class, "It’s pretty hard not to know who Jay-Z  is.  Anyway, without further ado, here is 'Dead Presidents II':

(Nas' voice sampled as the chorus):

I'm out for presidents to represent me (Get money!)

I'm out for presidents to represent me (Get money!)

I'm out for dead presidents to represent me

The song's combination of sampled music is irresistible to my ears.  It begins with a heavy beat sampled from A Tribe Called Quest's "Oh My God (remix)" and Lonnie Liston Smith's "A Garden of Peace"  The beat really puts a lift in your step, and the "Garden of Peace" sample evokes images of shining crystals in an icy cave, or stars glimmering amongst an almost all-consuming dark sky filled with invisible energy.  It is catchy, haunting and cosmic.  It makes me feel as though I am once again driving beneath a crystal clear Milky Way galaxy, or walking the city streets of New York with nowhere to go within the spooky urban flow.  I flashback to glamorous get-together's at my investment banker friend's high-rise near the Chrysler Building, which shines like a "trillion cut diamond."  I see myself floating in a canoe beneath the stars, just a few safe hundred feet away from a cabin my grandfather built and stands sturdy to this day.  I see Ivy League graduation gowns, music festivals filled with ecstasy and debauchery, and concert halls playing elegant symphonies.  Then, suddenly, I'm waiting for the train in Agra, having just visited the famous "Temple of Love" that was built by 20,000 workers who had their hands removed by the Shah who didn't want them to ever build anything as beautiful, his sick idea of poetry.  Then ten Indian children missing arms, eyes and legs beg me for food and rupees.  When I offer crackers, the legless leader tells me not to bother, the hope drained from his eyes.  Big surprise.

Jay-Z begins by citing his record label, Roc-A-Fella, and then says, "The saga continues..." before proceeding to rap at light speed with incomparable skill and flow.

Who wanna bet us that we don’t touch lettuce

Stack cheddars forever

Live treacherous, all the etcetera’s

Till the death of us, me and my confidants, we shine,

You feel the ambiance?

Y’all n***** just rhyme.

As Jay-Z brags about his swanky lifestyle achieved through masterful yet risky manipulation of the underground trade of a substance that supposedly makes you feel absolutely excellent and then absolutely terrible, the students furiously try to keep pace and scribble.  Some of them bob their heads and tap their feet.  Some giggle in amusement and shake their heads at the insane pace of the lyrics.  I’m amazed that I’m able to get paid money to teach this stuff.  Then again, why shouldn’t I?  I’m teaching them about money, celebrity, power, and how English words can be employed for creative purposes.  It’s not my ideal audience, but it’s sure better than my first job.

We don’t just shine

We illuminate the whole show

You feel me?

When the song is complete I play it again, and then we slowly go over the lyrics to fill in the blanks and interpret the meaning of his slang.  He talks about making money through treachery, murdering people being a difficult but necessary part of his job, watching his friend die after being shot by competitors, knowing the police and his rivals want to see him dead, having a great time loving his life anyway, and making lots and lots of money every day.  He has plenty of women, is well connected through his crime syndicate, and has a “unified steady flow.”

Afterward I showed the class the dollar again.  “What’s this on the back?”

“A pyramid.”

“Who built the pyramids?”

“Slaves.”

“How did most African-Americans come to America?”

“Slavery.”

“Right.  They were stolen by English and Spanish slave traders and sold to American plantation owners in the south.  They worked for free under horrible degrading and tortuous circumstances for several centuries.  They weren't allowed to learn to read, they were beaten regularly, had their toes cut off if they tried to run, and the women had that terrible thing happen to them that happens when treacherous men get their way with them.  And that’s a huge part of why America became such a powerful economic success and mighty force throughout the world.

“Let’s look at the other side.  Who is this dead president?”

“George Washington.”

“And who did he own?”

“Um…”

“Slaves.  He also has more in common with Jay-Z’s lyrics than you might think:

Factions from the other side would love to kill me
Spill 3/4 of my blood into the street
Let alone the heat...

“There’s nobody England hated more than George Washington, since he was the fearless leader of the rebel forces during the Revolutionary War.  Jay-Z is talking about rival drug dealers and the police, but if you look at the history of the world, most governments are really just another type of gang.  They are groups of humans who get together to use violence to obtain the material goods they want at favorable prices for the members of their groups.  Washington simply helped lead his territorial gang against a foreign gang so they would have to pay less money for things they wanted, like food, stamps, tea and clothing.  Washington loved fashion, by the way.”

Hospital days, reflecting with my man laid up,

on the uptown high block he got his side sprayed up

I saw his life slipping, ‘yo this is a minor setback, we still living’

For now just dream about the get back

I saw him smile but his eyes said, ‘Pray for me’

I’ll do you one better and slay these n***** faithfully

Murder is a tough thing to digest, it’s a slow process, and I’ve got nothing but time

“I don’t know Jay-Z’s personal history or how true his lyrics are.  As for Washington, he not only had to lead men into battle, watch his comrades die and vow to avenge them by killing as many members of the rival British gang as possible, but also presided over hangings of spies and deserters to set examples.  Even more gruesome, after avenging a loss to the French during his first battle by defeating them with help from Native Americans, he either made a tactical decision to let it happen, encouraged it, or realized it was futile to stop them as his Native American allies scalped and slaughtered French soldiers who had surrendered and begged for mercy.”

I empty three, take your treasure, my pleasure

Dead presidentials, politics as usual

“Jay-Z was almost shot once during his drug dealing days, but all three shots missed him.  He later said in an interview that he believes ‘in the universe,’ and that some inner force always told him he would be fine during those dangerous days.  Washington was very similar.  He often rode ahead of his soldiers to rally them during battle, fearlessly waving his sword and calling his men to bravery.  Cannon balls would land at his feet and he wouldn’t budge.  Better yet, long before the Revolutionary War, when he was still a very young man, he was part of the British Army when they were fighting against France in the western frontier.  He was constantly disrespected and ignored by his British superiors, which he never forgot.  During one fateful battle, they were ambushed by Natives allied with the French, and Washington gained glory.  His cocky general was killed, but Washington’s bravery earned him instant hero status throughout the colonies.  Even though he had two horses shot out from under him and had several bullet holes in his coat and hat when the day was done, he continued to ride back and forth to relay messages for his army, however obvious it was that victory was impossible.  He was also a very easy target, being such a large man.  One Indian chief specifically ordered his men to shoot at Washington, and they all kept missing, causing the chief to exclaim that providence clearly had big plans for this man.

I’ve had near brushes,
not to mention three shots, close range, never touched me

Divine intervention.

A few students are in awe at the parallels, but time is up and most of them are just excited for the weekend.  I apologize for ending the week on a dark note, and promise them that money isn’t pure evil as long as they don’t murder people to get more of it.  And if they were in the military or somehow grew up in an environment whose only option for financial success was dealing great yet devastating addictive highs to their peers, then that’s their thing and I don’t understand what it’s like.  Well, not completely…

_______________________________

After class I spent two hours on the internet feverishly searching for a place to sleep that weekend.  All of the hostels were booked, and I couldn’t afford a hotel or even motel.  Nobody had responded to my new couch surfing requests, and even the nearest state parks were at least booked on Friday and Saturday night.  It was then that I got the greatest counter-intuitive idea I’ve ever had: I would actually save money by driving three and a half hours to Yosemite National Park.

Even though I had spent virtually the entire summer before in national parks, I hadn’t been to Yosemite National Park, often called the most beautiful place in America, in over nine years.  It just happened to be my first national park back then.  I was in college, on spring break with my friends, and visiting California for the first time.  Certainly there would be gas costs driving that far, but so would there be to go to state parks 1.5 to 2 hours away, and driving around each day to find a new one, if they even had any vacancy.  What’s more, those parks cost a minimum of $35 a night, and often much more.  But in Yosemite, I could go wilderness camping for free so long as I registered with a free permit.  The only question would be how early I could get there that night.  It would be too late to go hiking and camping, but if I made it in time I might get a first-come first-served campground.  Of course, when I called, it was too late to reserve for that day, and they refused to give me a forecast on my chances of getting a spot four hours later.  After many calculations based on information dug up during my last available internet usage until the next teacher occupied my classroom at 4, I went to the Performing Arts Parking Garage to get my car and hit the road.

The traffic over the Bay Bridge was terrible, and even worse, I had missed one crucial direction.  I forgot to write down that I was supposed to be on I-580 East for 50 miles, and instead had only written down the 0.2 mile merge from I-80 to I-580, causing me to think that I should barely be on 580 and should be immediately looking for the merge to I-205.  Of course, this was 50 miles away, but the traffic and my misinformation was driving me insane.  I drove about halfway the correct way before I realized I had missed the turn by a long shot.  The irony was I hadn’t.  I was supposed to just keep driving east and I would be fine.  But I thought I had missed the road, so I got off the interstate once the traffic cleared up, and of course by then I found myself deep in east Oakland.

I had to drive a few blocks from the interstate before I finally found a gas station where I could ask directions.  It turned out they didn’t have any maps to sell.  I misinterpreted the directions though.  The guys at the gas station told me that I was very far away from 205, causing me to think I had indeed missed it a long time ago.  Also, I had to use the bathroom like crazy, but it was out of order.  They told me Walgreen’s across the street had a bathroom, but that was out of order too, and the woman told me there was no way they were going to let a man in there.  So I ran back to my car, laughed at the simple yet very uncomfortable cosmic test I was taking, and found a mall nearby.  The bathroom worked, thank God.

When I got back on the road I went west again, and didn’t see 205.  The guys at the gas station assured me 580 would just turn into 205.  If only I could afford a smart phone or GPS, this wouldn’t be a problem.  I eventually got past the Bay Bridge and started heading north to Berkeley, and I knew I had gone the wrong direction again.  I had no patience at this point.  I was exhausted physically, psychologically, and emotionally.  Everything about my life’s uncertainty started to eat at me.  I really wanted to explode.  I asked the universe what the damn point of all of this was, and why they would send me to look for a road that wasn’t even there.  That’s when I saw an enormous building that said, “Art.com.”

So I turned around again and pulled into the first gas station I could find.  This time they had a map.  It was getting dark, and Yosemite was still over 3 hours away, but I had nowhere else to go at this point.  When I looked at the map, I instantly realized that what the men at the gas station meant was that I was still a long ways west of 205.  I had been too tired to explain that I had been heading east to begin with, or they would have simply responded that I should keep going and I wasn’t there yet.  But instead I must have given the impression that I had already come from the east, so they told me I had missed it a long ways back.  Once again I had foolishly driven west when I was supposed to be going east.  I got really angry at myself for being so stupid, wasting so much time and gas and energy, and being in this situation in the first place.  I also couldn’t help but laugh at myself.  I was too tired to laugh hard though.

Eventually the moon came out and I found myself racing east on 205, then 99 South, then 140.  I was so excited to find 140 that I didn’t even realize it was the wrong one.  Once again I made the absolutely ridiculous mistake of going west instead of east.  I was clearly too tired and had too much going on in my mind to be making such a journey, but I had nowhere else to go.  I drove 30 minutes in the wrong direction through complete countryside with nothing but county road signs, and nothing even telling me if I was on 140, let alone 140 West.  At least I got to see Sullivan Road at one point.

It was when I saw signs for I-5 that I knew something was definitely wrong.  I had already been on I-5.  I realized I had been heading west again.  I turned around again, and that’s when I really lost my cool.  I started screaming at myself and tearing my ego apart more than ever before.  “I can’t do this alone anymore!” I screamed at the heavens.  “I know you’re testing me, and I suck!  I suck.  I’m ***** ***** idiot **** **** stupid ***** **** etc. etc. etc. (continue for ten minutes…)

After finally letting it all out, I felt much better.  I had finally released all of the steam from the previous week’s madness.  I felt like Henry Miller in Tropic of Capricorn when his loneliness becomes too much to bear and he just imagines manifesting all of his anger, and then once he does that, it escapes from him, he feels total peace, and he loves everyone in the world.  The only difference is that I had directed my anger at me, and he had directed it at everyone else.  Either way, it worked.  The whole time I was yelling I knew that I only had myself to blame, and as run down and exhausted as I felt, it was all my fault.  Who was I going to blame?  The roads for not having any more signs to clue me in that I had made the wrong turn?  Other people for staying in hostels and closer campgrounds so I couldn’t?  The fact that I hadn’t made any close friends who could help me out in this situation, whereas I had more than plenty on the East Coast?  The fact that even though I had met plenty of people and gotten along with them, including old roommates, that I’d just left and not looked back once I’d moved out?  Who was to blame for that?  The stars?  Jay-Z says he believes in the universe.  I could blame the big U all I want, but I have a reasonable doubt that that would improve my situation.

Somehow though, as crazy as it sounds, I didn’t feel like I was completely to blame.  I know I chose these journeys, but in a way I feel like they chose me, for better and worse.  They brought me the tests and the rewards, whether I wanted them or not.  When I was angry or exhausted, it was because I needed to be able to handle and appreciate the next reward, and no matter how mad I got at how difficult things became, it was still going to forgive me and show me that it had done everything to bring me somewhere beautiful that was crying out for me to love and appreciate it.

Soon I was calmly driving the moonlight mile to Yosemite under the quiet country stars, and found myself in deep valleys lit by lunar luminescence, a glorious gateway which I had previously entered by daylight with college friends who were now successful and financially comfortable doctors and engineers.  Here I was, the world poetry exploring sensei simply searching for a place to lay his head at night, piloting a car filled with his belongings at 1 am, on his own, engulfed in the mysterious madness of the multi-magical mind.  Is that success or failure?

Of course, there was a sign at the entrance saying all of the campsites were full.  It was already 2 am.  Google had clearly lied about the travel distances, even when accounting for all of my back and forth driving.

Luckily there was a large open area 10 minutes from the entrance where I had noticed several cars parked away from the road, so I drove back there and parked for the night.  I re-arranged my messy clutter of possessions and reclined the driver’s seat so I could at least get a few hours of sleep.

I'd come a long way from organizing documents in Rockefeller Center, sometimes staying up until 3 am to re-arrange hundreds of signature pages for hundred million dollar deals.  If only I was still working in a field where we legally incorporated fake companies in Bermuda and the Caiman Islands so that Arab entities could do business with trucking companies that transported liquor--which is illegal according to Islamic law--then I wouldn't be sleeping in my car beneath the stars.  I could still be filing Uniform Commercial Code documents to confirm billion dollar transactions with Japanese banks, and writing up collateral descriptions for nearly bankrupt enterprises who had no place else to turn than our client, who one lawyer described to us as "one step away from the mob.  If you can't get a loan from anyone else, you go to them."  After all, the money was good, and would have been even better if I'd gone on to be a lawyer.  No, that would be stupid.  What did that partner who earned several million a year tell me at the Christmas party?  Oh yeah.  He asked me if I was going to go to law school, and when I said maybe, he said good, because they'd have to fire me for being an idiot if I said yes.  "The junior executives at Goldman Sachs just got $30 million bonuses yesterday!  How do you go to work after that?!"  Someone always has more.  What did Huston Smith say the Hindus had to say about wealth, fame and power?  Ah yes:

The drive for success is insatiable.  A qualification is needed here, for people do get enough money, fame, and power.  It is when they make these things their chief ambition that their lusts cannot be satisfied.  For these are not the things people really want, and people can never get enough of what they do not really want.  In Hindu idiom, "To try to extinguish the drive for riches with money is like trying to quench a fire by pouring butter over it.'

The third problem with worldly success is identical with that of hedonism.  It too centers meaning in the self, which proves to be too small for perpetual enthusiasm.  Neither fortune nor station can obscure the realization that one lacks so much else.  In the end everyone wants more from life than a country home, a sports car, and posh vacations. (p. 16, Huston Smith, The World's Religions)

It wasn't just the legal job though.  I found myself back in the McGraw Hill Building two years later working in radio sports marketing as a temporary assignment through another agency.  Even though I'd run away to be in more artistic realms, the universe had brought me back to the same building which bore the name of the company which ran all of my standardized tests when I was a child and told me I was in the top 1%.  Does that mean the Occupy Movement hates me?  Roc-A-Fella y'all?

What about the makers of that 1970s film Koyaanisqatsi, based on a Hopi word that means "life out of balance"?  It made that same building the evil climax of its cinematic visual interpretation of everything that was terrible about society.  And I worked in that building and got paid and spent that money on getting by and unnecessary pleasures not once, but twice.  Then I moved home from New York City to the country and got a job painting houses to earn money for a journey that began in India.  I often climbed the ladder in the morning and then drove home from work listening to "CREAM" and "Dead Presidents II" to get pumped up for the otherwise tedious labor, reminding me that it was all for the greater good of a spiritual and physical journey that would improve my quality.  I wasn't hustling in the ghetto, but it's not exactly easy to stand on a 30 foot ladder and scrub toxic mixtures to remove mold while yellow jackets constantly fly in your face and land on your arms.  Everybody learns what it means to hustle in some way...

Had I done more good than evil since then?  No one that I worked with struck me as especially evil... oh wait, two of my "superiors", now that I think of it.  India says good and evil are part of nature, merely varying aspects of the same web, or something like that.  Everyone structures everyone else, so you can't blame anybody for anything.  Which is no fun, of course.

Whatever it was, good or evil, it was easier than looking for a new place to sleep every night.  It's one thing when you're traveling in foreign countries or driving around camping with time to spare, but it's a very different feeling when you're struggling to make ends meet, your head and body aches from lack of sleep, and you have to sleep in your car on the street.  Money starts sounding pretty good right around then, no matter how you earn it...

I was about to sleep when I saw a DVD of The Princess Bride on the passenger seat.  It was then that I remembered writing the “Heroes” story months ago.  The story was about overcoming adversity, being as adaptable as possible and being the best one can be so one can truly earn and fully enjoy one’s romantic love destiny.  I wondered where was her current place to be within the cosmic symphony...  I hoped she was far more safe and comfortable than me.  As long as she was genki...

As I closed my eyes for the night, I recalled the traffic in Oakland that afternoon, and that one time where the line had completely stopped short and I had to come to a furious brake to 0 from 45 mph, and how I narrowly missed the car in front of me by inches, and luckily no one slammed into me from behind.  Then I am once again seventeen, and I missed the deers but hit the telephone pole, and watched it snap off and fall to the earth, electric wires and all, in super slow-mo, missing the car by inches.  I'm transported in time to the Quest van in Baltimore, riding on the highway, and then seeing the tractor trailer behind us slowly veer to the left, off the road, tumble onto its side and explode.  I'm in a moonlit field in South Dakota, enjoying the peace and quiet when the bison grunts, huffs and puffs from ten feet away.  Soon hundreds upon hundreds of vehicles in India are constantly stopping and going, braking and honking, repeatedly avoiding nasty collisions by tenths of inches.  I'm at Bonnaroo music festival, excited to finally enjoy Albert Hoffman's magic elixir for the first time later that night, when a strong gust of wind detaches a pole from my neighbor's tent and misses my eye by an inch.  There are so many terrible places and states of existence where I could currently be, yet I was still safely in the driver's seat.

Divine intervention?

When isn't the universe behind the wheel?

Instead of wallowing in a penitentiary or purgatory, I was about to wake up a few miles from the most beautiful place to be in the home of the brave and land of the free.

Stay tuned for Part III...