Great Musical Journeys

There are these train tracks up the hill from the cabin here on the lake, and every once in a while they carry a train along, which always signals its triumphant return with a mighty whistle so all can hear, especially those safe in their beds at three in the morning.

I have been coming here since before I knew I was coming here.

A few months ago I was sitting at this card table with great humans from different parts of the life I am fortunate to experience.  There must have been eight or nine of us at the time, although at least half had passed out by the end of the night, when a few of us were left at the table.  I remember laughing for hours on end, and laughing much harder than I had for an entire year.  That is the greatest sacrifice of long journeys: although you still laugh, you do not laugh nearly as hard.

When we had to sleep, one of my good friends said he didn’t need a bed or a spot on the floor.  He said he would just sleep in his car and mentioned something about "training" himself.  Sometimes I think things are about me too much, and sometimes I don’t realize they are about me when they clearly are, and sometimes I’m right on the money.  I wasn’t sure if his was a remark on something I had written months earlier when I alluded to “Westley” from The Princess Bride as an explanation for my life technique the past few years.  I say explanation and not inspiration because it’s not like I watched the movie and immediately bought a ticket to India so I could learn how to sleep in my car and climb a hill or three pretending to be a fictional action hero.  I saw it when I was a kid and then came upon the book while couch surfing in Montana in a house full of musicians, and since I had never read it, I bought it in California.  When I was writing that piece, he seemed like a good metaphor to represent a human developing overall strength and power by testing and developing one's self in diverse and perhaps unusual ways.  After all, every human's array of experiences is a form of training for being able to better handle what comes next.  Ever seen Karate Kid?  I actually hadn't seen it until I moved to California, and it was perfect.  Who would have thought that painting a fence would teach him to win his battle?

Anyway, the reason I thought he was alluding to something I had written, perhaps with praise, perhaps as a slight jab, was that he had made another remark earlier that also made me think he had read my writing.  I don’t remember the context, but he said jokingly, “Right, since the whole world is all ‘Sanford’ and ‘England.’”  I'm glad he said that, because I needed to hear it.  I did write about England mastering the ways of water and how their language influences the whole world, and all sorts of stuff about my family and the Sanford’s being from England.  It wasn’t meant to sound jingoistic or nationalistic.  English people are beautiful and annoying, as are their descendants, such as me.  I don’t mean to put anyone else down when I’m expressing my awe at the poetry I notice.  Years of searching and seeking means lots of delving into your roots, and obviously not all people share those roots.  I don’t think that matters though.  I look everywhere for inspiration and connection.  I am often inspired by people from seemingly completely different backgrounds simply because they are humans, and that’s enough in common for me.

Recently my biggest inspiration has been the Lapita and Polynesian people of the Pacific islands.  A few weeks ago we read about them in class in our Reading Explorer book.  The chapter was "Amazing Voyage," which I liked because I was about to drive across the country again.  The Lapita and Polynesians explored vast distances of the Pacific Ocean with flimsy little canoes, barely any knowledge of what they were looking for or how to get there, and anything but a smart phone for navigation.  The book compared their journey to man reaching the moon.  To do what they did working with what they had for the reasons that they had is an accomplishment unparalleled in human history.  And what was their reason?  Food?  Escape from oppression?  Climate change?  Not at all.  They simply wanted to see what was beyond the horizon.  What's over there?  Let's go see!  That's all it took for them to get going, and that's all it took for me, although my journey was much more comfy (despite sleeping in the driver's seat for a week).

These heroes came to mind as I paddled and floated in a canoe on the open waves of this body of water I love so much, and before that moon in the sky which is always beautiful, bathing the autumn leaves in a mysterious new light.  Beauty inspires me to undertake some very strange voyages.  Once I planned a whole journey to the pyramids in Mexico because they were named the sun and the moon, and you can stand on top like in El Viaje Misterioso de Nuestra Jomer.  Before that I arrived at the pyramids in Egypt during a journey I didn’t even realize would last so long or take me so far.  Another time I was on a journey I had mostly planned, and was toward the end, and hiking in the forest when I saw a sign for a mountain named Pyramid Peak, so I climbed it.  And I didn’t make it the first time on that unprepared whim, so I planned and made it the second time around.  A week ago I was at Pyramid Lake in Nevada simply because it was on the way.  I basically decided to add it to the beginning of the journey that same day.  Now I can't imagine not having gone to any of those places.  Was I simply riding the train on the tracks?  Either way, the ride has trained me in ways I am still realizing.

If you keep your eyes and ears open, you realize the world will offer you ways to live and spread joy.

Today the world offered me a lake, a canoe, an iPod, stellar headphones, and about ten songs during three separate “voyages” within a few hundred feet of shore that wouldn’t impress any Lapita adventurers.  I would list all of the songs, but sometimes other people don’t care about your roots and your joys, because everything meets people the way they feel life.  Even so, sharing is fun.  The only song I listened to every time I rode the waves was “Brand New Day” by Hiromi.  Of all the music the world provided for me during this four-year journey, I especially love that one.  What a gift to humanity.  The song goes well everywhere I go, but especially with the sunlight and moonlight sparkling on the waves, which were very large and rough and enjoyable.

Speaking of new days, I will be in New York City this Wednesday, after I say hello to my parents.  Of all the old people who have told me to do stuff, I especially love them.  Although I also love their parents, who are not here to hear me say that.  I wonder what the Irish Sullivan’s would think of me praising the English Sanford’s?  Or the Protestant Tupper’s thoughts about me praising the Catholic Sullivan’s?  I don’t think they would say anything, because they were too busy being in love with each other.

Which reminds me, I am very seriously writing a book in time for the winter holidays, because you are a soulful symphony who makes me very happy to be, and it's about time I completed this story for you and for me.

Highway 161

I am in New York.

I began my journey seven days ago at Pyramid Lake in Nevada, where I canoed and slept under the most stars I have ever seen in my life.  I know I say that a lot, but it's true, which means I'm doing something right in this life when it comes to improvement.

Since then I have been on the road nearly constantly.  On Monday I met an old friend from NYC who had just moved to Flagstaff, Arizona, which involved some waiting around during the day.  Besides that it's been racing down the highway, all day every day.  I woke up in western New York this morning.

I hope to be relaxing by a lake in a few hours, contemplating the whirlwind move that just went by in the blink of an eye.

New York...

How have you been?

Onward

I love my class.  I will miss them very much.  I am still amazed by their kindness and gratitude displayed yesterday (I have a whole cookie cake with my face on it to eat while I drive across America).  I've also got an amazing photo album with memories and messages, and a bouquet of flowers for the first time in my life.

Now I'm going to drive back to New York.  Should take about a week.  We'll see.  I've got a tuned up car, plenty of tunes and all of my directions carefully printed out instead of written down.

Thank you, California!  You've been great!

...

The class made me leave the room forty-five minutes ago, and I just found out I still have to wait another fifteen minutes, so I might as well write a post.  I can only wonder what they've been cooking up.

What comes to mind right now is actually the band The Avett Bros.  During my first year in New York I had had a very difficult moment, probably one of the lowest points of my life at the time.  In hindsight it wasn't that bad, but at the time I didn't have hindsight and it felt terrible.  The next day my friend Russ visited from Ithaca to see the Avett Bros. play, and told me everything would be fine.  He was 100% correct.  They were the least "New York City" band I'd ever seen, and it was exactly what I needed.  And somehow, it made me feel better about living there, and things picked up immediately afterward.  I think one of my best writing friends moved to the city the next day, and I met another great new friend who happened to live down the street.  Life steadily improved from then on.  Of course, a year later I was at another low moment, but once again, the Avett Bros. were playing a festival, and they were just what I needed.

One of my students just called me and told me I can come back to class, so here's one of my favorites.

Bless Bliss

 We watched "Baraka" in class today, which was the last real day of teaching, since tomorrow we're eating food and playing games.

Baraka means "blessing" in many languages, mostly Middle Eastern, such as Arabic and Hebrew.  It details the world with amazing cinematography from the same director who did the first Qatsi movie.  You see nature, tribes, cities sped up, dances slowed down, beautiful glory and awful horror.  It's everything.

I had seen it when I lived in New York City, and then I was blessed to travel much of the world which the movie covers in such astonishing detail in merely ninety minutes.  Today I was incredibly happy to recognize many places from firsthand experience, from cities to deserts to temples to mountains.

Before the movie we played a vocabulary game.  This week's theme is "Transportation."  It's the first vocab unit we learned.

After the movie I asked them for thoughts, responses and questions about the movie.  We had a short discussion, and then I shared viewpoints from a few masters to reflect on the deep human material we had just witnessed.

We began with the Tao symbol, which represents the world's opposites balancing and working together to keep it going.  Next I quoted Tom Robbins, saying that there is always the same amount of good and bad, but we need to keep stirring it up, like a stew, or all the scum rises to the top.  Third, we got to the other religions, like Hinduism and Judaism.  The former says you can't change the world because positive and negative are woven into the fabric of the universe and will always be there.  The latter says that our job is to make the world better through improvements, or otherwise why would humans be here?  I imagine the Tao includes both viewpoints.  Finally, I finished with theology scholar Huston Smith's summary of all religion being that we need to listen to each other and try to understand each other more, as the world is becoming more and more connected to itself.  It means listening with an open mind and sharing with an open heart.

Tonight I made a delicious healthy dinner with my friends and hosts and enjoyed their amazing view of this city I am about to leave after a year of being here.  Then they went to a concert and I visited my old neighborhood.  I climbed the hill that I always used to climb when I lived there, sometimes during the day, but more often at night so I could see all of the bright city lights.

I listened to the cars in the distance, and the wind, and music, sweet music.  I recalled all the times I had watched the sun rise and set, and the moon rise and set, and had either seen or talked to other humans enjoying the same hill.  I looked at all the houses and cars below and wondered who all the humans were and how their stories were going and connecting to this larger story I could see spread out all around me.  I gazed across the bay to Berkeley and Oakland, two places where I had been fortunate to experience brief residence.  I could also see the Apple billboard that used to be outside my window when I lived next to the freeway.

Most importantly, I could see the entire city of San Francisco, and I realized just how good this city has been to me, even if I had been very lonely as I readjusted to living in my home country after three years of exploring the world.

I feel blessed.

101

I'm on a couch, and it's hard to think, because I'm really sleepy.  My friend just told me to talk about her, and her boyfriend, and this couch that I'm on.  It's a lovely couch.  There are comfortable cushions, and sheets, and blankets, and pillows.  One of the sheets has all the colors of the rainbow, and the other is like a velvet purple.  I have a San Francisco Giants blanket, and an Indians blanket.  According to my host this will even out the National League and the American League.  I am too sleepy to think of an interesting topic because I woke up earlier than usual this morning in order to move out of my September sublet in Oakland.  I am on a couch in a very nice neighborhood in San Francisco for the next two nights, as I still have to teach through Thursday.

What else... I ate sushi tonight.  I'm not a huge fan of sushi, but the restaurant was called "Umi," and it reminded me of this song I like and used at the beginning of a piece I wrote months ago about "shining your light" on the world.  Also, "Umi" is like saying "you me," or, "you are me."  Tat tvam asi.  As in, the world is one.  Or something like that.  I know I'm tired, but many intelligent people have said it before and will say it again.  Anyway, the sushi was oishi.

I am fortunate that I have friends who live in San Francisco and host me on such a colorful and thematic couch.  I wish they moved here earlier than a month ago.  I think they'll like it here.  I did... sometimes.  It's not San Francisco's fault that I'm leaving.  It's just the journey I'm on.  I feel lucky that I've been able to make this place a part of the journey, which makes sense because Journey is from here.  I also feel incredibly lucky that this couch is so comfortable and... enough.  Sleep.  Sweet dreams.

Born to Move While Listening to Music and Then Tell Stories About What Happens

When I was 21 years old I visited New York City on my own for the first time.  I had a friend to stay with and show me around, but I hadn't ever really been there as an adult before.  My friend lived in this tiny railroad apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, which would later become my first apartment after graduation.

What I remember most about the whole visit wasn't going out in the city.  Instead it was riding the Amtrak train along the Hudson River afterward and listening to Springsteen's Born to Run album.  My dad had just given me this special boxed set edition for Christmas.  I maybe had a few songs of his at the time, but never really wanted an album.  But my dad loved it and thought I would, so we watched the whole "making of" included film together, and I was very impressed by many aspects of the documentary.

First, I had no idea Bruce was that skinny and runty and shaggy in the 70s.  Second, his music is way more sophisticated, poetic and deep than I initially thought, and it also involved much more work and perfectionist production than I could have imagined.  Third, that guy's passion and energy during live performances is hard to beat.  He really threw everything he had into it.  Finally, I didn't realize that he was ready to give up if he didn't breakthrough with that album.

I was becoming more serious about writing than ever before that year, as I realized I was about to be in the real world and not just a sheltered college student anymore.  The publishing industry doesn't have any age expectations for writers, whereas the music industry is a little different.  Anyone can make it at any time in this world if the talent and timing and audience come together, but there are guidelines, and Bruce knew the clock was ticking.

Luckily, he got by with a little help from his friends.  The sax solo from Clarence Clemons on "Jungleland" is one of the top achievements of humanity.  During his interview he said that countless people have told him that that solo brought them back from despair.  I understand why.

Even so, right now, I'm feeling more like "Thunder Road."