Archive for June, 2010

A vortex? A cesspool that draws you in and pulls you down? No, the swirl is slow and the motion unseen. A puddle of thick mud, like in the remains of a forest after weeks or months of rain – verging on quicksand, as you slowly sink, pulled in bit by bit, your boot caught in the thick goo that does not want to let go. And you look around the path you chose, and see no way forward or back, and the trees do not appear as vibrant as they once did. And that is how it feels here in Eugene – and i know i have been writing this for a few weeks now, but my feet are still stuck in the mud. And it is easy to stay though i know that i will soon need to yank myself out, or perhaps i will be pushed by a great force. Just when the trees close in, a bird cheeps or the sun filters through and it lulls you, lulls you to sleep.

Or maybe it is not a mud puddle, but a magnet, pulling you forth, holding you in place – a place that is familiar – too familiar – not only in the form of this town, but in the energetic matrix that it is. And it pulls at me – the like attracts like – and a part of me of which i wish to let go – for it is holding, holding on, and that is what i have done all too much, and possibly why i came back here. And what i see in so many around this place – the aging hippies and many more.

But there is a gentleness about the place – a place where people are allowed to be – where the down and out and wanderers are allowed to live and be – where they/we are not hunted down and persecuted like in so many other locales – a part of the fabric of life in this part – and in that way shows a more accepting kinder vibe. For eccentric is normal here, and the boundaries break down; some spread their wings now outside the societal cage, while others who could not soar far beyond, sit on the ground with broken wings, but avoid the plight of the factory hens.

Still, the place seems stuck to me – or maybe it is all just a creation of my mind – but i so much feel the 1980s here transported back in time – of how i lived or wanted to, way back then, the whiteaker the small city version of the ideal my rose coloured glasses saw back then – i could flesh this out, but i will repeat my words that have been written before – and perhaps that’s it, for here i feel i repeat a life that was – no not repeat, but look on and watch, for connections and the pull to it really don’t call me forth. but i am still here – observing and looking on – and the feeling of disconnectedness returns.

Memories came up a few days ago of times of my youth – the music, the clothes, the partying that is around and more. For a few days before i felt my energy loosening up and letting go, lighter and so connected to the all, but once that came up, my body stiffened and energy returned to places inside of me. May it flow through it once again.

Last night an “art walk” in the neighbourhood where i stay – so little really on display – feels worn out and just hanging on to me; the crowds were not, and those who came through had that look as if they were seeking something more, something that was not to be found.

Back to the magnet – i ask myself how long do i stay and what is it that is to be processed through. For i had not wanted to come, on several occasions in the past few years, dread has arisen as i thought of a return to this place – but strongly wishing to avoid something puts out as much energy as strongly wishing its manifestation.

I know the time is now – if time really exists at all. The zone that is here transcends space and time – for i have returned to it many times in many places, and Eugene is just one of its manifestations to me on this earthly plane. Or maybe all is created in my mind (last night as i sat out back listening to the band, all who were there looked familiar, as if i had met them somewhere else before in slightly different human bodies, but playing out the same old scene)

If i am to leave this vortex or mud puddle what must be transformed is the energy inside – so that the pull truly disappears. For there is a comfort, like that of a couch in front of a tv when you have a cold. to remain for a while in order to heal, not force yourself out too soon, but to get up and move about so you don’t become a potato in the dark soil.

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Sun shines today – the solstice has passed – for the next six months the sun’s light will dwindle for us here – though the light does not shift, only our perception of it and its visibility and the need to have faith that it is there. It seems stable for a while, and though days grow and shrink, the shift only becomes perceptible at a certain point, when we notice, closer to the equinoxes, where the half point is achieved. And this year my inner cycle has been thrown off – winter spent further south where the days and nights seem more stable and unchanging, almost equal in their duration. And i think of a conversation a week ago, with someone from the north, dark at 10pm she said – i’m not used to that right now.
The clouds came back late in the day – but i know the light is there, and it shines longer now, longer than the dark – but we always have the light within.

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I feel a sucking energy here in eugene – one of lethargy and complacency. Maybe is it the laid back vibe that so many others value, but its underbelly shines me in the face. My age perhaps – too old for this – or see the partying that has gone on too long for many, and the eyes of those for whom it might be a passing phase. The smell of pot wafts around and there are so many disorganized lives – or glassy eyes from the few beers that turned into an all afternoon into the night thing.

It is a college and granola town, and now that school is finally out – late here in the middle of June – the town is quiet and eats away at me. The slacker vibe and maybe that is why i am here – for my life in the past few years has been that – i now clean a hostel and check quests in in exchange for a dorm bed. And the slacker vibe has come into me- yet i too cannot lift myself out, the bed with the noise that penetrates the walls and the highway or factory that can be heard slightly below all.

And i find i no longer relate – a lifetime ago for me – one who irritates and i am twice her age – the festivals, the bands, and that no longer hold it for me and have not for a very long time. It is comfortable but does not inspire me.

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i walked in the forest where all was quiet and noticed the sounds that came through the silence. In the quietude you hear so much more – the sounds that are welcome – the chirps of birds and the flow of the river and the step of your feet – and those which intrude – the cars passing by on the road above, rubber on concrete and the hum of motors. and in the quiet you also are more aware of the sounds inside, the chattering away of your mind – the joys and awareness and those other voices of discontent, nagging emotions and unresolved issues that come to fore – they are louder too and so often we try to bury them beneath or block them out with external noise.

I have been in a room where all is loud, and i often do not hear myself think. I listen through the walls to conversations, the radio, the washer and dryer, the bathroom fan, and the coffee grinder early in the morning. I block it with headphones and meditation music and have discovered healing sounds on the web. all who have read this know i am ultrasensitive to sound. And I wonder as i compare the healing music versus that which plays now with its heavy grating beat, what vibrations does all sound causes inside be it the background hum of our lives, or the tapes that play in our heads of which we are unaware. And i came to realize how the everyday sounds are no longer noticed, yet when we leave them behind, how much a part of our lives they have been. How rare it is that we truly experience the sounds of silence both inside and out.

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I watched the river yesterday – a different one than the Willamette that runs through town. It was the McKenzie, and i was in the forest, in the foothills of the cascades, where it is still wilder and untamed. in some areas it flowed along, and in others the rapids were swift, churning the water into what appeared from the banks to be interesting shapes – forming and dissipating in a flash of the eye. And while i watched i remembered recently reading how water does not have shape, its form determined by the container – in this case the river banks and the rocks and soil beneath the surface. and with a river, how the shape is so temporary as it flows on – and unlike the ocean which i have experienced much more recently with the tides coming in and out, it visibly flows in one direction, heading out to sea. The small streams merging and joining and heading towards the largest bodies of all.

And it made me think about ourselves, how much are we shaped by the containers we live in – the containers of our bodies and environments and of our minds. what is our essence – the soul inside – does it have form of its own. I saw water on the way up there in the form of light drizzle, misting in the air, and on the wet concrete and in puddles from where it recently rained. And i remembered how years before when i had been in there in the fall, snow was visible on a few of the mountain tops and how snow is just another form of what flows in the river. And so is ice and the steam that comes from my kettle in the morning. What form are we really or are we form at all?

And each form of water has such a different feeling, determined in part by how it is contained. Yet it is all the same – it transforms – the frozen ice crystals, the stagnant pool, the vapour of evaporation are all its different masks. And how do you define a drop – just how do you hold water in your hands, for even as ice a solid form it begins to melt away. I watch the water and explore the world – what is and how do we define it as such. We swim in it, it is in us, and soft rafts floated down the river.

How do we care for it and what does it contain – the salt of the sea, calcium or iron or the chlorine we add – or the waste and contaminants that spill into it – changing, mixing, altering is essence – or not.

And like ourselves, there are so many different energies from the same body – a river – but where, and each river is different but also the same; a lake or a puddle, and ocean shore or bay- and i think of the destruction we have recently caused in the gulf as oil spews out and contaminates all. And water flows through us and in the ground below, and here where i am comes down from the sky (with all too much frequency) and shows how all is one despite the different forms, and how all may change and transform as well.

This is some of what i experienced as i stared at and listened to the river – not touching or engaging, not floating down upon it or swimming, but experiencing from the forested banks. now i sit inside and it seems so far away – as does the river that flows through town, and as i think of a title for this entry, i realize that the McKenzie of my mind is yet another river with a different energy so much further to the north, in another country, another zone, but all is connected at some of the drops that were there have probably also been here, for the rivers flow into the oceans and atmospheres that unite us all.

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I had planned to go up to McKenzie Bridge today – into the foothills of the cascades – to do some hiking and commune with nature, to get in tune with the spirit inside and out. Last night i looked at the weather and the little icon showed a cloud with rain and after several sunny days here i hesitated, and lost my certainty in my plans. Still i set my alarm for 6:45, and when it rang i woke up from another intense dream. And i had to get out of bed to pee. but the sky way grey, and i did not want to climb out of the zone i was in. So i lay in bed, and did not go, not really going back to sleep – the hostel was beginning to awake just past seven, with the coffee grinder, the radio with NPR and conversations just outside my door. So here i am, still in the city and realizing the pattern of not going out is what i have been doing so much of late. I will go thursday – another free day – when at the moment the weather promises sun or the lack of rain (though it still is not raining now and despite the clouds, may only be an afternoon thunderstorm). But i had looked forward to it and made plans in my mind, looking at schedules and trails on the net, and then i turned and stopped in step – or in bed as it may be.

And i think of that, what has been holding me back keeping me in the zone of the known? Why do i not just step out? Or find excuses why i cannot go? I have been doing this more of late, and what is the energy that keeps my in this activity and what is the energy that the holding back creates? I will spend another day in town, get out and smile, and be in the place where i am.

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The body remembers. the mind remembers. I am still in Eugene and it feels like previous times that i have been here and like another type of flash to the past. I wake up tired and groggy not wanting to communicate – a way i woke up for much of my life but not in the past few years. Despite the abundance of health food stores, i do not feel like cooking much and my diet, while still healthy, becomes what it was years ago. I walk quite a bit, but the body feels weak, and restless too, again a flash to the past. And the way i process events and emotions seems to have regressed to another time.

I started to write this yesterday, and then i was to write about parallel lives, how this zone feels so cut off from others i have recently been in, and if perhaps i am just a small part of a larger beings consciousness and am really living all these lives simultaneously, like fragments of a dream. For when i come back here it seems that i physically and emotionally feel like i have here in the past, and my thoughts and activities are similar to what they were here, and all follow a similar process and shift as they have in this locale and what that is created is but a continuation of what was experienced here before, as if what has happened in other locales has been bracketed or erased. And as such i feel like i have once again stepped back in time, though now feeling more removed as if watching myself.

But it is not merely the time that was contained in this space that i reconnect to; the people here in this hostel and who i meet with few exceptions are not the same as those who were here before, and though they are new to me, they help carry me to memories back before this space. As does this town in some ways – reminds me of what i once was and what i had once wanted to be – the mid-sized college town with that bohemian hippie alternative air. And as with previous visits here i find myself loosing “my voice” – not literally, but that passion to express feels stilted somehow – or somehow stuck.

I am doing a work trade at the hostel, cleaning and checking in guests in return for my stay. Something that i have done before, but that is so part of a stage of life i thought i had moved through and wanted to let go of, or move beyond. And that is how i feel, back here once again. And the one actual person who i have reencountered from the outside, is a woman i met up in Anchorage at the hostel up there two years and a bit ago – the last time i cleaned in a hostel in return for my bed. And it was her who gave me a lift out of there to Homer on the Kenai Peninsula and to what became the beginning of a new stage of my life. And while i am glad to have reconnected with her again, meeting her here makes me feel like i have not really moved on. And this time i won’t get a lift out of here- her car deal fell through, and she is flying back home. and i get taken further back, because like many who pass through here she reminds me of another i knew years ago – in a creative writing class back in Montreal. At night, my dreams take me back there too. But perhaps this is all part of what i said a few months ago about integrating parts of my life and i now ask should i have just let go for i feel less full of life than i did, even in angst, just a little while ago.

Besides the owner of this place, the other actual person i met, was a man whose last visit here was my first in 2007. I looked at him his first day here – that look of familiarity from i don’t know where – he reminded me so much of M who i lived with for over a year, in a zone in some ways similar to this. A bowler hat on a wide chunky face, his smile and the hair that hangs down and beard starting to grey, and the walk and the posture were so familiar to me. And this place, the alternative pot smoking crowd, reminds me of that.

In some ways it brings back a combination of my teenage years, and the youth that predominate bring it back more. There is so much that i once wanted to reclaim – but being here now i know that i can’t go back to what i was before, and with the acceptance that comes with middle age i no longer wish to for i am not the same person i was then. And so i feel stuck in another sort of time warp, a friendlier one, but one that fits no more. The hostel and the wandering crowd, so many people who travel around, biking, hiking, searching craigslist for rideshares – talks of festivals – of burning man, and hula hooping and poi and fire dancing and more. And the creative types and wannabes hanging out on porches just passing away the days. So much that i once wanted to experience, but that truly calls no more. And i had thought of the alternative festivals before coming here – a place to camp and meet and be – caught in circles of searching for what isn’t really me.

And i see others who call me back to my college years and before – one of the work traders a few years older than me – who is getting depressed after band broke up and walks around saying i’m bored, reminds me of W. from the cafe – that anti-authoritarian veggie political cafe where i spent so much of my time back then – it hasn’t existed for years but it would fit so well into this neighborhood – endless debates on politics, the environment, and what is the next way – and so self-conscious in its alternative stance. A woman about 10 years younger than me with long pony tails, a pierced nose, tattoos, and a long skirt commented that i and another seem to be from the east coast – she reminded me of some of the hard-core granola activists i met in Ontario. And another girl here is the spitting image of someone i knew in university – and like many here, the same age we were them, and maybe what i am experiences are the ideals as they exist at a certain stage in life.

The discussions i have and listen to are refreshing on issues and other ways – but i feel that i have had them so many times before. And last night i watched a film of the Dead Kennedys early years – another flashback again. so much here brings me back to a particular zone – a zone of living that extends beyond time and space but is framed in certain locales. And the frame to me is beginning to feel a bit like a cage.

It is not a question of throwing all this away, as i tried to for many years, and that tossing is probably what brought me back here a couple of year back – to reclaim some of me that i had lost. But now it is to value what is here, but to not cling to what no longer fits or at least in the way that currently exists. I expect to be here for another week or so, and during that time i will let myself grow.

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Months ago i set out to write about the energies and spirit of place but what this blog has ended up being is part travel journal and part a chronicle of my moods and emotions and has rarely achieved its purpose. I know that the story emerges as you write, but at the same time i want to try to get back to some of the original intent of this blog.

However, the more i become aware, the more i realize that it is impossible to separate the ‘i’ from the place where ‘i’ am, or even the place i wish to write about. especially now – as i realize the importance of the intangibles of a place – its spirit – not only in nature or in elements, but that which lies behind or beyond the 3D – the spirits of the human presence – of love, fear, caring, conflict, closure, that can be felt and that linger on – and the spirits of the elements and that which we have created in the material realm.

For with everything, our perception is selective, and i can never be sure – is it the place or is it me? Especially when i visit places that i have been before, and that have been significant to me, for part of what lay there is ‘my’ history and the remnants of my own thoughts and feelings are part of the energies that lay there. At times i talk to others and hear a confirmation of what i feel – but other times there are a multitude of feelings about a given place – or occasionally a dichotomy, of perceptions diametrically opposed. And what is the relation between the actors and the locale of the action. Thus all i write is selective, and can change from day to day.

Places have a mood and an ambiance beyond my personal view of it – and in all i am an actor and not merely an observer who stands outside. What is the relationship between the ‘i’ and the locale – how much of the ‘i’ is projected, and how much does the locale impact the ‘i’? How much are ones vibrational patterns in or out of sync with the dominant vibrations in a place. And at times i still must wonder if all is but a dream. Why is one drawn to a place and what pushes one away. And just what do ‘i’ focus on? what is filtered through my lens? what energies do i attract, manifest or push away? For the interplay is continuous and multi-levelled – in terms of thoughts, feelings, experiences, consciousness, and energetic or vibrational interchange. There is so much interplay of which we are barely aware, but that is no less real. And of what are we consciously aware – in terms of sight, smell, sound, touch, taste, feeling, vibrations – and how much more do we register inside.

What is the relation between the material, and that which lay beyond the five senses with which we are accustomed to perceive? Every place has its histories, and how much of it is felt in what one experiences now – and in what way does one feel the impact of what has gone on before though one does not ‘know” and what does it mean to ‘know’ – like those times you have had a feeling and only read or heard something later that confirms what came to you. And what is more enduring or cyclical as if “belonging” to the place, and what is much more temporary “belonging” more to the moment at hand. Then again, what is ‘a moment’ and can you separate time and space?

Precisely what does one mean by place – where do the boundaries begin and end? For within every place there are a multitude of larger and smaller overlapping zones, and there are zones that encompass many geographically dispersed physical places – each similar but unique. And what about places without a physical locale – for instance, the zones in cyberspace. What is the relation between the places we encounter on the material realm and those in other dimensions?

So i guess this blog will still be haphazard for it is so hard to bring it all together. And i know i will continue to write my feelings, memories and about the mystical/peak/trancendent experiences i have,  – but hopefully without getting too caught up in the “me”, and about the material world and  dimensions  and the spirit of a place. soon i hope to have a focus and to write some more of my generalized thoughts, insights and philosophies.

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Eugene –

I have returned to Eugene – that hippie town. And in many ways it is. And today i like it here – feel comfortable and not out of place, blending in with so many around. So different from seaside where i just was. The sun shone and i walked along the river through the parks and along the multitude of bike/walking paths that cover this town – or small city i should say. The river much higher than on any of my previous visits and the rock i had liked to sit on was underwater. Still i found one bench and then another, and watched the river flow and people jogging and biking along, some saying hi one their way past. And on the way down i passed the rose garden, so fragrant at this time of year – the first time i have been here when the roses are in bloom. I am still tired and my writing somewhat forced, but today i felt more alive than in a while. My mind abuzz with concepts of measurement and perception and consciousness.

Sunday was different. The day was grey, and it was this first time in a long while that i got soaking wet as i walked along – my pants drenched and sticking to my thighs and this is what i wrote:

I am now back in Eugene and the rain is still here and am in the grey zone once again – the ruts in the circle are getting deeper, carved into the mud, the familiar paths get packed down hard and so that the walls appear to grow and are harder to climb over for with the mud you slip back down, and harder to see beyond – all i know is that there must be a beyond, but with the walls that surround it is getting so much more difficult to imagine what may lay there. And with the rain that covers my glasses all seems but a damp blur. And my feet get stuck in the mud.

I spent the day at the library and the rain gave way to mere grey. I found a book, one of several that i had brought over to my comfortable seat, and read it from cover to cover. I like this library, one of my favorite with plenty of comfortable seating and so many books that appeal to me – for the collection in smaller cities reflects the type of town it is – and in many ways the type of town i could fit into – maybe. And there is a cafe with cheap coffee which you can take upstairs as you read and a book exchange in the lobby for those without library cards. In many ways it is the centre of downtown, beside the transit centre, a place where a diverse group comes to visit, and the block in front where the street kids – many seem to be more delinquents – still try to gather – now with limitations on the behaviour there.

I stay in the Whiteaker neighborhood, the most granola and artsy of them all – small older houses, many a bit run down but with cachet – or more – some painted in wild colours – purples and pinks and blues and orange with creative art of bicycles and found objects dotting many porches and lawns. The neighborhood is treed like much of the city and the streets with the uneven sidewalks are dark at night. During the day, you see the art, creative gardens – some small overgrown lawns, and few plain tended ones. A short walk to downtown, and in or nearby, cafes with reasonable prices and organic or other ethnic food, small bars, health food stores, – and with a cheap regular grocery store, 7-11 and so much more. It is the bohemian area of young artists, musicians, activists and other counter cultural types and potheads. In it i appear very straight and conventional. It has its allure but is it really me – twenty years ago perhaps, but i am not sure anymore. Still people often say hi and live their lives and there are nearby neighborhoods, while alternative by conventional standards are not quite so bohemian.

Maybe that is why i feel sad and blocked here, seeing so many youth pursuing their passions – life laid out in front of them – for so many do live in alternative ways – not only the young but also the old. Grey haired women and men of modest means, living simply getting by but seeming to have passion in their lives. But i also see those who have fallen off the edge – not just the hard core street kids of downtown, or the drunks who hang out at red apple recycling bottles to buy more beer, or the grey ponytails with ragged clothes who ride around on bikes and smoke too much weed, but others who seem more like me who let life pass them by or somehow fell away over time and who wander around or sit on porches and those who i do not see who sit behind closed doors. But i see those who work their passions and those who work jobs but still have passions; in stores and elsewhere it is not merely an underclass who works. And while the highways circle the downtown core, there is decent public transportation and so many who get around by bike.

Yes, there is the yuppie element as well on the other side of down – the boho types with progressive green values but where class is apparent in every way. And there is the closing in against the street kids, many who are but teens, in the downtown core. But here, there seems to be truer acceptance and openness to a multitude of lives. The live and let live ideal seems to be more of a reality here. There is the student zone by the university, with frat houses and excitement over the wins and losses of the Ducks, and there are so many “regular” people too. And poverty and hard drug areas as well – and of course the suburban “sprawl” with malls and big box stores. i wonder how much overlap there is between the worlds or if they are pockets unto themselves – for i not clearly fit any category.

There is much here that i value – the library, events, parks and cafes – and that it is a city but one that moves at a slower pace and the friendlier atmosphere. And like with previous visits i have thought of trying to stay here – though now i realize for the summer only for i don’t believe i can do a winter of the northwest grey. I put out some feelers, ran a housing wanted ad on craigslist, looked at a place and made so calls but nothing seems to fall into place and the fears and low self esteem rise up further and further again. And this weekend is graduation, and the town is booked up and will be time to move on.

For it makes me face just how far i have fallen, and wonder if i can claw my way out. Competition for work is fierce and i am old and worn out, and for housing it can be tough as well – and so much done by word of mouth and connections in this smaller town. I see a few others with their lists and letters of references, something so demanded that i cannot show – and it eats at me – not only the necessity and practicality but also the hurt that i don’t have people to say i’m great and am reminded of how i’ve screwed up. Never done a bad job – in fact i have been told so many times my work is good or paid rent late, but i have had trouble fitting in and getting along with others so many times – and been cast out. And tears run down my face as i write this down as i think of the pain all that has caused and feeling ashamed and all alone and as an outcast. And i shake as i write this, snot drips from my nose, and i can barely see my way through the tears. And then i run again.

This feeling has been with me for years, and i have fallen more and more over time and am reminded of how far removed i really am. For with housing, i have not had a home or an address for almost 5 years, and really only one in my name for a brief five months since 2001. And my employment history is just as skewed and non-existent, and my last two short positions – one volunteer – did not work out all that well, and the last ended in disaster with me harshly cast out. And while this came up when i briefly tried here 2.5 years ago, since that time i have only fallen further and deepened the ruts that hold me in.

And so i will probably move on tomorrow or so to who knows where. i get more and more tired as the ruts get deeper but i do not know how to climb out. And where to go – i dont know – and i have not for years – for there is no place for a person like me, no place to go. and this is how i have felt my time in the northwest over the past several years – but i keep coming back and fail to pass through, bringing up only more tears.

While there is so much wonderful about Eugene – and other towns i have been in – it is dark cloud that comes up and hangs on all too tight. And while much is not the place per se – for it happens in almost any place i think i might want to stay – and to be honest here is not the top of my list – but how much longer can i keep going on. Will i end up in the type of place where i truly do not wish to be?

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I wrote this almost 2 months ago when i was at Harbin Hotsprings. It was a rainy day when i sat inside trying to write – it came to me, and i was afraid to put it out. but i can hold it in no more.

The feeling returned to me as i sat outside last night, alone in the quiet and the dark looking up at the starry sky. The air was crisp and i felt still and then the voice came whispering in – you are dying, you are dying, i walked down the road to the smoking deck which was thankfully empty.

it returned to me once again – you are dying, that is why you came back here. The memories of that night as las pirimides came back to me – the calmness and acceptance of the fact and the knowing that i would go, and remembering why i cut my trip short – why i felt the need to leave and come back here, not just to this place but to this continent. Still i had pushed it from my mind, and told myself i left because the process did not feel safe, because of my worries about money, because of blah blah blah.

I sat last night and knew that i was dying. Still not sure if it is just a death to the ego and all i thought i was, or if it is a death to this plane of existence altogether. Can i leave the former without the latter? How long can i hang on? Can i tell my story? Do i have time? Am i meant to? Or has all been for naught? Will i tell my story on this plane or in the next dimension?

I remembered this again in yoga today – as i stretched on out, i felt the pull, the lump that i know is there, the lump comes and goes and that has been growing for some time, for years. and i feel them elsewhere too, and i know i have felt this before,

And i remembered it too, on the walk back on the darkened path, a path where mountain lions lurk – wondering if this was to be it. Or dying alone, under my tarp, curled up into the cold.

And when others are asking how i am, and comment on how i seem different than a year ago, i wonder what they see, i am calmed i know, but do they see the energy falling away. Or am i being made anew?

I cried last night as i sat on the deck, realizing that i was leaving this plane, not tears of pity or anger but of goodbye and wondering about my time here. he came along in the dark, the tears went away as we started to talk.

This is what i wrote in san marcos on lake atitlan in guatemala, that starry night in which i knew, that night i walked outside the room that closed me in and sat outside and tried to write, the night i let go of it all.

I am dying – the moment is soon – i am no longer afraid. I just need to continue to let go. The dreams about mom and dad passing away as the ground destabalized were not about them but about me, and the guardian angel i saw on the bridge, i hope he is there. I only hope that in my next life i am able to proceed forward from the mistakes and lessons learned in this one. I went to the bottom of the lake in meditation and looked for the image of me in 7 years – nothing was there. my shifting and rocking in sitting meditation a sign that i am to leave this dimension behind. Lord i will go – my desire to go home. i see myself finally at peace. i hope the bad karma created in this life does not follow me – i have wanted to be good – in some ways i feel like a life wasted but part of me knows and has known that it is preparation  for the next where  i pray i will have the courage to fulfill my mission and have a story that i may report back  all that i have learned and not regret time wasted in misery. i am in the shadows – can i grow angel wings, is that the feeling in my back? My resentment of the youngers i did not understand – full lives ahead of them – now i can only pray they use it well. I have a few days i believe if not longer – lord i would like to go by the sea and the large trees in the land that i love. will the bottom of the lake claim me? I pray to return once more to the land that i love. I have known this for a while, but sought to deny it, being morbid, even the visions i had as a youth, the lumps that grow inside claim me but it is ok – even why i wwas brought here- talk of dimensions and the afterlife – needed to see before i go. I have known this for so long, and still became trapped in my pain instead of looking a gods beauty that surrounds — or is it just  a process of letting go? I let go. i am sorry for the pain that i have caused. Lord, i want to shine one more time before i go but i will accept your timing if this is not possible. Thank you. Will i be in purgatory – able to calm the other lost souls who are there? Will i be an angel smiling? Will i integrate the lessons i have been shown and may have learned? I know this is true – my time is near (19/02/10 from journal)

And i think of my recurring dream/nightmare of my youth, i was wandering around, dying somewhere in the forest, on a cliff, full of cancer they not know how i lived

but am i dying in the physical body or in the ego alone? Am i ready to let go? Is it just the death of all i have clung to and i will be ready to shine a light in this lifetime for all?

I am tired, getting more and more so. thought of my return home – to buffalo – and what that was all about. even my trip here, how i wanted to see this land again, and how i prayed in the woods of Sierraville last summer, that i just wanted to go home, to my true home. will i rise again?

It was in the week or so after i wrote this that i became more determined to write my story before it was too late. And maybe that is why i have journeyed back here. But as i write i realize how little i have to share – not a story of adventure and exploration, but one more of quiet despair. For what have i really contributed and how little have i shined. How little i have been truly alive, and how much of my time has been as a member of the multitudes of the walking dead.
Am i dying – and if so, why does it feel so wrong to write that – for we all are. and on what level is it at – the ego or the soul? and you need to die to live again. And as i wrote elsewhere part of me feels like i have already died and am but a ghost hanging on.

Can i write my story? should i? can i write the insights i have had, though i have not learned to live by them? Can i be trimmed like an old tree or a flowering plant – cut off the dead or dying parts so that the rest may live more fully again or is it too late. Can i shine a light upon the world?

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