Posts Tagged ‘darkness’

I had forgotten about the depression i had felt in this zone – the memory of its intensity slipped away and now it has come crushing back, holding on deep. I remember the way I often felt here before, not only the deep spiraled down weeks, but how low my base mood often was. As i write this i know that it is not only here that i have felt this way, but the grey and the chill hang onto me and i wonder if this region was really any good for me. I know i have come back time and time again, but i have also left just as many times as i had arrived.

There are so many thoughts and emotions caught up in this place, feelings that i had forgotten about. The details are still blank to me, but this deep feeling has returned. when i got to harbin about a month ago i know people said my face had changed, and now i feel it changing again, and i do not like what i see.

And that is part of the problem; i do not like what i see. But how much of it is the place, and how much is it me. Seattle has never been my favorite place, i down right disliked for a long while. Slowly i warmed up to it, but those were the last two times where i only planned to pass on through. And that is what i am doing this time.

I ’m no longer sure why I came up here, except as a stepping off point. Port Townsend and Alaska had both been in my mind, and i head off to the former tomorrow a destination planned long before i arrived.

I didn’t come back up to Seattle per se, and I’m not sure why I stay here so long. Part of it always is with what I wish to avoid. And it’s funny that i find myself in exactly the element i did not want to return to in San Francisco in the downtown hostel and i am now many miles away. I am in a hostel, one that i liked before, but in the centre of town with the noise and buzz. The hostel too, is somewhat depressing, but there is more interaction here, i have chatted with a few of my dorm mates, a long conversation yesterday, and with some at dinner the other night. But i have met more in the smoking room, the underbelly of this place for it is dark in there, not only with cigarette smoke but with alcohol and drugs and people who seem to be wasting their lives. And maybe that is why i find myself there, and why i pull away – so many fascinating stories of lives and dreams, some similar to my own. And so many seemingly broken down. I am not as lonely here, but i don’t always like who i see in the mirror. I imagine i am on a ship in my bed, with its curtains around. The vibrations of the city get to me.

Part of me came on the way to Port Townsend, the place where i will go tomorrow. It has called back and forth over the years, so i cannot judge this process until i see what happens there. It has been a place of dreams, a nice small town that seems to work, with arts and culture and nature too, but a place i never felt i could stay.

And i also thought of Alaska, that mysterious inside passage up the coast which I’m certain is in a world of its own. But the more i see Alaska is not where to go, but with the amount of energy invested in it, it is still a place that i might end up. Several are here in the hostel on their ways up there, poor uneducated southerners going to work on the fish processing boats, 14-16 hours a day, 7 days a week, for cents more an hour than minimum wage. The overtime and living on the ship is how they can take their earnings home with them. And when i think of Alaska i think of selling poison at the convenience store and living in my tent in the rain and blow drying socks and shoes in the public bathroom. It too has beauty, and at times i was alive, but i know that summer, something in me died. i learned many lessons i still value and hang on to a few casual friends, but i do not believe it is something i want to experience again

On my way up here, and as i was writing before, i realized that the north is where i have more often gone when i have felt the need to run and hide and given up on other dreams. And come to think of it, this area in general is where i gave up on many dreams, and ran back to when i did not know where to go. Its beauty seductive in a nurturing way, but it is also a place that closed on in and a place where i spent much time wandering lost. And maybe that is why this depression comes on, an emotion i have felt here so many times before, and while I am not conscious of it when i plan to come, buried inside it is the most profound memory.

And that voice comes back, just give up on your dreams, who were you to imagine that you ever could. Tears run down my face and snot drips onto the keyboard, and i can’t help feeling that maybe they were right. I have died inside so many times, and i have survived all right, but the body is more worn and all is ragged, and do i just give up the fight, for that is how it has felt so much of my life, a fight to preserve the integrity of that light inside.

i now remember saying i was a survivor as i sat doing phone surveys in Vancouver so many years ago, my university diploma and dreams set aside, and i walking in the rain with teary vacant eyes. i remember sitting looking at the want ads and trying so desperately to find something that called to me, and doing temp office jobs oh so badly. And i think of Victoria, going back there, finally working for minimum wage, the roommate who told me not to dream, and going into that employment office day after day staring blankly at the screen.

And i think of all those broken dreams and i wonder what brought me back here again. is it because my situation is so desperate, that it is time to give up on the dream, but i see all those empty and cracked shells of people on the street and i can let it go again. For i am empty now, and though this is self indulgent crap, for the moment it is all that i have. Is it the throwing away the dream time after time, or is the clinging on to what thin threads that remained, that has brought me to this place once again. And i feel the sadness and i feel the tears, and the heaviness and emptiness i carried with me all these years. I said that my memories of these places were gone, but as i write they come up again. And can i write them through.

Am i like one of those who passed through this place on the way to the gold rush trail? I say to myself my dreams are not of gold, but they are of somehow doing something in the world. but the truth be told, the way i have lived, i would have never made it up there. I would have been one of the many who turned back disappointed and broke. And is it false gold that i chase, and why do i have to venture so far o fail to find what i am looking for and to find that the true gold is contained within.

And maybe it is the rain that brings these memories up, and maybe it is the denseness of energy here that keeps them in place. At first i thought that it was this city itself, but now i see that it is so much more. But while my memories of this place are few,

The first time i arrived here in 1986 was on the Green Tortoise bus though there was no hostel here at the time. It was late night, after dark and we arrived in a deserted parking lot. I went to the YMCA/YWCA downtown in the office building zone. The streets were deserted beneath the closed tall buildings, only a few sleeping on the street, and i felt alone and a bit afraid, feeling that no one would be around if i needed to yell for help. It was the first time i had been in an empty core of a city, and i wanted to get out. I know i only stayed a day or two and then made my way up to Victoria or Vancouver for the first time and come to think of it, i saw the beauty and felt out of place and hurried on away from there.

I returned again in 1988, and hostelling international had opened a hostel down the steps right near here in pikes place market. I had been in Victoria after a summer in Banff and had wandered a bit on Vancouver island, in the rain in Nanaimo, and felt depressed and lost. I wanted to return to the east on the green tortoise bus, but i had my dates mixed up and found that the last bus out had left a few days before. The stairs down to the hostel were narrow and dark and i wondered who might be lurking there. Went on a tour to mount rainier, but never saw the mountain beneath the clouds. Went out and saw a film on Da Vinci in the university district, felt the neighborhoods here in the west so spread out. Made my way back up to Victoria and headed back east via prince Rupert and PEI, only to return to Vancouver several months later even sadder than before. the dreams of my university days and writing a book were long gone by then.

I did not come to this coast for years, but passed through the city on my way up to Vancouver in 2001. I was running back north after 9/11 and had a few hours after a 24-hour greyhound ride up from san Francisco on a completely full bus. i stepped outside to get a coffee and did not know where to go. I saw some people on the way to work with starbucks cups in their hands, i tried to ask where the starbucks was, but seeing the pack on my back no one would respond. i was much more clean cut then and my travel clothes were new, but i will never forget the looks of horror, contempt and fear that were directed at me that day.

I stayed here for a week or two a couple years ago. But then again by the time i arrived i had given up on my dreams, of writing, of walking a pilgrimage towards god, of finding a place where i could be. I was so lost then, that i no longer knew what they were. I had told myself the previous fall that i would go up to Alaska, which had once been a forbidden dream (another version of the story yet to be told), if i still was wandering by spring. Spring came around and up there i went, though in my time here in Seattle i discovered many museums on free days, and walked around the different neighborhoods, and found that this place was not all gloom – but it did not leave a positive impression on me.

But it is not Seattle i came back to, but this area in general. For the northwest has called me back time and time again, and each time i have found the heaviness waiting here for me. And have i clung to it, or has it clung to me, and it is time to leave the clinging behind. And it’s funny I no longer have any desire to return to Canada. Seattle is more on the BC back packer trail and leaflets and signs for hostels on Vancouver Island and the mainland abound. Though I have been to many of them, the memories have faded away. Perhaps not the memories but the clinging that held me on. For except when i sit and write, i have not felt a strong emotion towards the place, though i have visualized Vancouver in the sun, And maybe, just maybe, i have let that phase of my life go – not with anger, not with remorse, but just as something that was. For all my experiences there, the happy and the sad, the connections made and those let go, have helped make me who i am today. And if nothing else, i came to appreciate the nature around – the forests, mountains and the seas, and the powerful spirits that live there.

And did i need to come back here to tell the story that i wished to tell, and being here i tell a very different story than if i had written it from away. For often i remember the sun and forget the grey. And the grey was so real for me, and i know i cannot just push it away, but i can be like the colour no more.

I was tempted to go for a moment to Seaside on my way back up here, but did not want to bring forth the energies of that place, for they were heavy too. I hesitated and then said to myself, i do not need to relive the memories there, and I can leave them behind. But as i have sunk into this rainy zone i thought of one story that i wish to share.

I think though of a woman i met last time i was there, i was still feeling the high of harbin through i had been brought down some in Eugene. She was lonely and began to tell me her story, how she had stopped drinking a year before and then her life basically went to hell. She had an accident broke her hip, never really fixed and lost her place in the process. I let her go on and on at first, feeling that she just needed to let it out. but on and on and on it went until i could be around her no more, my energy drained away. For the story became one long constant whine and more self-pitying ever day. And for a while, that story became her life.

it got me to thinking while we need to speak out to let the energy process through, not hold it within and let it stagnate and grow (like the energy does in the northwest) and at what point does that story become itself, and feeds the negative energy within.. And in my telling of my sadness here, what process am i feeding through. And can we transmute that energy within or do we need a light to shine on us. And i think that is here on the coast, that the cycle becomes intensified, fewer places for it to sweep out. And as I write this story, I think I feed it too. For this is part of my story, and one of the lens i filter much through but i must remember it is only a part and there are other lens with which to see. And i realize the story effects what i see and helps perpetuate itself.

The last time i was here was but for a day, in late May on my way from Indralaya on Orcas Island down to Harbin in California. The gloom and rain and all so much more had brought me down up there, or maybe it was in the thickness of the air; energies returned to me and could not be shaken off and i knew i had to return down south. I had come from port townsend, a place that i love but i had to journey on. It was a hot sunny time at the end of May, and i felt the joy in this place. I had been out in the country for such a long time, and the diversity of the place sung to me, I went up to the area around capitol hill, to find groceries and a bite to eat. the sun was shining and all felt alive, sitting in a park where people and dogs played and the streets were full of life. And it is funny, because that was the main memory i had when i came back up here this time.

And i listen to the rain outside.

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Energy moves more slowly here out on the northwest coast. At times it is heavy, oppressive and cloying on but it also comes alive in a myriad of magnificent life forms. As i make my way through this city by the sound, i see all of its manifestations dance around.

Buildings and streets appear fuzzy, clouds are low, and i feel like i am walking through soup. People seem crisper than that which is around, vibrating at a higher speed. I feel energy starting to condense in me, becoming thicker and heavier like the air, and stagnating in my joints.

I turn onto a side street where life seems more alive, and i lose that feeling of walking through twilight zone. The plant life is rich and abundant, trees grow tall and wide, and gardens sing with life. I see how energy manifests as form more easily here and what i see is a beautiful dance. It is that same denseness that can cling on and oppress that brings so much to life, for what is life but condensed energetic form.

In these streets and in the park energy becomes material in a lush diversity of life forms – tulips, daffodils, a wide variety of trees -, maples, oaks, cedars and juniper, oregon grape and more. There is so much life around. A riot of colors bursting out in big showy flowers – rhodendenrum and more – pinks, pale to deep, yellows, purples and reds and whites, colors so bright against gloom of day. Leaves are wide and shine in so many shades of green. And all grows so big and bold, showing and sharing its glory. I wish to dive right in and connect, for it calls forth,

I have seen the energy of trees and plants before, but now i truly see that they are energy themselves – the spirit manifest here on earth. I stand for a moment connected to this glory. In this cloud-covered zone, the spirits grow in and from the land and are nourished by the grey. All is shared with us, and now i see why in this area there exists a greater earth based spirituality. The sky and stars are often not seen and this is god’s presence revealed. In this container, god’s energy shows in material form.

The forests seem so mysterious, for the voice of god lay in there. Here in the city human interaction helps create the vibrant diversity. We plant the flowers that grow bold and the variety or trees and shrubs that are not native to this zone. We as actors help nurture the forms and they in turn nurture us. Along the side streets beside homes and in the park and i begin to smile and feel the spirit around and feel a bounce in my step. It is a creative dance of energetic forms, for that is all we as people are.

And here i feel myself become more dense, the vibration of the molecules slowing down. At times i feel myself sinking becoming heavy like much around, the energy clinging like mold or moss. Even the plant life can cloy at times, and i long to see the light. That sinking feeling draws me down to the underworld where at times the city seems to live. It can be so heavy and so real when i do not see the sky above. But then i connect with the plant energy that lives around, and i see that the reason why they grow so abundant is that they let the spirit flow on through and shine like the sun. And i remember that green is the the colour of the heart chakra and try to let the energy float and shine on through.

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I have entered the dark zone. Concrete covers the earth. Clouds hide away the sun. Pikes Place Market bustles with life, food abounds but i cannot eat. tulips sell for $1 stem and bouquets are $5 and for a moment i smile. I have returned to tourist zone as out of towners crowd the aisles and look on. I walk to a parkette nearby with a view of the bay with people snapping photos and others, downtrodden, sleeping on the bench. I turn and look back at the tall buildings, and feel something evil and foreboding there.

Cars whiz by on the highway below. It cuts of the centre from the waterfront and the neighbourhoods that surround. That multi-lane road of traffic circles the downtown and tourist core acting as a barrier to the other life and trapping the dark energies inside. The sound does not cease. It feels like a barricade, like one of those walls in medieval towns, or a moat around a castle. And the castle is rotting and i am trapped inside.

The centre of town feels dark.Nobody lives here, just people passing through.On a saturday, tall buildings stand empty. The sky is grey. I feel trapped. I do not want to enter the commercial zone with shopping malls and chain stores. The tourist zones twinkle but all feels false. So much grunge around in other directions, shabby men hunkered down and the street kids with dogs. Big attitudes talking trash, dressed in cheap clothes wait at the bus stops on the decaying transit mall. A hustle of sorts in the streets. And i want to escape feeling something foreboding lingering here. I walk down the stairs to the waterfront which looks a lot like fisherman’s wharf but without the charm. The highway sounds above high above, fast-moving tires on concrete, and cars streaming by. I go back up to the market full with life, but it too feels transient, and i feel the grunge lingering beneath.

I wish to go beyond, to another zone, this centre feels so dark. My energy becomes heavy and starts to gather in my joints. there is something wrong here – something i have felt before. And i remember life lies beyond. The sky threatens rain, but i walk under that highway the surrounds. I can cross through that barricade.

I breathe deep and decide to walk on out, pass under bridge and to that zone on the waterfront beyond where the highway rises above. I cross that barricade. I made it though, my eyes change focus, all seems brighter and i smell the kelp. i see the hills and mountains that lay across the waters and begin to appreciate the shape of the clouds that form the roof over my head. My energy activates and i feel more alive. I smile at the dogs, and i think they smile back at me. Still, i stay in the centre and return back there. But i have crossed outside, and i know i can cross back out again.

I return to my room and am agitated but sluggish inside. darkness surrounds. Drums beat outside and traffic hums around. A higher vibration than the mere gloom, but edgy, edgy, edgy. I feel the stagnation in my joints and my belly goes soft. I am restless wanting to break outside but it is late at night.

It is sunday morning. I walk outside and through the deadening commercial downtown zone on almost the empty street, past stores just opening and cold hard-edged buildings and cross the bridge. I cross the bridge over the highway that circles this darkened zone, and slowly make my way to a better place where life seems more real.

At first the change feels subtle with lower buildings, independent stores and some edgy folk. Again i feel like i am in bit of twilight zone. I pass a park, and turn onto a side street with apartments and homes, a place where people live. I notice the plants and the trees and the few people who walk around. It feels so green, so lush, the flowers are showy and bright. I enter a park where life blooms full, and come to life again. A change comes over me. And i feel that this is a zone where i would like to be.

But then i make my way back to the centre to the place where i do stay. My mood changes as i re-enter this zone. The life that pulsed through my veins slows down, and the smile slowly disappears from my face. I wonder why i keep coming back here. This darkened zone that draws me back is the same zone as at city centre hostel in SFO, and i have found myself wandering these areas in many places a long time ago. It closes in and it cloys but i now know that i can cross the bridges or the waters and leave here anytime. But i also must move through this zone for it has its tentacles in me, and i find myself returning again and again – to different locales but to the familiar zone. The barricade is an illusion though it might be filled with rushing cars, and i can find my way across.

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