Ashes to Ashes

And so, my dear young son, with these ashes, all that remains of you, I bind you here. I bind you beneath this tiny house in this magical canyon, and in its very foundation. I have enough ashes remaining to fix you within these walls, as your friends did at Baker Street when they brought you home that night in a little brass box, and I will lock you into my floor and you will be a part of this forever with me. It seems heretical to tether you thus, you who epitomized freedom and adventure. However, it is just a small part of you I have saved to share this spot with me. The bulk of you was divided among your friends, who have taken you all over the world, and a small portion traveled with me on my journeys into the depths of Africa, through the souks of Morocco, to the residence of the Dalai Lama in northern India, and to the warm beaches of Kerala. And you will continue to travel with me when I take up the road again. So your ashes also shift with the sands of the mighty Sahara Desert, blowing across the dunes for all eternity, you are mixed in the oceans of South America, to pound the rocks and ride the gentle waves, and you travel in the very blood of your peers who, in their youthful exuberance, tattooed you into their tender skin to keep you close. Perhaps your spirit was just too expansive to be contained in a normal human body and you found a way to break free before your time, certainly before mine. I miss you, my dear young son. Six years and 2 days after you left us, my heart still clenches at the loss of you and the air is forced from my lungs. But my days are also full of the laughter you left me and the thrill of each new adventure. When my days are done I want nothing more than to be scattered in the air to join you, and we will laugh our ashes off as we drift across the planet... Read more

Joel's Day

On this, Joel's day, JT said it best in his blog post:

I first met Joel at the Phoenix Theater when he was probably just 13 or 14. The first conversation I remember having with Joel was about quantum physics. I’m not sure if he had finished his Calculus courses by then but he was one of the few people I’ve know that was smart enough at such a young age to understand high level math, science, history, and philosophy. My friend Tom (30 years older than Joel – and pretty smart himself) had to study before their weekly breakfasts in order to keep up with him. Joel was a master conversationalist and a master debater.
We were all surprised when Joel informed us that he was joining the military. Why would such a smart, loving, and rebellious guy want to join the army? Because what Joel was about, more than anything, was adventure.
I never got to go on any of the infamous walks with Joel but I have heard story after story of his random wanderings throughout Petaluma (and even sometimes to other towns) where magical adventure would seem to spring up out of nowhere wherever he went. If you wanted excitement and a good time Joel was someone you wanted to be around.
Joel’s house – the infamous Baker St. house – was grand central station for the brightest and most creative of his generation in Petaluma. Though I never visited the Baker St. house in its heyday I still hear it lovingly referred to with the greatest of reverence. It was the necessary incubator for so many of those young people who I now respect so greatly as adults.
Every year, on the eve of this day, there is a candle light vigil held outside of that house.
It wasn’t that long after Joel’s basic training that we got word that he had died suddenly on his bunk – his heart had failed in the same way that his fathers heart had, suddenly and without warning.
I got the word after a weekend we had spent in Tahoe celebrating my birthday. We had had the greatest of times (I won over $300 at blackjack) and Tom decided to spare us the news until we had left Tahoe.
—
Death rips through communities like a tornado. I’ve seen it many times. Joel’s death was no different. His memorial at the Phoenix was packed full of people (the Phoenix holds about 900) and the love and the grief in the air was palpable. It still is. 6 years later Joel is remembered no less for the impact that he had on so many people – especially those that were closest to him.
But with death also comes rebirth and out of Joel’s death came our relationship to his mother Alyson. I could spend a whole post on Alyson but it will suffice it to say that she is one of the most incredible people I have ever met. The relationship that Joel’s friends have developed with Alyson after his death have helped to sooth the wounds of loss on both sides.
—
In my worldview when people close to me die they become the gods of my pantheon. Each representing a different principle of life that is important to me. Each representing a spirit that I can call on and commune with whenever I need to. Joel is my wandering Taoist. He is who I look to for heart and for the capacity to be curious. He is who I look to, at times, for direction in my own aimless wanderings.
I will never forget how often I would have to run and hide from Joel’s monstrous hugs – when he would see me and yell ‘Jaayyyy Teeeeee, come give me a hug!’ and if he caught me, would smother me in his arms and say something ridiculous.
I would have loved to hear the stories about his military adventures in whatever part of the world that would have been graced by his presence.
Big love on you Joel and all that are grieving for you.
This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 18th, 2009 at 10:23 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site. . And here is the rest of it.

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and so it begins....

Terry is back from California (with a friend, Phil). Grady is back from Oregon. And so it's time.. We all met Saturday in the canyon and started to stake out how the little house will be set. Seeing the outline laid out in string made me realize how small it is, my tiny abode. But it will be big enough for me, big enough for all the space I need. The site is not level and Terry will have to work some wizardry to make it all happen, but this is where I want it and so this is where he wants to build it. I will be getting the rest of Joel's ashes from my sister's garage in Missouri to mix in with the foundation, that grave anniversary imminent, and so maybe we will both finally find a place to rest. I have been utterly overwhelmed with work and my online courses and I see no respite in the near future. But Terry is going to put a skylight over my head in the small motor home where I am sleeping, and seeing the stars at night will balance the urgency that dominates my day. . Read more

A friend asked me yesterday if I didn't feel afraid up here in the canyon all by myself. I never felt safer. And, with the exception of my years with Joel, I never felt more blessed. There isn't a sunset that doesn't deserve its own symphony, a sunrise that doesn't warrant its own poem. My new job, working with troubled and delinquent adolescents, has taken up much of my life lately, and I am rarely home in time to see the sun make its final pass over the Huachuca mountains. But my life, even before Joel, has been characterized by the presence of young people looking for something, looking for a place to belong. I don't pretend to have any answers for them, and the gifts they have left me as they enter adulthood have far surpassed any service I could provide. But I have had the privilege of standing on the side of the road that they travel and am grateful to be able to point the way. We are misfits, they and I, not quite fitting into a world that seems foreign. And what I have learned along the way, and what I have shared with them, is not the necessity of fitting in- why would I want them to? What I can share is a way to navigate in a world in which they might never fit and, not only be ok with it but, rather, to know that they are special and that their path is different. We all need to find a way to be in the world that doesn't conflict with the mainstream but that allows us to hold on to those things that make us unique. In adolescence that's a tall order. And so I spend my days with them and come home to this magical place where I finally fit so absolutely. . Read more

Chicks with Chainsaws

I have been up on my property for about a week now and hate to leave it. Much of my time has been spent running around taking care of logistical issues, e.g. applying for building permits, registering vehicles, getting a physical for my job, etc. The high points have been identifying and buying those things that will make it possible to live up here. I bought an old (83) Toyota 21’ motorhome to live in while the house is being built. There was an old trailer already on the property; however, it was uninhabitable (except by mice- a half inch layer of mice feces all over everything sorta brought home the understanding that I would never live there). I initially offered the trailer to Concrete Dick (yes, really, he works in concrete and will be doing some work on my house, I suspect), but subsequently decided to keep it, gut it, and use it for storage of tools, supplies, etc., while we build.

Although the motor home was a step up, it was a short step. The roof leaks through cracked old skylights and my first week up on the property was one of the rainiest all season. I have since learned about sealing leaks on fiberglass trailers and have singlehandedly replaced one of the skylights. I am waiting to replace the other one until I am sure my first job was successful. The days have been too hot to work inside the tiny motorhome (about 6.5’ wide) but, as soon as I am sure I have sealed the last leak, I will start to pull down the rotting ceiling and put up fresh paneling. I don’t want to spend too much time and money on the motorhome; however, it will be my sole residence for several months, so I want it to be tolerable. Besides, working on the motorhome gives me an opportunity to practice with some of my other new acquisitions:

I have, with some help from knowledgeable friends and acquaintances, purchased essential tools- I am now the proud owner of a set of RIGID cordless tools that includes a couple drills (I have 3 now- for what, well, I’m not sure yet), a circular saw, a reciprocating saw (sawzall), and something else. The most serious tool I bought yesterday- my Stihl chain saw, and I gotta tell you, the chain saw makes all the other tools look and feel like girly tools. I pulled the cover off the blade, knelt on the body while it was on the ground, pulled the cord, and felt the power surge up my leg. I put the chainsaw to work immediately, cutting down an invasive, spiny plant that is not indigenous to the area and is smothering the life out of other plants here. I am clearing a site where I can build a composting bin. More on that to follow…

The two trailers are about 20’ apart and I will be affixing a tarp between to two with a drain to catch water to fill a 500 gallon tank. I joined a small gym so that I could shower after my morning run (especially once I start work next week), so the rainwater catchment should be sufficient for whatever other needs arise. Until I am confident I am collecting clean water, my drinking water will come from Safeway.

To add the finishing touches, I have purchased plants that attract hummingbirds. I am drawing them to the area with feeders because the plants are still small with only a few flowers. But the hummers are catching on and have been feeding at the feeders and at the flowers after just one day. I have lots of the little guys and have decided they are more like insects than birds. In a few months, this will be hummer heaven.

Tonight is the first clear night without rain since I have been up here. It’s nice not to hear the dripping from my ceiling onto the floor for a change. It’s maybe a quarter moon, working its way to full, and impossibly peaceful out here. The desert has greened up significantly with the recent rainfall and there is much work ahead of me….

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It started with an idea

The idea was that I could create my own place and I could create something that wouldn't be too expensive but could still be magical.

I started with Google Sketchup 7. I played around with designs until I came up with something like this:

To be placed somewhere just like this:

Grady and Terry, my extraordinary contractor-friends, who are building

this with me, said the pentagonal portion of the roof was going to be complicated, problematic, and expensive.

Terry suggested a flat (with some lift for rainwater catchment), walk-on roof with a 3 foot parapet around it. Immediately I flashed to yoga practice, meditation, and just plain

sleeping/stargazing on this terrific flat roof, and I acquiesced immediately.

Grady and I got to work drawing up floor plans and designing the house.

Grady is functional and cost-conscious, and I am whimsical and quirky, so we had some debates and made mutual compromises:

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Turning Left

Some of the best advice I ever got came to me was when I was 22 and early in my recovery from, despite the young age, a pretty serious history of alcoholism and alcohol abuse. I was sitting in a meeting, sick and terrified, and heard the speaker say, “when you keep running into a wall, it’s time to turn left”. Turn left. Sheer genius.

So, after a long spring and summer when, despite what I feel are some rather significant skills and talents and a strong desire to continue to try to ease the suffering of marginalized people in disadvantaged countries, I have been utterly unsuccessful in securing employment in the Global or Public Health arena. Every failed application, every absence of the phone ringing, has fallen on me like a pounding rejection. And, to boot, I have even had to deal with outright rejection on a personal level. So, the other morning I woke up and decided to turn left.

Several weeks ago I purchased what I consider a beautiful piece of property (~19 acres) in the high desert of southeastern Arizona. Now the desert is not to everyone’s taste, but once it gets under your skin, once you sense the mystical and the extraordinary in the mountains and the skies there, it will draw you back time and time again until you surrender to it. I had hoped to get a job and have a small house built while I was overseas; however, fate was uncooperative. Consequently, I have decided to move into the small, temporary trailer up on my property in the beautiful desert canyon under the starriest skies you can imagine in the developed world, and participate in the design and construction of my small (800 sq. ft.), completely off-grid, humble yet oh-so-magical home.

As I have said before, I don’t generally keep up my blog when there is only me to write about. I am not that interesting and the point was to provide a window into other places and events that most people will never have an opportunity to see. However, there seems to be tremendous appeal these days in the prospect of living off-grid. Consequently, I thought I would post about our progress in the hopes that someone “out there” might find the information interesting and even, perhaps, useful.

I should arrive at my home site during the second week in August. Until then, I will continue to draw up the floor plans with the assistance of my good friend, Grady. The trick will be to keep the costs down while still creating some “magic” in the design. Once the floor plans are finished, I will make a little model. I will post all of this for anyone who might be interested. I downloaded Google Sketchup7, which is a 3D user-friendly drafting and architectural design program and started there. This is all new to me so, if I can do this (with a little help from my friends) I suspect any of you can.

Floor plans to come…….

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a long drought

I have developed a taste for mutton and horsemeat.

My contention has long been that my life has been made more interesting by the people in it. I have written of small heroes in the battle against AIDS in Africa, the goliathian NGOs that consumed all the resources, about the magic of the girls in the orphanage where I lived in Swaziland, and the many lives that slipped away, almost unnoticed. I have shared marvelous adventures traveling through Dogon country where the tiny Tellum used to live in cliffs so high they must have flown to get to their dwellings, and about the taxi driver in Morocco who drove me out into the Sahara, me believing my life was in peril. I have described the souks in Marrakesh where the tradesmen poured tea for us in dark alleys, the Erg Chebbi dune in southern Morocco where I left my son's ashes, the temples and pyramids of Egypt, and the cave monsteries in India, a long life puja with the Dalai Lama, and the women in Kerala bathing in the ocean in their colorful saris. Nothing has been more interesting than the people whose paths crossed mine, nothing has been more powerful than those who lingered for a while.

I have written little in the past year. My life has consisted of Word documents and Excel spreadsheets, of meetings and strategic planning. In and of myself, I am not all that interesting. I am starved for meaningful human contact, I am starved for meaning.

Lately, I get the sense that life is about to get more interesting.

Stay tuned. Read more

Joel's Day

And so it is upon me again. It doesn’t creep up on me, nor does it crash into me, but I wake up and it is the day that everything changed. I never know what to do to commemorate, so generally I do nothing. Nothing I could do would match its enormity. The loss required something big. And so I changed my life- I went to Africa to face AIDS, I came to Mongolia to confront the bitter cold, it would seem. Every day on this journey now is a testament that one day, one moment, one heartbeat, one life, one death changes everything. I would gladly trade my own life. Perhaps I did. My sacrifices are still too small, my inconveniences minor by comparison. But I am not done. . Read more

This is Why

“This is why”. A small comment at the end of a long post, my last post. A tiny, inconsequential thing. It started as a whispered shiver just above my toes and traveled like growing icicles up my legs, circling my spine, weighing down my arms, and traveling over my brain like microscopic, cascading, frozen dominoes, neurons shutting down with each miniature collapse. Almost 2 months of not posting, of not finding anything interesting enough to post about, and “this is why” gets me. “This is why”. It resonates, but in a cold, indifferent way. “This is why”. Anyone who knows me will be sure that, now, finally, I have gone off the deep end. What am I talking about? And yet, and yet, there’s something inside of “this is why” that is so expansive and heavy, something just out of my reach... “This is why”. It calls me, it’s right there and not there. Does anybody get this? Obviously, if you do, you don’t have the words either, it’s a knowing, and yet not knowing anything. It slipped in on a knife’s edge and I want it to stay and replicate, a seed so foreign and so familiar, leaving the sliver of a hope that I will know something someday. Metaphysical crap? Maybe. Sure. But it got inside me. Read more