The Year of Shadows....and Light...and What it Means....

Quite a few people have been surprised to see me around town. "I thought you were still on the road!"
In truth, I did not announce my return. When I decided to come home, I pulled the plug and was on the east coast in four intense days of driving. I did not post much. In the same way that the doors opened for me going out, they begin to close as I turned east. My last serious night out found me camped at altitude, in a snow line, a frosty 13 degrees just out of Grand Tetons National Park. The moon rose late, and I had as clear a look at the stars as I ever will again. Already, they were somewhat indistinct and I had trouble picking out constellations. I turned away with a tinge of sadness and loss, a surge of joy at having made the quest, and a firm desire to be home again.
I drove for hundreds of miles in silence, then letting the music or the news flow. I spent a lot of time replaying "Holding On" by the War on Drugs and "What it Means" by the Drive by Truckers.
I had hoped for revelation on this trip. Maybe I would finally know what I wanted to be when I grew up! Instead, I found myself with more questions. What does it mean? Do I hold on too long, too hard? By holding on, do I block the possibility of new revelation or energy?  What do I want to be when I grow up? Since I am still on the road, can I just eat nachos or ice cream for every meal? 
The only clear revelation that I got on my travels was to stop looking into the future and just live in today. Make the best of this shadow time that I have between light and darkness. Hell, I have always known that! I didn't need to drive 10,000 miles to learn that...or maybe I did. This trip was a treasure. Some of the best visits I have ever had with friends and family along my path. The hospitality and love from each of you was outstanding, absolutely beautiful. Thank you. The stories of the literal miracles I was gifted with along the way bubble out of me. The beauty of the things I saw will never leave me. To each of you who held the fort while I was away, helped me, funded me, guided me, thank you!
And coming home. My yes. Home. As on my previous vision quests, I came home with the certain knowledge that this is my home. I am part of a wonderful community here...my family and my farm friends and art friends and meeting friends and gaming friends and friend-friends.....I arrived in time for the memorial of a long time friend and pillar in my world. I came home just in time to enjoy the fall produce and see the leaves change color here. A gift of knowing that I will travel internationally one more time at least.  I had the joy of music and celebration with friends last week. The contentment of seeing my cousin off as he left to assist hurricane victims in the islands.  They beauty of old friends stopping by and family around the wood stove. The amazement of working on new pieces of art, a place I thought was lost to me. The laughter this morning that is always part of the last farm market of the year and the hugs that hold you over until next season.  The joy of going to a friends farm today after wonderful meeting to pick up the beautiful Thanksgiving and Christmas Turkeys that they raised for me. 
So as Thanksgiving approaches I am dwelling solidly in the place between light and dark, holding on....

A Soul at Rest

Leaving home was both harder than and easier than usual. I have made these types of journeys before, and the preparations went as smoothly as any I have ever made. And clearly this trip was meant to be made. Still, there were important things unfolding at home that took a lot of faith and hope to lay down long enough to be gone a few months.

These voyages are often lonely affairs for me. The lessons and insights have been spot on, but the desolation and emotional cost for those lessons was high. They are often physically hard as well. Many of my travels were fraught by injury and physical discomfort.
 I haven't even been gone a week yet and I have had a month's worth of adventure. But already, this voyage is much, much different than any undertaken. 

The difference this time is community. Friends continue to reve al themselves along my journey and offer hospitality and connection. Friends continue to send ideas for destinations along the quest.

Random strangers out of the blue talk to me and accommodate me. I was blown away yesterday at the Minnesota state fair. The fair was crowded, a sea of people as far as you could see. There was a huge line to get into the bean competition. At the start was a woman doing a demonstration of how the art was made. I entered at the wrong end and saw all of this in reverse and pretty well blocked traffic to boot. It was hot. Everyone had reason to be cranky. Yet this artist still took the time to actually hold her fragile art up close enough for my eyes to focus on it. She was applying the tiny seeds with a toothpick, one at a time. It was wonderful to see it and to experience it.
Each of my stops thus far has included a joyous reunion with an old friend or family member with the added gift of their new friends and family that I have never met. The delight is so pure and raw that I almost can't describe it. I have never felt so connected or appreciative of the world I am a part of.
Astounding.
Love.
More to come.

40 Days Until I Walk Into the Desert.....Again

     At my age, I guess it is common to look back and ask yourself what you would change about your life. It seems to be a frequent Facebook question and discussion topic among friends. From a traditional viewpoint, my life hasn't been very successful. I married too young. I dropped out of college repeatedly. I got good jobs and left them, built businesses and let them go easier than an old pair of jeans to Goodwill. My marriage didn't last. I often spent more money than I really had. But what would I change?
     Offhand, my answer is not much. Other than not really loving and valuing myself until late in the game, I would say that everything worked out. The trials and hardships I endured made me strong and independent. I survived all sorts of crazy illness and accidents. I learned to value what I had and be astonished by what I could create with my own body and spirit, even when they were broken. I traveled the world. I had an awesome kid that somehow survived his vaguely feral childhood to become a sweet and charming man. I have a fabulous relationship with my parents and much of the rest of my family. I have incredible friends who have introduced me to wonderful things in the world. Many of these friends have stuck with me through thick and thin for decades. I am part of a rich and varied community. Diverse in age, origin, political and religious persuasion, ability, and spirit, my beautiful friends have sustained me. I have tried and done things most people never have a shot at.
     In the past twenty years, I have gone on regular walkabouts in an effort to discern my larger issues and feelings and to figure out what to do next. It is how I found the farm, Quakers, judo, stained glass painting, and many of the other things that enriched my life. Things that I wouldn't put down voluntarily. Things I love. Things that define who I am as a person.
     Some of you have followed my developing eye disease. In less than a year, reading has become increasingly difficult, as has understanding what I am actually seeing. When that happens, I feel anxious and uncomfortable.  I have had a very difficult time executing techniques in my art that were once a snap. I can no longer clearly see cracks and breaks or dates and names on antiques. I am having a harder time seeing defects in the eggs I sell when I candle them. Without my glasses, I receive almost no useful visual information.
     I also underwent a full knee replacement at the end of May. It is likely that the other knee will need to be replaced in the next year or three.
     In short, I am being forced to lay down many of the things I love. I have some time yet to enjoy some of them, but I need to figure out what comes next. Figure out some kind of strategy and interests that can be accommodated in my changing body. Figure out how to stay independent and vital. This is a discussion we are all going to have with our bodies. I just didn't expect to have it so soon. All of my grandparents but one, lived independently and drove until their very late 80's and early 90's. I always envisioned myself in the same way. I don't have that luxury. My life is going to change.
     So, on August 31, I'm going to embark on what is likely to be the last of my great solo explorations. My goal is to visit family and friends, with the understanding that some of these are likely to be final visits, to see beautiful things that I can press into my memory, and to get back to the fertile raw desert that has helped me figure out things before.

  The itinerary is as follows:

• Sept 1: Aurora Illinois. The big question here is whether I cheat on my celiac diet in favor of a Chicago Pizza....
• Sept 2: Into Minneapolis to see my son and his girl friend. We are attending the Minnesota State Fair, the second largest in the nation!
• Sept 5: Leawood Kansas to see this: https://qz.com/933416/artists-are-using-a-revolutionary-process-to-construct-the-worlds-largest-stained-glass-window/
• Sept 7: Boulder Co.
• Sept 9: Salt Lake City, Ut
• Sept 12: Camping in Idaho
• Sept 15: Tacoma, Wa.
• Sept 18: Olympia, Wa.
• Sept 19: Redding, Ca.
• Sept 23: Zion National Park, eventually ending up down in Joshua Tree

    From there, I am off the grid, planning to return home by mid October, before too much snow flies. I am already packing and working on my meditations. I hope to see many of you in the coming weeks before I take off!