joined on 12/23/05
last updated 07/12/07
Give it to me—your energy
Can I subscribe to your vibe?
Give it to me—your energy
Can I subscribe to your vibe?
Such a strong appeal
To your sense of feel
Give it to me—your energy
Can I subscribe to your vibe?
Give it to me—your energy
Can I join your tribe?
August 21, 2006
I'm feeling grateful of late for what small points of light I am able to see thru the drape of my long night. As I allow these things to flow into and thru me I must acknowledge the impact that you my friend have had on me and have decided to share it with the world.
So far as I can tell thru your words, both public and shared between us in private, you are in many ways the kind of man I hope to be. You are a caring and devoted father and equally so a husband, partner and mate. You are compassionate and it is constantly expressed by the words you share with me. you are wise and that is again is demonstrated in your playful yet well grounded words. You are wise and I envy your ability to learn and live and love and laugh as you so often seem to do. Even when you yourself are unaware of it.
You have proven to me that you are a strong and noble man. A comrade and a combatant. A lover and a friend.
You are a modern warrior poet my friend and I look forward to many years of knowing you and sharing our journies, our struggles, our small victories.
I would stand with you on the line.
a thousand cheers my friend.
Sun, August 26, 2007 - 2:49 PM
This felt weird to me.
I had a beer yesterday afternoon. It was cold, and tasted good. It went down smooth. I wanted another, but was out. So I had a glass of wine. It was great. Fruity, heady, antioxidizing. My heart felt both stronger and happy. (Science says that red wine and beer are good for me. I'm not sure how much science was done about actually testing the two right in concert with each other, but if they ever do want to test it, well, let me tell them...
Sat, May 19, 2007 - 8:30 PM
From the little angel on my shoulder:
don't forget to take the bottle caps out of your pocket
drink another glass of water
yes, you should wash those strawberries before you eat them
no, you don't actually NEED another beer
have you done a to do list?
stop ignoring your family and step away from the computer
don't say "whatever"
be more humble. of course the speeding ticket was your fault.
NO he didn't need to let you off
get off the table
don't say "whatever"
Sat, May 19, 2007 - 1:45 PM
I'm not sure about any-a y'all, but I can recall a
time when times were softer, people were softer, and
our sense of security was more intact. Take for
example, back when I was 'bout 12(that's 27 years ago
fuckin a...really?!...holy crap...) or so. Back then,
if I saw some car with its headlights left 'on,' I
could walk up, open the front door, and turn 'em off.
I used to do that all the time. Know why?
Cuz I could cuz people left their
doors open cuz we didn't have the fancy stereos...
Sun, December 17, 2006 - 3:50 PM
I think Descartes said it best.
I couldn't agree more. Something about the act, the art even, of drinking. From the very outset, stretching my arm into the
fridge, over the yogurt and around the milk, deep towards the back where I stash the bottles so I never really know just how many are
left, or more, how many I've had. Until I count the caps in my pocket anyway, but that's an act unto itself.
Indeed. I drink, therefore I am. The act, from the reaching to the opening. Even befo...
Sun, December 17, 2006 - 3:33 PM
it was the best of times, it was the blurst of times.
Here's some random stuff I've written on the IncidentaList ...
You know, I was thinkin.
Was about this, which I read earlier:
"I just don't understand why some people have to ruin
it for everyone else."
I think it's because people can't handle the very
freedoms and liberties that evolved over the past 227
years. And the ones that devolved, too. When you get
down to it, it's not "some people," it's all people.
It's only the "it" that changes, based on who's
Heck, that's why we need Earth Camp, so we can learn
to wage peace and love and tolerance and patience and
respect and awareness. Of course, more times than
not, it's the awareness itself that seems lacking, cuz
even w/all our fancy glasses, we sure suck at lookin
around, and at each other.
But that's not my point here and now, only a mere
thought. I wanted to tell you what I learned today.
Today, I learned that when I sit in a sauna, I get
this little puddle, or pool, ("or puddle," Little
Angel on my shoulder coos. "Puddle is good for you.")
(Editor's Note: Please reference Caddyshack dialogue
#273..."pool/pond"... for chat between the studly Ty and the loathesome
DAMN! Freekin too many voices!
Anyway, I get this POOL of sweat in my bellybutton.
Due to circumstances of my control, I have somewhat
the "inny." One time, after the pool was full, I
sucked in and PUSHED out, and the pool just flew onto
the hot rocks, actually adding steam to the room.
So when I was leaving the locker room, all happy about
my newfound ability, I opened the door to see just the
most beautiful woman, a SA-MOKIN hottie, who froze me
in my tracks. (little did I know that the strap to my
bag got hung up on the door knob while I was frozen
and gaping). In that moment, I felt it - something
I've never consciously felt before. I felt the spirit
of Barry White actually join with me. It was
amazing...he was amazing. Right then and there I felt
warm, warm like a velvet teddy bear. I felt my voice
change and improve and deepen, my hair curled, and my
skin darkened. And the words popped into my head and
I knew that I could talk to this woman and...
...and she would be mine! Ahhhh seduction, and to BE
the seductor. Just as I was starting my rap
(went something like this:
Can’t you feel the fire
I’m burnin’ up from one desire
The thrill from loving you
I can’t help myself, I swear it’s true
from I'll Do Anything You Want Me To)
I moved and my bag, still hung on the knob, didn't
move. In that moment I felt it, like nothing I've
ever felt before...Barry White left my body, my skin
paled, my voice squeaked, and I tumbled headfirst into
the laundry bin (like the kind in the movies that
prisoners crawl into in hopes of escaping). Wet and
sweaty towels flew everywhere, eventually landing in a
heap atop me, still headfirst in the bin. And as you
should now envision (thanks to deft use of
movie-prison-prop reference) the bin had wheels. And
yes, I rolled. It rolled. I just sorta lied there
w/my feet stickin out the top. Came to a stop and a
couple little kids helped tip it over so I
Leapt to my feet in graceful Dick Van Dyke flair with
a "TA DA!!!" but she was gone, didn't even leave a
scent lingering on the air. Only wet and sweat and
the sound of two little kids laughing...
Ayyyyyyyye (<-- Fonz sound, to restore coolness)
Hey Hey Hay!
In honor of this very special day, I want to call
attention to everyone's favorite, if oft maligned and
sometimes denigrated, yet readily available and deftly
used spice: Monosodium Glutimate. MSG. MSG. "In and
out of the Garden he goes?" Nah, that's the other
MonoSodium Glutimate - sadly named, the glutimate
maximus, huge ass of the spice world, fartlike adding
flavor, like a dj, flava, spinning taste into soups
stews and seitan like rumplestiltskin spun gold!
There was this place, a chinese eatery lets call it,
that I visited once. In Dedham Mass. Place smelled
like Keno and cigarettes, but we heard it was good
food. Know why it was good? The perfect place for the
whitebread of Dedham? Bland and spiceless, everything
tasting the same. Large beefy portions laden with MSG.
MSG keeps the people happy. Keeps 'em full. Keeps
'em comin back.
One neat thing about Phish is their love of MSG.
Oh wait, that's the other MSG. "wherever he goes the
people all complain"
Well, one neat thing about Phish is Story of the
Ghost. That's one swell album...spicy and creative.
Heard some dude playin it at Powell's the other night,
in the cooking/cookbook section actually, so I stood
there and noodled for a while. Pretended to read a
book, a book about spices, about Glutimate, but really
I was spinnin in my head. Though that's not why I
write here today.
I write "here today" because I like how it sounds.
Here today, therefore I am.
and I am
Greetings friends -
So, there I was, sitting on that top bench of the new
sauna, fresh off a decent and moderate workout. (I'm
a little hesitant to push it too much given how my
weekend went, ya know? But I got a 5k to do in 10
days, so, gotta keep at it!)
Anyway, the workout was moderate. I did 2 miles on
the treadmill, after some great stretching of course.
Y'all know that stretching is the key right? I do
this little routine that starts with some balancing
and quad pulls...some one-legged things, and then I do
some yoga-esque full bends, good for the calves. I do
a bit of plank, some of that child's pose, more plank,
downward dog (hold that for like a minute even, if not
more, which gets tough!) and then lunge into warrior
pose. Finish up by working on my horizontal splits,
which is VERY not splits. Shit, I can't even get
close, but it sure feels good...hurts so good...
The run itself was, oh, amusing. There's this tv
there, silent but with close-captioning for the
hearing impaired and those of us on treadmills. Was a
news conference with Rummy. The whole time I was
running, I just couldn't stop chuckling to myself
when I looked at him. What a pompous and creepy guy
Anyway, I did my run, and then my stretching routine
again, cuz stretching IS THE KEY, and then some
stomach work, before heading off to the heatbath.
There's nothing like the sauna to end a workout. Just
awesome. All that heat, those deep breaths, the sheen
ne' layer of sweat that forms, dripping down the arms,
hands, legs, toes. I love it!
Now me, I wear my towel. Sure, it's sorta like a
loincloth, if you will, but it keeps my cheeks of the
hot wood and keeps me sweat off the hot wood too.
Plus, as you might know, I'm a little modest. Well,
there was this other guy in there and he wasn't modest
at all. He was all spread out, reading the paper,
sweating, smiling (but not inappropriately) and buck
naked. The thing about him is that when time for him
to leave he hands me the paper and then says "well,
time to get back to reality. I don't mind burnin the
calories, but the rest of reality is a pisser, eh?"
I laughed and agreed, and sat there a while longer,
all by myself. Well, the time came, and I said to
myself with a smile, "Time to get back to reality."
Off to the shower and what do I find? Reality smacks
me in the face sooner than I expected, for there, in
MY shower (it's a YMCA, so ain't really mine, but the
one I always use) is this middle-aged husky dude all
bent over in to "thank you sir may I have another"
position, shooting water rather up and into his bum.
WTF?!!! He just "stood" there, for lack of a better
word. Just bent there. Oblivious to me until I
coughed. Looked up, grinned, and bent over again.
Well, I chose the shower furthest from him and made it
quick. But had to wash my hair, all that damn hair, so
still needed a few minutes. Ol boy was still just
bent there when I left.
So that's my reality. You can have it!
Clean as a whistle,
Ever had one of those mornings when coffee doesn't
quite cut it? You know, like when the cobwebs sorta
linger, whispy tendrils of confusion that cloud your
thoughts and distract you like the very trails that
sometimes invade your sight? Like when you blink and
your eyes actually hover-in-closed position, sticking
heavily almost on your cheekbone, which itself is a
little extra puffy b/c the coffee didn't do what it is
supposed to do and clear the cobwebs and reduce the
puffiness and send you on your way?
And then when you turn on the tv
and you see a commercial of the energizer bunny going
and going and going, you feel that pang of jealousy,
cuz that little rat-bastard isn't feeling all
Ahhhh, yes. That day. Those days.
Remember back in The Day when you were pro'lly, oh,
11years old and some fuck dared you to like the + end
of a 9-volt battery?
Who needs coffee?! Batteries, the un-caffiene!! No
taste, Less filling. Slightly better for the
environment. Can buy 'em at the store, don't need no
clandestine labs, no pseudo-ephedra, no little foil
(which can wreak havoc on your fillings!) and it only
takes a moment to charge and leaves your face
snapcracklepoppin for a good bit.
Your Coppertop Man,
Are we having a good Monday? Monday is a good day for
a couple things:
Being moon day, it's a good day to pay homage to that
big orbiting satellite in the sky, Luna. So
important, she is, keeping us "regular" - the tides
coming and going, the gravity gravitatin, winds a
blowin, times a-changin, all ordered and physical.
Soooo important! ((((((((((MOON))))))))))))
Being moon day, it's a good day to drop your pants and
wave your heine at someone. Preferably some Skinner
type in your life, or his mom. Ahhhh, the moon. Says
so much, the picture worth 1000 words, defiant,
disrespectful, arrogant, brave. The perfect
antithesis of sexuality, yet so close to sexuality as
to suggest taboo. And therein lies the power of the
moon, the duality, the hypocracy, the scent (not in
the stinky sense, juvenile, but in the "air of"...,you
know?) In the taboo ne' hint of sexual deviance lies
the power to say kiss my ass and have it mean nothing
other than "i reverse the role and dominate you with
my brazen showing!"
Random stuff I've written on the IncidentaList ...
October 3, 2003 -
So, I was walkin down the sidewalk the other day with
this guy I know. He's ok, but very much cut from that
"Man Show" mold that keeps him out of touch with his
feelings, and with the feelings of those around him -
especially women. Part fratboy, part golfer, part
pimp, and part partier, ya know? But he's ok, we get
a long ok, my hair doesn't bother him and his hair
doesn't bother me (flat top, Johnny U style).
So we're walking along, and see this woman coming
towards us in the distance. She's obviously large,
walking with a weird palsy'd limp, wearing what
appears to be a mumu, and her arms are full of
packages. She looks to be in very sad shape, I'd say.
He said, thru snickers and twitters, "Get a load of
that load. Man! Do you think she's a guy? Hey dude,
I'll bet you a grand that she has a beard. You in?
HAR HAR HAR HAR..."
"Sigh," I sighed, as he started gleefully aping her
limp. Pretty horrible stuff.
Well, we get to the point of our paths all crossing
when all of a sudden she loses her stuff. Packages
flying everywhere, a few papers, her purse...splat and
splayed across the walkway. Ol'boy makes these odd
pseudo-guffaw sounds, almost like the coughed
"bullshit" from Animal House-fame, and the woman just
sorta starts fumbling to retrieve her things. She's
breathing heavy, and struggling slowly to catch stuff
that's now caught in the breeze.
So I start helping - jog away to grab that one that's
movin, and then return and put her packages into a
little pile that seems maybe easier to manage than the
mess she had.
Sweat on her brow, she's clearly grateful for my
assistance. Smiling profusely (her teeth were a bit
nasty) she said thank you over and over, and in what
seemed to be rather a Marlee Matlin kinda voice,
unnaturally deep, garbled, atonal, slurrish, she said,
"I think you're just really beautiful."
Wow! Now that was nice to hear. Smiled, said no
problem, and we all went on our way. Soon as we were
past her, Ol'boy started with the limp, hunching his
back Quasimodo style. "Oh PT I think your so
beautiful, oh do me right here PT I'll rock your
world. And I KNEW she'd have a beard. Man you get all
the babes. How do you do it? Tell me tell me."
I cussed him out a bit, increasing his merriment, when
we came to an intersection. And at the intersection a
car full of dudes. And they honked at us, and were
waving, and smiling, and then one leaned out the
window and said in his sultriest voice, "hey
hippy-man, do *you* want a ride?"
Well, you can imagine what that did to Ol'boy, who
practically vomited with hilarity. Had no idea what to
make from a carload of dudes "calling out" to me. I
tried to tell him that if anyone...ANYONE...wants to
find me attractive, then I'm happy to be flattered.
It's cool to be appreciated, I figure, and it ain't
every day that two different people express such
things (let alone a whole carful). He called me a
"fag," and the sad lady, "a fag hag."
I sighed again. Some people just cannot understand.
Some things are flat out beyond some people's
abilities. I can't jam a basketball, and this guy
can't appreciate people.
So we get to the next intersection, and there's a car
there, full of drop-dead gorgeous women. And they
start honking, and waving, and
smiling-practically-leering, and Ol'boy gets all
excited and shoves me and says "alri-iiight" but they
roll down the window and say,
"Hey HippyMan," as they drive past.
You shoulda seen Ol'boy's jaw hit the ground. And by
the time he finished picking his jaw back up, the car
had driven around the block and was sitting in front
of us. "If you let your hair down," (it was in a pony
tail) "we'll take ya *wherever* you wanna go."
Hahahahahahahaha...I got in the car and we left him
standing there. It was awesome!!
Not really sure why I'm tellin ya this, or my point,
other than it's something that struck me. I figure
that it all boils down to karma and good will, and
that whatever they saw in me stemmed from the fact
that I didn't expect it in myself, yet that it maybe
grew from the things like helping out the first woman.
Or just treating her kindly. I dunno. But I think
it's time to go for a walk...
Dec 24, 2002:
Frankly, for me, Ho Ho Ho can only be concluded with
"and a bottle of rum." But that's just me...it's a
So as Kyle Brazlofsky (sp) once sang...I'm just...lonely...on
Christmas. (note I left out the cultural epithets b/c
I don't want to misconstrue any construct in
e-fashion. without being able to explain myself in
person directly. It's all about correctness!)
Anyway, it's 4:45pm and I am now the last person
officially working in my bldg today, except for the
overnight cleaning staff. And since they started
early today, they're about to go home too. Pretty
weird if you ask me.
I'm here alone in this honkin huge building, most of
the lights now off, and in my office the wind howls
thru one of the windows. Real banshee noises.
It's doubly weird b/c I work
in a courthouse and thus am always finding myself
wondering if there isn't some crazy behind the
bathroom stall door, or lurking in the shadows, or
just flat out comin to get me.
So, here I am on Xmas eve dealing with all sorts-a
halloweeny type thoughts...murder, mayhem, ghosts. I
tried singing...Silent Night, holy night,...but my
words sorta echoed for a moment and then died sullenly
on the stale air. All the heat/blowers've been shut
off, so not only is there no air flow, but it's extra
quiet too. You know...the white noise...gone...
A bit ago, speaking of weird, I was using the
facilities (don't worry. I wouldn't dream of
suggesting that I actually have to use the facilities
as intended. I go in there to read the sports page)
when the lights flickered. As you might know, that
always sucks. There's nothing more vulnerableizing
than sitting in a closet-like metallic dilbertcubicle
with your pants at your ankles when the lights go out.
So flicker. "curse," I mumble. Flicker flicker. Then
I hear this tremendous bang C L A P and the walls
tremble and the seat shakes. And then I hear a wail.
Sounded like a whale but was more human and eerie.
Then the door opened...not the stall door but the
bathroom door, which I heard thru the stall.
So I'm grabbing for my pants, fumbling really, when
all of a sudden a roll of toilet paper comes rolling
to me on the floor. I lean my head way down to see if
I can see anyone and nothing. No shoes, no feet, no
thing. Just me and this roll of tp.
So now I'm thinking Holy Shit what's goin on and I say
"who's here?" There is only silence, and me
breathing. Ever notice that your own breathing,
especially in times of anxiety, in times of pure
silence, your own breathing is anything but white
noise? Frankly it's as black and awful a noise as
there is. But back to me...
...the thing about the tp that's good is that the
stall I'm in is actually out of tp, or was, until this
one came along. And aside from being caught in the
dark in a stall, bein caught w/o paper is pretty darn
bad. As it is, I unrolled some paper and then I see
that there's writing on it...
"We had this vision and you were in it
and we wanted to save you from yourself.
Hence we bring, for you to clean your shit,
this roll God had created by elfs.
Yes we heard you, you thought "holy shit" and it seems
indeed you are right. That being said, our work here
is done, you have yourself a good night."
I think there's a rhythym there, but I'm a little to
freeked to pace it out. Divine interruption? All I
know is that was the softest darn paper I've ever
PS Charmaine is my imaginary girl friend.
So, there we were, set for a rousing game of scrabble.
The fire was blazing, the smores were melty, the bugs
were friendly, more like flies on the wall than gnatty
neerdowells, and the gamefaces were on.
You don't want to challenge ME to a game of scrabble.
(editor's note: Toughguy boast aside, we've seen the
writer play scrabble. The reason you don't want to
play him is because he insists on playing with the
tiles face up. And you should see this guy try to
figure out the wildcard tiles. Amusing at best,
annoying at worst, so indeed, don't challenge him.)
Pick our tiles, see who goes first, and I'm last,
which is really second b/c there's only two of us
She thinks, plots, murmurs, and then OHHOs! (while I
roast a marshmallow).
It was a good marshmallow, but I should've been paying
more attention, thrown a little distraction, talked
about the flies on the wall, or the offerings I
offered to the fire and world that surrounded me. But
no, I just watched the fluff burn.
That was her word. All her tiles, double word score,
letter J. Rats. 80 points later, and I'm down 80-0.
But now its my turn. Review tiles, plot, think,
murmur, sigh, moan.
That was my word.
Freekin 'If'. And now the score is 80-2.
We went around a bit, made some funny patterns on the
board, and by about round 5, the score was like
195-43. I can't tell you the exasperation, makin words
like "the" and "be". Got lucky once, triple word
score on "out".
And then it happened, down there in the corner of the
board. There was an open "U" and I had some letters.
I had a C. I had an N. I had a T. There're others,
too, but they don't register. I'm staring at my
letters. Jeopardy music in my head, vanna white
nailshine to my otherwise charred fingers, and I'm
just seein the C word. Giggle to myself as I think of
Charlie V, and ChillyhoopinWonderment, and words that
are ok, and aren't ok. Then I start wondering about
words, like what is a word, what makes a word a word
and when is a word just a figment of my own private
dictionary? I dunno. Knowwhatimsayin?
The jeopardy music gets louder, and I keep seein the C
word...C,N,T. I can't bear it...surely it's not
appropriate to use in a scrabble game. But I'm down a
million to 5 and getting antsy. Beyond antsy
actually. And then she blurts out "What the hell's it
gonna be dude?!" And then I blurt out, "Is "cunt" a
Oh the horror. The whole freekin area got quiet...the
crickets stopped chirping, the fires stopped cracking.
Shit, even the river stopped riversounding, while I
felt the blood rush to my face. Oh the shame.
And she said, "you dumbass. Sure. I was gonna use
that "u" but if it's the best you can do, then fuck
it. Go ahead and use your dirty word."
Ears filling with dizziness, eyes watering like from
And then, then, blessed of all things good and
scrabbly, I notice the r. AN R!!!!
grimaces as I start layin 'em down...c, u, r, t. Then
I say curtly, "I want another smore, so you'll have to
wait again next time."
And I had one...a smore that is...and the score was
This episode was clearly brought to you by the letter
R, and for some reason, by the number 2. Maybe it's a
duality thing...the 2 part anyway. I'm not sure, the
editors decide a lot of that stuff. And you know how
editors can be, right?
Greetings and good day, sisters and brothers!
I do hope that this lovely September Thursday finds you well,
enjoying your day, reveling in the moment, be the moment
relaxing, stressful, joyous, or downright irritating. Personally,
my day has spanned the gammut, from relaxing to irritating.
FWIW, it's relaxing at the moment, as I've recovered from the
irritation. Nothin like that great salve, love, to cure the itch
that irritates. :-)
Did I tell you that I spied a new addition to the environ
that I call home? Livin on the edge of Portland gets
me privy to all sorts of cool critters. Got coyotes, deer,
possums (their end is the road? not in my backyard!)
and plenty of avian friends to entertain me. One thing
that I haven't seen, though, up until now has been a
raptor type. Not even an owl, though surely they exist,
up their in those big trees linin my scape. Well the other
day when I was figgerin out how to address the bee nest
growing near my attic, I heard the call. "sssskreeeeeee"
and again "skreeeeeeeeeeee"
I looked around. I looked up. And there I saw 'em:
two redtails, circling high in the sky. They circled around
and above me for a good five minutes before their arc
took 'em outta sight. I can't tell you how good I felt.
Their calls brought me joy. Their flight brought me joy.
Their presence brought me joy. THEY brought me JOY!
There's power in the spirit of our animal kindreds, and
hawks certainly spread their energy out there.
I saw 'em again the other day, and I must say, I'm hopeful
that they've made a home somewhere in the sky near
Anyway, I digress, for this is not why I'm writing. I'm actually
here b/c I was wondering. And when I wonder, I like to share
with you. :-) So I was sitting in court the other day and there
was this kid there. I think she was about 12, but she looked
like she was 112. Pretty darned deformed, this kid. Legs
really didn't work - sorta unjointed or something, like a midget.
And her arms didn't really work - or more, her hands. They were
sorta BobDole-like perma-fists. But it was her face that got me.
Almost like she didn't have a face. Almost like one of those
faceless aliens in the xfiles. Or one of them aliens with the dreadful
Scleroderma. It looked like there was a wrinkle where her mouth
should've been. Her eyes were really far apart. Her hair looke pasted
onto her head.
Hey that reminds me: did I ever tell you about the guy who tried to
kill himself by shooting a gun up from his chin? The suicide didn't take?
His chin was on his cheek? Anyway, that's another story. A really
sad and awful one. I won't wonder about him here now.
But this girl, who was in court dealing with some foster care matters,
or having them dealt with "on her behalf," boy she was something
else. See, as I was sitting there watching her and wondering, no -
pitying her b/c of how she looked - she spoke. Outta that wrinkle
where her mouth should've been, thru the crust of hardened skin,
she spoke. And when she spoke, she SANG. No self-pity. No
bile, nor acid, nor acrid bitterness of difficulty born from disorder.
Nope. She sang. She sang like an angel, with eloquence,
and articulation, and confidence. Truly one of the most shocking
disparities I've ever experienced. Irony; what I thought vs what I got.
So I'm wondering, where does that come from? Inner light? How come
so many people don't have it? Or lose it? Why do we give up so
easily in the face of minor frustrations? Why do we rage, with
arrogance and impatience? Why do we blame? Where is our light
and why does it flicker?
I don't have answers - these are too huge for me. But I'm left awestruck.
I have hawks now, and they help me to remember my place. And
I have these visions, these experiences, and they help teach me. And I
have a mirror, mirror, on the wall. To help me try not to fall.
Mornin all -
I just read this freaky story 'bout a cat who got
sucked out into the ocean on his surf board, carried
by the current out into the stormy deep pacific
where he spent the night bobbin and weavin, shiverin
and heavin, trying not to fall asleep atop his sealy
posterfuck surfbed. my god, even for a belly
sleeper like me, can you imagine the stress of lyin on
a surfboard all night?! At least this one had a happy
ending, and come mornin, he was wave-dropped onto a
soft sandy beach, such as they exist up Washington
The whole story brings to mind this thing that
happened to me once, a few years back. I was goin
eagle and whale watching via air-balloon out over
the coast west of Astoria, and for whatever reason, I
brought some of those water-wings that all the
little kids wear these days. I even wore 'em for the
whole balloon flight, mostly cuz I hate to fly.
Strange, because I think I got a little bird in me
(I'm mostly all wolf, but there's something about soaring
that does trigger odd and unaccounted for "memberences".)
So we're floatin out over the ocean. From here I
can see where the Columbia, roll on Columbia roll on,
meets the Pacific. In fact, that's anything but
peaceful - it's rather dreadful and scary and I'm
glad to be way up there in the balloon instead of some
little crabber boat or something. Oh! Our balloon is
shaped like a giant Dumbo, er, well, Dumbo is painted
on the balloon, which is rather heart-shaped, I guess.
So we're still floating there...ain't no eagles out here
anywhere, when LOOK! thar she blows! Down there on that
sailboat we see this woman actually giving a dude
head. I never seen that before! Well, we got all
giddy and started jumping around, and next thing,
I'm plunging downward downward downward, 200 odd feet
to the water. I'm flappin my arms, wavin flappin
reaching out wide as can be (I love you t h i s much)
in hopes of gliding gull like onto the surface, but of
course, we humans don't work that way.
Oddly, as I struggled into gliding position, I ended
up in diving position and actually nailed, for the
first time ever, a perfect swan shape. So that was
Anyway, after plunging down a bit, the water wings
took over and rushed me back to the surface. And
there, driftwood-like, did I bob along, sinking and
rising in that wavy motion. "Shoot," I thought to
myself. I could see my balloon, high over head,
drifting off towards the north. Called out to that
porny boat, but they were oblivious, some 80 yards or
more away. So I floated for a while.
And a while...
And a while...
And a while...
Into night. It was then that it happend. I got
bumped on the ass by a Grey Whale. Ever been bumped
by a whale? Let me tell you, that was more like a
shove than a bump! And I was so startled, that it
felt more like a punch, but in hindsight (there's a
pun there somewhere), it really was just a shove-bump.
The thing is, I wasn't remotely afraid, even with
this huge animal headbutting me. And he kept on
headbutting me, gently as it were, pushing me towards
the shore. I rode his nose for about 500 yards,
before he spun around and swished his tail, rippling
me the rest of the way with a mighty surge.
My God that was amazing!!
The way I see it, there was some weird
cosmic/karmac/divine intervention. I layed on the
beach for a while and smiled.
Guess what happened on the way into work today.
I had a close encounter with an eagle. Crazy!
Here's how it happened:
I have the pleasure of walking to work most days.
It's about 5.33 miles, mostly through dense woodlands.
One cool thing about walking through dense woodlands,
and these are DENSE, thick with tall Ponderosa Pines,
and then littered with underlying Dogwood, Filbert,
and Holly, is that even in the NW rain, I stay fairly
dry. Sure, I get damp, misty, en-dewed a little, but
not sotted. And cuz our rain happens in the winter, I
don't really get all skeetered out, itchy, westniled.
So that's all good, and keeps me out there.
Another neat thing about 5 miles in the woods is that
my head always gets fairly clear. You can't bring
those dark schwaggy thoughts into the woods and keep
'em. They won't stay. In fact, it's so all-good that
as much as I'd love to tell the kids that I do it
uphill both ways in the snow on my knees, it's really
always only like downhill on a scooter laughing cuz
the leaves gently tickle my cheeks. Know what I mean?
Well, today I'm trekkin through, got some John Cowan
playin on the headphones (I wear those from time to
time, depending on my mood - today was tough to get
outta bed so the music was a nice uplift) and since I
had to get to work early, twas still most dark
The air was chilly - I could see my breath - and the
moon was low, so my breath was 'bout all I could see.
Not really a breeze though, and not really wet or
anything, so once I got used to the chill, it sorta
went away. And of course, once you get movin, workin
the trail, ya heat up a little too.
The way this trail works is that, for about a mile, it
barely cuts through the brambles and briers of a
blackberry bush, or wall really, that lines both sides
of the path. In the summer of course this is totally
cool cuz you can nibble all the way there and all the
way home again. Manys the white shirt that now bears
my thumbprint, all purple and identifyin! Anyway,
this part of the walk is a little difficult,
especially in the dark, so the going is slow.
After a mile or so it spills out into this clearing, a
big circular area back-ended by some of those Pines I
mentioned, those then actually fronted by dogwoods
which are lined by Forsythia bushes. Also very cool
in the summer! Off to the side is a single huge
cherry tree. Huge. Can never harvest the cherries
b/c they're all near the top, fodder for the bushtits
and jays that frequent this garden. It doesn't
matter, those cherries. The flowers in the spring are
enough for me. Man you should see this clearing in
full bloom - the cherry blossoms, the yellow
forsythias, the blackberry blossoms. You should SMELL
it. It's Nectar!
Alas I digress...today as I entered the clearing my
cdplayer stopped. Was playing that When the River
Flowed or whatever the Cowan song is called. Just
about to segue into a really nice banjo jam when it
died, so I felt this twinge of "DARN". I hate it when
my cd player dies. Stupid batteries! I hate using
them, hate tossing them, hate replacing them and HATE
it when they stop in the middle of a hike, right
before a banjo jam.
Then I heard it: "No worries mate."
Huh? I spun around! "Who said that?!"
"hehhhummmmph" he cleared his throat. Came from the
huge cherry tree.
"WHO'S THERE?!" I blurted nervously in the morning
dark. Damn, I couldn't see anyone or anything,
really, but silhouettes of trees.
"No worries mate."
The voice was a gentle baritone. Clear, distinguised,
calm. "I'm over here. Sorry your disc stopped.
Sounded like an articulate jam."
An articulate jam?
"I could hear your music through those headphones.
Don't really muffle the sound too well, do they? And
what's with all the batteries you use? Get some of
those rechargeable ones, would you?"
I just stood there. Whoever was talking to me could
hear my music from 25 yards away, far enough that I
couldn't even see him, hidden by that big tree in the
dark. And I wasn't playing it too loud because of
course you want to be able to hear some things as you
walk through the woods in the dark. I never imagined
that the things I would hear would be a hidden dude
talkin to me though. I was mostly thinking to avoid
raccoons 'n stuff.
"Come over here, son," he coaxed.
"No. Who are you? You come over here."
"There's no place to sit over there. You are just
standing in a clearing. It's ok, no worries. Just
come here and talk to me."
He sighed patiently.
"What are you doing here so early in the morning?" I
"I'm hunting for mice. They seem to come outta them
blackberry shrubs around this time of the day."
A mouse darted across my foot and away into the dark.
I jumped nervously and made a sqeaky sound. "Eek!"
"See what I mean? Now come talk with me."
I baby-stepped my way towards the tree, looking for
whoever it was that so startled me.
"I'm up here." Up on a branch about 10 feet high was
a bald eagle, quite large, about 7 years old and
striking. Beautiful. From this distance, I noticed a
glow, a radiance, surrounding his crest. His eyes were
yellow and gleemed luminescently. His talons, longer
than fingers and strong like clamps gripped the branch
which bowed slightly under his weight. Never in my
life have I seen such a bird. He was, in a word,
magnificent. And we all know that eagles are as a
rule magnificent, so for this one to standout so is
truly a testament to his grace. The fact that he
could talk? What can I say except I don't know what
"Hi Mike" he said. "It's nice to see you." Hi Mike?
Nice to see me? How cool! "You...you can talk?"
"Of course I can talk. Everything can talk, in their
own way. The fact that I can talk human english might
be a little odd, but don't think that you people have
a lock on communication. Shoot, sharks and gators've
been around more than a million years. Their language
is so developed they hardly even need to make sounds."
"Oh. Hmmmm. Uh...well I...mmmmmm. Hmmmm?"
"Yeah, thanks. How's that for highly developed?"
"Heh heh. Lot's of sounds. You're a funny guy.
Mirthful, dare I say? The world could use more Mirth
Mike. It can be a cruel and cold life, and mirth can
ease that burden. Mirth can take those sticky
situations and fill them with glee. Mirth can turn
aggression into regression. Mirth can warm a cold day,
brighten a dark room, curl a straight toe, straighten
a curled toe, and even fill an empty belly."
"Better than mice?"
"No. Mice can do all that, plus build strong bones
and feathers. That's why I come here."
"How come you never spoke to me before?"
"I'm shy. Heck, how many times have you stopped to
talk to a bird?"
"I tried to talk to some ducks once, but they just
squawked at me and paid no heed."
"Well, ducks are kinda funny that way, and they don't
really understand english. Listen Mike. Remember what
I'm saying about Mirth and joy. Mirth makes joy, and
a world with joy is a good place to be. But a world
with a mirth-dirth isn't so much, is it?
"OH! Mouse!! I'll be right back. There goes a juicy
There's more to this tale, that I'll save for another
time. Gotta go to UPS and then find me a shrink.
God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take which you please,--you can never have both. Between these, as a pendulum, man oscillates. He in whom the love of repose predominates will accept the first creed, the first philosophy, the first political party he meets,--most likely his father's. He gets rest, commodity, and reputation; but he shuts the door of truth. He in whom the love of truth predominates will keep himself aloof from all moorings, and afloat. He will abstain from dogmatism, and recognize all the opposite negations between which, as walls, his being is swung. He submits to the inconvenience of suspense and imperfect opinion, but he is a candidate for truth, as the other is not, and respects the highest law of his being.
when I have one of my own, I'll know I've acheived greatness.