Thursday, October 30, 2014

And Homeless...

That's it.

Work's over.

Last night under a roof.

Out into the cold and the snow.

No word on a winter job yet either.

It's a little scary.

Why does freedom always come when we want it least?

Monday, October 27, 2014

Oh Man...

A little over a month ago I broke up with Holly.


I had dumped a lot of energy into that very difficult relationship for a long time.  And yet still it continued to feel like a game of emotional whack-a-mole in which my heart was the mole.

I value her quite a lot, but some people are just bad matches or at least bad matches in certain time frames.  I have to wonder if maybe things would have been different for us if we had met at a different time, perhaps a time when I was not so deeply hurt and she was not so deeply depressed, consumed with anxiety, debt, rage and burgeoning alcoholism.  Not that it matters, we both did well to heal ourselves (to varying degrees) during our time together but the consequences of riding out that time together left me in a situation that had become so toxic that my shoulders immediately wound into Gordian knots upon her entering the room out of fear of the cruelty I would certainly endure as soon as I failed to censor a single subtle word... about anything.

I could not go back to that.  I could not go back into that dark hole of a house in that dark hole of a city for another winter walking on eggshells and unable to write.

As a result, I will be completely homeless in three days when my summer seasonal job and the housing it provides ends.

I'm sad for losing a close friend.  As cruel as she was, I cared for her and I miss her.

And I'm scared.  I should be looking forward to new adventures, but I can already feel the cold wind blowing through my lonely camp-- and the penetrating solitude of long winter nights.

It feels a lot like heartbreak.

Let's hope that I post soon about sunsets and cacti.

Saturday, August 09, 2014

Insult to Injury

I've been bad about this blog.  Haven't posted a damned thing all summer.

So here's a poem I wrote this afternoon!

I'd like to offer some unrequited sage advice
From a weary half-souled dimwit
If modesty must account my pretentious credit
To the wanderers, preachers, doctors and men of vice
And in a tale I'll tell of it

Tossing turning across a parade of mattresses
My Viking conscience felt a pea
That was not Is not my dearth bed, Authenticity
Pride and Meaning, cunts and countries, novel mistresses
A Claustrophobic duality

I could not, would not whore a mind to fill a wallet
Feather beds and money fetters
Eating steaks, and filling page with endless empty letters
Aching urging, crying, leaking life, draining goblet
Lust escape the fate of my betters

But truth be told and Truth not sold, I was full of shit
It was only that my Viking conscience felt a pea
That was not Is not my dearth bed, Authenticity
It was not what I was missing; no, that was not it
Nor was it what I thought that I could see

No doom or battle lurked upon the rise
Nor was it futile, seeking meaning in a standard life
There was no One right way to live, but only that theirs was not for me.
And there is no Goddamned psychic prize
In adventure, wealth or fucking wife

But let not nihilism knock and creep and overwhelm!
Unravel claustrophobic duality
Do what thou wilt! shouts Crowley his profane profundity
Then I carved those blood sweet words into my helm
And yet my Viking conscience felt a pea

And today I think, if only for a single day
That this pea has herself a name
Boredom the bane of each every Viking heart the same
Boredom.  Can we not keep this tiresome bitch at bay?
Boredom.  And Novelty's to blame.

Off to Lindisfarne! But treat the symptoms? Treat the core?
To plunder lands of novel chart
Is but to treat symptom and miss the core and miss the heart
Oh! The novel fuck-sweet violence we deep adore!
But to take and take one must take more.

Then on it rides and on it fades into weariness
And in the smoke of bridges burned
A vast horizon explored yet earth below unturned
The preaching wanderer shivers in his loneliness
And does not see.
And cannot see.
The buxom, warm and fecund mysteryess.
And her ten thousand layers to undress.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

The 23 Enigma

This is just a quick post to plug my new side project blog.

Koan 23

It seems to me that everything one finds on the 23 enigma on-line seems to recycle the same crap.  So I thought it'd be worth putting together a blog to drop 23s into as they pop up.  Most of the sites out there that discuss the enigma are just shitty hand written circa 1996-1999 Geocities style sites with nothing more than a text list loaded with inaccuracies and no useful or interesting context or philosophy.

I won't get into it here, but...

Anyway, if you want to go down that rabbit-hole, stop by once in a while and see what I've dumped there for your amusement and bemusement.


Thursday, April 17, 2014

Laying Foundations...

I missed March... posting I mean.  And am well into April now!

Well, the only thing of note last month was landing a new job.  This summer I'll be the trails foreman at Crater Lake National Park.  It's a 2 pay grade jump, though still not a permanent position.

Realistically I'll probably make the same amount of money, maybe even less on account of missing out on Sunday differential, Holiday pay, Field Per Diem, overtime, fire hours etc...  but I'll be close to my land, and close-er to Portland. and having that grade 7 on the resume may in few years do a great deal to help make the leap into a better permanent position.  I could, at best, land a 5 now...

Anyway, I'm looking forward to something different and being out of the damned sagebrush to which I am brutally allergic for a change.

In the meantime, I'm just back and forth from here and my land to dabble in la cabaƱita project.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Magic from Limitation

This month my interest in avoiding the awkward and often ill-received communication that comes with trying to say or write ...anything... during a mercury-retrograde has come into conflict with my ongoing desire to post at least once a month.  But I'm sticking to the latter will, despite the risk.

It is also a difficult time of year as this is the time of year when I am yet to discover what it is that I will be doing in the way of work-for-money through the spring, summer and months of fall.  It adds a, smaller this year than in others but still palpable, layer of stress to everything.  This uncertainty is part of the cost I bear for the benefits of what has been a beautiful and interesting way of living.  A magical way of living.  Walking free among the mountains, wolves and bears and being paid for the privilege.

One must, it seems, accept certain limitations or costs in order to free one's time, mobility, energy, money, passion, etc to conjure that sort of beauty in one's life.  The more narrow the opening of the geyser, the more explosive and beautiful its eruption.  That is what is meant by catch phrases like "channeling one's energy" it means you must make choices to neglect, forgo or destroy other options, in order to direct energy into one or a few.  Barring physical obstructions and cruelties of fate the results for those committed to that endeavor are often indeed powerful, often surprisingly so to the point of what a reasonable non-positivist-materialist non-anti-spiritualist, nihilistic asshole, might call magic.  And on its flip side that phenomenon of channeling can explain why the vast number of choices today's liberal world presents often leaves people feeling confused and unmotivated.  The energy is diffused and thus can create no magic, no beauty.

That of course is in itself no condemnation of the liberal world, only of the failure of culture to keep up with it.  There is no widespread understanding of the virtue of choosing one's limitations.  Evolution creates options, but it is only within the presence of constraints that magic emerges from nature.  Man was created slow and weak of arm and ear and sight and all senses, and every other niche being taken by fitter creatures he grew explosively, magically into the niche of thinking, problem solving, tool and weapon making.  And the rest was history.  But without the presence of our constraints directing our growth into the niche of the mind it would never have happened.  We were born of chaos, a random series of things thrown to the proving grounds of a harsh Earth, and an unlikely but real coincidence of order, the limitations we happened to receive, channeled the path of our forebears toward the explosive magical result for which we sometimes find ourselves so unique as to feel obligated to create myths to explain that magic.  Things like God and Scientology and endless other piles of bullshit.

Whether by coincidence or collusion or deliberate creation, it matters not.  Our birth as a species set forth a very workable demonstration of how magic works. And we certainly have the ability to wield it within the bounds of hard reality.  The last seven years of my life are proof of it.

The danger of magic of course is that if it is not aligned with your true will then the results may not be to your liking.  For example someone channeling their energy to produce money when what their true will desired was actually security may in time find himself wealthy but in other ways less secure and having wasted enormous time and energy.  So it takes a hell of a lot of soul searching to know how to chose one's limitations, how to direct one's energy lest one risk cutting off more important options when the happiness doesn't manifest.

That's why I don't like this time of year.  It is a choke point for important decisions, decisions that must be based on choosing limitations that don't compromise the desire of my true will.  And the options do not all lie out before me at once for comparison.  They come in one at a time in the form of job offers that must be accepted or rejected bearing a thousand things in mind.  How will it affect my career?  The relationship with my woman?  Relationships with friends?  The goal of crafting a cabin?  The desire for hearth and home?  The desire for a sense of independence?  My health (I'm allergic to the environment I work in, but otherwise love now).  Time and position for recreation?  My desire to hunt this fall?  The lifetime commitment to the written word.  And the balance of time and money which interweaves all those things.  All these hang in the balance, and I must be prepared to make a decision that will affect them all dramatically on a moments notice.  And then there is the ever quest.  Are these things even representative of my true will?

So as I bore into my heart to answer that question under the duress of a ticking clock that will soon chime the start of at least another year and in all truth on the rest of my life, it is inevitable that some blood will spurt forth from that soul auger in the form of a restlessness that looks to the untrained eye as aggression.  Ground cannot be lost now.  The self cannot be abdicated, because true will must guide my channeling at this critical juncture.  ARG!

Wednesday, January 08, 2014

A Wish

Typically I am posting more heavily this time of year.  For a variety of reasons this time I am not.

The snow melted off the mountain, so snow camping ended up not happening (yet!).  In the downtime I've been studying up on my primitive / natural materials building skills.  Getting a tiny little cabin with a wood-stove, a bed and a reading table built has moved substantially up my priorities list.

It's not from any sense of impending doom, or illusion about homesteading that I want to do this.  I simply want to feel like I've accomplished something, that I've gained a modicum of mastery in anything.  The written word will be, it seems, a lifelong endeavor and, I have resolved, one that is yet perhaps a decade or so in coming before I can truly produce humbly insightful and eloquent works of word worthy of sharing.  My commitment to that end is unwavering, I have but altered my expectations to cut stress out of the equation.

Stress, more than anything, stands in opposition to creativity.  It trammels the mind and shackles the soul.  And within its captivity there can be no playful freedom; the Great Mystery and its fruits cannot be touched.

My life is that of a half-willing nomad.  The Fates refuse to allow one place to be my home.  But perhaps they will allow me a permanent camp as way-point and retreat.  That is my wish for the next year and a half.

Everything else is gravy.