A tale from the Zen realm...

I am happy to say that I have been tuned in to the Zen realm lately. The picture comes in crisp like on your new HD flat screen that you may have bought with your shiny paycheck. The audio is in beyond-surround sound; cosmos-encompassing sound I call it. I tapped in on my snowboard a few days ago. Knowing the outcome of a park run as I dropped in. Slow motion cheshire-grin flow, full zenvoovy buddha praiser. What it is really about is using the energy that is already there, osmosis-ing it right through your being. The-energy-is-already-there. You-can-do-anything.

This Zen cruise took shape the other night:

I was on my way to meet some old New York cronies at a billiard hall on the west coast. The streets were puddled from the day's rain as I puffed on a healthy joint strolling down the main boulevard. Chattin' up a storm with meself absorbing lights and sounds that surround puff puffin' away like a slow steam engine on the central track. Bars approaching I clipped the joint and placed it on a shopfront windowsill for later retrieval.

Further down the street I passed a bum who was silently begging with his cardboard sign and his head hung low in the soggy night. His energy felt desperate and sad. I reached the corner and then turned around with the idea of giving him the joint clip that would help him get some shuteye and forget all his worries, if only temporarily. I was already quite nicely toasted and it put a silly smile on my face picturing the delight I was going to bring to this bum's bumlife. I could just picture him cozying up in a concrete corner somewhere and inhaling to his bumheart's content.

He put his hand out for the handout (that's why they call it that) and I said, "You can have the rest of this joint to smoke." He hesitated. "I just stopped doing drugs" he said in a muffled shybum tone. Feeling terrible but at the same time thinking 'How on earth did I find the one bum who gives you back what you gave them?' I snatched the clip back out of his hand. I told him I was sorry, which I was, but then I realized that he needed that kind of incident, that temptation, to strengthen him. He should be proudbum, living on the streets without a drug habit to support might make his life easier. Less distractions and more time to enjoy complete bummin' freedom.

So there I was, back to strolling down the main drag with a burnt joint. 'Who will be the lucky winner of temporary toastiness?' I thought. Selfish judgmental me was not going to give it to just anybody- a quick cosmic evaluation would be necessary. It would not be given to the tightsleeved buffbros or the nasal-voiced short-skirted goof troop (as if) or the no eye contact hidden agenda cool crew; then who? who would it be given to? I was just a block away from my destination but I knew that I would find the rightful heir to the roach. Crossing the street, my ears perked up to a male voice speaking behind me:

"I just think that we can have physical contact that is not sexual. Like, sometimes I just wanna share a bed with a girl and just cuddle, no sex or hooking up or anything. Why can't everyone realize how important the human touch is?"

As soon as he said "human touch" I spun around real quick to see an early twenties threesome, the kid who was talking in the middle walking arm in arm with two girls, just your average suburban hipkids on the Friday night prowl. What beautiful words to hear, whether they were alcohol induced or not.

I had recently had discussions about human touch; how we long for it by nature and that it is a necessary component of happiness. I chimed in with a wild cosmic finger pointing at them, "Yes! Yes, that's it! That is what I like to hear!" They all looked up a bit surprised at this strange eavesdropper. Their energy changed, instantly becoming a bit protective - something I am used to being a fan of random human interaction. In order to open them up I had to prove my worth and I did so with a concise verbal flow direct from the Zen realm (where many of my thoughts are founded): "We are all sensual creatures and we long for human touch and all physical contact does not have to be sexual. It is one of the best ways to express love, which is everything, which is all we require in the whole entire universe. It is all LOVE. Don't ever be afraid to express love in any form, and being all lovey dovey is not corny and showing affection needs to become a daily practice of our lives."

I had stopped walking during my rant and now they had reached me and were smiling so I hopped on the love train and was walking arm in arm with them. "Exactly, so true," the one girl was saying. "Totally," exclaimed the guy as he was putting a cigarette in his mouth to light it. The cigarette bounced off of his lips and onto the wet pavement.

We have a winner!

Before he could bend down to pick up the cig I had my free arm outstretched to him. "I think you should smoke this instead." All of their eyes lit up and the cigarette went forgotten. I gave him the roach, then gave them all big loving hugs and went along on my very merry way, smiling awe as usual. Happy for making them happy. Happy for hearing conscious thoughts so close to my own that are a rarity on that street where on any given weekend night the human spirit gets twisted in an alcoholic fog and becomes unrecognizable. Just happy and grateful for the constant unfolding zen flow (truth) that takes ordinary occurrences and zaps them into rainbows that brighten my soul.

Floetry

I have been spending some time not in the mountains recently but in the city, really feeling and observing the difference between the two energies; vastly different from each other. The city is hungry, always feeding; the mountains always giving and quiet...I enjoy jumping head first into either. Different music and different states of consciousness abound in my city experience. I brought back energy from the mountains for the second city-go-round and it softened the blow just like I wanted it to. These are some scribble poems I produced quite naturally during a very mellow night spent by myself on a couch on a huge hardwood floor on a hillside with thoughts:

Imigine inhaling the whole scene

and then

exhaling it all right back into place

because you are a part of it.

Slow piano thoughts,

Electric moonlit cities

by my side

Thank god for lemons...fresh lemonade is electricity for the soul.

Old Journal Attempt #26A

I have never been able to keep a diary or journal. I just write random shit in random books and on random pieces of paper or in this case typed on random pages of webspace and that is that. I recently found a slim flimsy medium sized address book that I was motivated to fill up with a journal about sixteen months ago while I was living in San Diego. I filled about a page and a half. What I am stoked on is that what I wrote still makes sense to me now and my thinking has not changed, which I like for some reason.

I think I thought differently a few years ago and have been undergoing a metamorphoses of sorts, a blossoming of the soul, an unblurring - now I feel a greater purpose and a greater love for the universe and my part in it...

- this is what I wrote on that page-and-a-half of journal attempt #26A:

It's August 31st 2008, I'm tired been up since dawn, now it is 10 something, some French Stevie Nick's song playing on my new room radio, the one my mom sent me, songs over. My boss got me/gave me girl scout cookies, one box of pb/choc and one box of lemon cremes that I left on the hood of the antenna of the van and drove off. I forget things easy, afraid its gonna get worse. Now its just a lounge beat. Gonna lower it and keep it on while I sleep.

Already September 4th, go figure. I can't seem to understand the flow of energy among humans, not sure it is possible we rob energy from others and vice versa, quite intentionally and unintentionally to hoard for ourselves. Is it selfish or is it natural? Is there a scientific explanation for the imbalances of our brain chemicals that produce our mental forcefields, some strong some weak, constantly bending and morphing, like the oceans. Maybe since we are made of saltwater, on the inside in every molecular nook and cranny there is a tiny bit of Di-hydrogen Oxide and some sodium and they create a mini-ocean movement network. Swells, pulses of energy wind driven. Thats why people who talk too much are strange. By too much I mean few credible things said per words muttered. If it is just noise then all it does is create crossed up swells with too small of an interval to really produce anything organized. Nothing lines up at that rate. Wisdom allows us to track our swells and understand at which tide and in which direction we react the most gracefully. A universal grace that can be felt best when it is abundant in groups. Bad vibes good vibes.

Sometimes life is funny

Now it is October 15th. Been catching waves on a different board lately. It has put my surfing right where I want it. No track pad on the back, 6'1" rounded pin, thin but floaty, holds a rail real nice. I got two legit short tubes on it. I've been smiling before I duckdive a nice wave out of respect to it. Sometimes it is just a smile of childish awe. I'll usually laugh before I am about to get pummeled. Not a loud laugh just the internal kind. Curious squirrel lurking outside the van. I wish they weren't so timid. I would feed it and take good care of it. My radio won't pick up my two favorite stations for some reason maybe they are two low on the dial. I get to blast the jazz in my work van, sometimes I get a real good groove. Jazz reminds me of good waves, anything goes.

Sometimes life is funny sometimes it is too peculiar for words

The way the folds come undone

Revealing a more intricate pattern

That can only be felt and not seen or touched

The split split split seconds that ricochet the path

Or paths, but there could just be one.

Where are we?

Where am I

I’m on top of a hill overlooking two cities, two bridges, and vast morphing sky

I’m on the second story patio overlooking a neighborhood where shopping carts are one of the main fashions

I’m driving Mary Poppin’s Purse through Sacramento rush hour highway jammin’ Sex Pistols and sipping on a cold Sierra Nevada Porter

I’m walking out of the casino bar holding the bartender’s can of Ultra Pasteurized Sweetened Whipped Topping to draw on cars with

I’m getting told by Jim all eyes blazing that I’m trespassing and he called the sheriff and “if someone goes flyin’ over the edge and lands on a piece’a heavy machinery then it’s my liability and I get sued-“

“You know I won’t sue you-“

“If you won’t then your mom will!”

I’m woken up with an awful scare thinking the Police are raiding my house but it is only the sound of enormous ice and snow chunks melting from my favorite tree and smashing the windshield and roof of my van

I’m telling a complete stranger in a yellow jacket not to breathe as I invade his personal space to snap the zip tie and rightfully claim my free lift ticket

I’m snowboarding like its 2099 (because everything is free in 2099)

I’m standing on the side of the road with my thumb out whistling “Cool People are Coming My Way” wondering what soul I’ll get a glimpse at in a few short moments

I’m at the neighbors’ live private concert playing all original slaps on my thigh groovin’

I’m frying stirring chopping mixing pouring scooping spreading smelling cutting tasting dipping licking eating smiling laughing sighing sleeping living loving

I’m riding Luke’s bike back from the post office at high speed through a snowstorm with no eye protection yelling “I can’t see!” fluttering my eyelashes like a Tourettes-ed Marilyn Monroe

I’m breathless at the site of a psychadelic tangerine dream sunrise over a lake at six thousand feet above the level of the sea

I’m shouting at the sky like a primitive beast trying to understand too much at once

I’m spending twenty five cents all night to hang out and have drinks brought to me and have a jolly good time racing mechanical horses while people complain about not having enough money and I love every second of my existence even if I feel shitty sometimes because at least I feel and as emo as it sounds who really gives a flyin fanny fuck about much because there is NO PLAN for anything or anyone so we might as well just LOVE every second as it would be an absurd waste not to

I’m doing exactly what I want to do.

Mary Poppins' Purse

Sleeping in a van is a neat experience when you spend most of your life sleeping in warm rooms in a bed. Warm rooms do not have wheels which is a huge advantage. Currently my van, Mary Poppin's Purse (MPP), is parked outside my friends apartment perpendicular to the road just outside Tahoe City heading towards Alpine Meadows and Squaw Valley. On sunny days the morning sun blasts through my windows and slowly warms the van up and is a nice treat since I am STILL unemployed and can sleep in if I want. I wake slowly and lazily and watch and listen to the oncoming traffic whizzing and rhizzing (if they have studded tires) by. I can paint pictures with my feet if there is condensation on the window, which there usually is as my breath is fairly hot in the cold night. On snowy nights the snowplows sound like angry space ships coming in for a closer look at my colorful Poseidon Wizard mural, since most vehicles on this planet are one solid color. The snowplow alien brain processes information so incredibly rapidly that it learns the entire history of the soul that lurks in the mostly white but slightly colorful tin box.

Here is a quick run through of the steps I take to conveniently van camp in the winter time:

First and foremost, I pee and/or poo so that I do not get the urge in the middle of the night and need to leave my warm sleep cocoon. Lately I have been peeing outside MPP and staring at the zillions of stars and wonder if there is anyone staring at my beautiful planet. I know some van dwellers who have a bottle of sorts specifically reserved for urine in their van so that if they need relief in the middle of the night it can all be taken care of without stepping outside. As for poo it becomes a bit trickier but there is always the doubled up plastic bag trick. This involves laying 2 plastic bags (one if you are feeling brave or just don't have 2 bags) open and flat on the floor. Then just pop a squat and dook onto the plastic bag, wipe with toilet paper and put that on the pile. Quickly wrap the bags up and place outside until the morning when you can properly discard the waste...try not to forget about your bag'o'poo.

OK now that the biological details are taken care of it is time to cozy up. I take my jeans off and put on my favorite long johns and a warm pair of socks. I put a hooded sweatshirt on over whatever other top layers are on already. I have a neat microfiber balaclava to keep my dome warm...I have worn beanies in the past but the balaclava is nice as it keeps my cheeks and chin warm. Beanies are good for blocking out morning light if you are trying to sleep in. On really cold nights I also wear a thin pair of gloves, just for comfort. Now I am ready to slide into my sleeping bag. The bag I have is only 40 degree rated so it is not sufficient to sleep in by itself but I can hang out in it reading or writing or other random van activities that take place before bed.

Just this year I decided to get some candles for MPP which have proven good for meditation or some face warmth or just a nice ambient flickering light when the tungsten just isn't doing my head right. Under candlelight, on really cold nights I find it very calming to just sit and breath towards the light. Due to the stillness in the van I can manipulate my breath into millions of smoky dancing ghosts. Sometimes I will play music on the tiny portable speakers I acquired from a friend years ago. Usually I just read as it is my favorite and easiest way of falling asleep, unless I am severely drunk or stoned then I just lay there all chinky eyed and contemplate life and my existence.

Once it is time to clock out for the evening I get fully in my sleeping bag, put my hood up and cover myself with a duve'ed down comforter which I also acquired from a friend years ago. It is all free you see. Usually I do not like being completely under the covers as it becomes stuffy and claustrophobic due to my dragon breath so I tend to keep my nose and mouth poking out to breath the crisp air. My sleeping surface is a futon pad, also acquired free from a friend (its good to have friends in this life). The backrest on the bench seat of the van folds over to make a larger flat surface. There is a bit of an inconsistency due to the gap in between the bench and backrest and the bench sags slightly but it gives me options depending on what sort of sleeping mood I am in. I can lay completely on one side or the other or diagonally across both, my choice. I am 5 foot 10 and can lay straight across MPP with my head and feet barely touching the sides.

Then I sleep. I sleep as sound as any bed couch floor or dirt patch I have ever slept on. People often offer me couches and I decline since I have a bed in MPP. Rainstorms are a treat as it is like having surround sound of one of those mood dics playing the pitter patter of rain drops all around. Just last night the wind was howling and MPP was actually shaking quite a bit. I woke up wishing it was shaking for other reasons but we cannot always be that lucky hey? Where I am parked now is right next to an enormous tree of the piney sort. This tree was loving drumming away on MPP's roof all night. The concert sounded like piff boosh poosh pbooooosh pof pof biff boof with the occasional high note of BAM! and then I think it is Luke trying to wake me up by throwing the soccer ball at the window.

Wake up time is the reverse of going to sleep. Out of the covers, sleeping bag, balaclava, long johns, gloves, hoodie and into my jeans, shoes, and out the door to a beautiful new day. During this mornings exit the monster tree instantly thwapped my wrist with a snowball; I chuckled...that tree and I have a funny relationship. I think it is just lonely standing there all by itself all day with so much mechanical activity going on around it. It is always dropping its collected moisture on me, it knows I enjoy it.

Hopefully soon MPP will be buried up to her grill in the fluff and I will have a ski pass and a job and perhaps even a female body to share my cozy quarters with. It is incredible how much warmer it becomes with the heat of two bodies, and especially if those bodies are generating extra heat...cheeeeeeeky.

Epicness

Life is funny when everything is provided by the "dude upstairs"

...I found a sealed ziplock bag the other day with 2 granola bars, a clementine, and a banana in it...I found a shitty Huffy bicycle buried in the snow with a wonky front wheel but everything else in tact,,,I found a free filing cabinet on the side of the road that has now been converted into a kitchen cabinet/ prep table...I found amazing people to share the holidays with and make it feel like family...I play soccer in Luke's studio apartment, then do yoga, and then gogo gadget table and we sit on the same floor and share a meal...the neighbors have the door code to a hot tub nearby for sore bone soakin'...I got given a free lift ticket in the parking lot at squaw Valley yesterday and then ran into the girl who gave me a ride up to Squaw and followed her around, having soooo much fun in the process...just take it all as it comes, even when you get a bad vibe from people you just asked for a lift ticket from and mere seconds later a car passing by smashes you with brown puddle splash...we can only laugh at the silliness

...Tune in, turn on, and drop the fuck out of all the useless filler that you are fed to accept. You do what you want, I do what I want, and we laugh, that simple

...Oh and I found the sequel to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Life, The Universe, and Everything - at the library for a dollar, which I have a few of in my pocket still somehow

...The name of my book is going to be How to Not Work for Eight Months and Spend Three Thousand Dollars in Two Hemispheres Killing It. . .kinda has a nice ring to it don't you think?

Kerouaaaayyyyyy

It is Christmas day 2009 and I am in Tahoe City after my Bend-er and Bachelor shred mission successes. Luke and the two lovely kiwi girls Rachel and Lucy are preparing our jerry rigged Christmas dinner in the tiny kitchen of the tiny studio apartment. The scene is smokey from the chicken juices overflowing out of a too-shallow pan and onto the bottom of a hot oven. Each time the oven is opened a smoke signal goes up only a few feet before it hits the ceiling and spreads its mass throughout the small entirety of the apartment. Good thing there is no smoke detector.

I wander over to the maroon textbook of Kerouac Road Novels that Kaleb left with me until our next rendezvous, which will be in NYC in the springtime. I start at the beginning with On the Road, and there, in the first few pages comes another Kerouac revelation. Words spoken in my mind quite often recently, written by Jack in 1957—the same thoughts spread over a few decades.

I had Kerouac in my head for the last few months, wanting to read him, and here I am in possession of six of his works in one old hardcover text. The universe once again, being the ceaseless provider. This is that thought of mine that he wrote over half century ago. I am sure there will be more to come.

But then they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones. The ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulouas yellow roman candles exploding like candles across the stars, and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes, “Awww!”

Before sleep I read this beautiful line:

Somewhere along the line I knew there’d be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me.