The moon and I know a little secret
But you won’t come to me and
I cannot go any further
It’s October, 2005, as the leaves take their turns, and
I find friends and work in abundance, staying on the
Alcir is very busy back in Brasil, with his test looming near,
but we talk on the phone sporadically, and he has this
inner smile because I’m back on our coast, the one with
all the memories attached.
He’s been very disciplined, working hard and
hardly drinking, reading constantly, studying…..
I know he’s very nervous…
Journal: October 5, 2005
Tomorrow is Alcir’s test. I am so excited for him, for I know
how long and hard he has worked towards this day.
I know as well that he will want to celebrate, and likely too much….
but I must let go, as anything else is not a choice.
I’ll call him early, to wish him well, sending kisses
and thoughts his way.
So exciting after all these months…
And a Captain’s License in the future! His Dream!!!
Work going well, money flowing in. So many friends glad to
see me, and it feels so good.
Love it so warm and welcoming, and several folks have said
they were just thinking of me.
Miss Alcir more in a way, because it was here our memories
began….he was Here after all, and places do hold memory.
Mick’s friend Wolfie, the one back in Manchester, who said
the town had 16 bars, and only 14 of them were any good…
that hilarious one… and I picture him on stage with his
wild harmonica, leaned over and tapping his foot…
here’s a quote from Wolfie:
“A religious war is like two people arguing about who
has the best imaginary friend.”
Moving from one reality to another is both invigorating and
frightening. A certain survival mode ensues, while the thrill
of newness seems to pull the scales from your eyes,
colors take on a brilliance, and happenstance and serendipity
become companions once more.
I have dear friends who move all the time, and I think this is why.
There is no way you can get in a rut, go unconscious or be bored.
Each day is fresh and new.
This stay was just this. Fresh and New every day.
My dear friend Mick picked me up at the bus stop, and carried
me the two hours it takes to transverse the coastal mountains
and wind along the gorgeous, treacherous Highway 1,
of Scenic Magazines and Car Commercials fame.
He’s funny as shit, so my re-entry was nothing short of
complete hilarious delight.
I do love British humor, and when it’s from the source, it
can’t be topped.
What Is it about Brits ? Is it the proximity they grew up with,
the genetic brilliance crammed into small dark quarters for
months at a time in the constant gray drizzle that made them
resort to being so witty and creative? Word play rules!
The mind never sleeps…
With the time of year being what it was, I had immediate work
lined up, and in the next few weeks, I bounced from home to home,
doing what we do best, there in the emerald triangle, as some call it.
Seasonal harvests all over the place, and me right in the middle
of it, and all of it legal.
Gotta love California, the way it accepted the
inevitable with open arms.
I remember the olden days, when I first moved to Point Arena
back in the very early eighties. Folks had been growing for over
a decade there in that backwoods town, filled with a mix of hippies,
intellectual city runaways, generations of old settler families,
young rednecks with big trucks and pit bulls tied in the back…..
What a place.
The hippies had grows in their back yard gardens, which moved
to the woods, which moved further into the woods, and by then
incorporating sleep overs with guns, helicopters hovering outside
your bedroom window, and hilarious trimming parties.
Rip offs became part of the deal, and folks grew more and more,
having to leave a portion for each: rip offs, cop raids, and the rats.
If you grew enough, you’d have enough left over to get you
through to the next year’s investment, and maybe
a trip to Bali or Baja.
Now my friends all had legal grows, and although everything was
quiet and within the close circle…. because all of the above was
still present….. there was a certain relax that settled quietly on
those happy little get togethers.
They were smaller than they used to be, two or three or four
friends sitting for hours, meditatively manicuring in whatever
fashion that particular house required…
Every house had it’s own style and look,
depending on the destination.
I stayed in trailers, large and small.
I stayed in guest rooms, elaborate with exotic decor.
I sat with one old friend in a basement,
while we talked about our grown kids and old times,
when Janice Joplin was her roommate.
She showed me some of Janice’s clothes she still had.
I slept on couches, and dark workshops.
I shared in group suppers with old friends…. I sat alone
working, housesitting while everyone was traveling.
Each week had its own flavor and joy.
One thing was sure…. I had abundance.
And Alcir was so jealous. He loved that hippie world,
and always wished he could have been there.
I think that was one of his draws to me…. my hippie-ness.
I had been there for the Real Thing, and the sixties
were indeed filled with little bits of heaven.
We were making it up as we went along….
Peace and Love were pouring over all of us,
handing flowers to cops, everyone hugging….
Free Love and Freeing our Minds.
Timothy Leary and Native American sweat lodges in
real Sioux Teepees.
The old Renaissance Fairs, sleeping on the ground by the creek,
drums all night, the Hells Angels serving as our Security Force.
AH, those were the days.
And here I was, in the midst of old and new, each generation
lending it’s brilliance and vision to the dream we all held
for a kinder gentler world.
As I return to 2005, when I am leaving the big island after
a three month stay, I find myself suspended between
two distinct realities….. two places that I have left and
returned to many times in my life.
One offers rich redwood forests, dramatic crashing surf,
warm and loving community of musicians and artists, and
a place where my kids went to school.
There is a lot of History, and an embracement of Love.
This is the green place, the Heart Chakra place, where
intuition and feelings take the lead.
The other is a dream world, a place where one’s body relaxes,
immediately knowing that it is the Eden where warmth and
sustenance pours from the skies, and the cleansing salty
oceans and fresh tradewinds are healing to all parts of ones
body, soul and psyche.
A place where one can easily create whatever scenario one
chooses, for this is the Root Chakra of the planet, the Red ray
source, where healing and creation begins.
Both are equally home to me.
And in Both places…Nature dominates.
Which has always Been and will always Be…
So now….or rather in my story of 2005,
I leave the islands
and return to the womb of friends and family,
of towering trees accompanied by ravens,
my favorite birds,
and a town on the scale that I
can relate to, understand, and feel Held by.
Oddly enough, just as I write to this return,
this myself Here and Now,
Prepare for the same return, a coming home,
a welcoming with friends and places that sink deeply
into my heart and my memories.
I move back to my
Northern California Coastal town to stay.
Alcir has been a large part of this theme, this train of
thought, this story that is about love and life and loss….
So in the return, as in each return, Alcir comes up,
for it was here we met, here he came back again and again,
and here that the places we spent time at,
the places I held him in my mind before I
returned for the last time to Brasil, these places
will once again assault my memories.
He was here too….
But this time is different….
I am not waiting for him to decide what
he wants and when.
This time I am not trying to figure out the feelings,
the longings, the confusions that he created with
his own confusions.
I do not wait…. for anything.
I will not be waiting for anyone….
And do you know how delicious that is?
To be at Peace…..
I am on my path,
the one I clear,
the one I choose,
and the one that takes me
to complete and joyful Peace.
And so the story continues, in 2005,
and my return to the NorCal Coast and
my little town of Point Arena.
As I leave my island, all the elements that went into
creating the months of experiences that will always
stay with me, come into my mind’s eye ….
Deeply touching and acted out with subtlety, this film
staring Casey Affleck comes in unexpectedly, slowly,
deliberately, and builds to one of the better movies
I’ve seen in a long time.
I first saw Casey in the Jesse James film with Brad Pitt,
and was impressed with his intelligence and again…subtlety.
The understated portrayal of the man who shot Jesse was
impressive, brilliantly conveying a certain smallness using
tone of voice and physical hints of childish pettiness,
filling in the character with a very human understanding.
This film dealt with the touchy subject of child abduction,
yet it took us to a place where something my mother would
have called Situation Ethics took over the mind, and we
end up with that terrible quandary of right and wrong,
black and white, and those eternal grays.
Astoundingly powerful stuff.
With screenplay by Ben Affleck and Aaron Stockhard,
and from a novel by Dennis Lehan, (who also wrote Mystic River,
a devastating film with Sean Penn) it is Directed by Ben as well,
and once again brilliantly, perfectly.
Impressive stuff, this, and aside from the deep and thoughtful
subject matter and the way it untangles , the Pace of the film
is a slow and steady walk, not run, no rushing here, yet no drag.
Ed Harris plays a complex character, showing facets that surprise
and build. Morgan Freeman is a secondary figure, yet in a role
around which much of the story unexpectedly revolves.
Excellent casting everywhere, with Michelle Monaghan
playing the essential soft and feminine foil, as Casey’s partner in
work and in life.
She provides a certain mature reflection, a more intuitive and
right brain wisdom to his left brain, black and white idealism.
Don’t miss this film.
Impressive, with a certain stick to the ribs quality
not long forgotten.
You will end up with deep appreciation for the writer, yes, but
most especially those intelligent and talented Brothers Affleck.
The afternoon, the after outs, has been a series of instructions
and guidances from the Radiant One,
I call her this here, to avoid calling her by her real name….no wait….
by her Not-Real but Name-She-Calls-Herself Name…..
the one that lets the world know in no uncertain terms just
Who they are dealing with…
It’s more a staking of claims thing, a series of Adjectives that
sound like she picked out three Angel cards for the day,
the ones that imply One Who Has Achieved Enlightenment,
just in case you were wondering, instead of just nice suggestions
for the day’s meditations…
Oh, I hope I don’t sound too bitter… I’m loosing my hold on love…
…more instructions from the Radiant One who really would like it
if I stayed a while, so that her entire Reality is clean and sparkling
and Goddess Ready …
I choose not to answer, still ensconced on the Lanai, the one
with the folding table and chair, the one place that I can venture
to call mine, the one with mosquitos who have managed to slip
in through that small tear in the screen, and
are now ravaging my calves.
She is busy on the phone, checking in with all of her Support
Services, the ones she had wanted me to call and say it was her,
the ones I refused to lie to.
She checks in on that house that she wants built in the center
of the healing center that she wants to run.
She sounds irritated, and I wonder how things are progressing.
Meanwhile, evening descends, and I phone my friends Jeff and
Eileen, those heavy duty artist friends of mine, and before
I know it, I am crying as I share deep feelings of abandonment,
of being disrespected, of the power tripper I am at the mercy of,
all of it……… no…..
By now I am sobbing…. an abused child sobbing…
Eileen is aghast, emotional, unable to grasp the reality that
I’m puttin’ down, unable to believe that anyone could be so cruel,
so oblivious, so controlling.
By now I’ve lost any and all empathy for the woman, and feel
pure nausea at the abuse, but still there seems to be no escape.
And there’s still this part in me that wants to stay kind, and
not allow her attributes to alter mine.
Their car is still in process, tomorrow looks good, and the
woman is unwilling to move her fat ass to drive as far as
our mutual friends’ place…
Remember….they are the ones who introduced us in the first place,
they are the ones who brought back to her her very words when
she tried to reneg on the car and charge me rent on it…
they are the ones who supported me, encouraged me, and
shared the fact that she has HUD, and only pays $200 a month,
when she tried to get me to pay her whole rent….
They are my friends.
They also thought She was a friend, but turns out Jeff only really
knew her from years ago, when they were all stoned hippies.
Eileen , as it turns out, later refused to even speak to the woman
for more than a year, and kept saying..
“But she was mean to my Friend!”
…while Jeff is just totally confused with the whole story,
perhaps a little doubtful, but still miffed.
So the night passes with minimum encounters, and I’m sleeping
on the little couch, the radio comfort wafting into the
Radiant One’s ears, and my precious jar of organic honey that
I bought while staying with Jeff and Eileen has enjoyed a
last minute black ops rescue, and is now happily stuffed into
my almost out of here bags.
No one will steal my precious organic honey and live to see dawn.
My Friends come to pick me up the next day, and I breathe
a gigantic sigh of relief, while my poor little psyche licks her bruises
and mends all the lesions in those little Hopes and Dreams and
Aspirations for a new world, kind and
Smiling Happy People holding hands…. (nice thought REM…)
They cuddle me with soft strokes and fresh fruit smoothies,
take me on walks to their favorite waterfalls, and we toast
ourselves on those warm sands, dipping in turquoise waters
for the last time, and then to the Airport, and mainland, to
Northern California, my Mendocino Heaven, where
my dear friend Mick picks me up from the bus, and
takes me to my real home once again…
A Love Note from Jeff and Eileen…..
are heaven on earth
they are peaches from Venus…
a little bit of perfect
that fill my mouth with
Gathering her skirts and notes and bags and bells,
the Radiant One steps into the waiting car,
and I back out the long leafy drive, and
onto the red clay road, leading to town.
I have already loaded the one bag for the dump.
I’d cleaned things up long ago, but she wants it all gone.
The long list appears, and the woman begins the rundown….
“Turn here” she says, while I remind her it’s OK, I’ve lived
here a while, and can likely find my way to town.
“First we need to get gas… oh There…that’s where we get it.
Oh wait, pull around and back up, wait…. there’s another one
a little further on, and I think it’s cheaper…. there on the right,
pull in there. ”
Smoke signals tiptoe out of one ear.
I of course pump the gas, and pay for it. Bad back.
“Now I need to stop at the Natch… wait….turn right here, and
then you can go to the dump down that road…. Wait!
Wait! …you need to turn right there, so we can go to the dump! ”
“We’ll go on the way back” I announce, beginning to feel some
semblance of my old spunk returning.
“OH, but the Smell…. we need to go there First” she whines,
not realizing that those hot pink ear muffs are now already in place,
and the road long gone.
It is becoming clear to me that at this moment, My hands are
on the wheel, and if only for a short while, I am in control.
“So now we need park there….oh wait….no, I think there’s another
one closer…go around again, and yes, you can pull up right there…
right there in front!”
“But it says NO PARKING…” I reply, calmly tapping my fingernails.
“Oh it’s OK, I’ll just be a minute, she smiles, and unloads her Self,
taking out her list as she arranges her layers.
I sit a while, then pull away, somewhat embarrassed …I mean,
this is the Groovy Natural Food Store, everyone looking healthy
and tan, very healthy and very Green, and tan, and
I’m parked in the NO PARKING ZONE?
I drive around a couple times…. the minutes go by.
It’s now been 15…..
I find another parking space, and slide in, figuring she’ll
eventually see me, which she does at last, after
another 15 minutes have passed….
“Why did you part here?” she querries. I don’t answer.
I’ve now boldly moved to passive aggressive, an inner smile
softly warming my gallstones.
“Now we need to go to my appointment at the Welfare Office…
…..it’s at 2..
It’s on Aloha, near the park…. turn left here, and then….”
…and the instructions lead us to a modern low slung
office building, ample parking, full slots.
I pull up the the curb near the door, the way she likes it…
“So, I’ll go do something for a while, and come back…
…how long do you think?” I smile…
Freedom!……. I think….
“OH! come back at 2:15! my appointment will only take
15 minutes,” she instructs me.
I return at 2:15, such a good girl I am.
Oh! Surprise! ……I wait..
Half an hour later, she ambles out, and slides into the back seat,
and without my help. She smiles serenely, as though all is well,
and my taxi clock has just been dutifully running…
“Now we need to stop at that …….and then…….and then the… ”
Smoke signals, this time in deep Fuschia.
At last we/she is done, I think, and we head homeward, this time
taking that turn for the dump.
I throw the one small bag into the pile, breathing a sigh of relief,
thinking I’m nearly There, and
I went to the dump when I Wanted to!
Yes! I’ve passed through the fruit loops, with
the goddess nearly gone.
“Oh Wait!…. if you turn right at the next road, we can go by
that plant store, and I can find something I really need,
and the pet store is right next door…
Park there….no wait, there’s one over there….no wait….”
I purposefully park where I damn well feel like,
wild and crazy rebel that I am, and stare straight ahead.
I quietly hold my breath so that the
now very Chartreuse smoke signals sink down,
twining around my body, oozing out onto my sandals.
At last we are home, I step out into the banana palms and
flowering trees, never looking back, walking down
that red clay road,
deep breaths and sky smiles,
ignoring any possibility of the call to arms,
or any other part of me she might think she owns.