Thursday, March 31, 2005

Perfect friction

You design spaceships from the inside out
for those interested in joining the galactic community that sleeps in a canyon that runs thru the side of a hill in a valley.
You have various strains of yeast and culture to spread like butter on coconut bread. You have entered a secret town that hides out in the open and cannot be found here
I heard the heart of earth in my ear in my head start art stop go and cannot be found, hear?
because of all the screaming and yelling. Cannot see the wave for the ocean. Cannot hear the leaf for the tree.
The weather forecast changes every day. The jetstream is a sky snake that sqeezes the planet - till she tears - and slithers where it pleases awakened by shakes and wobbles.

I will sleep on the observation deck and steer thru a sea of stars. With my tube
I reverse vacuum the vacuum of space with sound with organs and my breath never stops leaving my lungs. I sing the song of my soul for those who ask
and for me, I aspire to conserve preserve create remove erase blocks instill retrieve unveil announce proclaim thanks peace.

You design space ships made of fire like solar flare messages from the enormous sun that looks like a golden quarter on fire. You are the cosmic gardener who awakens with apollo and plants waters and sings like the rumble of clouds
dancing against eachother like a monk in Tibet who revels in the familiar landscape topography temple flowers blooming
the intricate symphony of nature buzz chirps. You share your perks' sparkles ancient songs for the winding labrynth
that begins at our lips.

Can I share a circular breath? this quest? Nothing more nothing less.

Tonight, you sleep on the head of a turtle next to a tee-pee next to a geodesic dome next to a sweat lodge next to a river. Hear: the sound of perfect friction, water caressing the mud cleaning feeding polishing rocks stones playing pool bowling rolling rearranging. You walk quietly speak soft spoken and let your eyes twinkle twinkle like the stars you sleep under on a turtle's head next to a river of perfect friction.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Keep the change

"Ahh", the sound issues forth from your throat like water out of a tap in your recently remodelled bathroom.

You must be feeling pretty good.

"Yes" you reply "You could say I am feeling rather cultured."

Hm m cultured...

The pause gives you a chance to frame your reply.
"Well, I should say so. Did you know that so it is on the inside then so it is on the outside?"

Huh; what's that supposed to mean? Glance out the window, scan for mirrors.

"Grrr raarrr owwwumm" you playfully respond like a cat as you arch your spine and yawn. "battles, wars, dances, sex, eating, kissing, breathing... they all have one common denominator... culture."

Really, uh okaaay - think about barking, growling, but don't do it.

"Cultures are always being exchanged. The cultures residing in the intestines of living beings are continually being challenged. The intensity of their interaction is determined by many factors: diet, stress level, sun spot activity, age, geomantic location. Cultures of bacteria are continually striving for dominance."

So what does this have to do with -

"The outside stuggles we see around us are a consequence of the many strains of bacterial cultures that continue to evolve within our bodies. They concentrate in the large intestine. They exist in a separate dimension of time. Some are like jungles, some are like factories spewing pollution into the air and down the drains and then down another drain..."

Uhh, I'm not sure how we got on this subject but -

"The true art of alchemy resides in the temple of our body. It takes discipline, luck and creativity to establish a balanced colony of bacteria within your body. It seems as though we now have a fork in the road in front of us but you can always change the road you are on. One road is the probiotic route [raw,organic,solar]. The other is the antibiotic route [gmo,pesticides,petrochemicals]."

Listen, we just passed my street... uhh, just pull over and let me out here... how much do I owe ya? Here uhh keep the change.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Swimming in a sugary sea

I walk along a path that changes like the river. Sometimes I walk like a turtle and sometimes I run like a deer. And there are times I stumble and fall. When I fall, I aspire to fall with grace, not from it. Thus, my recent slight stumbling allowed me to open up to an amazing dietary resource that our new cosmic gardener humbley and generously shares. Millenium has a culture of bacteria that perks with soaked almonds that have been blended with water. My energy level had been falling recently and my body gave me a few indicators that it was too acidic. This situation had gone on for a few months. I ignored it as long as I could, allowing my sweet tooth to overide my common sense.

Initially, when Millenium arrived, I was in "I know mode". A couple weeks ago, an indicator of health disruption caused me to switch into "I don't know mode". I tried the bacterial concoction and immediately perceived a positive change in my energy level. Since I have begun the Millenium food plan, the sugar jones has lost its power over my will.

The culture is extremely alkaline and provided the ph adjustment my body needed to return to the state of health that I am accustomed to.

It is easy to forget that sugar is a drug when it is so prevalent in our society. The influence of sugar on human history teaches us about the darkside of human colonialism. Numerous peoples were slaughtered, kidnapped and enslaved in order to meet the sky rocketing demand for sugar. Hawaii is just one example. The burden on our health remains hidden like water is hidden to fish. It is so prevalent that you may find it difficult to have a meal without it.

Challenge of the week: Go a week with no sugar. Feel free to share results...

Monday, March 28, 2005

Harmony can't harm any

Noam Chomsky is a leading voice in political dissent. He has a doctorate in linguistics. He's considered a genius in this realm. He took his linguistic laser and pointed it at the media. He began to burn thru layers and layers of deception and found that the majority of USA's interaction/intervention with various 3rd world countries was quite suspect. He found mainstream media to be "self censoring" thru omission. Because of his credentials, perseverance, courage and accuracy, his voice of dissention has been heard on CNN (Larry King Show). His books sell remarkabley well and he remains current. The way that events seem to be unfolding clearly demonstrate that his genius in linguistics has bled into politcal theory.

I pay homage to him as I begin my focus on a word that is constantly repeated: conservative.

1.Favoring traditional views and values; tending to oppose change.
2.Traditional or restrained in style: a conservative dark suit.
3.Moderate; cautious: a conservative estimate.
4.Of or relating to the political philosophy of conservatism.
5.Belonging to a conservative party, group, or movement.
6.Conservative Of or belonging to the Conservative Party in the United Kingdom or the Progressive Conservative Party in Canada.
7.Conservative Of or adhering to Conservative Judaism.
8.Tending to conserve; preservative: the conservative use of natural resources.

There is an enormous gulf between how this word is used and what it actually means. There are many who hide behind this word, using it as a shield. They think that it gives their opinion more weight. The irony becomes obvious when we look at the various meanings of this word. This is what happens when we start peeling back the layers of rhetoric. We find deception after deception. The vast majority of humans on the planet do not want to face the truth that our carefully constructed realities: (media, religion, individual personna) are all layers and layers of lies. It is so much easier to label something and say: "I know." Then we can forget and move on to the next distraction. We only are capable of learning when we say: "I don't know." To quote Carl Jung: "People cannot stand too much reality."

Thus, I suspect that the actual conservatives on this planet have been nearly wiped out by radicals. The Australian Aborigines culture existed from 50,000 to 1.5 million years. Their tradition is but a blink in the eye of a planet whose lifeforms go back 3.5 billion years. Thus we find another layer of deception. For the sake of this essay, I will apply the word - conservative - to this current time in history. When their home was invaded by Europeans they had lived traditionally for tens of thousands of years. The European radical barbarians hunted them for sport and systematically destroyed their culture by not allowing them to speak their language and taking away their children. This is a common colonial technique.

What the current regime of organized crime wants to preserve is their own power structure. Their mode of operandi has been quite severe, brutal and senseless. It is obvious to me that they do not feel connected to this planet. Fear has become their constant companion and only changes in degrees. They are able to exploit the fear that Americans' appear to have at looking beneath the surface.

There is no such thing as an energy shortage. The earth is an enormous battery and the energy from the sun is awe inspiring. We have great intelligence that has been hijacked by fear mongers and panic attackers. If we focus our vast resources of intellect on preservation instead of destruction then harmony is inevitable. And harmony, can't harm any.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Food not bombs

You know, I can't really blame you for volunteering to work with that group of young people. Giving out food to homeless citizens, drummers, rif raf and miscelaneous park goers is actually kind of noble in my opinion. The one error in your judgement was not looking into the organization further. Even the name: "Food Not Bombs", seems pretty simple and non threatening. But still, you should have checked up on them. Now, it's too late. Little did you know, "Food Not Bombs" are considered the #1 internal terrorist threat in the good ole U.S. of A.. Now you've been put on one of those watch lists and are unable to fly on planes or get a government job or work at nuclear facilities or get a gun permit or buy a house. But hey, at least you're still in the good ole U.S. of A. where you are free unless you disobey.

(A few days later)
Can I say that I am impressed with your creative solution? It's so simple and has a real mathematical symmetry about it. "Bombs Not Food" has a ring to it I must admit. Did you think that up yourself? I see your logic that starting an organization called this might nullify your association with "Food Not Bombs". Yeah they could cancel eachother out. What about your Kharma? Yeah, I don't blame you. No one wants to be a martyr. I actally think that martyrdom is a form of self hatred. Don't get me started. It's all about self spin and what you're revolving around. Ask me about this later.

Oh by the way, what does your organization, "Bombs Not Food" do anyway?

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Ignoring smoking guns

Check this link if you dare:
This is the smoking gun which proves once again that the 2000 election was stolen. The evidence is hard to refute. What to do? What can we do? The media's portrayl of former President Clinton was a complete disgrace. Now, the media ignores stories that expose the current regime as blatant organized crime. I can only guess that their success in manipulating the media will eventually lead to sloppiness that comes from overconfidence. It is time to use the patriot act and the rico act in concert to regain our collective national respect and honor.

Prediction: If Michael Jackson is convicted as a pedifile, he will stage an elaborate suicide. His body will never be recovered. He'll attempt to lead his life elsewhere, another continent, another face lift and another amusement park.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Camp Bucca Heroes

The Iraqi prisoners in Camp Bucca dug a 600 ft escape tunnel. After a head count, all 5600 were accounted for. I don't know about any body else but I aint buying it. This sounds too much like Hogan's Heroes to me. All those hours of vegging in front of the TV were not for waste. The Germans used to have head counts all the time in that ancient tv show. Col. Hogan would slip out for meetings, dates and holidays. The good ole American prisoners and a couple Brits, had a system for replacing whoever escaped down the escape tunnel, thus, the head counts always came out confirming no one had escaped. I wonder if anyone has any footage of Camp Bucca and what was actually going on there. It seems that we could have the reality tv version of Hogan's Heroes on our hands. This could beat out the OJ - extended by popular demand - mini series. I guess the plumbers are happy at Camp Bucca. They now know why the toilets were clogged. Must have been alot of dirt flushing going on there.
The irony in all this is that we are the Natzi Germans in this reality show. Can you blame anyone for trying to escape a torture chamber? The role of Shultz: "I know nothing. Nothing!" gets to be played collectively by a host of characters. How soon before someone is selling escape tunnel dirt on Ebay? When will the first reality tv in a prison show begin? I'm sure there's alot of folks who' like to watch other folks watch tv.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Shrub ya

Hey shrubbo watcha sayin
Suddenly life is sacred
Cause it fits your agenda
Would ya tap dance
if they payed ya?

Who believes ya anyway
Just a mouth piece for the biggest wallet
Maybe congress can legislate rapture
Legislate the toothfairy
Outlaw Nirvanna
And then relax in a sauna

Why isn't life sacred
In the oil desert?
Does God play favorites?
Does God play Risk?
If you don't know me
Do I exist?

A train has derailed
But there are those who deny it
A plane has crashed
Into the giant TV set
Wanna buy it?

Political wrestling
Bombastic self righteous
Fast food flatulence
Moral bulimics

Life is sacred?
This comes out of Shrub's mouth?
Does anyone believe him?
Does anyone believe pro wrestling is real?
Santa Clause
Satan Laws
Tooth Fairy
Easter Bunny

Who's drivin this bus?
Get a better writer Shrub
Rub a dub dub
3 liars in a tub
A butcher
A faker and
An atom bomb shaker

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

The magical murder mystery tour

The murder mystery dinner took place in the yoga studio and was staged for the upper management of Jet Propulsions Lab. There was an 8 course meal. Each course was paired with a particular wine. Dessert consisted of a chocolate "boat". Actually, a chocolate box with 4 chambers filled with: chocolate mousse, whipped cream, rasberries and blueberries. I mingled with the guests in the house after guiding the Ojai Trolley into the driveway. As I stood out there, the rain increased in intesity just on cue. Almost every guest had an umbrella for the 6 or 7 steps to shelter and they were all placed outside under the care of Quan Yin. I had one question concerning the probable technology that space craft would utilize in the near future to explore the deep reaches of space. My guess of ion drives was partially correct according to the professor I'd queried. He thinks that ion drives will be combined with contained nuclear explosions. The guests received a sheet of paper which outlined the rules of the game. There were standard questions which they were encouraged to ask. One of them was "Do you dye your roots?" This question was posed to me 4 or 5 times. (I am bald) It is kind of a standard for me to be kidded in this way. When ever I come to close to a hair salon, there' always the inevitable joke. Sorry if I don't laugh but stale jokes are like stale bread - they are for the birds. When we all made it down to the dining area the entertainment began. Actors began to act out their roles. People started dying and a "cop" took center stage as he coaxed the participants into revealing evidence which were basically notes which gave hints and clues. The game was to solve the crime. They'd been organized into teams according to the color of fleece they wore. This apect was prearranged. The actor portraying the cop did most of the talking. He was pretty funny and obnoxious enough to make me laugh a bit. The one black guy portrayed 2 characters - the hitman and the bookie. His name was Kieth. At one point I sat with Devon and Kieth shooting the shit in the kitchen when Skip walks in right on cue. Kieth had been speaking but then he just listened as Skip talked his talk. After the murder was solved and the cast received its due, I took Kieth to see Skip's sculptural domicile. At some point, I'll post some pix of his creation/artform that he sleeps in. Kieth only spent a few minutes in there but it was enough time to blow his mind. We left the smokey hovel and walked quietly up the short dirt road back to the venue. Five minutes after being in there, Kieth became very animated and was raving that Skip is "beyond genius" and "he lives like the Flintstones!" This makes me laugh. Next Kieth eyes the boat of chocolate dessert. He wants one. The cooks make sure there's enough and then reluctantly let him have one.

Finally the last of the guests make their way up the stone path of "ankle breakers" to board the trolley back to the Ojai Inn where they will spend the night. The cooks then put together dinner for the staff and are nice enough to give me a plate. I join them for a late dinner and then help them break down. My night finally ends at 2 in the morning. I decide to sleep in the big house, in the State Room. Of course I have compose a post for the blog. The poem was fueled by lobster, potatoes, mahi and chocolate mousse'.

The next day (this morning), the caterers returned to grab their truck stuffed with their wares. The truck became stuck in mud. Lucky the chef had is Hummer with him. He pulled the truck out and that gig finally concluded.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Just another lever

I know a country that likes to cry wolf, pretending contending and endlessly spending
I know a religion that does not remember, assupmtions presumptions persecution complexion
I know an industry that lives off human misery, politician demolition historical record broken
I know a people that don't want to wake up, prescription television elastic waste bands
I know a way that does not have guidelines, heart centered eco centric concentric rainbow
I know a horse that likes to jump fences, fire flying unicorn dragging the sun
I know a constellation that is visible from Cat's Eye Nebula, the name is what you make it the song is how you fake it
I know a river that cuts thru the dirt, truth is a snake that uncoils in your tailbone
What does it feel like?
I know some newspapers that fronted for agencies, cooperation collusions spineless illusions
I know a word that gives up on children, apocalypse armageddon grim reaper wedding
Everything can change in the blink of an eye why steer the bus when your I can't see us
Everything can change when we realize that the fear that's been planted is based on lies
Everyone can be on the same team, re cognize exercise universal dream
Everyone can see the stars at night, tracking satellites comets and meteorites
I know a place we all can meet, in between the mental screen, if you know you will not speak
I know a feeling that lives in our hearts, love peace joy, do you need a jump start?
I know a country that throws temper tantrums like planes dropping bombs and then pays soul less to wave tv wands
Spin doctor robotron tell me what to do my mind is so emty the fear to thick to chew
Spin doctor robotmaster please give me a car so I can go faster
I cannot be alone where's my telephone
I cannot stop and feel the void I must avoid I must avoid
Spin doctor robotmaker there is no salt in my shaker or gas in my tanker
Is it just a standard army corporate fixation that's powered by global frustration?
Searching for something to blame
I know nothing except that I don't know
I am free to obey the rules
anywhere physics gravity
the price of a barrel
the endless end
the endless beginning
all ways never
Just another lever

Hostel in the Forest

Hostel in the Forest, originally uploaded by surfer x.

Monday, March 21, 2005

The clouds peeled back like swirling curtains

The yoga retreat that took place this past weekend went very well despite the consistent fine mist of rain that did not clear until Saturday night. I topped off the tiki torches with kerosene. The retreatants made their way down the stone steps into the barranca in single file. I could see the light from their flashlights bouncing off the trees and rocks. Soon enough they entered the kiva. I played the didjeridoo as they found places to sit around the fire Skip tended. The ground around the fire glistened with a fresh coat of honey latex. After playing for 10 minutes, I stopped and gave thanks and honor to the Aborigines of Australia for inventing and preserving the didjeridoo. I told the story of how one of the more legitmate names for this remarkable instrument/meditation device/healing vibration is yadaki. I explained that the word didjeridoo was/is a mantra/chant/breathing pattern/tune that an old fella was playing. Someone asked: "What's that?" and was told "Didjeridoo" The name stuck. I talked some more and actually got a few laughs and then introduced Skip, the kiva's creator and main event for the evening. This time around, Skip was spectacular. He was soft spoken, gentle and welcoming. His expletives were colorful and he encouraged everyone to speak when ever they felt. He began by thanking the 4 directions, father sky and mother earth. He smoked hand rolled cigarettes, squatted, spoke about his life and tended the fire. The clouds peeled back like swirling curtains and the stars swam in the sky.

The next day, Julian asked me to play during chavasana. I came down at the appointed time and played as all the yogis layed on their backs eyes closed. I played for 10 minutes or so and then played on each person individually. I utilized various Tibetan Buddhist chants for the benefit of these peaceful warriors. Some vibrated as the sonic spray covered their aura. Some looked at me and smiled. I felt so honored to be able to contribute in this sacred way. I didjed the last person and slipped out the door.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Information war game

The current debate concerning the fate of Terri Schiavo has provided a great deal of insight into the illegal politcal machine which controls the executive branch of the U.S.government. We, the general public, have seen out televisions and other medias, turned into xray machines which expose this conservative branch of Christianity for the irrational, provincial, power mongers that they continue to prove themselves to be. W Shrub, pseudo president of the United Facade of transnational corporate interests, is their obvious gopher. Its kind of embarrassing how they lead him around like a dog on a leash. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not informed enough to comment on whether Terri should be kept alive with the feeding tube. I am commenting on how she is being used as a pawn by religious fanatics. It amazes me what a great example this is of reaction formation. How many innocent lives have been taken by this same government in a war that history will condemn as fascist expansionism? All human societies exert control over birth, sex and death. Congress has revealed itself, once again, to be a willing participant in a theocratic farce. This debate is like a war game, an exercise for religious fanatics to see who will obey their dictates within the various branches of the government. I doubt very much whether their is sincere concern for Terri Schiavo. We live in the age of information wars and this is the latest battle. Terri is the size of a football field, the evangelical soldiers march across her heart. They hide in her hair, careful not to mess it up for the photo shoot. Her image has become a commodity and her parents love for her is the smokescreen. Where was governor Shrub when all those folks were being executed in Texas with false evidence as a basis for their conviction? I predict the news will get more interesting. These Evangelical Christians believe that we are heading for an apocalypse. They want to be right so much that they will try to create one if they have to. This armageddon will lead to rapture, their ticket to heaven. To me rapture sounds alot like rupture. The rupture has already happened. It is in each of our minds. We can fix it with integrity, discipline and love. Shanti!

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Generate some love

I just visited Levitated, a website which has various exhibits. I like to randomly utilize the I-ching poetry generator. Tonight, I asked it how I can be nicer to other folks when my emotional weather is overcast and gloomy. I received this response: Barrier Dissolution: Contemplation, Essential Quality, Penetrating Clarity, Conflict, Abysmal, Inexperience. My interpretation follows: A way to dissolve this barrier is to activate my ability to contemplate the essential quality of what I am feeling. This leads to penetrating clarity which evaporates the conflict. My abysmal feelings arise from the inexperience of dealing creatively and resourcefully with this area of my psyche. Here's the site for anyone interested in this experiment:

Share your results in the comment section, drop me an email or whatever.

So Cal/Mike Didj weather report

The road has been windey, mostly uphill and unpaved. The rain has fallen in a fine mist with the sun brightening the sky briefly but not making an appearance. Mudslides are a possibility. Beware of falling rocks. This is a So Cal/Mike Didj weather report. I awoke with that Groundhog Day feeling and remedied it with a hot bath followed by yoga and tai-chi. The sense of well being I have become addicted to bloomed and my ability to function increased. I drove Millenium to Rainbow Bridge and then received a call from JMo. She needed Will's gee for a make up akido class. I grab the uniform and hustle over to drop it off. I arrive and discover that the pants have disappeared. I volunteer to take Will there because time is limited. I'll cruise back to the estate, grab the pants and then go straight to his class. When I first arrived to drop off the gee, it was easy to see that Will's mood was the same as the weather and mine. As we drove along, I decided to share my process with Will. I touched on the here today and gone tomorrow post of a few days ago: I mentioned the concept of having the ability to manifest objects or dematerialize and compared them with the ability to transform the mood you're in. Somehow my little pep talk worked and the sun in Will's heart brightened a bit. Later on, the sun in the sky brightened enough for me to put on my sunglasses. I saw my friend John leave Farmer and the Cook in his Honda Accord and he'd put on his sunglasses. As I drove down Encinal, I passed two women walking a dog and they both had sunglasses on. Hmm... we are all ready for Sol to come back out.

Today's question: What do you call someone who wear's sunglasses on a cloudy day? Answer: an optimist

Friday, March 18, 2005

Rainy day synopsis

The ring of my cell phone woke me at 5:30 AM. Thus began a long day. Luckily, Bill wanted to drive so I layed down on the back seat of his Volvo. This made the trip infinitely more relaxing as I did not have to watch his driving. Eliza, on the otherhand, sat in the front seat and her "nerves were shot" by the time we pulled up to the airport departures. The lines of people were huge. I've never seen anything like it. The line at Continental had people waiting outside the door and down the sideawalk 2 hundred yards. Makes me want to avoid airlines. I drove back in silence as the radio was not working. Initially, traffic was crawling. On PCH, traffic turtled for twenty minutes due to a mudslide turning 2 lanes into 1 lane. Once I got passed it, the way was clear and I made it back to Ojai in record time. The trip back took just an hour and a half. I then crashed in the guest house for 90 minutes. I awaken gazing out the window and observing the fine rain falling. We have Oregon's weather now. When the guests arrive, my job becomes parking organizer. This lasts for 2 till 6. I have an umbrella and 3 newspapers to keep me company. I turn on a bunch of lights and then learn that Gates is the latest recipient of Skip's "Dirt Grant". I actually told Gates about Skip's philanthropic endeavor and predicted he'd be this year's recipient. Gates invites me to come on down to Farmer and the Cook for dinner for the impromtu celebration. My meal was scrumtious, salad, some grains, West African sweet potato soup on top and for dessert a chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. It is not unusual for folks to ask me if Skip is homeless due to his dishevilled appearance and propensity for wearing t-shirts and shorts. Little do they know of his economic reality and generosity. Next on the random agenda was the viewing of a movie with Devin. "The Clearing" stars Redford and Defoe. Acting is very good but the story itself sucked, had no plausibility and the ending... was a flat tire. What's happened to the weather? Too much rain in So Cal, I want my money back. I spoke with brother Bri and he informed me that the temps in Hawaii have been low mid sixties. These are the lowest he has seen in the seven years of residing in the Rainbow state. I guess, all I'm trying to say is: I miss you sun, please come back home to So Cal. Love, Mike

Thursday, March 17, 2005


Hello humans. I just thought you might like to know that the rest of the galaxy has alot of compassion for all of the lifeforms on that planet you call earth. Anatomically speaking, the deck has been stacked against you all from the very beginning I'm sorry to say. But we're all pulling for you. Basically the trouble can all be traced to the proximity of your reproductive organs and waste organs. Maybe it takes an alien perspective to see this but I'm hoping some of you might get the gist of what I convey. There are some colleagues of mine who get a little queasy when they picture you guys so there is abit of a bias against you. We still all love you unconditionally and all that. So anyway, don't be so hard on yourselves. If something is broken fix it. Did you know that the past 4 hundred years of western philosophy has become emersed in moral constipation? It's kind of funny it you think about it. The fact of the matter is, there has always been war on your planet. The ants have been perfecting the art of war long before you verticals started to carve out shelter. Your intelligence has been hijacked by base instincts that are hardwired before you are 3 years old. At any moment, a critical mass of beings can tap into higher levels of functioning. When this occurs, time will become navigational and the current problems obsolete. When you are capable of transcending the space time continuum, there has to be a high level of sensitivity and compassion. These are the tools which enable one to move/function/exist on the 4th dimension. Good luck!

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Here today gone tomorrow

It's hard to believe it but you are the only one on the whole planet that got the hidden message from an interdimensional community - a continuum. These beings are capable of manifesting physical objects with their mind. They can teleport - materializing and dematerializing at will. I guess nobody received their contact because it was so blatant. The television show - Star Trek - had many episodes which featured: Q. He was a member of this continuum. Once you figured out that Q was legit, it all fell into place. He invented the whole Star Trek show to ease humanity into the actuality of extra terrestrial intelligence. Intelligence that we have profound difficulty grasping. And of course, the second you had this realization, he appeared in front of you. The funny thing is, he's very arrogant and childish. He has all this power over physical reality but zero when it comes to his emotions. He has no friends. Ahh, you think... leverage. You become his friend by tolerating his random tantrums and out of control ego. This guy really has a messiah complex you think quietly to your self. (It did not take you long to put up an undectable shield to thwart his mind probes.) Meanwhile, you've put him to work for you. When ever you bring a friend around to check your digs, they freak with envy. "What kind of crazy castle is this?" they say with awe. "Are those walls made out of solid gold?" You just smile and chuckle. Actually, your beginning to feel a little bored with showing off the various nic naks your boy Q keeps manifesting for you.

One day, Q appears. He's a little bit ungrounded so you begin the arduous task of building up his esteem thru mindless flattery. He really laps this stuff up you think. Ut ohh, he heard you... you let your shield down and he just read you like an open book. Get ready for a change of scenery.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005


Its just like every Friday night you have been experiencing for the past couple years in this small docile town of 8,000. You are on your way to a Pisces party. It is your friend Joanne's birthday. You bought her some super rich dark chocolate. Before you leave the house, you tell Bill about the party and tell him about the chocolate. He wants a piece, so you open the candy bar and break him off a chunk. Oh well you think, Joanne won't mind... she kinda likes Bill anyway. As you walk down the driveway on the way to your parked motorcycle you let your head hang back and stare at the stars. Out of nowhere a shooting star appears and then freezes in the sky. And then everything around you starts to smear and drip and split and crack. The air vibrates and pops.You shake your head and then feel your center of gravity shifting and rocking. You're on a boat, a big boat, I guess it's a yacht. It is completely purple. It has huge purple sails and the sky is pink and the water green. There are small blue people running around the deck. Some are scrubbing the deck, others are communicating with eachother with high squeaky voices making musical sounds that remind you of birdsong and whale singing. You know what their language means to your surprise and you realize that you are sort of the captain of this ship and that all these little blue folks love you very much. They had been slaves on another ship. You rescued them and now they have sworn to be your crew in gratitude. As time slips by, the previous dimension you occupied becomes less and less real. You notice that all the blue people have 3 eyes. The third eye is between their dark blue eyebrows and blinks in concert with the other 2. As you notice the extra eye on one of the blues, he smiles and winks his middle eye at you. Your body responds in an unfamiliar way. Your spine tingles and vibrates. The top of your head pops. A feeling of relief flows down your body from head to toe. You sway from side to side, your eyelids become too heavy, you are falling, falling, falling... before you pass out, your feel the gentle hands of the blues catching you for a soft landing...

You awaken in your cabin below deck. All the walls are dark green and you hear the music of crystal bowls harmonizing. The sound is coming from the blues. They are singing the song of their cosmology which contains the answers to all the questions from your previously occupied reality that cannot be explained with what you now consider a primitive language. You are amazed because the other world is a sliver of shadow that fits perfectly in their song of the cosmos. You feel the gentle rocking of your ship as the cosmic lullaby washes your soul. The information that you receive is very dense, some how you absorb it all. Every song they sing contains the tale of billions of worlds, trillions of histories and quadrillions of beings. You can taste the music and feel the emotional content like a sea of dense living fluid. And then you hearfeel the undertone that is also an overtone. A drone of pure love, pure gratitude. This drone is the foundation of their present, of their ability to sing the universe into completion. This ability was activated when they came close enough to you. They bathe you in their salty tears of gratitude for the gift of your existence and your heart cracks open as you smile deeply, profoundly, into every cell, every galaxy that makes up your ever shifting body of multiverses. You are the captain of a hundred billion universes. Ahoy there! Om Neptune.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Stay off the grass

You've seen signs like these a thousand times before and you always did what they said: "Stay off the grass." This time though, something made you defy the the red and black placard. I think it was the plastic yellow band that said "do not cross" in black which was redundant and wound around the entire courtyard park. Anyway, you did it. There's nothing to be done now unless you invent a time machine or find one. So, in your only act of rebellion, you went under the plastic yellow strip. You stepped gingerly on the fresh grass with the twisted feeling of satisfaction which comes from breaking a rule. You start doing jumping jacks, pushups and cartwheels. Soon, you tire of these calistenics. Maybe, it's time to get off the grass and back on the sidewalk, you think. Yeah, your a little nervous, too nervous for such an innucuous infraction. Slowly, you shuffle your feet along the cement walkway, looking to see if anyone saw you. "Hmm that's funny" you say softly. There isn't a soul in site. Hadn't you just seen an old lady walking her dog? Weren't there some kids over by the steps riding their skateboards on the steps in front of the sign forbidding bikes and skateboards? Where the heck did every one go? You walk out of the arcade and cross the emty street. The fountain looks inviting. Sit down on the bench. Watch the water. Still, there are no people, animals or kids. Your belly flutters, your head spins and your fingers tingle. Hey, put your head down below your heart. Yeah, good, that's better. You stand up and stretch. Are you hungry? Go find some food. Might as well eat what ever you find. Its just you and the bugs now. Oh, and by the way, stay off the goddamn grass, OK?

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Thyroid trouble

You drive your drunk friends in their car all the way back to their apartment in the French Quarter. One of them is your Australian girlfriend. By the morning she will be your ex-girlfriend. Her sister and boyfriend are the other 2. You drop them off and say good night. You will walk the 2 miles back to India House. There's alot for you to consider. Mainly, the insane behavior exhibited by this Sydney sheila. While driving the car you'd already made up your mind. You figured that you'd let her sober up and let her know your feelings in the morning. The walk passes by with a subtley surreal flavor, not many vehicles out at this hour. You finally arrive at Lopez Street and end up chatting with a few backpackers on the front steps of the main house. Suddenly your drunk girlfriend appears from around the corner of the house. She has slipped out the back door. It turns out that she had hopped in the vehicle, driven to where you live and had been waiting for you up in the attic where the hostel staffers sleep. Her eyes shine with alcohol, beer and mindless fear. Her anger at your stealthy departure erupts like a volcanoe. You start to jog away to avoid the ash and lava that are oozing from her mouth and eyes. She jumps in the car and starts chasing you. What else can you do but run? She is like a heat seaking missile and you are the target. Run, run, run. You dash thru yards and over fences and dive into over-grown weeds in an emty lot. You see a police car drive by slowly. They have a spotlight which they are using to search the lot you are hiding in. You put your head down and they pass you by. You wait 5 minutes and then start walking down the street. Abrubtly, you see the Ausie drive down a cross street, she goes by quickly but still sees you. She stops and begins to reverse as you dash to some bushes in front of a house. You stand in the cover of a tall shrub. Seconds later you see red and blue lights flashing on the trees and houses. The cops have pulled over the girl. I don't know what you are thinking but you decide to walk out from your hiding spot. You try to act casual like you just left the house but the fuzz do not buy it. They scream "Freeze! put your hands up!" and draw their guns on you. You comply. You can tell that they are really on edge. The murder rate in New Orlean is the highest in the country. The year is 1993. They ask you if you know her. You say: "No." They put you in the backseat with her. She turns and looks at you with that yellow glow in her eyes and says: "I thought you were going to save me." They interrogate the girl. You can hear her arguing with them. She has many issues. She can't understand why guys can pee where iver they want and girls can't. This drives her mad. Finally, you admit that she's kind of your girlfriend. The super angry cop starts flipping out and screaming: "WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME?!!" He grabs you by your long hair and throws your head to the side as you sit handcuffed in the backseat. 10 minutes later, the other cop asks you what's going on. He seems pretty mellow in contrast to psycho cop. He tries to be extra nice and I can see he's a bit nervous about his partner's temper tantrum. You quickly give him the low down: "I've known this girl for a few weeks. She's kind of my girlfriend. She's been acting way crazy. Earlier tonight she started to totally flip out. I tried to get away and she started chasing me in her car. I'm just trying to get away from her." He searches your wallet and then lets you go.You will never speak to her again. She spends the night in jail for drunk driving. You call her sister so she can bail her out in the morning.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

The leak

Devin said "Hey Didj, do you want to go for a jog up the Pratt Trail?"
I hesitate and then I answer "Yes."
I tie my sneakers, walk to the porch, wait a few minutes and then Devin is ready. Scout, his big yellow lab, joins us. We trot down the gravel road which runs along the edge of the front wall of stone. As we make the left onto the dirt road which goes along the southern border, we notice that it is wet. We follow the stream of water to its source: the jacuzzi pump motor. A seal has broken and the jacuzzi is draining. Devin continues his jog and I am left with the responsibility of organizing a solution to this dilema. I make several calls. I talk to Bill, the owner of this estate who is skiing in Mammoth. He suggests I call Billy S. He calls Migel. Devin calls Quick Plumber. Migel has one of his "boys" come by. He inadvertantly turns off the electricity in the yoga studio and the pool bathrooms while killing the pool electricity. I spot this and make the correction. Next, Quick Plumber arrives and he quickly determines that he cannot fix the spa pump, stop the leaking or even figure out where the water is coming from. He says that the plumbing is to complex and who ever set it up should fix it. I take him up to the south winery where he's supposed to check a faulty drain. He ends up getting his snake stuck in the drain hole but eventually pulls it out and drives away in his blue van. Billy S arrives while I am in the kitchen getting a big serving of the left over mushroom barley soup. I step out side and see his big white diesal truck. I find him down by the spa motor. He cannot stop the leak either. Strike 3. He says he'll come back tomorrow. He thinks that a valve has broken. So now the water is liesurely making its way down Foothill Road. Normally, everything flows more smoothly than this. When the electricity went out, I began to feel overwhelmed but then I just gave myself a pep talk and regained a healthy sense of perspective.
Earlier in the day, John S called to ask me if I could turn off his basement light and lock the door to it. It turns out that he had left the keys in the lock. He lives a minute away so that was easy. He was a few hours into a trip to his other home in the desert with his wife when he remembered.
Tonite, the mist has returned. We are in a cloud. The fog will be here when we wake and then the morning sun will burn it away. Wild Miners lettuce is growing all over the grounds. It likes all the rain we've had, the fog and is tasty-nutritious. Tomorrow, I will pick a bunch for lunch.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Sinking ship

Michael Jackson arrives at his next court date. He steps out of his black SUV wearing a dark suit, tie and clear glasses. His face is unreadable like he's sitting at a table in a Vegas casino playing poker. He stroles, almost stiffly, down the sidewalk. Suddenly, Michael looks at his watch dramatically, gazes side to side like he's scanning for trouble and dashes into a phonebooth. Before you can blink, Jackson calmly and confidently steps out of the phonebooth. You hear the crowd of curious, jobless and gullible gasp with astonishment. Michael Jackson has stripped off his suit and is now just wearing Superman underoos. They are customized to fit his tall lanky build. A breeze flaps his red cape of silk as he gracefully walks the half block or so to the courthouse. You are a fan of Mr. Jackson but even with your bias you can't help but think that his ship is sinking. You hear a voice screaming hoarsely. A few beats pass before you realize that it is you yelling: "Dance! dance! dance! Dance on the stand like some one is shooting bullets at your feet like in one of those old wild west movies. Smile and dance like in that music video with Paul McCartney." You stop yourself when you see all the folks staring at you. Look down at your feet. This moment will pass. The spotlight of pulic scrutiny will move on, it always does. Oh yeah, and don't watch Napoleon Dynamite anymore, I think there might be some permanent damage.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Icarus revisited

The myth of Icarus can be a guide to the way we take in information. Food is a kind of information just as the various medias can be food for the mind. To me, in this context, Icarus represents the soul. When Icarus flew too high, the wax, housing his feathers, melted. Like a tree in the fall shedding its leaves, the feathers fell to the earth. He lost altitude and soon was too close to the ocean, his wings became saturated. Consequently, he tumbled into the sea and drowned. The story suggests a balanced way to live. When we take in too much information without allowing a period of digestion, we can feel heavy and depleted. Our wings become wet and we sink into the subconscious waters of our being. On the other side of the coin, fasting (going without food consciously), can lead to feelings of ungroundedness. Untethered, like a kite whose string has snapped - Icarus flying too close to the sun and melting his wings.

These observations come from my own experience over the years at looking at my body as a labratory and performing archeology on my mind. Recently, I've found my wings getting slightly damp from a slight inbalance in my intake and my activity levels. The last few days have seen a correction in the trajectory of my soul. According to the calendar, spring has another 2 weeks to arrive. In my lab, phoenix has risen from the ashes of winter. The fire of the sun is drying the feathers of my wings, the dampness of my lungs, the congestion in my mind. I have held on to thoughts and ideas which did nothing but weigh me down. They've been my ballasts. I held onto to names of people and revolved my awareness on perceived injustices. My brow furrows as I silently recite the litany of disorder, disrespect - the distance from me and the world grows. My face changes shapes wearing various frowns like a child trying on hats in grandmother's attic. I found a frown that fit and my heart went to sleep. I watched this pattern and now I act from the physical front and the mental front - simultaneously. Spring has sprung and Persephone is released from hades once again, like a kite raised from the toy box to ride the winds of March.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Bon voyage, freebird

Hey, no offense, but I've got a life. Even if I didn't, I doubt that it's even physically possible for me to pull off such a wacky stunt. Yeah... I guess the Wright brothers would be pleased at your tribute to them but I've just got too much stuff on my plate to even consider taking off a couple months let alone a couple years. Congratulations on getting the sponsorship from Pesky Cola. That's a real shocker, how'd you pull that one off? Why don't you ask a marathon runner? Maybe he could time the trip with various marathons and then what he does to help you could be his training? Who designed the kite anyway? I had no clue that they'd reached the point where people could ride in them. I am honored you thought of me first as the one to hold the line while your riding the wind up in the clouds enjoying the view and all. I think I might end up resenting you though. Well... because I'd be doing all the walking while your doing all the floating. And walking all the way around the world while you just sit back drinking pesky cola would weigh on my mind. Yeah, I'd end up getting jealous, lose my focus and then who knows what could happen? I might drop the line and then off you'd be like that Lynyrd Skynyrd song: Freebird. Alright, gotta go, good luck and bon voyage Mr. Fossett!

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Organized deceit

A few years ago or so, The Rampart Police division was being prosecuted under the Rico Act. This act was created in the 70's to combat organized crime. It gave the feds a great deal of power to speed up the process of prosecution. It was known as racqueteering laws. I used to joke that this should be applied to the police in the various cities where corruption is as widespread as a forest fire. I was totally shocked when I read in the newspaper (LA Times) that Rampart was being prosecuted under the Rico Act. I thought: this is the beginning of the end as we know it of criminal justice in America. I guess someone else thought the same, someone with some major pull, because the whole story disappeared. What many of the police in this division were being investigated for was classic organized crime: extortion, murder etc.. Yesterday, it occurred to me that just like the Rico Act turning around and biting the master, (so to speak), the Patriot Act could do the same. It seems obvious to many Americans that the current regime in power are in fact terrorists. Cheney and Rumsfield are both infamous manufacturers of fear within the USA. This can be traced back to the cold war. They have numerous conflicts of interest which make their decision making policies predictable, criminal and traceable. These guys represent the sectors and complexes which profit from war, misery and fear. It is their job to fan the flames of anxiety. They have a vested interest in horror. How can they be expected to make decisions when they are so biased? On the other hand, we can trace the rising curve of culture-generated-fear as a biproduct of the advertising arms race. Humans become vulnerable to impressions after they've been traumatized. That's why the average kid's cartoon will have 16 acts of violence per half hour. It's why major television networks have seen a 300 to 400 percent rise in violent crime on their news programs during the past 10 years when FBI statistics have show a 30 year decline in violent crime in the USA. As time goes by, people become sensitized to the violence. The solution? more violence, more death, more horror. It happens in cycles and inevitably leads to the ultimate catastrophe: the apocalypse. So, in conclusion I suggest we get a super special prosecuter and use the Patriot Act to help us tap the phones and read the emails of the head terrorists in charge. And just for laughs, lets wire all the nuclear bombs together so they can be set off with one button. Then we can give the button to the Pope. Happy Birthday!

Monday, March 07, 2005

Thank goodness for straws

If you want to know the truth, when I said: "Turn that frown upside down." I had no idea that you'd change your life so drastically. I mean, come on, you know what I meant, right? It's a way to say: "smile, things aint so bad." Now, I actually think what you have done is very... creative... but why didn't you just start doing headstands or some other kind of inversion. I know what you said but I'm still not getting used to it... I mean it's kind of hard to make eye contact with you and... well... it's kinda disconcerting. Doesn't it hurt your head to have all the blood rushing to it like that? Thank goodness for straws, you'd really have a mess on your hands without them. I've always kind of felt like the whole world was upside down relative to my perspective. The tarot card, hanged man, illustrates this nicely, but, it is just a metaphor. What you have done is stupendous, daring and ludicrous... you have created a system using ropes and suction cups to live upside down... I am certainly impressed by your fortidude... but... uhhh... what about when you gotta go to the... uh... bathroom?

Sunday, March 06, 2005

A million birds

I could chronicle the broken record sound of a man's shoes draggging on the road. He wears the mask of anger while walking two dogs. One dog is black and one dog is white, the man can see but he lacks insight into his madness that's really sadness. Any feeling at all is cause for gladness cause nothing is worse than being numb, overdone and spun. Burn thru these layers one by one. Bark on a tree don't bark at me. These dogs and I, we circle the town, they read the scents, I feel my frown. Something amiss in my neural chemistry or it may be sunspot activity. I could chronicle the sound of each drop of rain that fell on my brain, a folk singer singing about a sea of pain or the pitfall of blame. These dogs want to get out of their fenced in yard they stare at me like I watch the stars. Their longing to explore is a resonation of my own resignation of feeling trapped in some way that cannot be stated. So I walk them for hours to regain my powers thru rain drizzle sprinkles and chronic sun showers. I could chronicle the sound of one hand clapping like an itch that doesn't get scratched or an egg that won't hatch. I could chronicle the lines on your face when you smile or the way a body feels when it has run a mile. Sometimes I paddle a week and a day waiting for waves to come my way. The ocean is dirty, polluted and brown it's the only time there isn't a crowd. I could chronicle the broken record sound that plays in my head or the sound of tears falling like rain instead and the sound of paws splashing in puddles of water. But the sun came out to stay today as the clouds like curtains rolled away. And the blue blue blue sky sounds like a million birds.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Separation illusion

The current debate concerning the Ten Commandments being displayed in government buildings has opened quite an interesting can of worms from this blogger’s perspective. The separation of church and state is the rallying cry of those who’d like the 10 to be removed. Other’s say there is no mention of the church and state within the constitution. Why is this such a hot topic? The Christian influence on the current regime in power in the United States seems to be quite prominent. The pseudo president, Shrub, has openly stated that he is born again with one face and then massacred over 100,000 innocent civilians with another face. Machiavelli would be proud (of himself for predicting this in the 14 century). I like to think that the Supreme Court has established that it thinks that there is a semi separation of church and state. I base this on the various cases that it has reviewed. For the sake of focus, I will come from the angle that we have played lip service to the separation of church and state. If you just use your fingernail to scrape the surface than it becomes obvious that there is not one. We place our hand on a Bible in the court of law before we testify. “... under God…” is found in the Pledge of Allegiance. Various courts have allowed students to not have to recite this classic example of indoctrination for religious reasons. The constitution does mention freedom of religion. This is a two-edged sword that can be used by either side. What if someone worships a god who does not want to be mentioned? A god who does not want rules posted in public settings? This is the can of worms that I find interesting. This can makes me think of lamination physics. This type of physics explores the concept of boundaries in the physical world. What it finds is that there is no clear point of where objects begin and where they end. The movie, Ihearthuckabees illustrates this concept when one of the existential detectives tries to show the protagonist that separation is an illusion. I am fascinated that this issue is being debated now while we wage war in the Middle East for oil in the name of Jesus. One fear that I have heard and read about in speculative fiction is the possibility of a theosophist state taking control of the US government. It seems to me that this has already happened. What the current mockery of democracy carpetbaggers want is more power and control to remain insulated in their own monkeysphere. They seem to believe in an apocalypse. I think they lack imagination, hope and confidence in humanity. A collective manifestation of their own individual death wish and low self esteem. They do not know what love is. They’re ruled by fear and lack the tool of introspection. The blind leading the blind. The one-eyes know when to hide.

Friday, March 04, 2005

How I got dragged by wolves

The Ojai Foundation provided the exact environment I needed at the time to help build my own personal foundation. Marlo was one of three directors that the TOF had at that time (1999). They each had a 4 month stint once a year. Marlo kept two wolf dogs in an enclosed pen. One of the wolves weighed 140 pounds and was 85% wolf and the rest malumut. The other was the mother and weighed 120 and was just over 90% wolf. Part of me identified with these amazing wild animals stuck in a 4 by 10 cage. I began to walk and run with them every day, feed them and clean their cage of their feces as well. No one was doing anything except throwing food at them. I'll always remember the powerful mythological feeling I received when walking these gorgeous animals. I loved them so much. They would lick me, my face, my bald head. They oozed untamed beauty. I'd secure the leashes together and jog behind them. The mother was much more wild and so I'd always keep her leashed. Her son would race around the hills but stay within earshot. One day I bounded behind the mother as she flew over the shrubs and gopher holes. I'd jump with her and let the leash pull me thru the air. One night around dusk we were moving along in this fashion and she caught a ground squirrel. She broke it's neck with her jaw before I knew she'd caught it. Another time the 3 of us were flying down a coyote trail and we caught up to a coyote. Some how some way I lost my focus. I will always regret the day they both got out. Their pen had a 2 gate system. On this day the mom jumped up and opened the latch, her son pushed on the door and they were both gone... down to the Happy Valley boarding school. I dash after them terrified at what might happen, screaming to no avail. When I get there, no one is around except a nice maintenence dude. We walk around together and find blood. He says he will call when he finds out what is bleeding. All the kids are away for the day so I guess I was lucky in that respect. On the way back I find the wolves and they let me leash them and I take them back to their cage. Within a few hours I learn that a big 100 pound puppy had been attacked and severely injured. Three days later I'm running down the long dirt driveway/road that connects TOF to highway 150. I've got both leashes secured together and the wolves are happy to be running again. Suddenly, 2 dogs from the Happy Valley Foundation appear, the wolves immediately bolt after the 2 dogs. I try to keep up but it is no use. There is no way that I will let go of the leash because of what transpired three days ago. I'm sliding along on my feet trying to slow them down, the ground gets rocky with stones imbedded in the dirt. I dive on my shoulder and now I am being dragged by wolves. I still don't let go of the leash. I scream. They stop.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Hostel in the Forest

Hostel in the Forest, originally uploaded by surfer x.

I first visited this hostel ine 1993. I wonder if they stil have geese, chickens and peacocks?

Myrtle Beach to Hostel in the Forest

I arrived in Myrtle Beach at the right time of year to be on a Ducati SS. There were sport bikes everywhere. I stayed in a campground with three guys I met on a ferry from Okrakok (tiny Island just south of the Outer Banks) to South Carolina. They were all from Connecticut. There was no helmet law at the time there which they were all proud of. South Carolina didn't have a helmet law either. Crazy as it sounds, I rode around short distances in my bare feet, no helmet, so shirt. Don't worry, I always wear a helmet etc. now. I can't remember really having any meaningful conversations or contacts. I left after a few days. While in a gas station in Georgia, I met a guy on a cruiser type motorcycle. I had trouble getting the bike started because I'd forgotten that I hit the kill switch. So the bike wouldn't start and I'm starting to get a little stressed. He offered his help and soon we're laughing because it's the ultimate DUHH! I tell him about Hostel in the Forest and he's up for it. We cruise like easy rider and racer m the 100 or so miles.

I'll always remember my arrival at this amazing place. The dirt road in was windey, pitted and crazy fun on 2 wheels. It is a half mile to the parking lot. We arrive at night. When we walk up to check in we meet Graham. He's from Australia and a bit on the pompous side. We get a quick mini tour of the geodesic domes - there's two of them - and the kitchen - which ajoins one of them. In the kitchen there are signs everywhere "Please clean up after yourself", "please do the dishes", "please turn of the lights". We are shown where we will sleep inside the big dome. There are beds for about 20 people it seems. After all that time on the road, I sleep like a log. The next day I awaken to see sunlight streaming in thru the windows. I step oustside and am amazed to see how beautiful this place is. I see an amazing peacock - Octavious, a peahen - Cleo, 3 geese - the third reich, ducks, chickens, roosters and baby chicks. The pecking order becomes obvious to watch. Soon I'll use it as an example to show how human behavior resembles animal behavior to a greater extent than I ever realized. I walk around and check out the various treehouses. There were 4 at the time. They are awesomely cool and I am blown away. That night I am assigned a treehouse for myself. I walk up the steps alone with my bags. When I get to the top I hear a voice, breathe into my ear, "perfect." I kind of yelled, looked around, no one there, no one here. Spooky.

I ended up staying there for 2 weeks before a couple girls from Switzerland told me about India House in New Orleans. This will be my next stop in the wander journey across America.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Eastern seaboard on a super bike

When I left Pennsylvania on my Ducati 900 SS, the year was 1993. The solsitce is the longest day of the year and this is the day I left. My parents had some trepidations about their middle child quitting his job and biking across the country with no plan. I can admit now that I was pretty nervous. I felt deeply that I had to go and embrace the mystery of life. This drive far outweighed the fear. In 1989, I spent 5 weeks in Europe. During this time, I met many travelers and learned that there was a traveling subculture which can be quite supportive. After 4 years, I finally felt like I had enough flow$$, to pull off the random relocation act. My itineary took me down the eastern seaboard. The outer banks of North Carolina provided a nice change from the Doylestown duldrums. While in Kill Devil Hills, I hang glided off the same sand dunes that the Wright brothers made famous with their first flight. I met a guy named John in a campground there. He'd started biking in Canada, a pedal bike. The night I met him, it was raining. He thru a tarp over a picnic table and slept under it. I had my Sierra Design Meteorlite 3 person tent. The next day we talked and he told me about a place called: Hostel in the Forest. It is located just outside of Brunswick, Georgia. Geodesic domes and treehouses. I'm there I think to myself. I leave town on the motorcycle a few days later and pass John as he pedals, pedals, pedals. Next stop for me: Cape Hatterus. I stay in a state run campground. I go to a surf shop and rent a surf board. Somehow I manage to bungey cord the board to my back and motorcycle to the beach for my first attempt at surfing. One word description: frustrating. No real swell. No paddling strength. I strap the board on my back and motor back to the campground. You're supposed to stop but I try to just go thru slowly. The girl working the guard station makes me stop and I kind of freak and give her a piece of my mind. The surfboard makes stopping very akward but rules are rules. The next day the campground manager or whatever comes to my site and asks me about what happened. He has a uniform that makes him look like a cop as did the girl in the booth. This converstaion is pretty blurry after 12 years; all I remeber is that I left of my own accord an hour later. Next stop, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Daisy is Houdini

Today's drama involved Daisly, a yellow lab who I am watching for a week. Sheba, a smaller, older black lab type lives with her as well. So, it's just these two dogs and me hanging out for a week. When I got the call to house sit, I thought: cool, nice pad, make some bucks, watch a little tv and catch up on the latest advertising ploys... Of course, I forgot that Daisy can be a handful.

Weed wacking was my random job of the day. I don't do this very often. Just here and there. I am the side job king of Ojai and enjoy the wide variety of jobs that come my way. Drive someone to the airport one day, next day, be featured in a dvd, host a yoga retreat, perform with the didjeridoo, mow a lawn, unclog a shower head, assist a carpenter remodeling the kitchen... you get the picture. So, I am at my friend, John's, wacking some weeds when I get a call from Cindy. She just got a call from a school just down the street saying that Daisy is there. I put down the wacker and hop on my CBR 900 and zip to the school. I'm there in a few minutes. Daisy's inside a small fenced in area with another yellowish dog that's a pitbull - super demure and friendly. They arrived at the school together but leave separately. I walk her back, put her inside the yard, close the gate. Sheba's happy to see her friend and they wag tails at eachother. I get about 50 feet away and turn around to see Daisy making a beeline to me. She doesn't try to get away from me for too long, I take her back inside the gate, to the backyard and tie her up.

An hour later I have finished up the weed trimming task and hop back on the bike and zoom back on to the estate. The time to surf has arrived. Bryce picks me up. On the way to the ocean we stop to get my longboard at some friends' abode. Simon, crazy little beagle with Alzheimers, tries to bite me. I've pet this angry little pooch for hours but he's got some kind of grudge or something.

The waves are blown out but I surf them any way for like 30 minutes before the endless paddling against the current finally takes its toll on my out of shape lats. I catch some white water wave which conveniently takes me to the edge of the shore where I jump off onto my feet. I end up having to wait 30 minutes for Bryce. He decided not to surf and went for a walk. The wind was blowing and the temp was cold enough so I could close my eyes and pretend I was in antartica fighting off hypothermia. Bryce finally arrives, wearing shorts and an easy smile. He drops me off and we say our good-byes.

Time for some dinner. Farmer and the Cook is my #1 eating spot. Everything they sell is organic. Just as I finish my salad, I get a call from Michael Costello. He's got Daisy. She walked into the place where he works, The Antique Mall. probably looking for Cindy. Uggh, expletive under my breath, pause, oh well. Lucky it was close by. Cruise on bike, arrive at Antique Mall. Walk Daisy home. Walk back and retrieve motorcycle.

Today's essay question: How do the 2 previous posts apply?