I've come to a grinding halt, but my grind hasn't halted. Landed in desert some months ago. Santa Fe. At times now, unsure how I arrived. Asked what I highway I took in, and I honestly don't remember. It was late at night after all, and we did journey 2000 miles in two day rental car purchase. At times now I see the vast expanse of pink and snow capped mountains, and I wonder how I ended up in New Mexico.
Less than a year ago we drifted away from mother Portland in our bus, ill-prepared and foolish. Saturn's children drenched in lives full of light years, seeking our moment.
Our rubber-tramping took us many places; through all four seasons, most states, freezing in the desert winter Madrid nights, humid death Florida summer, breathing flies and mosquitoes with our cosmic comrades in Atlanta, fleeing state police over trumped-up agricultural disputes, masquerading as citizens in the flesh festival post Katrina Mardi-Gras, screaming in a tunnel through the belly of a mountain in Pittsburgh. Through it all we never thought we would land at the base of the Sangre De Christo range, burning Piñon to warm ourselves, breathing this thin rich air, and forging another unfamiliar path through the weave of the void.
Winter approaches. It have been a brisk 17-25 degrees out. High desert snow, and full moon wolf howlings in the hills above town. We reside in a 210 year old adobe house with 24" impenetrable walls-- impossible to hang art, no cell phone rays or sci-fi wi-fi signals, no space beam mind kontrol central nervous hacking systems. This place is grounded!
Sage grows on side of house. Three rain barrels in place for spring. Acequia Madre flows under passage to house. This is a spanish built ditch from olden times, made to carry water to farm lands down stream. The man we rent from, Brother Steve, a Christian brother in the Spanish tradition, and his family, Los Armentas, have owned this property since those days. They were here when this was not even the United States. They were expunged by the natives only to return years later and be granted passage into this privileged place. Brother Steve's great grandmother lived in the house where I now reside. At that time she was Deputy of Santa Fe, and ran a bootleg whiskey operation. History.
We have jobs now. Work and toil in a turmoiled economy, under the same blue sky that birthed us all, on this familiar planet that has fed us all these years, spinning our webs, working, dreaming, missing friends and family and finding our way.
To summarize, I sold my bus and moved to Santa Fe to manage a health food store. Everything is good. Zen. Creativity regenerating. Passion refueling.
Frustrated daily with state of world and political unravelings, unjust bail out job loss capital collapse, wolves in "change" clothing. I just choose not to hold (cyber) space for all that right now. What will be, is written.
The fire is fading, and my eyes are crossing at this emf screen. Take care and please reply.

Only 23 more days until the Christs' birth.

Help someone who needs it this Christmas.
Make friends with an enemy.
Make friends with a tiger.
Make out with insanity.
Make believe.

Make 2009 the year, you REALLY GO FOR IT. Whatever it is.No holds barred.No reservations.

I will do the same.

Say YES and KNOW!

one.









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