Bangkok in the Rain

Sitting in the Hua Lamphong Railway Station in Bangkok. Two days in Bangkok shattered my mind's composure - heat, smog/pollution, language, and my inability to navigate the streets on foot led me to the decision to buy a train ticket to Chiang Mai. The motor traffic is not like anything I have seen - scooters equal the number of cars, and I have to be acutely aware of my surroundings to avoid being hit. Many of the streets do not have sidewalks, and the one's which do are so jarring and in your face that it all seems like a twisted pedestrian nightmare. Adding to the cacophony is the occasional presence of touts. One approached me today as I walked the horridly hot and sticky Sukhimvit Rd. After asking if I needed a taxi, he wanted to know if I wanted to visit a tailor shop. I smiled and told him I was just wandering around and did not need a ride. He knew the game was up and he graciously relented his attack.

Having no luck finding a hotel in the morning, I decided to jump into a cab and told him to drive to Lumphini Park. On the Bangkok map it is the largest area of green space, and I needed to get away from the noise and fumes. The 15 minute ride cost only $1.75, and the first thing I saw was a large statue of a military hero, surrounded by a round about of concrete, with a MRT subway station adjacent. I walked by and saw the gate to the park, and within a few minutes the noise and stink subsided and I was surrounded by lush green and wide pedestrian-only pathways. I began to feel better, although the weight of my full pack made it difficult to enjoy the slow pace of my sauntering. I found a bench in the shade and stretched my legs out after pouring water over my head. My mood began to improve and after an hour of reflection decided to take the subway to Hua Lumphong Station and purchase the ticket to Chiang Mai. After departing the subway I was pleased to discover a connection tunnel to the train station. After walking about lost for a bit, I found the information desk and decided to buy a 2nd class sleeper ticket on the 18:10 train, cost being 780 baht ($25.00).

After buying the ticket at noon, I had 6 hours to spend, so I decided take the subway back to Lumphini Park and wander around a bit more. After 45 minutes a rain storm blew into the city, cooling the air. I found a group of stone tables with large canvas overhangs, so I sat at the table as the rain fell heavily. A Chinese family on holiday were at the table next to mine, and for 40 minutes we stood watching the rain and lightning. After the skies cleared I walked to the floating island marveling at how beautiful the park is.

Now it is almost 5:00 pm and the air in the station is cool enough for me to need a jacket. I am trying to adjust to my new mode of living on the road, all of my belongings stuffed into a pack at my feet.

Lost in Bangkok, Part I

Touched down into Thailand without much trouble, however getting out of customs caused a slight panic attack. I wasn't sure what I needed to show the immigration officer, so when I got into the long line I held onto my passport and the white immigration card marked “Arrival”. After a 30 minute wait in line I confidently handed over my documents and expected to be waved through, since I had not seen any of hundreds of people going through (there were 15-20 lines with 30-40 people in each) be turned back. However, my heart began to race when the officer asked me where my white departure card was. I told him I was not aware I had to fill it out since I was arriving into Bangkok. He told me I needed to fill it out, so I told him I would and he asked me to leave the same way I had come. I felt my face become flushed with embarrassment, because as I said, I had not seen any of the hundreds of people filing through have to turn around and walk back to the arrival gates. I imagined the people waiting in line, seeing me refused entry into Thailand, thinking I must be some kind of crazy criminal.

I tried to compose myself, and found a bench to sit upon. I was quite hot, as the airport did not have good air conditioning, and I still had my jacket on, so I pulled it off, and was happy to find the white departure immigration card stuffed into my travel folder. I took my time filling it in, then walked back to the long line. I waited another 30 minutes, and even though my jacket was off, I was beginning to feel awful, and I felt my mind collapsing into a state of paranoia and panic, most likely due to the large crowd of people, not having slept in 24 hours, and the extreme heat. My muscles were becoming tense, my face was still flushed, and I just wanted to lock myself into a quiet, dark room and fall asleep. When I finally reached the immigration officer, he looked over my documents, and then asked where I had flown in from, because the arrival flight number I had written did not match any on his list. I explained I had come in from Hong Kong, via the 10:00pm flight on Cathay Pacific. “No, the flight you listed does not exist.” I sensed I was now taking longer in line than most , my face became further flushed, I was starting to overheat, and my paranoia grew stronger. I was reminded of one of my days in Paris, when everything seemed to go wrong. The officer asked for my boarding pass, and I handed it to him, but he did not like that I had printed it from the internet. I explained to him that it is possible to print one's own boarding pass, and that the airline had accepted it, and I showed him the scan box which made it an official boarding pass. He told me that it was not correct. I pointed to the bold lettering “BOARDING PASS” on the top of the printout. He once again told me it was not correct. My heart began to race and I was close to hyperventilating. The image of me being stranded in the BKK airport was not a pleasant one, and I recalled the film starring Tom Hanks of the man who lived in an airport due to immigration troubles. The officer explained that the pass I had given to him was from Chicago to Hong Kong. I told him yes, that is right, I went from Chicago to Hong Kong, then Hong Kong to Bangkok. He told me he needed to see the boarding pass for Hong Kong to Bangkok. I then understood that I had filled out the arrival form incorrectly, using the flight number from Chicago to Hong Kong. I could not understand how I could make such a mistake, since I was being careful with all of my steps. I decided it was due to being exhausted, and the large amount of details that my mind was having to process in a short amount of time. By now I had taken twice as long as most people, and I was aware of holding up the people behind me. I tried to remain calm, all I needed to do was find the correct boarding pass. I took my backpack off my shoulders, placed it on the ground, unzipped, pulled out the travel folder, and after going through the documents twice could not find the boarding pass. Had I thrown it out? I could not remember throwing it out, it had to be here. I was about to tell the officer I could not find it, and that I was going to have to turn around and leave to look for it, then get into line again. But I really did not want to have to turn around, I still had not seen anyone else being turned back, and I was about to do the walk of shame for a second time. I had seen children pass merrily through, and here I was bumbling around without a clue. I decided to look once more through the folder, and was relieved to find the boarding pass stuck between papers toward the back. I tried to slow my breathing down as I handed him the correct boarding pass. He looked it over, signed a form, stamped my passport, and waved me through.

While I felt a strong sense of relief as I now walked on the correct side of immigration under the bright neon of the airport, my mind was stuck in a state of tired confusion and paranoia. This was not good because there still remained important tasks to complete before I could get some much needed rest. I began to wander aimlessly around, feeling out of place. The next task was to find an ATM and get Thai Baht. I saw many brightly lit “Money Exchange” booths. An ATM had to be somewhere, and after walking back and forth a few times I stopped at one of the booths and asked where the nearest ATM was. She pointed and I saw one 5 feet from me. My face turned red and I tried to laugh as I thanked her, but I was beginning to worry about my ability to process detailed information. I was confronted with a machine I was unfamiliar with, and I struggled to get my bank card out of the money belt (first time using a money belt). If there were any thieves around I would be the perfect target - confused and in a foreign country. I could see myself giving in to anything in such a confused state. I was still feeling the embarrassment of the immigration check through as I slid the card into the machine, and felt the card being pulled from my fingers. I prayed that one, the card would not be blocked, and two, the machine would spit the card out after I had completed the transaction. I was hoping to take 10,000 baht, but the most it offered was 5000 ($170). There was an option for “other”, but since it was written in Thai, I was not certain if it really said “other”, so I decided to be safe and get 5000. The machine spitted out 5 X 1000 baht notes, and thankfully my card. I knew that I had to break down the notes, so I decided to ask the girl at the booth, even though I was still embarrassed about having to ask her where an ATM machine was. She gracefully took the bills and counted out the money. I had never seen baht notes and I knew that if she shorted me I would not catch it in time to complain. I took the notes and decided to walk off without counting, because if I counted I knew I would stand there a long time looking confused. After walking 10 feet I stopped and counted the money as best I could, knowing that I could be clearly seen by anyone, and trying to remember if I was still in possession of everything important (calm mind, no!) My passport was in my right front pocket (wrong place), one of the compartments of my money belt was unzipped, and as I looked at the bills, I could not read the amounts, they appeared to be written in Thai script. I then located a numeral I could recognize, in small print, written sideways, and after counting the bills reading the sideways numbers, appeared that I was still in possession of 5000 baht. As I stuffed the notes in my wallet, I realized that I had forgotten to take the receipt from the ATM. I tried to recall what kind of personal information is on a receipt, and knew that someone would see my bank acct balance and how much I had withdrawn, but nothing hopefully which would give them access to my account.

I needed to find a taxi and recalled from a guidebook that there was a taxi desk on the first floor. I was not certain what floor I was on, but guessed it was floor two, and decided to go down the escalator. I saw a sign for limousine services, but decided that was not the taxi desk. I walked out the door of the airport and felt the muggy hot air mixed with exhaust fumes blow across my face. Large groups of people stood around, and everyone seemed to know what they were doing and where they were going. I felt lost and confused, and did not see a taxi desk anywhere. Unsure what to do, I decided to stand still and look like I was waiting for someone so as to not attract attention. After standing for a few minutes I started to wander about aimlessly, and by good fortune happened upon the taxi desk. They called me over, looked at the address and map I had in my hand, and I was soon sitting in an air conditioned taxi, watching a landscape pass which looked similar to the west side of Chicago - super highways, crumbled old buildings, and sign boards haphazardly appearing. I leaned back, awaiting my soon to be much needed sleep.

Chinese New Year in Hong Kong...

1/22/12

Sitting in an airport lounge awaiting the departure of my flight to Hong Kong/Bangkok.

Arose at 5:00am this morning and Rachel was kind enough to drive me to the Champaign Terminal. Bus was 15 minutes late, but the ride went smoothly. While waiting for the bus to arrive I saw a man who I hiked with at the Sierra Club Lake Mingo outing. I tested my backpack for the first time that day, loading it with a few soup cans. This morning he was with his wife, they were taking the bus to Milwaukee for a ski outing.

When I departed the bus in Chicago in front of Union Station a homeless man thrust a newspaper into my hand and asked for money, and I sensed that I must no longer possess the look of a jaded city creature. When I first lived in Chicago in 1992 I was constantly approached by homeless people, but after the first year the occurrences happened less frequently. My fresh, eager eyes thus giving me away, I made a rookie mistake of taking out my wallet so that I could hand the man a dollar. I knew it was a stupid move, but instead of the guy grabbing the wallet from my cold hand, he simply asked for more, telling me he needed a place to stay for the night, and that his name was Paul, flashing a grin which showed a few missing teeth. I obliged and gave him another dollar, knowing I had much money to burn through, and here was someone who did not know where he would be sleeping later in the day. He thanked me and I began looking for the Clinton Stop on the Blue Line. I knew it was 3 blocks from where I stood but I had forgotten the direction I was supposed to walk. After walking 30 yards I decided I was going the wrong way and turned back to where I had started, seeing Paul once again. He turned to me and asked if I was heading to the Blue Line, and I felt as if a neon sign flashing “dumb tourist”was pasted to my forehead. I nodded a smile and he told me I was walking in the wrong direction. “Follow me”, he implored, and I started to follow him, aware I was making yet another rookie mistake. We passed the front of Union Station and I remembered I needed to stop there to pee. Seeing a way to extricate myself from a stupid situation, I told Paul I needed to use the bathroom and was going into the Great Hall. “Oh man, you got to piss, there is a port o potty right over there”, and I watched his hand point away from the towering stone columns of the station. A cold, desolate port o potty was indeed there, but I decided I had to put an end to the charade, and said “I'm going into the Great Hall”, and began to walk to the doors. I dejectedly saw each of the doors I passed posted with a closed sign, and with Paul right behind me, interjecting “man, look, they are closed now, do you think you can give me some more money, I need $12 dollars for a room?” At that moment I came to a door without a closed sign and pushed through, and felt the warm air of the hall spread across my relieved face. I knew I could not give Paul $12, I had only $7 left in my wallet, and $2 was needed for the Blue Line ticket to the airport. I felt myself grabbing once again for the wallet, knowing that I was doing an incredibly stupid thing, but continued to do so anyways. The wallet in hand now, I gripped it firmly, hoping that if he made a grab I could manage to keep it within my grasp. I quickly pulled out a $5 bill and handed it to him, smiling, with a “take care, man,” and turned to leave, detecting perhaps a look of disappointment upon his face.

Alone now, I walked through the great hall, found the john, and as I pissed began to silently laugh, recalling that I was proud for having purchased a bus ticket to Chicago for $3.50, and having somehow just now avoided a serious mishap. I zipped up, determined to find the Clinton Blue Line Station with a somewhat jaded expression painted in my eyes.

Two Days

For the past 3 weeks I have been house sitting for Rachel while she treks across southern Africa. I have continued to prepare for my own imminent adventures - reading books, studying maps, researching the internet. All of my belongings are stored in Rachel's basement, and soon I will be without a home, very few belongings, with thoughts and feelings which are fueled by the new and unusual. In two days I will begin my Journey to the East.

Yesterday I was looking through my travel checklist, and was surprised to find that everything is finally complete. The only thing left to do is organize my backpack, which I began doing yesterday. I am confident that all of the things I plan to bring will fit, but am unsure if the weight of the pack will be allowed as a carry on. The class of ticket I purchased states that the max weight is 15 pounds!? However, I am allowed to bring a 2nd, smaller bag onto the plane. The total weight of my pack is 25-30 pounds, so both packs should be under the 15 lb max weight. Rachel, who came home a couple of days ago, told me the check-in staff won't bother to weigh the packs, so I am hoping that is true, as I would hate to check a bag due to the dishonest and careless people who work in baggage handling.

My flight leaves Chicago on Sunday, Jan 22, at 2:20pm, and will make a short layover in Hong Kong. I will then board another plane and arrive in Bangkok at 11:50pm on Jan 23. I reserved a hotel for a couple of nights in an out of the way place a few miles outside the city center. After recovering from the long flight I will decide what to do next. I am hoping to rent a place for a month in Bangkok, as I am interested in exploring the city with my legs and camera.

My emotions are fairly steady, but at times throughout the day I feel a mix of adrenalin and terror, caused by the soon-to-be plunge into an unknown land and culture.

Endings/Beginnings : Slavery/Freedom

I resigned from my job at the park district on October 3rd, and today walked home from the Cottage for the last time. At my previous jobs 2 weeks was sufficient for the employer to find a replacement, but it did not work out this time around. I can understand a major position, such as CEO, taking months to fill, but 12 weeks to fill a clerk job is absurd(ly lucky). If I had been allowed to leave in mid October, I would likely have decided upon a 4 week trip abroad, returned to my apt, and settled in for a long winter of meditation and guitar playing. Instead, the extended wait allowed for a slim chance to become a wandering monk/artist/poet, if I had the vision to see it, and the balls to accept the challenge. Looking upon the task as a general would while planning an offensive, I knew I would need to see both the panorama and the details, all the while remaining calm and serene in the present moment. I came to realize that I had arrived at one of the big moments in my life - a time to put all of the experience and knowledge gained from a lifetime of curiosity, introspection, and study, to use. Much of life is waiting, and more waiting, and it is what one does during this waiting which will determine what happens when the waiting is over. There are so many ways to go wrong, so many things which can destroy a life - evil from without, evil from within, or just bad luck and circumstance. When things are going well it is possible to squander the good fortune from lack of foresight and not taking advantage of all the gifts which one has. Somehow I have avoided stepping on the numerous land mines which life plants, and have merely tripped and fallen a few times on harmless ground, each time picking myself up and continuing on with faith and good intentions. 20 years ago I accepted the challenge of my youth - learning to live life well through the activity of photography and art. The easy part was doing the work, the hard part keeping a happy heart amidst the ill will of others. I learnt that even if I mind my own business, stay quiet, and do no harm, people will still hate and attempt to ruin the happiness of anyone they meet. To pass through the first test I had to learn the task of art and master it, all the while deflecting the hatred and ill will of others. My life was playing out like a good novel - a naive youngster attempting to create a Utopian way of life, but bad characters along the way make it difficult to attain. After 18 years I believed I had completed the task I had chosen for myself, having learned art and the evil in men's hearts. The past two years I have been waiting, and waiting more. How did I spend this waiting? Learning another form of art, the guitar, and reading, studying, contemplating. The reason it is easy for me to leave money jobs is because they are a meaningless waiting activity, or a means (money) to an end (completing the goal, which needs money). I see life as being a hazy sort of dream, a spiritual quest to see more clearly. The money game, and all of its variations, are a part of the dream, but only as a distraction, or perhaps a test to weed out the blind from those who can see. In one sense, I am the blind. In a world filled with blind people, reality is darkness and anyone who claims to see light is hated and mocked, and said to be insane. But inner truth cannot be insulted away, hatred cannot alter it. If I see light and stars, a thousand people saying there are no stars does not make it true. I may feel quite alone, and even question my sanity from time to time, but I never lose sight of the light, and therefore know that it is indeed true. The waiting will soon be over, and the second challenge of my life will begin. Like the first test, I will mind my own business, stay quiet, and do no harm. I will apply what I have learned, and instead of believing that because I am attempting a good thing people will be sympathetic, I will rather expect that some small part of the rage of the world will fall my way.

Let the journey begin.....

Typhoid Mary

Left work early with the late autumn day feeling heavy of winter - blustery gray wetness making me wish for snow. I was able to borrow Rachel's car and drive over to the public health dept. so I could get vaccinations for Typhoid and Hep. A. I got a tetanus vaccination 6 weeks ago, so I believe I have done everything possible to reduce the risk of carrying a nasty illness while in SE Asia. Cost was $190, pretty steep for two shots in the arm, and my shoulder is sore as hell.

Finished reading The Razor's Edge, the ending left me a bit disappointed, but it was still very well written. In my Thailand guidebook Maugham has been mentioned a couple of times, as he loved to travel in SE Asia, I guess one time he caught malaria while in Bangkok, but lived to write another day.

The two girls who want to live in my apt have still not signed the lease - signing day is supposed to be this Thursday, if they don't sign then I will have to look for somebody else, but I still have time to find someone and be out before Jan 1. I still have hope the girls will sign on Thursday, I will think positive thoughts.....

Photography and Writing

With my time in the USA fast approaching its end, I have been spending my days studying books related to travel. I am finishing up The Razor's Edge by Maughm, reading a few books by Hermann Hesse and Knut Hamsun, and perusing maps and guide books.

I sometimes find myself attempting to clarify my vision of travel, and how I should spend my time while on the road. The few short trips I have taken (New York City, Montreal, Paris) revolved around wandering the streets with camera and notebook in hand. Even though I no longer consider photography my calling, I have decided that making pictures of the passing moments and writing about things would impart a pleasant meaning to my new way of life. I have decided that I will bring a small digital camera and laptop computer with me, with plans of wandering by day, and writing and editing pictures by night, with this blog serving as the place to deposit the daily words and pictures.

However hard I try to leave my past life of photography behind, it at times returns and reminds me that it shaped who I am and how I see the world. A few days ago I had a request from a person who owns a few of my photographs. He recently returned from a many years stay in Japan, and he asked if I would print some old b/w negatives that he picked up while there. It will be a big project (40 negatives), with a set of straight b/w prints, and a 2nd set printed in my own style (toned and ethereal). I doubt I can finish the project in time before leaving at the end of January, and I let him know it won't be cheap. If he agrees to my price, the magic of printing will pay for my plane ticket to Thailand.

New Life

Since making the decision to quit my job and leave the country for an extended period of time, my life has regained some of its old magic. There are many ways to view life and what it means to live. The people closest to me in regards to time/experience - my family - see it in a way which I think dull, harmful, and just flat out wrong. I don't think less of them for this, as almost everyone I have met in my life follows some sort of philosophy which is based on materialism/money = security/happiness. Perhaps one is more secure if a job is in hand and money is in the bank. But life is not an endless string of long moments, rather, it is a fragmented base of quick bursts of inspiration and illusion. What brings security and happiness is not money, but the life force itself. It is this which pushed me through the womb, into the light of the world, and it is this which sustains me for as long as it pleases, and it will be that which returns me to the unknown darkness.

The life force which directs our destinies can be corrupted through neglecting what is in the heart. Chasing after money and security leads to an effect unintended - fear and loathing, the magic of life blurred and kicked under ground. I will grant that some men's destinies involve the acquisition of money, in this sense they are doing what they are meant to do. But this is not mine, and so working a meaningless job is not always necessary. Quitting on the surface seems dangerous and foolish, but in doing so I have put my life in the hands of my heart. I may end up in the streets, could die from lack of access to medicine, or have other things go terribly wrong, but having the heart open full stop is worth the trouble. The magic has returned, and with it happiness and mystery.

Irish Whiskey Jam

Returning home from an afternoon walk on Friday, Joseph saw me crossing Vine Street as he passed in his UPD truck. He decided to circle back and he found me on a side street. I opened the truck door and asked what was up, and he asked if I wanted to do a music jam on Saturday. I said yes, and was excited about the opportunity to make music with other people.

I walked to his house Saturday night with a guitar slung to my back, amp in right hand, a 6 pack of Schlitz in the other. I also brought along my ipod so that I could connect it to the amp. If the night started out with just Joseph and I, it would be easier to warm up playing to blues songs. Mike H had yet to arrive when I got to his house, and as I set up my gear I plugged in the ipod and listened to a long, driving song by Junior Kimbrough. Joseph was intrigued, so we started jamming to it. Shawn showed up soon after and he took over on drums and Joseph played bass. Mike M. arrived a little later, and he took over the bass. Mike is a semi professional player, and I find it easy to play along with his bass lines because they are logical and in key at all times. Mike H stopped by a couple hours later, by then we were high on beer and other goodies, and the music was flowing and wild. I played for 6 hours with just a few short breaks, leaving around 3:30am.

I was happy and a bit surprised that my fingers held tough the entire night, no blisters, but the skin was a bit raw by the time it was all over. My skills have increased since the last time I was jamming with them, my knowledge of the pentatonic along with increased finger agility allowed me to feel confident. We played mainly in E, but a few jams we were in G or D. The speed of my playing was improved, and I was able to focus on the music and my reactions to it. The guys seemed happy with my progress, and we laid down some good jams.

I decided to practice today for an hour, which was a mistake because I pushed the raw skin too far and a blister developed on the third finger. Even with this handicap I was still able to play with speed and accuracy to a set of Junior Kimbrough songs.

I have not done much this week for my upcoming travels because I am waiting to hear back from the property manager about the two girls who want to rent my apartment. Hopefully in a day or two they can sign the lease, and I can then begin packing things and prepare myself for the exciting days which will soon be upon me.

Changing Strings

I broke the B string on my guitar a couple of days ago. When I felt the urge to jam today I remembered the missing string and decided it was time to replace all of the strings. I placed the guitar on the kitchen table, and began my first attempt at it. I thought back to my days as a photographer, spending hours in the public darkroom in Chicago learning how to dry mount pictures, how I wanted to leave no stone unturned in all aspects of photography. The mundane task of changing strings on a guitar is something that will further my skill in the craft of guitar playing, and also save me some cash.

I got the strings tied on well enough, but got a bit confused when they would not stay in tune. I figured out that I needed to tune down and stretch each string with my hands, pulling it way up a number of times, then tune it back to pitch. After doing the string stretch three times for each string, they magically stayed in tune.

I decided to try a heavier string gauge. I had been using the lightest gauge, but it seemed a bit wimpy, and also had me hesitant about strongly attacking the strings with aggressive bends. I don't really notice much of a difference with the heavier grade, so next time I change strings I will be going up another notch, just to see what it sounds and feels like.

I am reaching the point in my guitar quest where I am now familiar with the basics, and the comfort level has brought on a high degree of confidence. I can now just do it, play the blues, without even thinking about it. It is like running, walking, thinking, talking - highly complex activities which the brain/body learns exceedingly well on a subconscious level, so that the conscious mind can forget about it all, in a sense, and just focus on the emotions of playing. I still suck, but I have gone far beyond the suck of two years ago. Lately the speed and coordination between both hands has gotten ridiculously intense. I don't even know how I am doing it, I just watch the fingers on the fret board reach a blurring energetic speed, while the pick hand is trying to keep up. Mistakes abound, yet.....I can see that with more practice I am going to reach a level that I did not think possible. I can't wait!!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Having reached a point in the guitar quest where things are now beginning to gel, I am a bit sorry that for a somewhat long period of time I won't have access to my beloved black electric guitar. I have decided to travel long term, making my vocation that of wanderer. I decided to give up my nice apartment and become a homeless vagabond, all of my possessions being what can fit into a back pack. I never thought of myself as being one of those adventurers who gives up everything for the freedom of the road - partially because I never thought I would have the means to do so. It takes a large stash of cash, along with the will and vitality to pull it off. I am currently in possession of those 3 things, so I have decided to try, to see if I can become that which I never thought I could be. I am reminded of something which Elanor Roosevelt once said

We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face... we must do that which we think we cannot.

Today I showed my apartment to two young ladies, and later in evening they let me know they would like to rent it beginning in January. So in two months I will be moving my belongings into Rachel's basement. I will then stay at her house until January 19th, which is when she will return from her African adventure. I will then board a plane and alight in Bangkok, Thailand. I will soon apply for a travel visa, which will allow me to remain in Thailand for up to 3 months. I will then move on to Malaysia, Indonesia, Laos, and then perhaps Sri Lanka and Nepal.

The series of decisions and events which have recently transpired have occurred in consequence to ideas translated into actions. My first experience of the power of a single idea and choice, was that of becoming a photographer and artist. Once the decision is made, the pieces fall into place. The difficult part is making the decision, without it, one floats through life on the thoughts and ideas of others. While this can be pleasantly numbing, it does not lead to creativity or authentic being.

11/11/11 ?

With my time at work coming to a close, I have been more attentive to the planning of my wanderings. I will remain at my position at the park district until a new person is hired and trained, so I will be working Mon-Wed for the next 4-5 weeks. My original plan of leaving on 11/11/11 came surprisingly close.

The world has once again become a wide open place, open to varied interpretations and realities. The money I have saved would seem small for most, but being able to live comfortably on $1000 a month means I can live as if independently wealthy for 18 months before having to return to wage slavery. I plan to use some of the money to travel to Thailand, but I am still determining how long I want to stay, and if I should extend my journey to other places. The plan which looks most secure is to wander Thailand for 4-6 weeks and then return to my apartment in Urbana. Once back I plan to spend my time practicing guitar 4 hours a day, meditating 2 hours, and walking/running/writing/thinking/sleeping with the remaining time left in the day. By the end of a year I could possibly be a better guitar player with a calmer heart. Time will tell.

Buying Time

Today I resigned from my job.

Two weeks ago I requested to work 3 days per week, reducing my hours from 40 to 24. This was accepted. I then requested a 4 week unpaid leave of absence so that I could wander around Thailand during the month of November. This was not accepted. Before asking these two things I decided that if either were rejected I would resign, and today I followed through on that decision.

Quitting a decent job with no negative aspects would appear to be stupidity, or worse. And although I could find no logical reasons for quitting, I did it anyway. What is life but a continual preparation for death? Death is leaving a known space and time. Sleep reminds us of this, but a conscious altering of circumstance done under a warm, shining sun is more potent. By doing so I reaffirmed my faith in the power of life. Walking home I felt powerful, free, and strong-willed. In a years time I may find myself living on the streets, or worse, in my parent's home. It is all the same, though - I will breathe, sense, think. I won't have any money, but in a way I don't have any now. I save everything I earn, only spending on food and shelter. The money saved will now be spent - on a year's worth of glorious time.

The Man Who is not There

Almost a month has passed since my last entry, and the progress I have made with the guitar is startling. My main mode of practice this month has been jamming to sets. The sets include songs such as Spoonful, I Heard it Through the Grapevine, Graveyard Train, Blues Boogie by Canned Heat, a few Nick Moss songs, jams by Phish, even Led Zep's Babe I'm Gonna Leave You and the powerful Communication Breakdown. A set usually lasts 90-120 minutes, and sometimes I do a second set or sit down to practice finger exercises. The long sets have made my left hand fingers longer, because the callouses on the tips have grown absurdly thick, wiping away the print lines of the fingers and replacing them with funky ridges and holes. I am no longer hindered by finger weakness, which allows me to practice indefinitely if I feel like it. Standing up for 2 hours with a guitar strapped on has caused my left shoulder to be perpetually sore, though.

Playing the same songs every day for months leads to comfort and familiarity, which then leads to insights coming into focus. The pentatonic scale has become a familiar alphabet of sound, and I am writing sentences and paragraphs with more confidence and ease. Discovery of note patterns is frequent and my fingers can quickly adapt to the necessary positions and movements. I can now switch from lead to rhythm fairly quickly, and I have more chords at my disposal. Picking motion and accuracy is also better.

Normally I play everyday, but sometimes I take a day off and upon returning my body and mind have moved forward and the sessions are thus more crisp and inspired.

It seems fairly recent that I replaced the strings on the guitar. I don't know how to do it myself so I bring it to the local shop where I bought it. The charge for strings and labor is $26. The first time I got new strings they lasted 6 months. When I tested them they sounded clear and pleasing, and I thus realized the importance of fresh strings for a solid tone and feel. A few days ago I was jamming to Communication Breakdown and the high E string broke. I hopped on my bike and brought the guitar to the shop before they closed at 6:00. The clerk decided to be nice and he strung the E for me, showing me how to do it. It is easier than I thought, so I can now skip the $20 labor charge and just buy strings and replace them myself. I have 4 or 5 packages which I bought on Amazon using credit card bonus points, so I am set for a few months.

I would like to take the sessions to the next level and begin practicing 4-5 hours a day. The progress will be quicker and more satisfying, and I will have reached a level of dedication required for mastery. But, working 8 hours a day makes it difficult, and my sleeping patterns have been awful lately, getting only 4-5 hours a night due to sucking too much out of life on any given day. Working 4 hours a day allowed me to work at things for 4-6 hours and still get 8 hours of sleep per night. I drag my ass around the office feeling like a zombie, and I have resorted to taking a 30 minute nap in the basement break room during my lunch to make it through the day. Some days it feels like running an ultra marathon, I reach such lows that I just want to walk out and never come back, but then I take a nap and feel much better. The awful feelings are related to sleep deprivation, which is my own fault.

As I write this it is 11:00pm and I should have been in bed 2 hours ago, instead I am willfully heading to another 5 hour night of sleep, which will make for a miserable Monday. I keep telling myself only 2 more months until I quit, but sometimes I wonder if I can make it. Working 8 hours sitting in one place is torture, and I am looking forward to the day when it is all over, a tiresome dream coming to an end. My savings have steadily gone up, so I will soon be able to have unlimited time for my own work for at least a year.

Blue Jay

Joseph was supposed to call me over the weekend to set up a time for Sunday, but never did, so the Peach Jam has yet to happen. I had a great weekend of practice, however, and I studied the three songs in more depth. I had three sessions on Sunday, the last one where I sit with the guitar and get creative, seeing what, if anything, happens.

All of the improvising to songs has made my fingers stronger and more relaxed, and this led to a great creative session, I was doing things which surprised me, creating rhythms and melodies that would not be possible without the newly acquired finger skills. I was also able to flesh out a newly created song using my new knowledge of finding chords within the key pattern. Prior to this I could hear the song in my head, but had no idea where to find the chords or notes to finish it off, but last night I was able to add in the extra parts which made the song fuller and richer.

The progress right now is flowing and this leads to an excitement for practicing longer hours with more concentration. Now that I have the basic building stones in place, things are unfolding with more rapidity and ease. I have my mind set on learning the many chords contained within each key, which will allow me to expand the rhythms during improvisation and also aid in song creation.

I came across a blues singer named Screamin' Jay Hawkins while researching the song I Put a Spell on You, and was inspired by his original style and vocal ability. He reminds me of Bukowski.

Peach Jam

The past two weeks of guitar practice have brought more progress. My calloused fingers are now strong enough to allow 2-3 hour sets, and if I take a break I can come back for another shortened set. The extended practice times are the main reason for the progress, but also the excitement of becoming better sets my mind to concentrate intently, knowing that each day may possibly bring new insights and physical skills.

I continue to compare learning guitar to learning how to read and write. The first year I needed to learn scales (alphabet), sounds of the notes (letters), how to hold a pick (pencil), how to strike the strings (writing). It took years of schooling to learn reading/writing, and so I expect the path of guitar to be a long journey as well. However, having gained a lifetime of insights into the art learning and practicing, things should go a bit faster because I can avoid some of the mental pitfalls which can plague a young and inexperienced mind. As a teen it was easy to fall prey to the propaganda of teachers, television and newspapers, but I now know what types of thoughts lead to stagnation and confusion - thoughts of fame and wealth, or any goal other than trying my best to learn and love, are folly and will lead to quitting the activity when those things don't happen (they won't happen for 99.99% of the world's population). All I have to do is love the practice, love the journey, and not have any preconceived ideas of where I should end up. Each day of practice is an end in itself, and although I have my eye to improvement, the practice is not a guarantee of it.

Tomorrow will be the 3rd jam session of the year - Peach Jam. I suggested to Joseph that we should start the jam with an idea of sets because in previous jams we just played whatever came into our heads and some of the time it was difficult to remain in harmony with each other. To overcome this confusion it might be better to discuss before each song/jam what key we will be in and what the dominant chords are. If someone gets lost (me) it would then be easy to get back into line by returning to the key chords and notes. I also suggested three songs for the Peach Jam, something which will bind us together, but also allow us to follow our imaginations when improvising. The songs are Graveyard Train and Heard it Through the Grapevine by CCR, and a version of Down by the River by Phish and Neil Young. I have been playing my best to Heard it Through the Grapevine, and lately I have learned how to fuse both rhythm and lead, and while doing both is not difficult, it requires a set of skills which I did not possess until only recently.

I will now break down the skills needed to play Heard it Through the Grapevine. Doing so will allow me to recall the progression of learning which brought me to this point. Someone just starting out would be thrilled to be able to play along to this song, but have no idea how to, or what it takes to get there.

Achieving a level of comfort in the basic skills - holding a pick; hitting the strings with accuracy and precision; being able to play while standing up; knowledge of keys and chords; knowledge of the 5 positions of the pentatonic scale and being able to play it across the fret board, in any key; bending strings; vibrato; strumming (for rhythm).

Each of the above skills takes weeks/months/years of practice to achieve the comfort needed in order to not think about the skill while playing the music. The skill should be an automatic response of the body and mind - no thought required, but much concentration upon the music and what the body is doing - a fine line!

A beginning student has to endure and keep the faith that all of the practice is leading to somewhere good. I can recall the difficult first months of the journey, when simply holding a pick required much thought and analysis. Hitting the strings with the pick was not easy, I would constantly hit the wrong string, or hit it too hard and deep, which then stopped the pick, making the next note difficult to get to. This too required thought and analysis. All of the thinking meant that no music could be made because the mind was trying to figure out how to achieve the skills needed to make music. Not being able to make music required faith that one day in the distant future I could perhaps figure it all out.

The pentatonic scale seems fairly simple at first glance - 5 notes, 5 patterns, yet it took me 20 months to get somewhat comfortable with it, and I am still far from having it down cold. Yet I have reached the point where I can move around the board with relative ease, being able to play all notes on all strings, which now makes playing blues/rock music a possibility. I have a long ways to go with this scale, but now that I am practicing 2-3 hours a day I become stronger with it each time I pick up the guitar.

Playing standing up and sitting down are vastly different. I chose to sit down when first learning because it seemed easier on the body. After months of practice I tried playing standing up and within 5 minutes strained my foot and neck, and it was more difficult getting the hands into certain positions. By this time Joseph was asking when I was coming over to jam and I had to laugh at myself because I could not see how it was possible to jam if I could not stand up and play for more than 5 minutes. I therefore told Joseph I was still months away from jamming. I knew I had to build up the physical strength, and I had learned from running that a little bit each day adds up quickly. I therefore played a few minutes every other day standing up, and after a few months was able to practice for 30 minutes without much discomfort. The first jam in the spring I was still uncomfortable playing while standing up, but I threw myself into the fire and was able to jam for 2 1/2 hours. I had trouble playing bar chords and just about everything else, so after that jam I worked everyday playing standing up. For the past few months it has become my preferred method of playing while jamming to music due to its expressiveness. For finger exercises I still prefer sitting down because expression is not needed.

The past month my ability to play along with music has improved. I am able to find the main bass riff within a few minutes. Having the bass riff is important because I can return to it when I want to pause the lead notes. I have also intuitively learned how to find chords to songs. By knowing the key, and therefore the notes of the 5 patterns, my fingers press down on 2 or 3 notes which are close together on the board, and strumming these notes makes a nice sounding rhythm. When I later look up the chords on a tab website I find that the notes I played were the correct ones after all. Using Heard it Through the Grapevine as an example, I found that strumming the key notes near the low frets (frets 1-4) sounded good. I realized I was playing the shape of the D minor chord, and a partial F chord. When I later looked up the tabs for the song I found that D minor and A7 were the main chords, and the A7 fell into the F chord pattern I was using. The ability to find chords on the fly from knowing the notes of the scale makes improvising easier and less mechanical. Instead of thinking that I must play D minor and A7 in a certain order, with correct fingering, I now know that it is fine to create chords based on sound and feel - perhaps this is the basis of improvisation and music making?

Thinking of the above analysis and the path of my guitar journey, for the first time I am feeling a kind of power in what I am doing - I know I have a chance (a slim one) of releasing the music which is inside of me, and this makes me practice even harder, for longer periods of time - now it gets fun!

Blueberry Jam

The Blueberry Jam last night was fun, and while it was not as eye opening as the first one, I did discover new things to work on. I perceived that I am at the point where confidence in my play is becoming visible. When I was setting up I was not shy to work with the amp settings to find a good balance between sustain and distortion, but Joseph's amp appeared limited and I had the impression it was a bass amp because the low notes were strong and vibrant while the higher ones were one sided and bland. The fact that I was able to discern this exhibited that my technical knowledge is expanding bit by bit.

The first 15 minutes it was Joseph on drums and me with guitar. The sound was not decent because of the sparseness of instrumentation and me not knowing how to work the amp to my advantage. Jeff Z from 901 showed up and he turns out to be a master drummer, so Joseph played bass and we blasted through a short, powerful set. After Jeff left Mike H from the indoor pool appeared and Joseph went back to drums and Mike and I played guitar. Mike's specialty is rhythm so I got to play a lot of lead. We were able to find a few good reggae/funk beats (at one point I asked Joseph what kind of music we were playing and answered my own question by guessing "it's like a fusion blues/jazz/funk", which amused Joseph, because he teasingly referred to it later in the session) and we had a sweet jam. After finishing one set Mike said "dude, you play better lead than me, and I've been playing since high school." I did not know how to reply, but I knew I was playing better than the springtime jam and I felt more at ease.

Things which I improved on since the first jam in the spring :

- faster finger movements and better coordination, agility, and stretch
- stronger memory and knowledge of the pentatonic scale
- smoother chord transitions and strumming
- improved endurance

The thing which surprised me most was my ability to play for two hours without break. I was disappointed that Joseph and Mike currently do not have the stamina to play for long stretches of time. Joseph took a number of breaks, and Mike at one point said "I gotta work on my chops, I can't keep up". This tells me that although both are good musicians, they don't practice very often, and there is a chance if I continue to practice daily that my skills will eventually reach their level, and perhaps beyond.

Another thing I noticed is that while I am uncomfortable standing around with nothing to do but listen and talk, I find a beautiful groove once the music begins, communicating with the others through the sounds of guitar and drums. During breaks I therefore choose to continue playing guitar while the others leave the room to drink or smoke. When Joseph returned from one break he commented that my hands must be glued to the guitar. This inability to feel at ease with others when there is no activity to share means I won't become close friends with any of these people, but if they can tolerate my lack of social grace I hope to still play music with them on occasion.

Lastly, it all comes down to practice, desire, and concentration, three things which I have been working on for many years in various activities. The progress I am now making is startling and lucky, but the luck was made possible through all the work put in during the past 18 months - carpe diem!

Bass

Laura Lee & Louise

I was planning to take the day off from guitar because tomorrow is jam #2 (Blueberry Jam) at Joseph's house, but the old saying "strike while the iron is hot" is applicable, so in the morning I practiced a bit with the bass guitar, and then switched over to the strat (I bought a new bass guitar and amp yesterday!).

I don't know if I wrote about this already, but about a month ago I was working on vibrato while watching a movie and I discovered a wrist action/motion which created a sweet vibrato sound. It goes against established mechanics of vibrato in that I move my wrist up and down rather than left to right, but it works and is very easy to do. It requires a light touch and a small movement of the finger. Prior to discovering this I had been pressing the finger down too hard, and the wrist movement was too exaggerated because I was trying to imitate the correct procedure. I remember writing an entry about forgetting about book technique and searching for the correct sound rather than the right mechanics. This idea brought about my new vibrato and I am proud to say that it is my own invention.

Having obtained the beginnings of a vibrato, the next thing I need to work on is sliding the fingers to notes two or more frets up or down the board. I am beginning to find the correct mechanics and this should not be as difficult as vibrato, it just needs a lot of practice to cement the muscle memory of the distances. So I worked on that today while jamming in the late morning (an unusual time for me to practice).

Later in the day as the sun was going down I could not resist picking the guitar up and playing some more, this time to Canned Heat's second album. This was my first long double practice session, and I think there will be more now that I am making progress and things are starting to sound good. My fingers held up nicely, 3 hours of playing and no soreness or blisters. I played to a few new songs, one being a Nick Moss version of Howling Wolf's Louise. The main bass line is hypnotic, and I surprisingly found the 8 note line rather quickly. I played the bass line and then made a quick transistion to playing lead - fun! I will post the live version I was playing along too, Nick Moss is amazing!

Lastly, I felt the need to name my guitar, and decided upon Laura Lee...

Spoonful

The musician seeks to let the music play the music, but he must practice a long time before that can happen.

- quote tacked to the cork board in my music room

I have not mentioned my guitar practice lately, but I have been practicing daily. Things are starting to heat up, get interesting.

Learning guitar, or anything, is foremost an art. I don't have the ability to sit in a class or in front of a teacher and feel comfortable with what they are imparting. Books are good, but in a physical activity, such as golf or guitar, just moving into it, getting the feel of the stick in hand, swinging over and over, is the crux of the process. The reason why learning an activity is an art is because during practice the analytic mind becomes observer, making notes, and remains silent. Some people possess a scientific mind in which the analysis kicks in during the process, but I am glad I am not one of them - a silent mind is my best friend.

If the analytic mind is silent, how do I learn? Although the silent mind appears deaf and dumb, I believe it is dancing relentlessly to the beat of the will. How else to explain the consistent progress and moving forward in my guitar quest?

For the past 5-6 weeks my main mode of practice switched from sitting in a chair, banging out the Jamie Andreas walking exercise, to a standing one man jam. An hour before the sun sets I feel the pull of the guitar, so I pick it up, open the music folder on the computer, and play along to Canned Heat's first album, minus one song. After finishing the last song from the album I move to Phish's Backwards Down the Number Line. I then select one or two Cream songs, and ready myself for the finale - turning the volume way up and jamming to the 16 minute live version of Spoonful. I am connected to that song for a reason which eludes me, but one of the first things I recognized on the guitar during my first month of the quest was the two note switch back of Spoonful. I did not know it at the time but it would become one of the things which propelled me forward in the quest.

When I began the jamming practice method six weeks ago I was a bit shaky, feeling uneasy with how the guitar felt while standing. But with daily practice (60-90 minutes), my fingers toughened up further and standing began to feel more expressive than sitting. When bending a note my body bends with the string, when doing a fast note progression my eyes close and I get lost in the valley of sound which surrounds me in the darkness. Last week a desert like heat descended upon central Illinois and it was too hot to play in the late afternoon, so I took three days off. I felt uneasy during the absence and knew that I had become addicted to the beautiful sound expression reflected in the mood of a day just lived through. When the heat broke last Sunday I picked up the guitar and noticed a leap in ability and skill - note runs were cleaner and faster, the fingers were stronger, more agile and accurate. The three day layoff allowed the silent, analytic mind to work its magic, without any interference from the conscious self. The art of learning guitar was in bloom on that magical Sunday evening.

Today I experienced a BIG jump - jamming to the usual song list, I was comprehending with more precision and a fuller memory the pentatonic scale along the length of the fret board. During the past six weeks I have noticed a slow and steady increase in comfort with the notes in the scale, and today it felt almost effortless, the fingers moving up and down, back and forth, with little conscious thought, allowing the mind to concentrate upon the emotions and sounds - the meaning of the music - rather than the mechanics needed to achieve the desired sound. Added to this was another increase in speed and accuracy, along with the right hand pick gliding to the strings with greater precision. The music which emanated thus sounded confident, less abrupt and choppy. During the final song, Spoonful, I created a driving avalanche of sound which made me wonder how it all came about.

I have the sensation that I have reached the point of no return - the guitar has become a part of my experience, an extension of my life. It is looked upon with affection and love, and I trust that it will open to me a small part of its beauty and mystery each time I hold it in my caring hands.

?

After studying various details of traveling in Thailand, I was disappointed that I have no acceptable reason for extending my visa by more than 30 days. Student? Business? Visiting family? All no, so that leaves me with the tourist visa, which is 30 days. After the 30 day period I am required to leave the country for a day, and upon returning can get a 15 day extension stamp. The border runs can supposedly be repeated indefinitely, but the cost and long journey would soon become a burden once the novelty waned.

Flying into Thailand is not as simple as I thought it would be. I did not know that most countries will not allow someone to arrive with a one way ticket. Since I do not know when I am to leave Thailand, or by what method (train, bus, plane, boat, foot), I do not want to tie myself to a date and place of departure. A round trip ticket, which is required for entry, is not something which will promote wandering and a sense of timelessness. The cost of the ticket, ~$1200, is also more than I would like to pay, especially since flying to Costa Rica costs ~$450.

Since Thailand does not want tourists staying longer than 30 days, I have decided that it does not fit my main purpose - to live freely for the longest amount of time. The cost of border runs would deplete my savings faster than if I stayed at home.

I then studied details of travel in Costa Rica, and found things a bit more encouraging - a 90 day visa and cheap airfare had Thailand beat. However, the cost of living in Costa Rica is almost equal to that of living in the USA, so what then is the point of leaving the USA? I realize leaving my comfort zone and learning Spanish and immersing myself in a new culture can lead to immense growth, but growth in what area? One of the reasons I want to visit Thailand is to learn about their Buddhist culture. I don't know anything about the religious culture in Costa Rica, but my initial guess is that the Buddhist tradition there is not as strong as in the Far East.

It is now time to step backwards and reflect anew, starting once again the process of planning a new direction in my life. Having a nice apartment in a nice town has me considering that my best plan of action is no action. If my amount of leisure time can be maximized by remaining in Urbana, then not leaving may be the best choice. But my inner guide is restless and wants to strike out and explore something new.

To stay or to go.....

?

Wandering

After making the decision to resign from my job on 11/11/11, the next step was to decide upon a destination. I have no great desire to be anywhere in particular, so I wrote down the things which were important to me. Inexpensive, warm, somewhat safe and clean, were things which came to mind. That knocked out half of the world and I was left with the continents in the tropics. It came down to Central/South America and SE Asia. Once I made a choice the ball would begin to roll, so I picked Thailand as my initial point of arrival.

The next step in planning is to acquire knowledge of the country, its laws, culture, popular towns and areas. I also need to plan the logistics of the trip. Airline tickets, visas, what type of backpack to bring, what to put into the backpack, how to manage the initial 30 day period, border runs, departures to other countries. It is a bit overwhelming.

I will make an outline of the things which need to be studied and decided upon, and then work down the list, taking my time. I imagine it is a bit like planning a battle in a large scale war -something misunderstood, or entirely missed, could bring defeat.

11:11

I was walking through the park last week and in a moment of clarity decided to choose November 11 as the date of my departure. While leaving before the arrival of winter is pleasant to ponder, the mystical 11:11 is what drew me to that month and day. Since childhood, whenever I have seen 11:11 (mainly on digital clocks) my mind becomes reflective and somewhat shaken - the number acts as a trigger for a memory of something which has not yet happened.

Having chosen the date, the next task is deciding upon the initial place of arrival. I have a world map laid out on the kitchen drawing table, and every day I study it, hoping for an insight or inspiration which will lead me to the correct and logical choice. With four months remaining I appear to be on schedule for making an important change in my surroundings and circumstances.

At times I have the idea to stay put and believe that the odd desire to leave all that I know is an effect of a restless mind. But this sentiment is soon overruled by a strong emotion which I recognize as my inner compass. It is this voice which has led me to the place where I now sit, and the important choices which I have made in the past have followed it faithfully. Long ago I decided that I would follow this voice over all others, and if it brought me to ruin so be it. One of the main purposes of my life is to use it to test ideas of spirit and integrity. Money, career, stability, things which seem on the surface to be good and worthy, are trappings which destroy that purpose, the reason being that to obtain these things I would need to do work which is dead to my heart - when the heart is dead, the voice is silent.

My guitar quest is moving steadily along. The past few weeks there has been more improvement, along with new ideas and practice methods. Since implementing the idea to forgo vibrato book technique, and learn it instead through trial and error, I have been liking the direction, and made a breakthrough a few days ago. My stamina and finger strength now allow me to practice for longer periods and I am using this new found endurance to play along to live Cream songs which last from 12-16 minutes each. Jamming to Spoonful for 16 minutes is an incredible experience, I follow the bass and drums as if the band were in my living room, using the rhythms to create improvisational leads. I can have long runs where everything flows smoothly before the finger patterns break down. I have also been playing to Canned Heat's first album. I have reached a point where I can create notes which sound like the blues, but I am still a number of years away from achieving the level I would like to be at - with each passing session the confidence that I will reach this higher level grows stronger.

D-Day

I have been living on my own for the past six months, and during that time I have taken the time to reflect upon the future course of my life's journey. I was hoping by this time to have a somewhat firm idea of it, but thus far it still appears shrouded in a gray fogginess. At times I can glance the main lines and colors, but am blind to the details.

I am not too surprised by my indecisiveness because in the past I have had some lengthy waits before things became clear enough for me to choose a destination and plan of how to arrive there. I trust my intuition and inner compass, but sometimes my will has to be prodded if the circumstances are not dire. I enjoy routine and being intimate with a place, so it is difficult to slash the familiar and comfortable and replace it with the risk of the unknown. Perhaps if humans lived 200 years I wouldn't mind staying the course in Urbana for a while, but I don't have many years left, and so am constantly pondering what I would like to do.

Being in a transition phase of my life, I have been noticing that it is easy to forget all of the good things which I have accomplished in past years due to my being finished with them - enduring the hardships of manual labor in my teens and early 20's; learning to write from the heart while in college; finding my calling (photography), and making a solemn decision to work my ass off for 10 years to see what comes of it, and then extending the work until year 18; last year deciding to study guitar, with a focus being upon the learning process. On days when I am wandering around town, or lazing in bed observing the late afternoon sun paint the room in glowing yellows and pinks, I get the sense that I have done very little, but the memories of the past slowly sink into my vision and I breathe a little easier.

Today while at work I had an idea which may push my will into action concerning the style and content of my remaining days. I scribbled on a yellow post it - "set an expiration date to my life, as if I had been given the exact date of my final day on earth." Since I do not know the time and day that senor death will arrive upon the scene, I tend to forget that he is lurking out there somewhere, that his eventual arrival cannot be avoided, and this lapse of remembrance puts my sense of danger to sleep. By writing down a chosen date for senor death's arrival, I am hoping that my sense of ease will be shaken, thus inspiring my mind and will to become more courageous and imaginative. There are so many different ways to live, and having found one which is warm and comforting does not mean others just as meaningful and pleasant do not exist.

Later in the day I began thinking of Winston Churchill, and his six volume history of WWII. The sense of urgency and danger which the Germans heaped upon the English, while difficult and terrifying, allowed the English to experience "their finest hour". In the later stages of war, the American/British military knew the only way to defeat Germany was to invade the soil of Europe. Decisive action was needed, and to achieve this goal detailed planning went on for over a year. The study of maps, battle strategy and tactics, the organization of men and material, was necessary in order for the invasion to take place. Inspiration alone would not lead to success.

With Senor Death playing the part of Nazi, I must set to work on choosing a destination, studying maps, planning the tactics and strategies of the wanderer, and finally, setting the date : D-Day.

Long

I sit before you,

the beauty I lusted for

no longer reflected against my eyes.

We hold each others gaze

for a long while,

reconciling time,

but no matter how I add the moments

they don't equal the empty death

which now bows before me.

You take it so well,

being still,

your faded yellows and

dried lines

out of tune with the

rotation of the sun.

I'd like to believe that my time

and yours,

are not of the same color and type -

that what you sense and remember is

just as rich and eventful....

and long -

with some ancient thing,

sitting still

beneath a flurry of stars,

believing the same of me.

I See the Buddha, The Buddha Sees Me....