and what of hope?

slumberless,

hungerless,

i cannot sit to sup,

only walk through byways,

breathing to cool

the coals stoked

at the cradle

of my hips,

bringing fire and smoke

to the cage of ashes above.

i stop to weep

under a maple

with a prayer

that my arms alone

will be enough

to hold my being,

which is empty enough

to contain

the entire universe.

Back at Work in the City

I work food service in a busy cafe in a hospital. It's good money most of the time but high action and high stress. The customers are all the nurses, interns, doctors, patients and other workers, everyone from the public transit to the construction workers on the riverfront. Today was one of those especially trying days where everyone had some special request, weren't happy about something in their personal life and taking it out on those around them or just plain rude. To boot, I haven't slept and have had a lot on my plate emotionally and physically. None of my other coworkers were particularly happy about the day either, but I gave out a few shoulders massages and tried to keep my spirits up. The whole point of me working there, besides the money of course, is to just be the as much a bright spot in these people's day as I can. Working in a hospital isn't easy when you're treated like a vending machine, as my manager put it, and people have lots of sadness, anxiety and fear about these physical traumas they've just gone through.

But just when I thought I wouldn't be able to make it through with a positive, giving attitude, of course, genuineness came through to the rescue. A man about old enough to be my father came in with his female companion and after a transaction full of complaint from her, he looked me in the eye and said something to the effect of this: so many people come through here, ailing and sad, and you are just smiling and so positive, it really makes a difference and I sure appreciate it. I must be hard, but with your attitude, I bet you're a lot older than you look. He looked at me like if I was his son, he'd be proud and he meant it. He was a salt of the earth type of man, with an outdoor tan, beard and layman's speak. His words touched me in such a way that will not fade for moons and moons. I felt tears come near when I brought it to memory as I cleaned up to close the cafe. This is why I do what I do. Not just to make a dollar or twenty. Just to give a little care to each person who walks in with all their rawness and offer something more than a cup of coffee, but an actual real connection with a compassionate human being. Thanks, man, I hope you do have a good night.

To Portland on Sauvie Island

Shannon and I drove up in five days, car packed to the brim. We had only one blowout on Route 66, ironically close to the last place I had a blowout when I was moving across the country. It was Shannon's birthday too, so while the car was being rocked with semi-trucks passing us mere feet away on the highway and grit was blowing in our faces, I jacked up the car and sang happy birthday to her while she laughed. We stayed the night in Kingman, Arizona, the one place I had said I didn't want to stop. Funny things happen when you put aversions on. We ended up replacing all four tires due to wear and that our route would take us right through the Mojave Desert. We decided to cut across to Highway 1 and drive up the coast. On Highway 58 we stopped to pee in oil country and saw the pollution that is in my last post. Strange that this was one of the most beautiful hilly roads we had seen, fantastical and reminiscent of parts of the British Isles. Single trees and small cow herds stood on what seemed impossibly steep hills around the incredibly winding road. We stayed a rainy night near Hearst Castle in a little touristy town that seemed to scream for a Hitchcock twist. We spent a day in Oakland with some friends and had a great time seeing the neighborhoods and visiting. The last night on the road we were rained out. I woke up in a puddle and so we packed up and drove out of the campsite at a record 5:27am.

It seemed that we arrived in Portland in somewhat of a state of shock, grumpy from the road, broke and not ready for the bustle of the city. We took turns comforting each other and spazzing, probably for the first week, but our stay on Sauvie Island has been good. Our hosts are graciously sharing a smorgasbord of food and it has been wonderful reconnecting with friends. Shannon and I have planted, mowed, mulched, cooked, baked and helped out with the chickens and turkeys here, which has been a nice transition into the city. We watch the ships roll down the Colombia River and the ospreys catch fish. Next week we will be moving into a beautiful apartment above my friend's Waldorf school and I have already started work, so things are settling in only a week's time. The only thing that still remains strange to me is all this driving on highways, but once we move into the city proper I'll be back on my feet and out of the vehicle. Such a small city Portland is in the grand scheme of things, but it still seems overwhelming. The return to the country is inevitable, but I still look forward to this time here. And next week I get to fly to Brooklyn and see my best friend. It'll be my first time in New York or anywhere on the east coast. It seems laughable imagining me walking through the Big City with amazement and apprehension, not at me being there, but that it exists at all. From mountain trailer to NYC and from the desert to the Pacific Rainforest. I look forward to the next bend in the road!

Pictured on top is Mount St. Helens, Mount Hood in the middle and the old pump house with a passing ship on the Colombia.

Oil Bubbling Off Side of Road

May Day

It was May Day last year I flew in from the Pacific Northwest into Albuquerque and have been in the Southwest since. Last year I went from the airport straight to the Maypole dance at the Old School Gallery near Candy Kitchen, New Mexico. The sun came out and the snow stopped just for the dance and then came back again.

This year the snow folded us the same way, with the dance just clear of snow and the sun peeking out behind deep grey clouds showering snow in other parts of the valley. Dennis, with his fabulous pearl-snap shirt, jaunty cowboy hat with great feathers and salt-and-pepper beard, got up on the ladder to unbind the ribbons and I caught them to hand to the girls and women preparing to dance around the maypole. My sisters were around the pole, dressed in spring skirts and smiles. One of the ribbons snapped off and Dennis threw it around my shoulders, remarking with a laugh that I was the new maypole. Max later said I was the newest phallic symbol in town, ha! I wore the bright yellow-green ribbon the rest of the day. As the last ribbons came down from the pole crowned with roses, I ran back to the drum crescent and began to drum with the other men and the older women wearing pants. None of this was predetermined as far as gender or dress, it just happened naturally, without talking or arrangement, which I thought was interesting. I kept laughing with joy and also the irony that behind us, standing at the door of the gallery, was a large Zuni family observing our ceremony. The colorful ribbons braided with the weaving skips of the girls dancing and I laughed as our drumming sped up with the shortening of the ribbons, thinking about the Zuni family watching the white people's ceremonial dance of spring. How funny to think of this flip, how usually it is the other way around. The family joined us for dinner, a delicious feast of food all grown, raised and prepared by neighbors. Lamb stew, sheep cheesecake, smoked pork, beans, and corn chowder made with corn grown in Zuni. Stuffed and beaming, we rode back home and I still had the bright yellow streamer of the maypole around my neck. One year, one sun chariot, one circle of boyhood.

Soon Enough...

My sister and I will be driving out to the Pacific Northwest in about two weeks. My feet are itching but a sadness is still in the pool at my center. The quiet, the ravens, the coyote moons, they will be here and I remind myself that I will be where the water is in the forest, so I don't have to miss them, I don't have to feel loss. The city, the city, the city rumbles like a distant train coming closer and there is some dread to the rising excitement, but it is all lovely, rushing being. I can visit and give song to the canyons in my dreams, even after I am off to the salt-laughter of the oceans.

Four New Hens and Lots of Pickin'

Yesterday we got four new "buff ladies" we named Swanmay, Thrasher, Butch and Elvis. They seem to be integrating into the flock well, but they think their house is my trailer. Maybe they like the way it smells. On that note, I've been writing lots of songs about living the classy country life and such. I'll be posting more up on YouTube as the satellite on the trailer can handle the uploading...

Here's my newest one (recorded yesterday!) called Rich:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2qrgprXhNI