7.13.2010

Today...

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."

- Jack Kerouac (On the Road)

(Soooo glad to be back on the West Coast.)

Today... playing in my car:

(Good speakers/headphones really recommended for this one if possible...)

7.10.2010

One Last Nod to Dreams...

I just wanted to post this photo because, as it turns out, I'm not the only one that's had a dream vision come true this last week.

Before I was born, my dearest mom (who I'm with in NYC now!) had a dream that I came to her as a twenty something year old... her words, "as a twenty something adult looking as you do now"... to tell her some interesting things about myself. (This is where I leave out those things just a bit too personal to share for now.) I told her, among other things, my name (which she didn't end up keeping because her mother thought the name was far to unusual... but she kept the "J" beginning.)

In the dream I was wearing beige and standing in front of Big Ben. So this picture struck her as eerily familiar:


Coincidence? She and I both had these dreams come into physical reality the same week... the week of my Saturn return. (27th birthday astrologically signifies the beginning of your "adult" life.... Saturn returns to the same position it was in the sky when you were born and begins it's next 27 year cycle.)

What was going on outside Big Ben that day also kind of ties in... as the theme of the week was walls, jails, and finding peace... so of course I should stumble upon a peace rally with some signs literally written out in huge bold letters just in case I hadn't already gotten the clue:




(Sign below reads: Change your mind... then change the world.)

Alrighty then.


I loved London.

I heart NY.


(Did you know it's 5544 km from Heathrow to JFK? Or 3445 miles... my mom's number is 55...)


LOVE my momma.

7.05.2010

Sometimes I feel that I've fallen down a rabbit hole...

I want to pose a question:

What happens when you literally meet the "man of your dream"?

Literally.

And if that man literally stops you in the street and asks you to accompany him for a drink later... do you go? I didn't. I totally chickened out last night and didn't show up... but should I change my mind? I know where to find him... I have three more nights.

This isn't a matter of love or lust. It's a matter of paralyzing serendipity.

Sometimes chains of events such as these make life feel like one gigantic play. Whoever the director is... they sure have an idiosyncratic sense of humor.

There is no chance that this was all chance. It's not even possible.

So that's what's on my mind this morning. Do I go meet this unmistakable man? If he was anyone else I may have not recognized him at first, but it's hard not to recognize someone that's about eight feet tall... especially when they stop you so you can get a look up close without staring.

Hmmm.

Something added to the irony of this situation. I wrote someone recently:

"I do believe that we learn valuable lessons with pain......... I also believe that we choose how many of those lessons to take on at once............. and to have absolutely no walls is madness. One of the valuable lessons we learn with pain is how much we're willing to take on......... how high our tolerance is. (. . .) It would help if I hadn't gotten so close. I still adore you and think the world of you. That's a good step for me. I still don't think you've really done anything wrong. I just felt all my walls go back up really quickly.... but they're a different kind of wall. More like clear plastic walls... you know the ones............ like the thick plexi in jails....... rather than the stone ones I usually construct."

I almost erased that last sentence because it was like admitting to myself that even clear plastic walls are a kind of jail. Even worse, I was admitting it to them. (I crossed my fingers and hit send anyways, hoping they wouldn't catch the innuendo... or hoping they at least wouldn't call me out on it. Which they didn't.) Yesterday, I was reminded of that email.

I planned on fitting an unrealistic amount of museums into my schedule yesterday. I made it to one. The Tate Modern.


I was overwhelmed by the amount of genius held within it's walls. One of the specialty exhibitions was from Francis Alys, ironically titled, "A Story of Deception."

In the show, there was one particularly poignant video (for me) in which the artist "walked along the 1949 ceasefire line, known as the Green Line that divided Jerusalem until June 1967. Alÿs’ walk took two days and involved him dripping a barely noticeable line of green paint along the Green Line. (. . .) The commentators on the film used Alÿs’ act of dripping a green line as a pretext for discussing different kinds of boundary between people, analysing the ways that these cultural and political ‘borders’ come in and out of visibility, and how they might be politically reinstituted or dissolved."

During the video, one quote from an Israeli woman particularly stood out to me:

"To live with walls and borders is to live in jail in a way... to live in conflict. The conflict is internal."

So after I leave the show, I'm walking down the street pondering...

Walls and jails.

Political unrest and internal unrest.

"Art is the mirror of society... of a moment in society."

And society is a mirror of us.

The simple, poetic act of being at peace within ourselves is the key to creating peace in the world. (I know for a fact, straight from his mouth, that the Dalai Lama agrees with me on this one.)

That's when the man stops me.

Let me back it up another minute...

Some have said that I look a bit deeply into things... maybe in excess at times. Alright... I'll admit it... if I ever figure out a rubik's cube, I'll probably resort to peeling off the colored stickers afterwards to see if it lines up internally as well. "There's got to be something I'm missing here..."

This level of inquiry applies to my waking life as well as my dreams. For the most part, I have the luxury of examining these two states separately. Twice in my life now though, as they did yesterday, the two collide. (The other instance being in the "Great Goose Chase" dream that I had just before my 2008 - 2009 trip.)

Oddly enough, the dream that I had recently involving the eight foot tall man immediately reminded me of the Great Goose Chase dream... and I had it right before I left on this trip. It reminded me of the Great Goose Chase not because it was a similar plot line, but because of the clarity and undeniable depth of content and time (it lasted nearly a week.)

(Side note: dreams are evidence that linear time really exists only in our minds... otherwise how could weeks occur in a matter of hours?)

I actually wanted to write about this latest dream before I left the states but I didn't really know where to begin. It was so chalked full of emotion and dead-give-away symbolism (how much of myself can I really show?) that I finally resorted to just keeping it to myself. Days later, a friend of a friend offered me an unexpected Tarot reading at a bar in Bellingham, WA. Let's just say that, between the two, my neck hair was relentlessly on end for quite a while.

I finally told someone about said dream just two weeks ago in Bali. A lovely (ironically) English gentleman helped me analyze a few segments that I couldn't quite put a finger on... symbols that were a bit beyond the help of my dream dictionary (to put it mildly.) We had only just met and I had no idea why I would be sharing so much with him, but I was. If nothing else... it made me start thinking about the dream again.

One of the things I couldn't figure out was my meeting with an eight foot tall man. In the dream... I'm walking down the street and am greeted and stopped by the man. (I'll leave certain following circumstances of our meeting out here as they're... how shall I say... squeamish.) My new English friend asked me the important question I hadn't yet considered: "Who was the tall man to you?" I told him I was extremely happy to see the man at first... he was a good friend of mine in the dream, although this confused me when I woke up because I had obviously never met him. (Yet.)

(Another side note: if time isn't really linear, then "yet" doesn't really matter.)

Anyways... back to where the tall man stops me in the street (in real life)...

I find it totally ironic that here I am, walking down an old cobblestone alleyway on my break from the art museum (I was going back there in an hour or two), pondering walls and jails and everything it implies for happiness, freedom, inner and world peace, when BOOM... who should stop me but this unmistakable eight foot tall man...

who just happens to be the greeter of London's oldest jail.

Founded in 1144.
(He tells me immediately.)

How he went from that to asking me if I would meet him later is beyond me. He was pleasant enough, but I can't tell if there's something more he's supposed to tell me (there are a few possibilities here that I can't really get into now... even if the Bellingham Tarot card reader was right... "It's a good thing you don't care if people think you're crazy...") or if his sole purpose was to acutely highlight things that were already going on in my head; to bring the world of ideas into direct contact with the physical realm, if you will.

Either way... some clues are so big you just can't really deny them. Jury's still out on exactly how far I want to take this one.

"I don't know what I want; I am inconsistent, non-committal, passive; I like the indefinite, the boundless; I like continual uncertainty."
- Gerhard Richter


* * * *

In my headphones right now:


______________________

Side Notes:
______________________

Did I mention that I left Malaysia in International Terminal 4, got on flight MH004 on July 4, to land in International Terminal 4 in Heathrow, to go to baggage claim 4... and that my cab fair from the airport to the front door of my hotel room here was exactly 44.40? I couldn't plan this shit if I tried.

______________________

Other Great quotes from the show that really struck me:

"I have nothing to say and I'm saying it."
- Johny Cage (on his suspicion of ideologies and claims to absolute truth.)

"To paint involves a certain crisis, or at least a crucial moment of sensation or release... it should by no means be limited to a morbid state, but could just as well be one ecstatic impulse."
- Cy Twombly

"Search the shores of an ancient land,
under the stars along the sand;
between the pines and the cactus tree
see the stone where the lizard sleeps.
What is the object over there?
Who is the man by the orange tree?
The voices calling in the square?
The light that flickers out at sea?"
- Victor Pasmore

______________________

And just for you T... (because you're the only one that will get this):

As I'm leaving the show, a large photograph of a bed stops me. "Room 44" is written above it. Underneath there is a daily log, written by a hotel room cleaner (the artist), about the contents of the room day by day during someone's stay there. Many of the days she couldn't clean the room because the "Do Not Disturb" sign was up a lot. Unusual for her. Then, the last day...

"Noon, they have left. The only traces of their stay: Nescafe and crackers in the waste basket. There is the smell of smoke."

xxxx

7.03.2010

And I Go...

I'm sitting in Malaysia's self proclaimed "World's Best Airport." I'll admit that it's pretty glitzy, but nothing seems "Best" when you have a ten hour layover in the middle of the night. So here I sit... once again in an International Departure Zone.

There is something very Zen about this state of "somewhere in-between." When you have no idea what to expect when you land in the next destination, it's particularly easy to clear your mind. Tonight, Malaysia. Tomorrow, London. What awaits me there? No clue. Find out when I get there.

There are a few things that I'm leaving behind in Bali that I will miss, some more than others of course. Since I'm swimming in time right now, I thought I'd take a moment to reflect on these things. (In order of miss factor from least to most.)

1. Little Man

Every morning for my last two and a half weeks in Ubud, I would wake up here at sunrise...


... to the tenacious sounds of what I first assumed to be a ninja, heavily armed with pots and pans, in a competition with the local roosters for the "Loudest of them All" award.

(Think:
CCCCCCAAAAAAAAAAACAAAAADOOOOOOOOODLEDOOOOOOO x40
vs.
HI-YAH!!! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! HI! HI! HEY! HEEEEEEEEEEEIY! HAAA!!!!! CLANG CLANALANG ALANG CLANG CLANG ALANGALANG. HIIIIIIIIIII-YAAAAAAAH!)

In actuality, it was this little man:


For seriously, he had to come out at first light and perform this ritual everyday (about every fifteen minutes or so... all day long) to handle (what I can only assume to be) the serious task of keeping bad spirits out of his rice crops.

Of course.

I grew pretty acclimated to the noise. I did not, however, ever really get used to the way he tried to hug me whenever I left the house. Grabby little bugger.

2. My Beds (can't thank you enough Anthony...)

As far as my living conditions were concerned in Bali this year, I couldn't have asked for much better. I didn't think that I would really beat the bed pictured above... until I woke up in the bed pictured below...


Gooooooooooood Morning Padang Bai.


This last sunrise made it really hard to want to leave Bali today. But what made it even harder...

3. The People

Not that I ever get too bent up about leaving a place, but this leg of my journey was set among a most fantastic cast of characters.





Leaving this particular cast wasn't that difficult, for, although I had to say farewell, I know it wont be long before I see everyone again... be it in California or back in Bali. Soon!

Love to you all until then.

xx

6.29.2010

Another Very Brief Update

I may or may not feel like writing more when I get to London. Right now I totally don't.

Going away party for both of us.

One setting of said party.

Another setting.

An unexpected attendee.

The finale.



6.23.2010

Ode to my Little Me

Funny thing... observing your own emotions from outside yourself that is.

I can really surprise myself sometimes. It's when we think we've figured out the game that we actually set ourselves up for disappointment. That's exactly when life will test you... will throw a curveball... step in and highlight your weak spots for you to observe.

It's only when we ride high that we can fall.

So here I am, observing again.

I get taught over and over that it really is best to stay even-keeled and keep both feet on the ground. But then again, for some reason I keep getting back on the rides. It may be time to sit on the bench and people watch for a while. It is not a waste of a ticket to the park.

My "little me" really likes this song today.


My "bigger me" is laughing at myself right now.

"Little me's" take everything way too seriously.

Love you all.

6.14.2010

* * * *

I've remembered my dreams after every night of this entire trip so far, save one night (thanks to some of Nepal's finest.) Some have been staggering, some monumental, some awe-inspiring. The last few nights, they've included a very definitive cast of characters.

(You all know who you are.)

This ones for you.


Still too busy writing to really write...

6.06.2010

Ubud and Padang Bai, Bali

When I decided to come back to Bali, I had a quite irrational fear that it had perhaps changed in the last year. I now see that time, being made of rubber here, hasn't affected Bali nearly as much as it's affected me.


Last year I left the states to "find myself."


"Perhaps, as we say in America, I wanted to find myself. This is an interesting phrase, not current as far as I know in the language of any other people, which certainly does not mean what it says but betrays a nagging suspicion that something has been misplaced. I think now that if I had had any intimation that the self I was going to find would turn out to be only the same self from which I had spent so much time in flight, I would have stayed at home."


- James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room



When I first tried to plan coming to Bali this year, it was for a two week Alex Grey "seminar" on painting, our reality, and out of body experiences. For whatever reason, I decided it just wasn't in the cards for me this year. Something didn't feel right about it. After I decided not to do it, Bali became less appealing. I knew that I didn't want to come to Bali with nothing to do, to sit idly as a tourist. Last year I had something to do. I had come to find myself. This year, I had myself. Now I needed something to do with me. A project. This is about the time Honahon pitched his Nicaragua / UK Adventure plan to me. Surfing kind of sounded like a project. At that exact moment in time, I had an overwhelming urge and need to just leave the country. Period. I didn't care where to or why at that point. So I booked tickets. It wasn't until a month or so later that I was contacted by Amber and Steph.


I met Amber and Steph in Tonga last year after my month long adventure with the crazy Russian, Sergai, on Ovaka island. They had me over for a decompression dinner of sorts, once I made it back to Neiafu, and helped me mentally sort through my ordeal after I escaped Ovaka. After the decompression session, the conversation mellowed and I told them of my wonderful time in Bali and told them that they, too, would enjoy it. They ended up moving here and Amber has been working on a book ever since.


We kept in light contact over email over the last year, but nothing major. Amber contacted me out of the blue in April and said that she had a vision of me the night before. She was asking if I would please come to Bali and edit this book of hers that covers the not so simple subject of a global shift in human consciousness. They would provide the tickets, the house, and even the food.


I asked for a project. Here it was. I told her that I was already traveling during the time that she needed me there, and she said, "well then which country shall I book the tickets out of?" I changed my ticket from the UK to NYC from June to mid July. Round trip tickets were booked from London, Heathrow. (This explains why I had to fly all the way AROUND the world rather than across the Pacific for this part of the journey.)


I found it fairly ironic that the night I landed here, I was brought straight to the opening of the Alex Grey talk and exhibit that marked the start of his 'seminar.'


Full circle. Zoom to now.


"Pen's are in short supply... this is the only one left in the house."


I haven't been writing anything about what I'm doing here because of just that... I'm too busy writing to write.


However, yesterday I came on 'vacation' to Padang Bai, my Bali beach town / home away from home. My hosts were invited to stay at the Blue Lagoon, which, ironically, is the place that my friend Harlan (the sacred geometry sculptor from New York I met here last year) designed. I opted to stay at my old place here, the Serangan Inn II. True to tradition, I woke up before sunrise to the roosters, two stroke fishing boats, the cymbals, bamboo flutes, drums, dogs, and the little funny man chanting through the bullhorn in the temple down the street, to a magnificent sunrise on this very familiar balcony. I had to take a moment for myself.


Bali hasn't changed a bit.





Children still get excited over cameras and thank you for taking their picture. Traffic rules are still 'suggestions.' You still have to look out for monkeys crossing the road when you take that left through the temple scooter lane and right at the giant Ganesh statue (look out for oncoming traffic because you'll be driving down a one way street the wrong direction.) Putu still works at the Inn. Tankas still works at the Kinky. Wayan and Made still have their internet cafe, and still nap together on the floor during the slow hours. Their son is still happily married. (These people all have intricate stories woven here, if you're interested: Blarvolution.com / the Beckys, the Bobbys, the Randys, the Bettys, and a Styrafoam Butt Plug at a Balinese Wedding.)


(Just for you T... the only thing that was different or out of place in the entire town was the two french guys sitting in our chairs when I first walked up.)


I missed Padang Bai.


I, surprisingly, love Ubud though.


I knew that it wouldn't be another trip of 'finding myself,' I just didn't necessarily expect to find so many other intriguing people. Every day there's something. I'm getting very useful leads.


This led to one HUGE event. Those who know me well will know just how big this is exactly (drumroll please):


I bought a new phone.


HUGE, right?


My first one in nearly ten years.


200,000 Rp (20 bucks) for a funky little Indonesian phone.


It's not the biggest upgrade in the world, in fact, it may be the only phone in the world that could possibly be a downgrade, but the "L" button works.


"mud you" guys...


... no matter how crazy you've gone!



xx


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Question posed in my dream last night:


Is it okay to travel with a loaded gun as long as the safety's on and it's in your checked bags? (Not carry on of course.) Because evidently I need it, and that's what I'm doing.


Got any ideas anybody?


Hmmm.


? ? ? ?


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In my headphones today: