On Repeat Today...

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.)

(Why is that important?)

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

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

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.

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.

Very Brief Update

xx

* * * *

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...

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

______________________

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.

? ? ? ?

______________________

In my headphones today:

Mission Complete

The Mission:

May 29

American Airlines flight AA986 at 7:20 am - 11:44 am from Managua to Miami.

Collect baggage... at carousel 4... and clear American customs... line 4.

Find a cab that will take me to a post office in Miami to ship a large Nicaraguan purchase to Washington. Turn around when I see the meter go beyond the value of said purchase and realize it's saturday.

Find a suitable bar for a 5 hr layover.

Re-check bags and clear Miami security.

American Airlines flight AA56 at 5:00 pm - 6:35 am from Miami to London.

May 30

Collect baggage... carousel 4... and clear English customs* (see full story below).

Take a train to international departure terminal 4.

Find a suitable breakfast cafe for a 5 1/2 hr layover.

Check into Malaysia Airlines, re-check bags and clear Heathrow security.

Malaysia Airlines flight MH003 at 12:00 noon - 7:25 am from London to Kuala Lumpur.

May 31

Find the nearest train to take to collect baggage, clear Malaysian customs... line 44, which included but was not limited to my first ever thermal body scan (for fever and any signs of H1Mwhatever), and panic slightly when I realize how much there is to do in a 3 hr layover.

Malaysian's International Arrival Airport is completely separate from Malaysia's International Departure Airport. This was a first. Fuck the bus. Buy a ticket for an airport limo to take me to said airport, which turned out to be a half hour drive away in a Malaysian style racing limo. I am definitely back in Asia.

Get out and smell clove cigarettes in the air. Realize I'm getting really close now.

Check into Air Asia, re-check bags and clear Malaysian security.

Air Asia flight AK362 at 10:55 am - 1:55 pm from Kuala Lumpur to Denpasar.

Collect bags.

Clear Indonesian customs.

See Steffan waving and smiling.

Smile big back.

Re-adjust to Balinese driving style (this mostly means forgetting that those white lines actually mean anything.)

Get to Ubud.

Call Christoph.

Big dinner with everyone.

Go to the Alex Grey charity show.

Whoa.

Must find sleep.

Fall asleep to the sound of frogs in the rice terraces.

Wake to the sound of roosters and exotic birds.

I'm in Bali.

Hooray.

_____________________________________________

*Heathrow airport shattered for me, once again on this trip, that age old American girls' quixotic conjecture that men bearing an english accent are, assuredly, gentlemen.

Heathrow is now officially the first airport that has pulled me into a room for a full body search. It wasn't the fact that they did the search that swayed my full vote on this issue... it was the manner in which they did it.

The man that plucked me out of line was very pleasant about the entire procedure. Too pleasant.

While I was putting away my things he strutted up, looked me up and down with my sweater still off, smiled broadly and asked, "would you like to please come with me mum for a body search after you've packed your items?"

I said it hardly seemed it was a question of liking. He laughed and concurred. I picked up my bags and started walking with him. He asked if I had come far. I commented on how many hours I'd flown and how many there still were to go.

He said it shouldn't bother me, I looked gorgeous and none the worse for the ware. He then asked, "could I hold anything for you? Could even hold you if you like, throw you over me shoulder even and take you the rest of the way."

I declined his offer and was taken into a small room that, despite my having nothing to hide, still made my heart pound like I did.

After I passed the screening, I was escorted back out and my accompany commented that he hoped to see me again and would look for me on my way back through.

Note to self: Don't go out in England. It seems it'll be far too much of a hassle.

Jiquilillo, Nicaragua... Extended Edition

12° 44' 0" North, 87° 26' 0" West

Well to make a long story short, I'm very glad I stayed another week in Jiquilillo.

The Set:

The house.

The front yard.

The Cast of Characters:

(Pics removed by request.)

Honahon.

Frenchie.

Jameson's temporary replacement.

These three characters were fairly prevalent for my first week in Jiquilillo. We were all supposed to go to the UK together on the 22nd, but due to some difficulties on the set, I decided to stay on by myself for another week and let them go.

Me.

Although my original travel companions left, I was hardly alone for the next chapter.

My most constant companions:

Danny Jose. 13 yr old guard / spanish tutor extraordinaire.

A very smart kid with a heart of gold. Danny spoke a tiny bit of english, so every night we swapped lessons with each other.

Jeferson Oniel. 10 yr old patrolman / portrait artist.

Jeferson didn't speak any english, so we communicated mostly through body language until I figured out that he's a really talented artist. We started drawing a lot of pictures for each other.

Dionel. 17 yr old bodyguard / card player.

Dionel was the fiercest of the boys, but still had a pretty big soft side. We spent a lot of time playing card games late into his night watch duties.

Although our language barriers came up a lot, by the end of the week we all understood each other pretty well. When my car was leaving this morning I had to actually fight back some tears. Especially when I was trying to explain to Danny what "I'll miss you" means.

Momma and Mutley. The ferocious house guard dogs.

Becky.

This girl and I had an adventure together that I will never forget...

If you asked me before I went on this trip if I would ever ride two and a half hours alone, after dark, during a torrential down poor, through the pitch black, unmarked, foreign streets of an extremely impoverished fishing town, in a country where I hardly knew the language, to a beach lit only by vicious lightning striking the incoming tide's waves that I had to race home on a horse that was afraid of water before the beach was totally gone... would I do it? I probably, definitely would have said no.

I blame these two.

William and Xavier. The two french chefs. They had tempted me earlier in the day by inviting me up to their place, which by car takes about 45 minutes to get to on the dirt roads. On the phone I misunderstood exactly how long it would take by horse and beach, then through a fishing village and up the hill on a route I had never taken. Lost in translation (common theme of the trip.) The assumed 30 minute trek was actually two hours at a fast pace (I was really determined to get there and since all the locals kept agreeing I was going the right direction I knew I wasn't lost... just not there yet.)

By the time I finally made it up their driveway I found William and Xavier in their newly opened pool. They were literally having the very first swim and asked if I would like to join them and some margaritas in said pool. After two hours of riding in the sun it sure seemed like a good idea. Such a good idea in fact, that I didn't even really notice the sun starting to set before the incoming clouds.

When they invited me to stay the night I said that would probably be best, mostly because I didn't bring a saddle on the way up because of the ride's imagined distance and Becky's backbone wasn't exactly comfortable anymore. I called my place to tell the boys I wouldn't be home that night and Danny handed the phone over. I had guests at my house. Lots of them. I had completely forgotten that a couple had intended on making me dinner that night. Two canadians, three americans, and four locals were drinking on my porch and making dinner. When would I be home? Blar.

Xavier reluctantly lent me his saddle and off I went into the night. As soon as I took that first left from their driveway and started down the hill into the village it started to rain. I immediately figured out that the headlamp wasn't a good idea. (Thanks anyways T.) None of the locals riding around had one. It wasn't long after that that the monsoon, thunder and lightning started.

The image that sticks out most to me now are all of the dimly lit huts on the side of the road, all full of people and dogs watching me slip past in the darkness... some yelling out and barking... some not. All wondering why on earth I was riding at that hour... most asking questions that involved vocabulary Danny and I hadn't quite covered in our short time together.

Despite my intimidation, I felt committed. After resolving to not turn around I did some deep breathing exercises and reminded myself that the world is a good place.

I felt resolute peace despite my environment. I'm really glad we did it.

Anyways... sorry that was a big side note... back to the cast:

Bodhi. SoHum big surf bro-bra. He owns the house we rented and knows just about everybody I know in NorCal. It was really nice to have somebody that understood my situation and so graciously extend an offer to stay longer. Thanks Bodhi.

Mini Bodhi... who I only met briefly.

The boat.

The rods.

The boards.

The locals...

Who learn very quickly might I add...

They thought I was crazy at first. Ha.

The Plotline:

If something's broke... get creative.

(Yes that's a Pam spray oil can extending that exhaust pipe that just fell off our truck. No worries, a nylon belt did the trick for the rest of the way.)

(Yes that's a bungee chord we used to fix the door that suddenly stopped closing. Could've had something to do with the door handle that was now a shoestring tied to a bent coat-hanger.)

The Main Point:

Over and Out.