8.18.2014,5:49 PM
On the Road again. Road of Life.
This recent trip was my first solo camping expedition since 2009. It was the last snip off of old garbage, a rediscovered freedom; the old me surfaced and spread wings. It's been way too long.

I saw and met many new places, things and people. They all enrich my life. I will never trade this ongoing discovery for anyone or anything ever again. It makes me who and what I am and I am grateful I am living this life here and now.

THIS is how life should be. Living it.

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posted by Macrobe
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7.21.2014,8:37 PM
Back in business!!
Alright! Blog header image is back up and now we can move on!
Thanks again to good friend Lyle Gunderson for having a back-up of the image :)

I will try to bring the journey to Oregon and adventures in eastern Oregon up to speed over the next few weeks. Have two months to catch up on!!

Meanwhile, here is a teaser.

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posted by Macrobe
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7.20.2014,9:28 PM
The journey.
"Go out in the woods, go out. If you don't go out in the woods nothing will ever happen and your life will never begin.” (Clarissa Pinkola Estés)

My life has begun again.

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posted by Macrobe
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7.12.2014,12:35 AM
Night Music
As light gives way
to darkness
they dance hand in hand
with colors and shapes
songs and wings
and the changing
of the guard
goes on for hours.
Watch, listen and
They dance

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posted by Macrobe
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6.16.2014,12:33 PM
Looking through a window
I left the box almost running through the door, ready to throw myself through the window. I ran hard and fast, mind and heart in turmoil, while trying to breath slow and steady. ‘Maintain, focus,’ was a repeated mantra in my brain, while my spirit fought with my heart and my mind as the referee.

In one corner crouched the Dark Fury yelling and exuding anger. Bright Song huddled in the other corner with an aura of calm resolution that soothes torrential storms. In the middle of it all, an old woman stood on shaking ground with her palms held out to the corners. Although her balance was precarious, each foot drew from underneath her the power of the ground that rooted her like an ancient tree.

Dawn Treader rose in the sky and spoke to the trio, “Bend like a willow and remain strong like the oak. Be true to yourself. Remember that which is drawn up through your roots and nourishes the leaves. Embrace the sunlight as it gives you life, while relinquishing to the night for rest and rejuvenation. Let the rain wash your sorrows and failures off you, but retain their memories as lessons that eventually form the fruit and seed. All these become new leaves, branches and roots. These are the parts of you that enable you to grow. Your fruit and seeds become new adventures and experiences, shaped by all that is you. And in the shelter of your strong trunk and canopy will those that seek peace find solace and strength. Including the spirit, the heart, and the mind.”

As I moved further away from the box, I was able to look back and see the past as if it were a movie in slow motion. Sometimes we can’t see our paths because we are on them. Too caught up in beating off the pesky bugs, avoiding slippery floors, cleaning up the spills, fielding intrusions, trying not to trip on obstacles, polishing the surfaces and sometimes sweeping dirt under the rugs. At times we look in the mirror and ask ourselves, “What happened? What am I doing here? How did this happen? Why didn’t I do something else?”. Some of us avoid mirrors.

Looking through the window of the box I saw a story unfold. And the old woman inside began to feel the ground underneath her settle. Dark Fury and Bright Song approached her and held her hand in theirs. A connection formed that flowed between them, surrounded them and melded them. As a breeze blew over them, they bent and straightened like a large thriving tree.

I turned and walked slowly away, finding my path, and wandered on, unafraid of turns and hills. In my pockets, I carry newfound fruits and seeds that nourish my journeys. And scatter some along my way.

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posted by Macrobe
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6.13.2014,5:30 PM

As we journey forward
We leave breadcrumbs
On our path
Not to find our way back
But to remember
Where we’ve been.

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posted by Macrobe
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6.09.2014,7:04 PM
What souls are these?
Tattooed on the arm of the girl in the store was this: "You don't have a soul. You are a soul."

This tickled old chimes in my memory, way down in the dungeons of the abyss. Long ago, covered with dangling cobwebs, smelling of must and muffled, an echo quivered. "I know you."

Yes. That was it. From a book that I loved. Ideas that grew and formed my outlook on life.

Forty-five years ago I read a book for my English class, Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter Miller. I had to write a book report on it. I got carried away and wrote 5 or 6 pages worth of meandering thematic thoughts. Science, philosophy, human nature, theology, history, society and culture.

The first three pages of my graded paper were marked with some red lines and scribbles correcting some grammar or sentence structure. Then a sentence in red pencil in the left margin: "I give up. I have to read this book. What do you do on weekends? Tell me you at least go out and play."

I did. I still do. But reading and books have been more than just words on paper, or on a screen. They are the voices of thousands of souls. Human, non-human, physical, spiritual, past, present, future, fantastic, mythical, astronomical, microscopic, universal.

A thread ties us, everything, together. In and out, around, under and over. When I see a hill, I see a mountain that was, the rocks that it begat, and the sand that it eventually becomes. I see and smell the musty soil that it feeds, the plants that it nourishes, the animals that feed on them. I hear the rain and lightening which  hastens its transitions and feel the hooves and claws that walk on it. And me, you, we, are no different than this mountain. We came, we are, we were.

We as humans are terraforming this earth. This mountain is now a hill and its soil is being consumed. We, too, will pass. And it will probably start all over again. Just like it has before.  Perhaps this is what Miller had in mind. And I wonder if this is what dove him to suicide.

It's been many decades since I read the book. He wrote a sequel shortly before his death in 1997. Perhaps I need to read that one, too. After all, it was Miller, Steinbeck, Tolstoy, Asimov, Moorcock, Kipling, London, Poe, and even Robert E. Howard -all authors of my youth- that spoke to me and inspired me to write. And to think.


posted by Macrobe
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