Auld Lang Syne

My uncle became a millionaire.

There was an army base in a dry county. The story goes: there were so many servicemen who died in drunk driving accidents, because they had to drive an hour away to drink.

My uncle incorporated a town just across the county line, and opened a liquor store. You know, to save lives. And to become a millionaire.

After the divorce, we didn't see or hear much about him. My aunt was the heart of the family, and he was just (to my child-mind) just some guy now.

I don't remember the last time I saw him. I was probably five, or younger. I know his kids, eventually, had not seen or heard from him for many, many years.

Then, one day, he just showed up. He came to the family house, and everybody was shocked and glad to see him.

He was no longer a millionaire; he was, in fact, destitute. And he said he had never been happier. He had not come around for money or support, he was just happy and wanted to be with his family. 

Not long after, my cousin, his son, had met a Christian lady, and decided to convert to Catholicism. He was being confirmed and, because of his history with drugs, and all kinds of other terrible behaviours and habits, the whole family just had to see it. Call it perverse curiosity.

So my uncle had been welcomed back into the family just in time to attend the biggest reunion our family has ever had.

The next day, he was found dead in a lake. All signs suggested this was an intentional death. Nothing before suggested his intention. I choose to believe he had simply never been so happy before, and decided that was how he wanted to feel at the end of his life.

-

Last week, I attended the largest reunion My chosen-family has ever seen. There were fourteen of us, and only one person I met for the first time. Everyone else, I had met over the past twenty years.

It was so lovely, so loving. A culmination of so many paths, beginnings and ends, joys and heartaches.

I went into this, thinking of my uncle.

The past ten years of my life have been the worst ten years of my life, I think. I did not show up at this party at my pinnacle; I came to see the end of a hard time, and to set an intention to move forward well, in the company of such great hearts.

I promised myself, so many years back, that I would not kill myself. It is maybe the only promise I have ever kept, and I will keep it.

I am not my uncle, but I want to know what he knew, that next morning.

I am still wondering, and wandering, and lost.

you can't look forward while you're looking back

I did it. I lived the adventure of living like a real person in this society.

Bank account, name on lease, car payment, utility bills. I have held a job for over five years, which pays enough for me to live on my own.

At least, it did until now. Now that rents are increasing 25% or more all over the place.

Last year, I visited Colorado, and saw a friend I met at work in 2007. A few months later, another friend from that same job came to stay with me for a week.

I worked at that job for nine months.

Several months ago, I received my five-year bonus, and realized in this time I have not made friends a closely as I did in such a shorter time.

I have not let myself get close to anyone in a long, long time.

Then came the rent increase. I suppose technically I could afford it, but it got me thinking, how much is this life worth? 

This life of living to pay rent, this life of making arm-length friends.

So lucky am i, to have found this life as we entered a pandemic. Stability has never felt so precious! But how long can I stand it? To be less than I am? 

What does it mean, to think I am bigger than this life? 

So. Here I am, freshly once-again homeless. So close to falling in love. Still employed, still the caretaker of my ex-step-dad; still anchored. But less so, and almost ready to let go of the last tethers.

Will I?

Can I?

The Escapist

"All these walls were never really there,
Nor the ceiling, nor the chair.
I'm eking weeks of peace at the beach
I see the breezes weave the trees,
These walls, you'll find, are yours and mine
Defined not by them, I"
-The Streets, "The Escapist"

Day... one? Day nine?
I left the monastery on October 5, riding with Trime to Halifax, on the same flight as Trime to Boston. My cousin & her husband allowed me to stay in their house, with a quiet hideaway, a luxury apartment of a basement. All the noise--the talking, the music, the cars, the hammering, the music, the televisions--was a lot to take in, and I was easily exhausted. I learned some balance between kindness to myself, and discipline.
So moving forward really began last Thursday, the 13th.

Robin and I walked through Boston. I had loved the city when I visited for her wedding, 21 years earlier, and always wanted to return.
This time, walking about, my brain kept checking it against the landscape in Assassin's Creed 3. Was reverting to video-game memory escapism? Or was I appreciating the quality and educational value of the game? No reason to think it wasn't both.

After a good day & a few drinks, Robin dropped me off with my couchsurfing host.
I found his situation via couchsurfing.org, which has been such a valuable resource as I've traveled. This fellow had good references, lived around where I needed to be the next day, and responded promptly. Trifecta.
When I rang the doorbell, he came around the corner of the house & indicated I should follow him. The door on the side of the house was small, and I had to duck to enter, down the stairs, into the basement. (Cinderblock walls, a table, two chairs, and a refrigerator.)
Through a door, into a furnished area (white tile floors, finished walls painted taupe) and into a room with three twin mattresses, spread wall to wall with only a few inches between them. I ask if there are other guests, and he points out that the middle is his bed. Mine is the farthest from the door. Another guest will occupy the third, yes.
We sit and talk. He's friendly and funny. Brazilian, living in Boston now 14 years. He offers me a drink, but I'm not yet sure how I feel about where I am so I decline.
His English is good, but he's had no context to learn about Buddhism or monasticism, so when he asks about what I've been doing & about the weird clothes he saw in the photos on my profile, we hit a language barrier.
I ask about him. He watches Brazilian football, Brazilian teledramas. He hosts a lot--he's actually moved down to the basement because his roommates upstairs complained about having so many guests. I wonder why there are only six references on the website, if he hosts so often.
I use the bathroom. There's no door. I don't wonder about the references any more. What can be said? Where does one begin?
I admit to myself that I'm not going anywhere, and accept his drink. Brazilian Caphirinha. Made strong, with lots of sugar. It is enjoyable, but I haven't had much sugar this year. I wake up at 1am and can't get back to sleep for three hours.

The next morning, I'm waiting for Deidra with my luggage. No harm, no foul, but I am out of here.

Here we go. Back on the road.
In 2013-2015, I had (gasp!) settled down.
It wasn't intentional, but a good job (a great job, even) plus a cushy living situation (read: free house) lured me into complacency. As Ani Pema taught during Yarne, when one spends one's time inside their comfort zone, that comfort zone gets smaller and smaller. I had seen it happen to people, but had somehow overlooked it happening to me.
Time with friends was entertainment, time alone was music & drinking--filling space and time. Life was good, no? People wish they had it so good.
But within the first few months at Gampo Abbey I realized that this life hadn't just been uneventful. It had been harmful. Willpower & self-discipline diminished, relationships atrophied, bravery & confidence almost completely absent. I still recognized my ideals on an intellectual level, but was no longer walking the talk. Heck, I wasn't even talking the talk after a while.

As we studied and discussed "The Thirty-Seven Practices of a Bodhisattva," I realized that giving up my home & belongings had been a form of generosity; constantly moving & interacting had kept me in my practice. There's no one right way to live, but living on the road is my way.

And so here I am.
Halifax to Boston, Boston to Karmê Chöling, to Burlington, to NYC, and tomorrow to Chicago. Then Denver, then San Francisco, then Portland, Seattle, and back to Boston.
At least, that's what the plan looks like today.

Fast Unfolding

While visiting Wisconsin last summer, Sam Dodge told me I seemed haunted. And I was. John and Oshinn had moved on, the farm was out of my hands, and I was haunted by the ghost of the purpose that had fueled me for the two previous years. I was just coming to realize that the farm had gone the way of the boat, and that it was time for a new Rosewater vision.

In September I attended a six-day retreat which featured daily teachings from Thich Nhat Hanh. The idea of accepting his Five Mindfulness Trainings (a contemporary form of the Buddha's five precepts to become a monk) was presented early, and it took me days of consideration before I decided to accept them.
This retreat had upon me the same effect that I'd experienced after my time in the hospital in 2005--I had rediscovered my volition.

These days, not an hour goes by that I don't consider the teachings I encountered at Magnolia Grove in September. Even though my practice is built upon my own experiences rather than others' teachings (and this is something I sometimes struggle to remember), Thây provided a framework that I find infinitely useful for organizing how I think about my experiences.
I feel more excellent every day--even the bad days.

Also in Magnolia Grove, I had my first experience of Sangha. Through my studies of Buddhism I had a book-learnt appreciation for sangha, but no practical experience.
Sangha is the Sanskrit word for a community of practitioners. At the retreat, we would split into smaller groups of 15 or so people (determined by "family names" on our name tags--my family was "Timeless). We would sit in a circle with a nun. She would talk about a few things, introducing a topic, and we would each in turn share our thoughts on it.
This might not sound like much, but it was amazing.

I intended to join the sangha in Nashville after returning, but never quite got around to it.

Then Leslie visited in February, and asked me to join her at the meditation center where we used to go all those years ago. On Sundays, the Nashville Shambhala group meets there and, since Leslie is so richly involved in the Northern California Shambhala community, they were happy to turn part of the session over to her.
She led the group in social meditation--a form of meditation that is growing out of Boston Shambhala, and that is not very unlike what I experienced with Timeless in Magnolia Grove.

While socializing after the session, one of the coordinators said she would love to have a young meditators' group like Leslie has in San Francisco.
Leslie told her they should have me lead it. And from that moment on, that's been the plan.

Three weeks ago, I went to San Francisco for a summit of young meditator group leaders from around the world, and was introduced to the Ziji Collective. This is a collection of meditators (mostly involved in these young meditator groups) with an eye on social engagement. Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche came to speak to us, discussing the significance of the Ziji's work to the Shambhala vision of enlightened society, and then we spent several days in each others' company--socially, as well as in meditation and in workshops.
In such a community, I found it so easy to be open, both inwardly and outwardly. To share that with so many people for such a long period of time was incredible. Each connection was like those that I've reserved for the few people I've been "in love" with; the entire experience felt like falling in love again and again.
Leaving that could have been difficult, if it hadn't also fostered the intention to let go of attachments.

I was very excited to bring that back to Nashville, to my first group session the next week.
But then there was some discussion over the dates of our meeting. And then there was more discussion.

By this past Sunday, two long weeks (seriously? it felt like months) since returning from San Francisco, I felt the last of that energy slipping away as I walked up the stays to the Dharma Center. "Longing" was the word that kept coming up in conversations at the summit; this day the word I felt was "lament."
This stayed correcting itself right away, thigh, as I walked in the door. I walked right into a meeting determining the definite days for my group to meet (twice a month, rather than once!). And during the announcements at the end of the session, there was an exciting exchange.
One of our practitioners mentioned that she was going to Karme Choling in Vermont for level 2&3 training. Another mentioned that she had a friend in Boston Shambhala who would be assisting there. This friend from Boston had also been at the summit in San Francisco. BOOM. All the energy was reignited.

In the entrance room, there were six of us who stayed behind for conversation, already excited for the potential that the Ziji energy has in Nashville.

This is also the Rosewater energy.
I am very excited.

The Jubilee Rolls On

Historically, Jubilee is a time of absolution and the lifting of burdens. In the Holy Bible, the Book of Leviticus (perhaps best known today for telling people how to live), we are encouraged to celebrate Jubilee every fifty years, by freeing slaves and absolving debts.

That's the spirit behind Strike Debt's Rolling Jubilee project, and the letters mailed to the 44 people so far who have benefited from it: "You no longer owe the balance of this debt. It is gone, a gift with no strings attached. You are no longer any obligation to settle this account with the original creditor, the bill collector, or anyone else."

Today's economy is weird and complicated, working in ways more mysterious than God. Part of it involves the speculation market--companies buying, insuring, and ultimately gambling with our debt. Basically, for pennies on the dollar, the part of you that Company XYZ used to own now belongs to Company ZYX. They don't expect you to fully pay it off--in fact, if you do, then they have one less chip in the game. Debt is big money, and with the Rolling Jubilee, Strike Debt is buying in.

Originally, the goal was to raise $50,000, use that to buy $1,000,0000 worth of distressed medical debt on secondary debt markets, and then... let it go. The project launched on November 15, 2012, and by the end of that day the site had raised nearly 10x its goal. In mid-December, the first purchase was made: $5,000 was enough to absolve 44 lucky people of their medical debts.

Please, check out the Rolling Jubilee website. Read it all over (more important than money is knowledge, and the site provides several kinds of it) and, if possible, make a donation. Even if you con't make a donation, consider spreading the word. Share it on Facebook. Share it on Twitter. Tell your mom about it. Tell your pastor, your neighbor, your bartender, the person beside you on the bus.

In the first two days of the campaign, enjoying a good amount of media attention, the site raised nearly $500,000... and yet, in the sixty-four days since then, the site has raised less than $50,000 more. I don't have the money to spare for a donation, but clearly, this idea takes off when it gets attention.
And I believe it deserves attention.

What is the problem?

These three articles:

God Is Not A Christian: Desmond Tutu And The Dalai Lama's Extraordinary Talk On God And Religion

The Blessings of Atheism

Guns don't kill people; people do … with guns

yesterday's choices through today's eyes

Stephanie recently asked me these questions about some of the decisions I've made in life. It gave me a good excuse to look back and see what got me where I am today. ***What encouraged you to pursue the path of a Buddhist monk? I spent a lot of time alone in the woods growing up, and noticed there was a certain aspect of life that was present in solitude that disappeared when I was around others. Whatever it was, I loved it and lived for it. Even though I like being around people and love my friends, the solitary life, for pursuit of whatever this thing is, is what I most want. I was a monk before I knew a monk was something to be. I had looked into a few religions, and for a while considered myself more Hindu than anything else. But I was raise Christian, and am a fan of the Catholic monk John Michael Talbot, so when I decided to make my monkhood official, I intended to join his monastery, The Brothers and Sisters of Charity. I focused my studies from general to Catholic, but eventually had to admit that I could not reconcile what I was learning with my personal experience of the world. The cognitive dissonance was maddening. So I went back to a general study of philosophies, and stopped trying to force myself to see things in a certain way. When I learned of the Nyingma Institute, I asked a Buddhist friend if he knew about it. He had, and suggested over 100 books (many of which they used to teach at that school), and that I take the Bodhisattva vow. I bought many of the books and studied from them. After reading about the vows, I thought and felt that was the experience I had been looking for. ***What finally deterred you from it? Nothing is final, and perhaps "detoured" is better word for what happened. It was a string of coincidences I followed toward Nyingma, so when those coincidences pulled me in a new direction, why would I refuse? As I said, I was a monk before I knew it. Not reaching the destination is, so far, the world I have learned to accept.

The Secret Meaning of Life

John asked yesterday, what do I think about, instead of a walking trip, a biking trip? My answer, immediately, was "a walking trip." I suppose in my say-yes-to-life efforts, I ought to jump at the idea of something like a biking trip, something far enough outside of my thinking that I never, ever would have considered. But the thing is, I have for so long wanted to go on an incredibly long walk. If we walked to Nashville, I would never say, now let us do this on bicycles, whereas if we rode bicycles to Juno, Alaska, I would (after a year of recovery at least) say, Now I would like to walk as far. (Because, apparently, I speak like A.A. Milne.) John pointed out that a biking trip would be much faster than a walking trip. I countered that a flying trip would be faster still (John thinks that flying is the worst form of travel, since you pass the journey by.) And that got me thinking of the book of traveling stories I want to compile. I always think about the journeys I would like to take, and about how I will one day have enough stories to compile. But really, I do. I just always feel like there should be something more. As if I will finally find do the thing that makes everything and myself feel completely different. But even though I am already a completely different person from the Court who hit the road in 2007, I have never felt like anything other than myself. Life just feels like living. I can put myself in the weirdest situations, can chase high adventure on the seas, or in the city, or on a farm, or even (if I get around to making my hot-air balloon) in the air. But once I have, and I come home, waking up in a bed will still feel like waking up in a bed. And though that may be magical after living on a bicycle for a year, eventually the magic will wear off. Because it does not matter what you do with you life. If you are a musician, a veterinarian, a hobo, a housewife, a film director, a banker, or something else entirely, the only thing that matters is how you feel about being that thing. I once had a job that required me to vacuum a department store from 7-9am. I enjoyed it quite a lot. Jeremy hated it, and quit after two weeks. There is no miracle path to happiness. (There is just the regular path to happiness. And you walk it every day.) It does not matter what it is you want to do with your life. It only matters that you do what you want to do with your life. If you do not want to do something, do not do it. Now of course there is such things as concessions and sacrifice. If you have children, you must provide for them. If you want a house, there are things to be done in order to obtain one. So it is true what we have heard: sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do. But you don't always or forever have to do things you don't want to do. If you make your bed once, you do not have to sleep in it a thousand times.

The Return of Court Anonymous, pt 1

Last night, John, Oshin and I went into Nashville to watch the Music City Roller Girls defeat the Boardwalk Bombshells of Santa Cruz. We met up with Scott there, and he returned to the house on Fleet Town with us. Today, rather than staying here and working with them, I am going into Nashville with Jason and Violet to see The Avengers. Lately, I have been feeling down about not getting more done at Rosewater. But I do not feel bad about going into town today, nor about leaving my friends behind to work without me. I am not shirking responsibility, and I am not seeking entertainment. My reason for why I am going can be explained by an examination of the Fifth and Sixth Secondary Downfalls of the Bodhisattva Vow (which I will do in the near future; after this blog, I am going to begin anew my exploration of these "downfalls," which is something I first began in 2006). But this post is actually about something else. Why I, Court Anonymous, Am Not A Leader: Because I do not care to be. I do not have the answers and reasons to tell people what they ought to do. Nor do I aspire to. The thinking described up to this point has led me to return to Geshe Kelsang Gyatso's book, The Bodhisattva Vow. Reading less than a page made me realize how undisciplined my mind has become. It was my mental- and self-discipline that revealed to me what I believe is "my path." It is the greatest talent I have. If I have anything to offer The World, it is this. If I feel comfortable to lead in any way, it is by example rather than edict. Rosewater is not a thing we are all working toward (that, I feel, would be a commune). Rather, what we are all working toward is what will make Rosewater. We each want something more in life, and this property is a place where we can work towards these things we want. I personally feel like I have more to offer than what our current system allows for. I feel that within this system I have to make compromises and allowances that leave me feeling like my offerings become weak and distilled. I believe that the world we live in is what we make of it, rather than we being what we can make of ourselves within this world. I believe we each have something to offer, in that we each have some thing (or things) about which we are passionate, and that we can find a way to follow and develop this spirit (as opposed to limit or extinguish it in the name of the status quo). I am not excited about building cabins. That is not what I have to offer, though I can help in their building--and I will be glad to. The idea of accomplishing this interests me, but it is not where my spirit leads me. I do not care if no cabin is ever built (which I am afraid is why no cabin is being built). Where, then, does my spirit lead me? Well at the present moment, I want to rediscipline my mind. This may require a cessation of drinking, and reinstituting my quasi-vegan diet (both of which I might discuss in my discourse on the Second Secondary Downfall). But certainly it will require re-reading The Bodhisattva Vow, and Shantideva. It will also surely involve non-Buddhist actions (since, you know, I'm not actually a Buddhist), such as applying myself to the tasks at hand with Rosewater. Doing things I don't want to do, when all I want to do is sit at home reading or playing video games. This being-myself is what I care to do, and the only example worth setting. A subtle leadership: do not do as I do, studying Buddhism; do as I do, making every effort to be yourself as well. Find (as Sir Ken Robinson calls it) your Element. Self-discipline is mine.

The Object of Success

I have long been convinced that one of the biggest differences between people is the perception of the object of success. Now, reading Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, the subject is once again on my mind. In 2008, I moved to Seattle. I was in my early thirties at that point, and had lived in four states in the previous year. Washington was my fifth, and I planned to stay for four months before making California my sixth. I was going to be a monk. By comparison, Jenny was in her early twenties and, except for trips to Disneyland, she had never been far from Washington, and did not plan on that changing. She looked forward to being married and having children in the not-too-soon-but-not-too-distant future. We were an unlikely couple. Travel is not my passion. If it were, I would be writing from the road. But I love to travel. I like to see new places, meet new people, and do unusual things. Actually, what I love is gaining new perspectives. New people, places, and things provide them. Hiking up a mountain in a rainforest is a cool thing to say you've done, but slipping and falling, sliding downhill, and emerging from the canopy covered in mud and sweat is an experience that cannot be conveyed. It is the awe of life that I care to maintain. For that, discomfort is an acceptable concession. Travel is not Jenny's passion either. When she deplaned with me in Texas in June 2009, the instant sweat offended her. My father picked us up in a car with no AC, and when we stopped at the nearest air conditioned bar for a pitcher of beer, I half expected her to tell me she would just stay there for the week. But she was impressed by the attitudes of corner-shop cashiers ("They're so nice!"), surprised by political rhetoric ("that nigger..."), and when she saw a firefly for the first time... The look on her face was the revelation of magic in the world. She returned to Seattle with new perspectives. But she loathed the airport hassle on the way home. This is the significance of the object of success. It doesn't just impact what we choose to do. It determines how we feel about it. My Seattle days are behind me, but Jenny and I are still in touch. Yesterday, over the phone, she told me she is happiest when she is gardening. I told her she should quit her job. "I can't do that," she replied. "I have a 401K." She clearly has a model for success different from mine. I do not understand the motivation she gets from a retirement plan, but I do understand the way that life appears to chase after success like an apple chases the ground. Why would we go any other direction? How can we not? You can catch an apple mid-fall, but you cannot stop its inherent motivation in that direction. Success does not have actual physical properties. We each have a different object of success, and yet we take it largely for granted that we are all moving in the same direction. Sure, we understand that we have various goals; however, we are all moving toward The Future, and our concept of success is the very description of the future we are each moving toward, whether we make it or not. I have been told by Jenny and by many others that I am mistaken in my trajectory, that I will eventually get my head out of the clouds and accept the inevitable Future. I have said the same thing to those people and others. . .. ... .... ... .. . .. ... .... ... .. . .. ... .... ... .. . Another example: Occupy Wall Street vs Occupy Nashville. Six months after the official start of the movement, Occupy Nashville is limping. I am encouraged by a point made at the last general assembly: the real work being done is not by the people coming by twice a week to talk about what we are doing; it is by the people who come by once a month to talk about what they've done. The Nashville movement is not dead. But when compared to the general assemblies of October and November, the current meetings are underwhelming, both in attendance and potency. On the other hand, Occupy Wall Street, the spark that lit so many short fuses last September, is still flourishing. (I started compiling a list to support this, but really you should just check out What the Fuck Has Occupy Done?) The significant factor is solidarity. What is solidarity but a shared object of success? We, as individuals, still have our own independent ideas for the future, but on the plaza, on the streets, we meet as Occupy Nashville with a shared intention. Well, we did. The power of the people is an incredible thing to witness, especially from within. Occupy Nashville was a great source of empowerment. In fact, people felt so empowered as to believe that their hopes and dreams were nearer than previously believed. Personal and organizational interests brought Occupy Nashville to its current, splintered state.* *This is not a bad thing. The successes that past and present ON contributors are working toward are simply outside of the scope of Occupy. Most of the people I have met through Occupy Nashville are working with great motivation toward both subtle and dramatic change.

get thee to a monastery

I've had difficulty explaining this in the past, but this image from postsecret.com revealed how simple it is to just say it.
The monastic life appeals to me. I enjoy solitude, I enjoy silent contemplation. I would make a very good monk, I think.
Only problem is, I am not religious.

I dropped out of college in 2001 with the very specific goal of becoming a monk. I was going to join The Brothers and Sisters of Charity, a Catholic monastic community. Because my beliefs allow an appreciation of different perspectives, I figured being a Catholic monk was as good as anything.
This is how I learned about cognitive dissonance first-hand. At first I thought something was wrong with me. I felt ill, uneasy--was I entering a new phase of depression? Was I sick? But after several months and a conversation with Michael, I realized I was just trying to believe something I genuinely did not believe. My mental faculties were affecting my physical faculties. Or at least, this theory explains why I no longer felt this un-ease the day after I decided to not become a Catholic monk.

And then I floated aimlessly--by this point I had entered management at a store in Nashville, and I was dating Katie. I still followed my philosophical interests, but entertaining the idea that I would marry Katie effectively nullified the idea that I'd be a monk.
And then madness--my depression became an insurmountable obstacle. I had gotten stuck in a rut, and generally thought, "I'll do what's important later." Living a life without meaning, it turned out, meant I found life to be (duh) meaningless.
Kate had gone to London and, even though we still suspected we'd still get married, we weren't together any longer. A serendipitous trip to Bridgeport had redirected me to Buddhist studies, and to The Nyingma Institute.

The rest of the story is long, and is just a story. The fact of the matter is, I still feel like this is the life I'm best suited for, and I don't know how to live it. Nyingma is still an attractive idea, but Berkeley is not on my radar right now. The question is not, where can I go to live like this? It is, how can I live like this, everywhere I am?
It's easy to have a goal, when there's an established path (e.g., If I were Catholic, I could follow the example of other Catholic monks). But without a literal role-model, I am not sure what I'm looking to become.
My beliefs, at least, tell me that I will become whatever I become, and that if I "follow my heart," then I'll continue to be where I want to be.
So far, so good.

bodhisattva (detail)

[from my livejournal post 5/26/2008]

Basically, life is getting more real. Happiness, disappointment, diseases, and life goes on. Books become escape, and aren't actually lovers and children. They are books as sadly as television is television. Everything is as it is, rather than how I saw it or experienced it.
It feels like the start of a fall, when your feet are still technically on the ground, when it's just so barely beyond the horizon of potential recovery. But it doesn't feel like falling, it just feels like that exact position, before your brain even deals with noticing you can't do anything, before even notices what you might do if it weren't that moment too late.

But it doesn't feel bad.

Also, I'm redefining my life. I started with the idea of love, and now I'm on to exploring heroes. It's like sound, and peeling away all the dark grey and red and yellow-ochre and dark green and steel-blue tendrils, everything that's attached but you know is not quite purely the sound, until all that's left is the only-thing-worth-living-for, comfortably-reassuring "om." It's remembering, step by step, in detail, that the "om" is in there, in everything, and that the panic or fear or happiness or whatever you're feeling is an illusion, because you know true peace and happiness and love, and you know "this" isn't it, no matter how good or real it feels, because even when you forget what nirvana feels like, you at least remember it feels better than this.
And also, since these illusions are there, then you have to understand it's most rational to assume you put them in there, for some better or worse reason. If you figure out which were for good reasons and which for bad reasons, and if you decide to replace the ones that were "for good," then still remember that you're placing illusions between yourself and nirvana. Remember it's unnecessary, and remember later why you did it, for what good reasons you did it. Because if you're not still pursuing that "good" goal, then your illusions aren't doing you any good any more. And remember that, ultimately, they never were, never are, and never will.

Help Wanted

I woke up with a stick in my ass (not literally; I haven't slept outdoors in a week), and decided to take it out on Twitter. Here it is, collected:

Why are our politicians so focused on creating jobs, rather than creating alternatives? And why are Americans waiting for them to do it?

Seriously, I don't give a fuck if you create jobs. I don't want a job. You're making a scenario in which I NEED a job.

What does it say about you, that you say I need what you can create in order to live? And you call yourself humble in the eyes of the Lord??

I don't need a job, I need food. I need a roof, and warmth. When taken for granted, a job seems like the easiest way to secure these things.
But the reality of the job is, you're asking me to expend so much of my energy for your benefit, in exchange for so little of my own. It would be different if it were a job I cared about, cared for. But I am not encouraged to find that, prepare for that.
If I were, the education system would have greater support, and supporting programs. But no, even if I wanted to go to school, that is an extracurricular activity, on my own dime (or! even better! an opportunity to encourage our debt-based economy! once again, I work for you!).
I don't need a job, I need food. I don't need school, I need an education. Both of which I, collaborating with my friends and family, with people who are passionate and compassionate, can obtain without you--and, I feel, cannot obtain WITH you.

So you, standing there, thinking you're telling me why I should vote for you: tell me why I should vote for you. Why I should support you. Why I should even care about your America, when you don't seem to care about mine.

Inviting Fear, by Ajahn Amaro

Above all, a materialistic society desires certainty-it seeks to guarantee it; passes laws to enforce it; wipes our the pathogens that threaten it; and lets everyone have guns to protect it. Even the seemingly innocuous habits of inking in plans and clinging to beliefs and opinions are the reverse-image of the uncertainties that the heart yearns to be certain about.

Yet, if we seek security in that which is inherently uncertain, dukkha, or discontent, is the inevitable result.

Fear is a discomfiting friend. The impulse is to get to a place of safety, but where in the phenomenal world-either mental or physical-could that be? The insight of the Buddha, informed by his own experiences of exploring fear and dread, encourages us to make a 180-degree turn. Whereas the instinct is to shrink away from the threatening aspects of life, his injunction for those who wish to free the heart is to contemplate frequently the following:


I am of the nature to age, I have not gone beyond aging;
I am of the nature to sicken, I have not gone beyond sickness;
I am of the nature to die, I have not gone beyond dying;
All that is mine, beloved and pleasing, will become
otherwise, will become separated from me.



For that which is threatening to the ego is liberating for the heart.

By turning to face the inarguable facts of nature, the habit of investing in unstable realms is interrupted. It shines the light of wisdom on the issue, reveals that we've been looking for certainty in the wrong place, and thus frees up the attention to realize where security can be found.

This needs to be examined in the light of personal experience, but in traditional Buddhist terminology, such security is said to be found in the Triple Gem: the Buddha-the awakened, knowing faculty of the heart; the Dharma-the truth of the way things are; and the Sangha-the noble, unselfish response. For when the awakened heart knows the way things truly are, what springs forth is harmonious and virtuous action. Undiscriminating awareness is dependable. The reality of Nature is dependable. Harmony is possible.

How can we arrive at such security?

There are many ways to meditate on fear. One is to wait until it appears adventitiously. Another is to invite it in-when we send out invitations we can be a little better prepared for who shows up at the party.

Perhaps for both methods of approach the first thing to bear in mind is that fear is not the enemy-it is nature's protector; it only becomes troublesome when it oversteps its bounds. In order to deal with fear we must take a fundamentally noncontentious attitude toward it, so it's not held as "My big fear problem" but rather "Here is fear that has come to visit." Once we take this attitude, we can begin to work with fear.

*

Begin by sitting quietly and focusing the attention as clearly as possible on the present moment, using a simple tranquil object to establish equilibrium-the natural rhythm of the breath is good for this purpose for most people, moving in the empty space of the heart .

*

Once such centeredness has been established, deliberately bring to mind something that will arouse a fear reaction. For example,

"Anthrax in the mail"
"Nuclear war"
"Suicide bombers"

-or any other memory, imagined possibility, or Image that triggers the compulsive effect.

*

Once the seed crystal has been dropped into the mental pool and the consequent flow of thoughts and images has begun, make a definite and concerted effort to withdraw the attention from the stories the thoughts are telling. Bring it instead into the sensations of the physical body.

Where do I feel the fear? What is its texture?
Is it hot or cold?
Is it painful? Rigid? Elastic?

We are not necessarily looking for verbal answers to all these questions; rather, we are just trying to find the feeling, accept it completely, and not add anything to it.

"Fear feels like this."

Many find that fear locates itself primarily in the solar plexus, sitting like a tightened knot in the belly. Just feel it, know it, open the heart to it as much as possible. We're not trying to pretend or force ourselves to like it, but it is here-right now it's the way things are.

*

Let this process run for at least ten minutes, then consciously let it wind down-not suppressing it, but, as when it's time for guests to leave, make the hints, and let the event wind down naturally. It might take a while, but that's fine; just let it run out at its own pace. During this time, reestablish the breath as a focal point, and use the exhalation to support the fading of the fear-wave.

*

Once it has come to an end, focus the attention on the feeling of the breath, moving as before in the empty space of the heart. Let the heart be clearly conscious that the fear cycle has come to cessation: it arose out of emptiness, returned to emptiness. It was florid and impactful in its appearance, but the overarching quality, now having been seen directly, is its transiency.

Now we know ...

The effect of this practice is to train the heart, so that when the next wave of fear arises, from whatever quarter, something in us knows. The intuitive wisdom faculty is awakened and recognizes: "I know this scenario-don't panic-it looks impressive, but it's just the fear reaction." It becomes vastly easier to avoid being sucked into the vortex of anxiety.

The feeling is not pleasant, but the heart knows, with absolute certainty: "It's only a feeling." And if action needs to be taken, then that action will be motivated by wisdom, kindness, and sensitivity to time and place rather than by neurotic reactivity and habit.

Amaro Bhikkhu is co-abbot of Abhayagiri Monastery in northern California, in the lineage of Ajahn Chah and the Thai forest tradition. He has been a monk for twenty-three years.This article was published in Tricycle Magazine.

Intention

It is like radio static. Sometimes you cannot hear the song at all. Sometimes you can, mostly. And sometimes you think you are hearing it just fine but, if you fiddle with the knob (yes, in my thirty-odd-year-old mind, radios still have knobs), suddenly the signal comes with such fidelity that you are amazed you thought it was clear before.

Good morning.

There is something, some sense... I have referred to it as a path, as love, as many equally misleading names. I believe it is what Socrates referred to as his "sign," and what Philip Pullman characterized as a daemon in the His Dark Materials trilogy. I will not tell you it is my soul, my calling... though these (and other names) are things I have called it in the past. All I know is, there is something that seems to produce that sense of fidelity in my life.

It is why I do whatever I do. It is the silence that draws me and, sometimes, the noise that distracts me. My opinions of the past are colored by my mindfulness: "x was a good choice, because it was involving this sense; y was a bad choice, because it was not." The present moment will become the colored past soon enough, and mistakes are not anathema.

While in Texas recently, I began reading The Way of Practical Attainment. It returned to me that sense of fidelity. I saw clearly the stories I had been telling myself, and I also saw that "I see clearly the stories" is also a story. I understand that my idea of progress is not seeing past the stories, but rather to follow this sense like Ariadne's string as the stories continue. (Such stories, being insubstantial, cannot be obstacles unless I, in my mind, give them substance.)

I heard a quote recently, which said something like, "There are days when I do not want to practice my yoga. I do it anyway, and I never regret having done it afterward." I have no regrets, but those things which are most like regrets are the actions I took in lieu of practicing this nameless sense.

It is to practice this sense that I have made some radical decisions. I do not regret the times that I have embraced it, and I have regretted the times when I let it go. Straying from this, in fact, invalidates all decisions I previously believed were made in, literally, "good faith."

I am not afraid to make mistakes (including, perhaps, the mistake of being afraid) and I am also not afraid of dropping the string. It is this sense above all that I want in life, and I know I will always return to this, and I know that enduring what I do not want with this is preferable to enduring what I do want without it.

More Practical Attainment

If the three ways of practice are analysed, they will reveal the eightfold noble path, the four viewpoints to be considered, the four right procedures, the five faculties of power to be employed, and the perfection of six practices.

The Noble Eightfold Path refers to right view, right thought, right speech, right behavior, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.

.Right View means to thoroughly understand the Fourfold Truth, to believe in the law of cause and effect and not to be deceived by appearances and desires.
.Right Thought means the resolution not to cherish desires, not to be greedy, not to be angry, and not to do any harmful deed.
.Right Speech means the avoidance of lying words, idle words, abusive words, and double-tongues.
.Right Behavior means not to destroy any life, not to steal, or not to commit adultery.
.Right Livelihood means to avoid any life that would bring shame.
.Right Effort means to try to do one's best diligently toward the right direction.
.Right Mindfulness means to maintain a pure and thoughtful mind.
.Right Concentration means to keep the mind right and tranquil for its concentration, seeking to realize the mind's pure essence.

The four view-points to be considered are:

.First, to consider the body impure, seeking to remove all attachments to it.
.Second, to consider the senses as a source of suffering, whatever their feelings of pain or pleasure may be.
.Third, to consider the mind to be in a constant state of flux.
.Fourth, to consider everything in the world as being a consequence of causes and conditions and that nothing remains unchanged forever.

The four right procedures* are:

.First, to prevent any evil from starting.
.Second, to remove any evil as soon as it starts.
.Third, to induce the doing of good deeds.
.Fourth, to encourage the growth and continuance of good deeds that have already started.

One must endeavor to keep these four procedures.

The five faculties of power are:

.First, the faith to believe.
.Second, the will to make the endeavor.
.Third, the faculty of alertness.
.Fourth, the ability to concentrate one's mind.
.Fifth, the ability to maintain clear wisdom.

These five faculties are necessary powers to attain Enlightenment.

The perfection of six practices for reaching the other shore of Enlightenment are:

.The path of offering
.The path of keeping precepts
.The path of endurance
.The path of endeavor
.The path of concentration of mind
.The path of wisdom.

*it was interesting to notice, as I was copying this, how these four items resembled the four intentions I set at the beginning of 2012:
.Strength (remember your convictions)
.Discipline (be mindful of wavering from your intentions)
.Compassion (seek to provide compassion; don't just wait for people to seek it from you)
.Generosity (what do you have but what you've learned? continue in earnest to learn how to convey or share all that you have; it is worthless to have, if kept to yourself)

Things like that are what make me think I may have studied Buddhism in a past life. So much of what I learn seems like something I already knew or thought.
That is the only argument I have found in my life for believing in reincarnation.

search for truth

Suppose a man goes to the forest to get some of the pith that grows in the center of a tree and returns with a burden of branches and leaves, thinking that he has secured what he went after; would he not be foolish, if he is satisfied with the bark, endoderm, or wood for the pith which he was after? But that is what many people are doing.

A person seeks a path that will lead him away from birth, old age, sickness and death, or from lamentation, sorrow, suffering and agony; and yet, he follows the path a little way and notices some little advance, and immediately becomes proud and conceited and domineering. He is like the man who sought pith and went away satisfied with a burden of branches and leaves.

Another man becoming satisfied with the progress he has made by a little effort, relaxes his effort and becomes proud and conceited; he is carrying away only a load of branches instead of the pith he was seeking.

Still another man finding that his mind is becoming calmer and his thoughts clearer, he, too, relaxes his effort and becomes proud and conceited; he has a burden of bark instead of the pith he was looking for.

Then again, another man becomes proud and conceited because he notices that he has gained a measure of intuitive insight; he has a load of the woody fiber of the tree instead of the pith. All of these seekers, who become easily satisfied by their insufficient effort and become proud and over-bearing, relax their efforts and easily fall into idleness. All these people will inevitably face suffering again.

Those who seek the true path to Enlightenment must not expect any offer of respect, honor or devotion. And further, they must not aim with a slight effort, at a trifling advance in calmness or knowledge or insight.

First of all, one should get clearly in mind the basic and essential nature of this world of life and death.

The Way of Practical Attainment

Where There Is Smoke, There Is ROSEWATER

So today I took the biggest step yet toward actually living on the farm--I started shoveling out the grain shed. That sentence pretty much sums up my expectations for the day, however life should always be an adventure.

Part of the roof is gone, and so half of the shed was being rained on. I focused on the other part. Shoveling and sweeping is generally not very complicated, but even so it was easier than I expected. It really was mostly dirt, except for along the back wall, where there was a pile of old, empty feed bags that had been there for many years. I started moving them into the remains of the chicken coop (to prevent them from becoming sodden, disintegrating bags), but then realized that I could just burn them off under the shed's adjoining lean-to. Between the rain and the large dirt area, I figured there was no problem with a little, five-minute fire.

Things I learned today:
1) Smoke usually floats up and disperses, however this is not the case when it is raining.
2) Under this condition, the smoke blows into an open window, and then blows out through the holes in the roof.
3) When seen from the road, this situation looks quite serious.
4) Brandon, a childhood friend who lives down the road, is a volunteer firefighter. So are several other people who live within five miles.
5) A firetruck cannot make it down my driveway when it has been raining.
6) From October 15 through May 15, anyone starting an open-air fire within 500 feet of a forest, grassland, or woodland must by law secure a burning permit from the Division of Forestry.

Although I felt bad that all of these people had to come out in the rain, I was glad to know that people in the area are looking out for their neighbors' safety, and that it takes very little time for firefighters to arrive. On top of that, one of the guys who came to put out my tiny, tiny fire offered to help me install the gate on the driveway. If dad doesn't come around to help me with that soon, I just may take him up on that. The backwoods of Dickson seems like a good place to live today.

up against the walls when the revolution comes

I woke up at 3:00am parked in the Post Office parking lot. I'd been asleep for 15 minutes, when my phone rang. I met Stefanie and her boyfriend Drew 370 days ago, on the train from LA to Chicago, and this was our first non-facebook communication since that trip. We talked until my phone died; we talked until nearly 4:30.

Right now I'm feeling the wreck that my body experiences when I eat or drink too soon after waking up. In the light of that wreck, all my conversations from last night are crashing together. Stefanie and I (and, earlier, Leslie and I) talked about our experiences over the past few months. Like everyone else I know right now: life is changing like earthquakes. Like everyone else I know right now: we talked about how these changes appear to have huge implications for The Future. Personal experiences finding resonance with community experiences; social experiences full of synchronicities and connections. I am glad to see this happening in my life, and am encouraged to see this is happening to others around me, and excited to hear it happening to Stef on the other side of the country.

She asked me, "Have you ever made an attempt to do something other than the get-a-job, life-as-normal life?" It struck me as odd at first, considering when she met me I was homeless and talking about a farm and Leslie & Charles & Adrienne & Valerie & Scott & I occupying it with hopes and dreams and intentions.
It also struck me as odd that my answer to her question was, "No."

I've had some relatively epic adventures over the past five years, and many (if not most) involved or flirted with being homeless, jobless, and discussing alternatives to that "normal" life. But when she asked me that, I realized that I never took both feet off the "normal" path. I only stepped far enough off to appear to be on the adventure I craved--appear, to myself as well as others.

Right now, I feel like I'm in a place much different from anywhere I've been before. Over these months... hell, over these years, I have tested and discovered my beliefs. I have always wanted to live by those beliefs HARD. And yet, only one foot off the path of security. And now, revolution seems nigh. It feels like time to move forward.
I don't want to be swept forward.
I want to walk forward, boldly. I have allowed my beliefs to represent me for so long; now I want to represent my beliefs.

I am up against my own walls in every direction. Any moving forward requires me to do things I am desperately afraid to do. I have to make myself vulnerable. I am so afraid.

I almost didn't go to Leslie's birthday supper last night, because that is one of my walls. And today will involve that wall and another: discussing intentional communities with her & others also faces my fear of having a role in a community; a role I don't want, a role I have refused to accept, but that Life keeps trying to hand me. Fear of vulnerability leads to my walls, and I feel like those walls would be faults in the foundations that I'm building.

--- -- - -- ---
Boom. This blog was expected to be cohesive, but the fact that I slept fifteen minutes, then almost an hour, then an hour, and then immediately drank coffee and ate.... as I said: a wreck. So, derailed.

Now about rationalizing.
--- -- - -- ---

In the book Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, two characters (Richard, Dirk) are walking near a canal, talking. Suddenly, Richard disrobes, jumps into the canal, and nearly drowns. Once Dirk brings him out, Richard explains: he suddenly remembered that he'd missed his morning swim, and decided to take it at that moment. Dirk then plays a recording of Richard under hypnosis. "When I say x, you will take off your clothes, jump into the canal, and find that you cannot swim."
This is a shameful summation of the event that very elegantly describes how I rationalize things. An example from my own life: Whenever I drink to excess, I spend the next day experiencing intense panic attacks. It is a chemical reaction, however I feel something and so I create a story to explain the feeling. I tell myself stories about how everything I'd done the night before was a terrible thing.

Ugh... my brain is working less. My stomach is cramping. This topic will be returned to.

An Interesting Night

For Occupy, this weekend is kind of a big deal. Occupy Nashville is hosting the first state-wide rally, attracting protesters from all over the state of Tennessee. Several people from Clarksville even went the extra mile (well, sixty miles) by walking to Nashville, chanting and carrying a banner.

I'd crawled into my sleeping bag, resolved to skip the planned midnight march in favor of what warmth and comfort I could muster. (If you know me, you know that I'm kicking myself now that I've recognized this. Meditative awareness fail.) But when the Clarksville bunch showed up, after a day of anticipation (and after, on their side of the story, thirty hours of walking), the camp got loud. Chanting, cheering... Revelry. A desire to recognize these heroes compelled me to get dressed and re-enter the cold.

They were on the ground: sitting, laying, smoking and exhausted. They were served coffee and pizza, and we helped set up their tents.

And then it was midnight. We gathered at the top of the stairs, where Will-from-Legal addressed the crowd. "When marching, you will not be arrested if you stay on the sidewalks. Walking in the street is illegal... You have been advised. Do what you want." Upon hearing that, I expected to see a handful of us stepping out into the street from time to time. Our Clarksville friends came to the front of the crowd, and the march began. Almost everyone walked right into the street; we on the sidewalk were the handful.

Deaderick, at midnight, is not a bust street. I was amused by our group's "daring" display of civil disobedience, as we inconvenienced a single driver. And then we turned right onto 2nd Avenue. The front line linked arms, and chanted "This is what democracy looks like!" as they walked into oncoming traffic on the one-way street. I happened to be walking near Will-from-Legal and heard him say to himself, "Really? Oh my god." Not what you'd normally like to hear fro your legal adviser. Is this what our democracy looks like?

To many people, yes. It is.

Of course, many people support the status quo. That's what makes it the status quo. The perception that we in Occupy are reckless, crazy people is not only due to misunderstanding or lack of information It is also a recognition that we are rocking the boat--a boat that a large percentage feel does not need to be rocked. The idea that people would disagree with us and speak out was not surprising to me, but being in the center of it was nearly overwhelming, Not all response was negative. I'd say 35-40% of the people around us seemed supportive, but it was the other 60-65% that impressed me in the moment. In the street, the cars changed lanes or stopped to avoid contact with Occupy; on the sidewalks, however, people were drawn to us. My natural inclination to be invisible was bruised and beaten. "What is your problem with America?" "What does your sign sa--oh, it's just a bunch of Democrats."* Yelling. Insults. Mocking. At the plaza, people often drive by shouting, "Get a job!" The march gave us an opportunity. When somebody shouted at John, from Knoxville, to take a shower,** John fell back to talk, and as I walked on I heard the start of his conversation: "I did. We all shower. They're really good people..." And at one point several guys we passed started chanting, "USA! USA!" to counter our own chants. We took up theirs: "USA! USA!" They shut up.

Unlike Deaderick St, Broadway is the heart of Nashville tourist-driven nightlife, and the street was plenty busy. After a couple of blocks, a police car had stopped and the officer approached the group announcing, "If you get move to the sidewalk, you will not be arrested." Those at the front of the group turned to mic-check the announcement, but before they'd finished the sentence, two people were arrested. I felt like everything should have seemed like it was in slow motion, or else that everything should have "happened so quickly." The lack of time distortion disoriented me. I'm a fan or trespassing and other boundary-crossings, but at that moment the fact that some of us were not standing on the sidewalk seemed like the scariest thing in the world. The Complacent Citizen training I'd endured for most of my life kicked in, and I just could not understand why my friends were still in the street. Of course, they didn't move, Court--civil disobedience doesn't stop when the cops show up. But after five arrests, we were all on the sidewalk. Several of our group had their cameras and phones out, recording the scene and chanting, "The world is watching! The world is watching!"

I was so confused. Were they trying to chastise the police? The chanting of "Bullshit! Bullshit!" a moment later seemed to suggest that they were. The world was watching... what? Watching the police do their jobs? They probably didn't have to shove people so hard against their cars, but there was nothing near what I would consider excessive force. We've seen the videos and heard the reports from around the country... were we just feeling left out? Were we fantasizing a chaotic scene? On one hand, I felt the reaction was irrational, but on the other hand, so was it all. Awhile the police were slamming Matt and Jen and Jeremiah and the others against the cars (and I am, by the way, making an effort to not e sensational--I do mean slamming) and handcuffing them, other people were walking out into the street yelling and swearing and flipping us off, without looking first (and, therefore causing a much greater risk than we had), but nobody outside of Occupy Tennessee got so much as a casual glance.

Once the police had gone, we reconvened at the next corner. Someone was shouting, "Do not let the police intimidate you!" Good advice for that moment. "They are evil!" Wait, what? The police have to accept that we are going to walk down the busiest street in town en masse... Was it so hard to accept in turn that they were going to arrest us? Other Occupations have been given good cause to distrust the police, but in Nashville more than anywhere else the police have been on our side. (They're unionized. They get it.) In fact, as we continued to march toward the night court, where we were told our friends would be taken, somebody on the sidewalk fell to the ground, unable to walk. Gathered around him in concern, several of us were in the street, and an officer drove up, blocking traffic to protect us.

A guy named Scott hadn't marched with us, but he came down from the plaza once he heard about the arrests. He and I got to talking, and fell back to the end of the crowd. We passed a car of young women who rolled their windows down and were yelling at us. I'd had enough of it. I ignored them. And then I heard a car door, and footsteps running toward me. A pretty (and very drunk) girl in a tight pink top, wanted her picture taken with a protester with a sign. So that was me. She handed her iPhone over to Scott as I tried to wrap my head around one of the strangest moments of my life. I had witnessed people getting arrested for something I had been a part of. I had been marching with people from all over the state, in support of an idea too big to articulate fully. I was cold, I didn't know what to think, what to feel, and now I was a prop for this bimbo's photo op. I'm glad that moment of my life will live on anonymously in a stranger's facebook photo album.

After that weird moment, Scott and I were well behind the rest. A police car drove past, away from the courthouse, and we saw one of our people in the back seat. The car drove on a couple of blocks, and then pulled over. We approached the car and the officer rolled down his window and told us to move back and wait; she would e released soon. We obliged. I recognized the girl as one of our visitors from Johnson City, and so when I saw the other members of OJC, I ran over to tell them where she was. The five of us waited, and eventually the girl was released. She told us that the officer had been taking her to the courthouse when he was ordered, over the radio, to give her a citation and release her. She said his response was, "You've got the be fucking kidding me." We walked her back to the camp, and from there Lance, Butch and I set off to meet up with everyone at the courthouse. By the time we got there, the rest of the people had been given citations and released, and we continued the march.

*For the record, my supposedly left-wing sign says, "Something better is what I'm after, and no less."
**For the record, John was well-dressed and clean-cut. How strange that we, as people, can see what we expect to see, rather than what is actually there.