Joy

by TomiJoy

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Crazy Charlie

I’m lying on the roof, looking up at the stars ..when I get a get a call from Charlie who's underneath a bridge .. in a tent community by the L.A. River. It’s a place he knows well, which concerns me because it’s probably the first place they’ll look for him. “Nah” he says “..it’s terra incognita.” I try Googling it with no luck. It’s like wild kingdom down there. He spends his time sitting in squalor behind a wall of cattails .. reading and repairing his bicycle ..while freeway traffic rushes by overhead. His new lady friend ‘Musgrove’ prepares coffee while he plans his next destination. I tell him he sounds awfully comfortable for a man on the run. He says it’s OK, people down there come and go ..no one really knows who you are ..but everyone takes care of each other. He tells me there’s a string of communities like this running up and down the river. Some really reek ..but others are almost picturesque. He says he wants to go to one where, he hears ..elderberry and willow trees grow wild ..and you can watch the egrets nest. I tell him he ought to write a travel guide to the swamps and waterways that run below the city of L.A. They’re sort of a blank spot that most people either miss ..or glimpse from an overpass ..then instantly forget.

Letter to the editor

Written in response to an article about ~~>marijuana dispensaries

It sounds like District Attorney Steve Cooley has either an outdated, or conveniently narrow interpretation of the English language. It’s no wonder he has chosen to go to war with the City Council, its constituents, the Attorney General’s Office and the voters of the State of California. Although State laws governing marijuana dispensaries do not explicitly say that it’s OK to ‘sell’ marijuana ..they do allow for ‘cost-reimbursements’ by its members. Now, in business terms, when cost-reimbursements are received they are generally considered a ‘sale’. Sort of a modern-day convenience since we live in a mostly cash-based economy. If District Attorney Cooley has problems with money changing hands, perhaps we should revert back to earlier times and reimburse dispensaries with topsoil, seeds and fertilizer.

In a heartbeat

Many children with dyslexia cannot keep up with the flow of text fluently enough to translate symbols into sounds ..then sounds into meaning. To read OK, the brain has about 40 milliseconds to do this. For children with reading difficulties, this may take as many as 500 milliseconds. According to Usha Goswami (Cognitive Neurosciences Institute at University College in London), part of the problem may be caused by difficulty in perceiving the rhythm of speech. Goswami and her colleagues discovered that dyslexic children could not track the beat in speech. The ability to detect a beat matters when the brain is trying to process syllables and phonemes. Like a metronome, it helps children pick-up the properties of speech in time. The ability to keep the beat is so fundamental, they say, that the first language a child learns is it’s own mother’s heartbeat while still in the womb.

Another country

President Obama has decided on a settlement between the Navajo and Hopi Indians during his first year in office. Imagine that. I wonder when the last time a sitting president could make that claim. Marijuana production is definitely on the rise around here. The Mexican Cartels are moving their operations to the US. It’s especially apparent in California. This doesn’t surprise me much. It’s common practice for US businesses to set-up shop closer to their market. The border community between the U.S and Mexico is becoming another country. They even have a name for it: El Tercer Pais. Literally ‘the third country’. It’s a place where people go about their business without much regard for what legislatures decide on either side. Meanwhile, smugglers are using cranes to lift cars, filled with marijuana, over that scary fence we built ..reinforcing the notion of how adaptable humans can be. If you build it, they will climb it. I wonder when we’re going to end this crazy charade that has transferred so much wealth to the drug cartels that, pretty soon ..they’re going to declare sovereignty over El Tercer Pais ..and defend its borders with more than just a wall.

Crazy Charlie

Charlie taught himself how to fly an airplane by playing video games on the computer. So, when the time came, he got food and supplies from other people’s houses ..boots and camping gear from an army surplus store ..night vision goggles out of a nearby fire station ..and a Cessna from a hanger outside of Renton, Washington. He landed hard on a forest road near Bonners Ferry, Idaho ..actually cracked the fuselage. Then he called me on a stolen cell phone to ask where I thought he should go next. I’m like: WTF Charlie ..are you joy riding or something ..? Are you trying to get away from somebody ..? (I’m thinking it could be anything from pissing off a neighbor to causing a riot). He says they picked him up in Seattle on a ‘malicious mischief’ charge (which could mean anything) ..then told him he was a suspect in an armed robbery case. Suspect ..? He doesn’t carry a gun ..nor does he remember threatening anyone. But it was enough to flip a paranoia switch that told him he better get out of town ..and just keep on going.

Continued [link]

Free falling

Late afternoon, Don calls and says the swells are getting bigger. I blow-off my plans, throw my Churchills in the alfa and zip down to the shore. I do some quick deep-breathing exercises and take a running leap into oncoming waves. The first ride nearly yanks my shorts off ..I pull the waistband as tight as it’ll go. The next ride throws me over the falls ..I go limp and bounce twice off the sandy bottom. After some more pounding, I head for the shore to get a birds-eye view. The swells are definitely getting bigger. I’m about to go back out when I see someone coming in. At first, I thought it was a guy I was watching out there. Instead, it was a girl I was watching out there. I meet Sara from Westmont College. I’m surprised ..she’s small, almost waif-like ..and carries a wicked pair of Vipers. She’s no Val .. and from what I saw ..knows no fear. We chat briefly ..and head back in the water. I zip down the face a wave and decide to ride it without bailing ..and get trashed in the collapse. I emerge in churning white water ..look around and see her pop-up ..breathless but exhilarated. We swim back as fast as we can to catch the next one ..too late. She ducks under while I go up and over the top ..feeling the vacuum of the curl almost suck me backwards by my feet. Dumb thing to do because the next wave is right on it’s heels. I know I’m going over the falls but I catch it anyway .. getting a fast-pitched ride into white-water oblivion. I lose my orientation ..scrap my shoulder against a vertical wall of sand ..go wtf ..and figure it’ll be just a few seconds before my sonar detects true bottom. Back on shore, Sara says she’s gotta’ go ..I stay, repeating her email address over-and-over, and ride until sunset .. wondering if this is the beginning of a cycle or the last amp of the day.

The crapshoot

The headline says: “The pace of foreclosures is slowing down in California” ..and it makes me feel good to think that more people are able to afford homes and, by extension ..the economy is getting better. Reading on, however, it turns out I’m wrong. Just as many people are in default as ever .. but fewer of them are going the distance to foreclosure. That’s good news. I tell myself it’s because banks are learning that it’s better to let people stay in their homes ..they lose money auctioning off foreclosed property. I used to tell people, facing foreclosure, always go to the bargaining table ..bankers are reasonable people ..right ? Well, it didn’t always work out that way and now I’m finding out I was seriously mistaken. Banks don’t act reasonably ..they are not good business people ..they’re order takers. And they are not learning anything new (as I had hoped). It says here that the only reason they’re showing leniency now is because they’re afraid if they don’t ..the government will change the rules and allow homeowners to protect their property in bankruptcy court. Now I’m reading where Bank of America insists they can sell foreclosed properties profitably. Since this runs counter to my beliefs, I look back at the article ..and shake my head. My mistake .. Bank of America didn’t say they could sell foreclosed properties profitably .. they said they could sell them more efficiently. Now, I feel a sliding sensation I sometimes get while reading about the economy ..like the wheels of my car aren’t firmly on the road. I’m sitting at my computer but I have this feeling I’m in a sideways drift. Like everything I know is wrong ..or at least suspect. Now I’m wondering how often I misinterpret what I read. Now I’m wondering how often I misread what other people are telling me. Now I’m wondering how often other people misread what I say ..and think I’m deranged. I remember somebody once told me that communication is a probabilistic event. Like a crapshoot. Now I’m wondering whether or not I should read ‘The Glass Bead Game’ by Hesse. Now I’m asking myself what the hell that has got to do with anything.

Esalen journal

I’m having breakfast while listening to Tania, a work-scholar from Russia, tell me about her mediation practice. She is drop-dead gorgeous ..with a beautiful accent. I don’t remember a thing she said ..but I do remember the way she repeatedly waved her hand, in kind of a circular motion, to describe how her thoughts go ‘off-track’ while she’s meditating. I believe I told her that mine do too ..but I can’t be sure. Now I' m laughing at something another work-scholar just said. Referring to ‘seminarians’ (like me), he goes: “ ..slap your money down ..turn your life around.” Work-study people live and work here for part of the year, while we (the seminarians) drop by occasionally for therapeutic retreats. I mingle with the work-study people ..even get stoned with them ..and because of my hair and overall appearance, I sometimes get mistaken for one ..so I hear where they’re coming from. Gail, an attractive seminarian from Benedict canyon, took it as an insult ..as if he were saying that we’re stupid enough to believe a trip to Esalen is a life-changing event. I can tell she’s hurt and I try to explain how the work-scholar people often feel like second-class citizens ..cleaning rooms, gardening, that sort of thing. I mean, when you really look at it, we seminarians do tend to socialize primarily amongst ourselves. I’m saying all this stuff until I find out what’s really bothering her ..she came up here looking for a date ..and she thought she was actually having one ..a really good one .. with an attorney from LA (and conveniently close to Benedict canyon no less). But he left last night with a much younger girl he met at the baths. She’s been sitting here chain-smoking for almost two hours. I take this as a sign that it’s time for me to head to the mediation hall and just sit and breathe until it’s time to leave this afternoon.

Workshop

Soo is from Singapore. She tells us that it is not part of her culture to express feelings and opinions so open and freely. Since they’re ‘insubstantial’ and not ‘factual’ ..they’re easy to contradict ..and that makes her feel afraid of looking foolish all the time. She says this workshop was good for her .. hard, but good. Helped her feel that it’s OK to open up. The instructor says that feeling unhurried to speak makes you more receptive to what other people are saying. Artful response I’m thinking. After workshop, Kitty tells me that the instructor feels like the workshop was a failure. I go “..really, she told you that ?” (I certainly didn’t feel like it was a failure) “No” she says “.. but you heard her .. she said she may not give this workshop again.” Yeah, I heard her say that ..but I took it to mean that she was moving on ..and letting us know she’ll be doing something different in the future. I’m suddenly reminded of what Soo said ..opinions are easy to contradict. However, I don’t think that contradictions are so bad ..we often express opinions to solicit other people’s point of view and see if what we think has any validity ..I guess that way we don’t have to wait around until all the ‘facts’ are in. But, hey .. that’s just my opinion.

It’s a friggin’ cold and foggy day! I’m heading directly to the hot springs after lunch.

Esalen journal

I took the white-knuckle coastal road to Big Sur last night ..in and out of the blinding fingers of fog. It was freezing but I had the top down anyway ..as well as a hooded-sweatshirt on, plus leather jacket, goggles and gloves ..and the heater cranked way up. This morning I get up, look out the window and see sun shine and blue sky ..I have no idea how long it’ll last. Conditions change so fast. I walk down to the lodge as monarch butterflies and hummingbirds zip by. I sit at the table and eat breakfast (oatmeal, yogurt and figs) with Judy, a therapist from Santa Barbara. She compliments me on my copper jewelry ..says it’s good for cleansing my bioenergy (?) She introduces me to Jon, who is also from Santa Barbara. He fixes old Volvos and sells them to college students real cheap. “It’s high volume” he says. He ought to know ..he’s been the main supplier of wheels to students at UCSB for over 18 years. He has raised a family and already put one daughter through college this way, and I’m thinking ..how admirable this guy is.

Shade grown

My friend Joey spends a lot of time in Indonesia helping coffee growers organize co-ops. Says he's surprised whenever he sees nature taking matters into it’s own hands. Tells me if a coffee grower isn’t practicing ‘shade-grown’ farming techniques ..elephants will actually appear at the edge of his plantation and eat whatever coffee bushes are growing outside the shady area. Occasionally he hears stories about tigers killing farmers who inadvertently cross into federally protected forestland. When he mentioned this to the National Park Service in Sumatra, they told him it’s the law of the jungle ..when wild animals sense that their habitat is shrinking ..they begin defending their territory more aggressively. When he talks to the encroaching farmers however ..he gets another story. They believe that the tiger is a deity enforcing proper human behavior. They tell him the killing was more likely a punishment for breaking a tribal taboo such as adultery. “Maybe the victims did something bad, like sleeping with someone who was not their wife. Cutting the trees is OK. There's no problem with that.” They cannot conceive of the notion that the attacks are related to the destruction of the animal’s habitat.

Reading Ram Dass

“..service often comes from a selfish place ..the need to please ..to be held in high esteem. Not that these are bad places ..it’s just important to observe these desires when helping others ..and not let them interfere with their struggle.” When I look up from the page, I hear my ears ringing ..I feel currents of cold air ..I see flashes of light .. sunlight coming through the window ..I swear every eye in the room is looking at me ..feels like I’m in a fishbowl. I hide behind my book but the words jump off the page making them hard to track. I ask myself what I’m doing here (UCSB library). What’s the point ..? The author says. “Observe the thoughts surrounding each act of service ..thoughts like: what’s in it for me? ..what am I getting out of it ? ..I wonder how I look ..?” I sit back and remember what the Buddha called these .. “gainful ideas.” They are neither good nor bad, in fact ..they are important ..just not in everything you do. Just something to be mindful of ..especially when trying to help others deal with challenging circumstances.

Reading ~~>Ram Dass

Summertime

The offshore winds arrive on schedule today ..blowing the marine layer out to sea and creating the first day of summer for me. I put the top down ..throw in some Churchills ..and head for the shore where conditions are immaculate. Offshore winds have turned the beach warm and crystal clear. Since it's a south-facing beach, we don’t feel the wind so much as it’s warm and cleansing effect. I run across the sand and plunge in. After riding a few waves ..I’m reminded that I live on a planet again.

Streaming music

Investigators have uncovered a subconscious ‘stream of music’ running through my head. It contains mostly fragments of old songs I heard while I was growing up. Songs like “..doze eat oats and mares eat oats and little lambs eat ivy”. But it also plays some contemporary tunes like “..help I’m alive” or “gimmie a break, gimmie a break.” Some investigators tell me it’s purpose is to keep my brain entertained so I stay alert ..while others tell me it was set in motion to supply my ego with a steady stream of self-images ..keeping me anchored in the culture and generation where I belong. I notice that it pops into hearing range from time to time for no apparent reason. When it does, I can tell that the songs I grew up with are more prevalent ..I don’t hear too many Moroccan tunes ..although sometimes I would prefer them. There is one thing investigators agree on however: they say if it pops up to often ..or stays on the surface too long ..it could become pathological. I ask them if that’s because of all the disturbing memories it might bring up. No, they say it’s because of all the disruption it would cause my ordinary stream of consciousness. It would sound like I had Tourettes or something. Either that, they say ..or it would become stagnant and block me from learning any new tunes. I tell them I’m not sure which is worse.

Based on notes taken during a lecture by ~> Oliver Sacks
If you get a chance, listen to the audio at the bottom. It will be worth it.

Pieta Brown

Saw her show last week at the Lobero ..very hypnotic

Gone

Laura calls from Austin and tells me her truck has just been repossessed. I rack my brains trying to think of what I can do to help, but the best I can come up with is .. “let me see what I can do.” Guess she’s heard that often enough because she says “ ..that means you aren't going to do anything” ..and hangs up pissed. Well, that’s disturbing news ..I feel my heart racing and my mind spinning. I’m frantically trying to find a way to help, but keep coming up short. Perhaps I should make a few phone calls and get some advice. I figure this probably isn’t the best time to do that, so ..I grab my fins and head for the shore ..the words “aren't going to do anything” still ringing in my ears. The water is calm and classy, again ..like yesterday. Offshore conditions have definitely prevailed. I swim vigorously, then relax and float. My heart has stopped racing and my mind has stopped spinning. I still hear the words “aren't going to do anything” circling my head ..but at much longer intervals. I still haven’t figured out what to do ..but at least I’m not taking it out on myself anymore. Hopefully clarity will prevail.

Almost summer

I take my hands off the keyboard ..push away from the computer ..walk across campus and slide down a dirt trail to Leadbetter beach, where I drop my pack and plunge into the water. Conditions are clear and glassy, so I take a few strokes then roll over on my back and float. I hear sea lions barking. Out of the corner of my eye I see surfers lined up at the point. Overhead, pelicans pass in formation, circle and then dive bomb for fish. I get off my back and cheer at them for that ..prehistoric creatures that they are. I track them, hoping to see their diving act again, when they disappear into a fog bank and I’m like ..wtf. Where did that come from. I can’t hear the sea lions anymore. I guess this isn't an offshore day. Those won’t be here for another week or so. October is when summer really begins around here ..at least for me anyway.

Vipassana

Today’s episode: I feel drowsy. Now I feel tension from trying to maintain the proper posture ..noticing the tension persist until it passes. Now I feel tension mounting from resisting the pressure to move ..hearing my inner narrative asking me if it wouldn’t be better to get up and do something else ..hearing myself respond by saying that it’s OK to just sit here for a while. I notice judgments made: “wouldn’t it better” and “it’s OK”. Letting the narrative flow until it vanishes. Now I notice the sound of cars swooshing by outside ..and hear myself remark how noisy they are ..then immediately notice the judgment “..how noisy they are”. Congratulating myself for making the catch. Wondering if it’s really something worth congratulating myself for. Letting these reactions fade until they vanish. I hear the sound of swooshing cars again ..except this time they remind me of something somebody once told me ..passing cars are a good way to observe the passage of time. Now I hear voices coming from the canyon and I try to make out what they’re saying ..but it’s too tedious so I just let them pass by as indecipherable noise. Actually sounds less bothersome that way.

Namaste everyone ..

A most lucid explanation

If I understand what he’s saying correctly ..the current economic crises can be traced back to the Reagan Administration. In 1980 they deregulated the Savings and Loan industry ..which put the business of making home loans in the hands of amateurs. Then, in 1987 ..the Reagan Administration had to bail out the Savings and Loan industry when it collapsed under the weight of it’s own incompetence (and unbridled greed). The Federal government allowed the Savings and Loans to package questionable loans, and sell them as stocks ..or mortgage-backed securities. It was mortgage-backed securities that helped make the housing slump of 2006–2007 ..go global in 2008 ..and wipe out investment houses from Bear Stearns to Deutsche Industriebank

Oral transmission in post-apocalypse sects

Savannah ..! Finn ..! look.It's him. I finded him ..It's Captain Walker.
-What's his talk?
-He ain't made any wordstuff.
-It's a long track. Maybe he's burned out.
-Maybe.
-Maybe he's just listening.
-Walker? Hello?
-Maybe he's talking, but we ain't hearing.
-You see ..his lips ain't moving.
-Not with wordstuff, but maybe with sonic.
-This is Delta-Fox-X-Ray. Can you hear me? Delta-Fox-X-Ray. Come in. Is anybody out there? Can you read me, Walker? What's up, Doc? Can you hear me?

Yeah, I can hear your ..who are you?
-Quiet!
-Shut up!
-Enough!
Who are you?
-We are the waiting ones.
Waiting for what?
-Waiting for you.
And who am I?
-I think he be testing us .. this a testing, Walker? …you reckon we been slack?
I don't know ..maybe you've been slack.
-We ain't ..we kept it straight. It's all there. Everything marked ..everything 'membered. You wait, you'll see. This you knows. I be First Tracker. Times past count I done the Tell. But it weren't me that tumbled Walker. It was Savannah. So it's only right that she tell the Tell.
This ain't one body's story. It's the story of us all. We got it mouth-to-mouth. You got to listen it and 'member. 'Cause what you hears today ..you got to tell the birthed tomorrow.
I'm looking behind us now. ..across the count of time . .down the long haul, into history back. In the end what were the start. It's Pox-Eclipse, full of pain! And out of it we were birthed ..from crackling dust and fearsome time. It were full-on winter ..and Mr. Dead chasing them all. But one he couldn't catch. That were Captain Walker.
He gathers up a gang, takes to the air and flies to the sky! So they left their homes,said bidey-bye to the high-scrapers . .and what were left of the knowing, they left behind. Some say the wind just stoppered. Others reckon it were a gang called Turbulence. And after the wreck, some had been jumped by Mr. Dead . .but some had got the luck,and it leads them here. One look and they's got the hots for it. They word it "Planet Earth. " "We don't need the knowing.We can live here. "
Time counts and keeps counting.They gets missing what they had. They get so lonely for the high-scrapers and the video. And they does the pictures so they'd 'member all the knowing that they lost.
'Member this?
-Tomorrow-morrow Land!
'Member this?
-The River of Light!
'Member this?
-Skyraft!
'Member this?>
-Captain Walker!
'Member this?
-Mrs. Walker!
Then Captain Walker picked them of an age and good for a long haul. They counted twenty, and that were them. The great leaving. The rescue party departed at first light ..led by Flight Captain. Walker. "May God have mercy on our souls. " They said bidey-bye to them what they'd birthed.And from the nothing ..they looked back ..and Captain Walker hollered:
"Wait, one of us will come."
"Wait, one of us will come."
And somebody did come. .Walker! We's heartful to you, Captain Walker. We's ready now.
That ain't me ..you got the wrong guy.
-Quit joshing!
-Catch the wind.
-We got to see Tomorrow-morrow Land!
-Home! Tomorrow-morrow Land!
There were places like these.Cities. They were called cities.They had lots of knowing. They had skyscrapers ..videos and they had the sonic.Then this happened. This Pox-Eclipse happened, and it's finished. It isn't there anymore. You got to understand that this is home.And there ain’t no tomorrow Land ..and I ain't Captain Walker.
This is it!We's loaded and waiting, Captain. We got the wind up our arse, Captain. Let's go!Who's coming? We's pulling a leaving.
There ain't gonna be no leavings. All that's just jerking time.We's working it different. Ain't you seen nothing? He couldn't catch the wind. There weren't no skyrafting. There won't be no salvage-shun. This is our Tomorrow-morrow Land. He's proof of that.
Programmed! All of you programmed. If he ain't Captain Walker, who is he? He ain't no different to us. He slogged it on foot. If he can get here, we can get back.He ain't much bigger than us. Copilot did it. So why can't we? That's the trick of it. Who's coming? Across the nothing? Don't you 'member? When you finded him, he were half jumped by Mr. Dead. Nobody's saying it ain't a hard slog. If we wants the knowing, it ain't an easy ride.
Look ..! There ain't no knowing! There ain't no skyraft and no sonic. You slog out there to nothing! Worse than nothing. The first place you'll find is a sleaze pit called Bartertown. If the earth doesn't swallow you up,that place will.
Don't listen to im ..! He's got wordstuff out his ass! Whoever's got the juice, track with us.
Now listen good! I'm not Captain Walker. I'm the guy who keeps Mr. Dead in his pocket. I say we're gonna stay here. And we'll live a long time and we'll be thankful. Right?
Yeah right .. whoever's got the juice, track with us.

Smashing brain cells

I’m sitting here shivering on a beach near Refugio around sunset ..and wondering why Hurricane Jimena never delivered the 5-foot waves it promised. I’m not terribly disappointed though. I’m OK just sitting here feeling composed. Watching the water. Looking back. I believe that riding waves in my early days instilled confidence that has persisted throughout my life. And transferred to a lot of other things. It’s helped me ride out broken relationships ..negotiate tricky business deals ..and basically overcome a lot of the major fuck-ups of adult life. I’m not saying that I’m a perfect example of a self-assured human being or anything. Far from it. But I do believe that a small measure of mastery early in life goes a long way toward helping people weather storms later in life. For me, I’d say it was summers spent riding waves at sunrise in Newport ..catching the ferry at noon ..riding waves at Laguna until sunset ..then crashing campsites in San Clemente till dawn. It made me realize that waves aren’t just something I ride ..they’re cycles of energy I follow. They pick me up in the morning, heightening my senses ..and hurl me down slopes of fluid exhilaration ..refreshing my mind and deconstructing any networks of negative thought I may have built up since last time. It is most therapeutic. I have a profound reverence for the dynamics of the ocean and, by extension, a high regard for the forces of nature ..the nature of people and, in some small and inexplicably visceral way ..the dynamics of the universe at large. That’s probably saying a lot, I know, but sitting here with my feet buried in the sand and watching sunrays shoot across the water .. I’m not sure I care a whole heck of a lot.

Altered states

Notes from Cuzco, Peru ~ April 1977

On the slopes of the Andes, in a yurt overlooking a sage-green valley, I’m participating in a peyote ceremony that has taken place here for over 1,000 years. I’m collecting data for my senior thesis: ‘The neurological basis of hallucinations’. However, none of my faculty advisers know I’m here, and if they did ..they would probably deny any involvement. I’m here because I want to experience, first hand, the psychological effects of a guided peyote session the way it’s practiced by South American Indians ..and not for purposes of recreation the way I used to. I have a theory that human nature follows a cycle; it fluctuates between the need for ‘order and stability’ ..followed by the need for ‘exploration and rebellion’ against order and stability. I arrived at this theory from reading books by Aldous Huxley, as well as personal experience. I’m hardly able to sustain a committed relationship for more than a few months. Anyway, I believe that early Indian cultures had less destructive ways to deal with this cycle that didn’t involve excessive alcohol, domestic violence or broken homes. The peyote ceremony is, in a sense, a ‘guided’ exploration into altered states of consciousness ..followed by a gentle period of ‘re-entry’ that allows participants to integrate their extra-ordinary experiences with the ordinary reality of everyday life. It satisfies the need for exploration in a way that is far less disruptive, and way more conducive, to the well being of the individual and the tribe.

The session: Our Guide is waving a rope of burning incense (intended to awaken our senses). A drum beats softly (intended to strengthen our bond to the present). Tea is poured and cups passed ceremoniously between participants sitting cross-legged around a low bronze table. The simple act of sharing also helps bring us back to the present. I feel grounded and eager to see what happens next. After a wave of nausea ..images of my early childhood begin to appear, one after another, leaving me clutching at something for security (later I find my shirt lying bunched-up and wet on the floor beside me). Our Guide gently reminds us to watch these images flow until they vanish. Now I hear someone playing a flute. Sounds soothing. Now I feel alternating sensations of tea and mango juice splash down my throat. Sweet and refreshing. I pass the plate from one grinning face to another. Now I’m grinning too. Now it looks like I’m sitting between two huge grinning masks ..suspended in space. One of them starts laughing ..then another ..and another ..until the yurt is rocking with waves of laughter. I feel my grip loosening, and worries, stretching back as far as I can remember ..lift like fog. I feel euphoric.

Re-entry: I’m listening to our guide give instructions for re-entry. It goes something like this:

“As you return, imagine a river flowing softly ..its power comes from yielding. As you return, remember the watercourse way ..choose harmony as you go. As you return, remember the watercourse way ..the soft quality of harmony will overcome the hard barriers in your way. Remember, follow the watercourse way …the watercourse way …the watercourse way ..” 

and I could hardly forget. I could still hear these words echoing in my head for weeks afterward while I finished writing my thesis and submitting it for a round of grueling final arguments. I think the echoes helped. Either that or my inquisitors just caved.

The resulting academic screed can be viewed here ~>[SeñorThesis]

Slipstream

There’s a stream running through my head. I sit and watch it go by ~ one instance after another. When I try to push it ~ or tweak it ~ I disperse it. Now I’ve got several streams running through my head. I see images of my father holding me on his knee ~ a warm sensation comes over me ~ Jisho Perry stops by ~ but says he can’t stay for tea ~ my neighbor Don appears telling me it’s going to be a good day ~ and I believe it ~ I see images of Big Sur smoldering after another fire and I start to feel anxious. Now I’m trying to peek at instances that haven’t arrived yet. I hear Jisho's voice gently reminding me that I’m leaning forward too far ~ but it’s too late ~ I’m tumbling head over heels ~ hoping I’ll land someplace soft. I’m lying on my back soaked in sweat when Dr. Jones leans over and says I gotta’ get a grip ~ I'm having an out-of-sequence experience. Now I’m behind the wheel of an automobile and I see signs warning ‘curva peligrosa’ ~ I swerve to avoid them when sirens start to wail. Police cars roar by like a freight train. I creep along the shoulder until I come to an off-ramp and disappear down side streets.