August 14th, 2003


journal project. today: Thursday. august 14th , 2003

So i woke up this morning parked behind Little Lad's bakery factory in
East Corinth Maine
i met Larry, the guy who (kinda) runs it
last week in Portland
he invited me to come up and trade my van for his pick up
which i will not be doing
it doesn't have cruies control
and is quite beaten
-- i need my comfort right now more than ever
i feel it's a hearlding to when i'll be settled in a Home somewhere
( my wanering days are over? )
so he woke me up this morning
but only a few hours after i intitally woke
i didn't put up the curtains last night
and the dawn stirred me to waking
though, at times like these, i always think of the rumi poem:

the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you
-- don't go back to sleep
you must ask for what you really want
-- don't go back to sleep
there are people going back and forth across the door sill
where the two worlds touch
the door is round and open
-- don't go back to sleep

but you know what? i often do.
this morning, the sun wasn't really up yet, just the light through the
and i was cold
turning over and over on myself
as if IN on myself
i pulled up the old sleeping back over my red sheet and fell back into

i dreamed and dreamed
like swimming in honey
even though this doesn't, perhaps, give me the type of clarity that
Rumi speaks of
that i know i need
it gives me a type of comfort
more than food
more than random sex or alchohol or pot
i love dreaming
but i've not been able to remember my dreams lately
-- i always get woken

so i hear larry calling out my name
and it pulls me out of where i was
(walking a path on a beach? in a forest? i've been doing this for a
week or many in my dreams lately... )
and i go to take a shower
and do some yoga
(loving myself)
then sit to eat with the family
three bright happy kids

a vegan family

totally terrified of all animals products
which makes me sad
i mean
anything and, hmmm, everything could kill you
but what's the point of living trying to side-step death?
it's such a boring occupation
that is
it wears you out with its futility

however, i don't mind being healthy
living to be healthy
while we're here
to enjoy it as much as possible
but to make those choices out of fear instead of pleasure

i think THAT's poison

still, i am in no position to judge
i am still quite scared of many things:

last night, reading "Coraline" by Niel Gaiman
and seeing this hard working mother
with three children and another on the way
sore tired throat
tired eyes and nerves

i got really scared of love
possesive owning manipulitave controlling dominating devouring

sometimes this fear comes back to me

the monsters in the dark

the fear of the one who loves you

i SEE it sometimes
which is what keeps the fear alive

i have not found the sword to slay this dragon
and imagine that some king i encounter on my journey will be the one to
give it to me
ney, slay it with me

but what do i know of the future?

so anyway
i got on the road after pouring my Kombucha into bottles
but too uneasy about their beliefs on health to ask them if i could
even make tea in their kitchen

as a few days ago
i got to bangor because i gave this guy Joe a ride
i also didn't want to make tea in his kitchen
because he was SO sad

51, been travelling his whole life
mostly walks
though his ankle randomnly shattered this year
he's still at it

wants to die
tried killing him self many times

his own son killed himself

such self loathing
but more, negligence

i was happy to give him a ride
to hear that song
see that mirror

cook him miso soup
(beet, turnip, carrots, burdock, and daikon)
make him tea
share with him healing herbs that could possibly heal his failing Leo
lungs (a forever smoker)

but couldn't quiet my mind nagging me about pouring my love into
hopless vessels...

that is
i always feel so much better when i am helping other people
while helping myself at the same time
loving as a joint project, you understand
and it seems easier to help people like this
because they need help in EVERYTHING
where as many only need help in little things
and are not only unaware of what they need help in
so unable to ask
but also, very often, unable to recieve


which i am well familiar with

so no tea in that kitchen

don't want to culture that story into the next two weeks.

but one more note about last night
i was in the bakery kitchen a boy said
"hey, i've met you before... yes i have... and i remember where:
heartwood, in the mountains of northern california"

it is a small world
and i was happy to see the light in his eyes upon recognition
and how he instantly opened up and offered his house and meadow for me
to park in, sleep in, whatever
but he wasn't there this morning when i called to see if i could make
tea there

so i'm now in Bangor
back at this cafe
after having just bought new thicker oil for the Van
hopefully to clean and stop her leaking
writing this
sending it out
then on to Bar Harbour
and then to New Brunswick
and then Quebec city?
... eventually over to Montreal
where is the place i'll probably next have internet access

could write these tales forever

i was writing something similar in my journal last night
a list of when i was loved
by myself and those i've met recently
and, like recalling dreams, each segment sparked earlier memories and i
just kept writing and writing past the sunset, past the misquitoes on
my hands, past the candle going out and being lit again
the many sticks of Incencse eli gave me that i thought might dissuade
the flies

until i was woken from my writing revelrie by Larry
to drive my van into the telephone pole to straighten out the bumper
the old fashion way

which brings me back to Doe
where i fell asleep

and woke up cold in the early dawn
pulling the old speeping bag over my red flannel sheet
and drifting back into dreams

which is
i'm sure
where i'll see you next