Orito pictures the human mind as a loom that weaves disparate threads of belief, memory, and narrative into an entity whose common name is Self, and which sometimes calls itself Perception.

Knowledge exists only when it is given….Like love

from The Thousand Autums of Jacob De Zoet by David Mitchell.

Realizations:

Joining my guest, I spent one night inside and had a powerful and overwhelming experience of gratitude. While I greatly enjoy sleeping outdoors and value much about it, the previous night had been 20 degrees F and made for a cold sleep. Spending this following evening in a bed with crisp, dry sheets, without needing to bundle up considerably, and to have a bed to stretch out in, moved me.  It was another reminder to realize how much I had been taking for granted, in regards luxuries in our society that have become expectations for so many people. Gratitude further overwhelmed me for the community and support and abundance surrounding me.

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Little to no purchasing from stores was part of life here.  Similarly, money was not a strong focus.

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“The earth doesn’t need you at all.”  -Old Turtle

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The earth keeps giving; over and over.

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One can turn on the tap here and never have to think about water quality.  This is not the case now in many places.

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After taking the tent down and sleeping indoors for two evenings, I woke up congested, with snot in my nose, and a hoarse, dry throat.  If the surface and the bedding are comfortable and warm, sleeping outside seems to be preferable in most situations.  Particularly in a wall tent.

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Seeing the Forest Rd. neighbor’s property with its architectural gardening and elegant layout has a dramatic and positive effect on me.  The contrast between how properties like this feel in comparison to those with scrap vehicles and unkempt houses, is marked.  I would like to learn how to create spaces like this, and bring that creative process into my life.

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Bike rides feel so much different than driving in a car.  The pleasant yet invigorating experience is reinforcement of my desire to live in a place where car-free life is possible.

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Regular aerobic physical activity is critical to my balance and well-being.  Even dragging heavy logs, chopping firewood, a long day of butchering, or a similar energy-intensive experience is different than an aerobic one.

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I can build a small, cozy, ample place to live. No need to worry – just do it.

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Having a natural body of water in which to bathe improves the quality of my life greatly.  Even a small pond is amazing.

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While awake,
while asleep;
we’re all dreaming.

it’s all a dream.
it’s all a play of mind.

The dream is happening incessantly.
Look  into your thoughts – now.

Each one temporary.
Each, an imagination.

Being unreal and transient,
it would be foolish to  deem them reality.

What would happen,
if I let go?!

Release!
I am free.
No one is bounding me.

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Too much imputer.

“Style is the answer to everything.
A fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous thing
To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without it
To do a dangerous thing with style is what I call art

Bullfighting can be an art
Boxing can be an art
Loving can be an art
Opening a can of sardines can be an art

Not many have style
Not many can keep style
I have seen dogs with more style than men,
although not many dogs have style.
Cats have it with abundance.

When Hemingway put his brains to the wall with a shotgun,
that was style.
Or sometimes people give you style
Joan of Arc had style
John the Baptist
Jesus
Socrates
Caesar
García Lorca.

I have met men in jail with style.
I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail.
Style is the difference, a way of doing, a way of being done.
Six herons standing quietly in a pool of water,
or you, naked, walking out of the bathroom without seeing me.”

― Charles Bukowski

This too, shall pass.  All of this.  Body, too.

Oh, but how to pick and choose?

Books and films; more than I could ever digest.

Forests, fields, deserts, mountains, cities, oceans.

Paths, roads, tracks, trails and highways.

So much skin, so many lips, legs, cheeks, and fingers.

Friends, lovers, teachers, artists.

What ever could be such a thing as boredom?

Squeezing and drinking the juice of this life piques my deepening fascinations and interests.  I am overwhelmed with abundance, ever-present, everywhere. Gratitude.  Learning to stop grasping.

[Music: Bon Iver - Holocene ]

521am.  Rising naturally in my tent, not another soul stirs.  A gull curls over grey Belfast bay, just across the lawn.  The clouds, a homogeneous mist, dense only enough to help me forget there is a sun behind them.  Scattered boats, moored, stir not.  My daily movements  under the park tent and the rain comes down, chattering.  I sit now, the headphones funneling  sweetness to me like it’s intravenous.  Goosebumps erupt, leaving a trail of Braille spelling out messages of overwhelming gratitude.

I woke up, donned a face mask to cover my eyes, and sat up.  My friend would act as my caretaker and guide if I needed assistance.  I spent the entirety of the day without vision, and also without speech.

I played and sorted through vinyl and my thoughts, for much of the day.  The voices of my friends were fresh.  Flavors were savored.  The pace of the day; slow.  He took me on a trip to a destination that was kept from my knowledge.  Windows down, the air was so refreshing against my face.  I felt so deeply grateful.  It was a time that permitted me to turn off all effort and to relinquish any control – real or imagined – that I am typically highly tuned into.  This type of release and acceptance is something I rarely experience.  After the drive we arrived in a space without the sound of traffic or voices.  Grass was beneath my feet – we had left the city.  He guided me through challenging terrain and set us up under what smelled like pines.  Shoes off, pine needles and soil beneath my feet, I did some exploring.  It was intuitive, finding a sunny spot.  He then set me up to sit against a large wood.  He brought apples and grapefruit which we accompanied the sunshine and silence.  Boys passed us, lost on a trail.  I felt them staring at me.  He brought with us also a singing bowl whose sound provided much detail and subtlety and beauty.  We hiked back through the woods; this time my shoes stayed off and my only guidance from my partner was the sound of him walking a few steps in front of me.  This is an experience I highly recommend.  Balance and the tactile feedback from bare feet along with the senses of smell and sound become heightened.  A drive back, punctuated by a stop for coal-fired pizza – so delicious!  Again, strangers around me.   Are they looking at me?  Do they wonder?

Music, oranges, meditation, sounds, the soft thin mattress.  Rest.

Thank you to my friend and guide.  I will repay you with the same experience you gifted me.

A friend from far away and long ago happened to be in the same underground, windowless room, at the same time that I was there, today.

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Only one other person was looking to camp in that yard. This happened to be the same person who unknowingly followed a craigslist purchase that would bring her to the same neighborhood, the same community, the same house.

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She rolled backwards simultaneously affording her a view of us, and we of her; unsteadily shaking to music, falling over on the sidewalk.

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“I went inside to gather your check and it came up missing. It seems it has been taken care of.”

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The night-time bike ride through the warm spring air led us to a saintly patch of grass beneath an old tree. Lightning in the distance cracked inaudibly, amidst helicopter traffic and road noise. An inner sense spurred me to round up the troops to get a move on. Arriving home, the humid warm envelope was moistened with a few fat raindrops which quickly were replaced by a torrent of rain, thunder, and lightning. Good timing?

It can be a tough lesson to learn that people have varying levels of dependability. How should one deal with this when entering into a new relationship – any type of relationship?  How much trust and responsibility should we give to these new people in our lives? Perhaps similar to the adage “make no assumptions,” one should similarly not assume anyone is reliable; not to have expectations.  Yes, it is these expectations precisely that seem to be the root of so much pain.  Can I imagine this world without expecting anything from anybody else, including myself…

In the words of Cuddle Magic,  “My expectations fuck me over and then my inclination is to do it again.”

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tool [tool] ;  noun

1. anything used as a means of accomplishing a task or purpose: Education is a tool for success.
2. a means whereb

   y something is achieved, performed, or furthered; one used by another as a means or aid : dupe, tool

3. implement or instrument of manual operation; especially : one designed for precision work
4. a formal legal document (as a deed, bond, or agreement

–

“A tool addresses human needs by amplifying human capabilities.” ~ Bret Victor

The instrument, the tool, is just that.  How much of my attention has been paid focusing on tools instead of the craft?  Time spent deliberating over which tool to use when the content of the creation had not yet emerged or its quality had been neglected.  Is this time wasted, or is the pursuit to satisfy curiosity and genuine interest, worthwhile?

The turntables do not make the DJ.

While I surely value tools and am not in any way discounting them or their makers, I wish to examine my personal view of these things.  Furthermore, I wish for this examination to manifest into affecting how I choose to use my attention and focus.  More on the art, and employing the right tool for the right circumstance.  Simply.  I am grateful for having developed a diligence for learning about tools and their proper usage and care, and aim to apply this when needed.  However I wish to devote a larger portion of my energy into the art at hand, instead of pouring my energy and time into mentally masturbating about objects.

Pots and pans do not make the food delicious.

Not alone, am I.  But there are surely artists and makers whose perspectives come from another side.  Meeting these people in the past stirred something within me, and I am now more clearly able to see what they were illuminating.  In prompting them about which tools they were using, I received a response that implied the insignificance of the tool in comparison to the creation itself.  The photographer has vision, and inspiration.  An image she wishes to compose and capture.  To accomplish this, she needs a tool that performs adequately in the conditions at hand.  My personal vantage point for so long has been with an interest more in the tool, its mechanics, handling characteristics, performance specifications, history and reputation, and often its aesthetics.

“Buy cheap, buy twice.”

On quality, I have learned that another way to save time and mental energy is to go ahead and acquire something high quality, trusted, and in good working order.  The time spent dealing with a situation where the tool is underperforming is wasteful, as is the money one might shell out to purchase the right tool after the inadequate one fails.  Poor quality tools also can produce lower quality results.  Life is just too short to be wasted using the wrong tool for the job.

“Two hands, one tool.”

Arguably, the best tools are our very own mitts, that are so often neglected and under-appreciated.

The working conditions, entirely different from those encountered by most Westerners.  The everyday challenges, similarly dissimilar.  The nature of the work itself being one shared by many; production.  While some in land-based trades are in a position to work in various levels of natural settings, the outdoors were impossible to ignore.  Living outside, also in the place of work, forced development of an intimacy with the elements, moon cycles, day length, cloud coverage and precipitation.  Not one of the above characteristics would cause a stir of judgement from anyone, save for the fact that the product has dissonance with some in the current state of our culture.  Enshrouded in lore, mystery, and secrecy, we did ordinary and unexceptional work that has been done for thousands of years.  Those who come to participate in this seasonal activity, hand-picked, and by invitation only, are people.  Everyday humans.  While the nature, setting, challenges and the trade itself are surely unique, because this work takes place outside of the frame of the society’s traditional guidelines, typical rules, roles, taboos and traditionally ‘improper work behaviors’ fall quickly by the wayside.  This yields to a refreshing environment where communication is unfettered, and people are in a space conducive to being themselves.  Dress codes are defined by one’s creativity and limited only by one’s own comfort within the weather and conditions presented to us in nature.  There is rarely a need to leave the property, and without commutes or off-campus dining opportunities, the group quickly bonded, working together to create and share food, and often living spaces.  Here, needs can be questioned along with their relativity.  Mental stamina, flexibility and social sensitivity are all important qualities that if are not present before the work began, are cultivated quickly.  Music, philosophy, flavors and stories are all shared here.  True colors reveal themselves quickly.  I am grateful for the experience itself, and for the genuine warmth and support from those who I lived with.