DePave

   Today I had what may be my most best day yet in Portland. Im not sure why I say that as Ive had some great days here involving people I have met. Today I went to volunteer with a group called DePave. It's their mission to get the pavement out of town and replace it with food based gardens and or native plantings. They were so welcoming and real and everyone enjoyed themselves. And of course, they are doing something I believe in. Now, I am helping them. 

   Afterwards, we met at a members house for beer provided by Widmer, a local brewery. So many new and genuine faces and I did not feel uncomfortable at all. Wow, have I finally grown up? Matured?   (:

     

Here's A Picture For You

After a beautiful string of eternal moments at the rose garden, I rode to another favorite spot. The spot where I first saw Levi. I love that name but not in the textile kind of way.

Never mind.

The spot where the column is at what one could almost consider to be the top of the park. But it's the top of the bottom of the park.

Never mind.

I rode up to the spot where they should have put Sacagawea and noted a women from some place in history enjoying a gentle swing. Well, perhaps it was not so gentle for her, but there she was, dressed in a calf-length brown skirt with a matching jacket. I had to imediately ditch the bike and go swing next to her.

"How old is she?'

She's from the old-country. Any old-country that is full of warm memories. That's how old she is. A light blue scarf, truer blue than the sky, framed a face warmed by the wisdom of centuries. With excitement I sat on the swing next to her and began to swing gently.

"Hello" I said. Her face smiled true. I was being true too.

I said something else that, like a dream, I can't remember. But like a dream, those ones truer than life, I felt everything,

More smiles.

"Do they have swings in Iran?'

Im swinging high now, my feet reaching for a brilliant sun while my head gets wrapped up in the earth. Believe me, this is not my normal condition. But Im still being true.

What if everything you heard was a lie?

Musing In The Garden

Life, it seems, is a constant pulling oneself up. At a certain point one is either strong or dead. Of course, there is plenty of in between. There is always a place between this and that, whatever those may be. Some may have it easy till one day trouble comes along and they have no idea how to manage. But I couldn't know for sure, being that I am only me. Some never figure out that they poses the strength to lift themselves. Yes, I know, there are broken minds but many may be looking for a reason.

The path of least resistance would be to give up.

Or perhaps it's the weight. Yes, the excess wait of cultural and religious bonds. Heavy steel chains wrought by... who? A Saguaro can stand for a time, months, years even, before anyone knows it's dead.

"Yeah, it's been dead for a time. Just now decided to fall over."

Sometimes I think our culture is dead, or at least dying. So much of everything is an abstraction. A culture full of dead things that make a lot of noise. So much so that it's easy to know they are alive. Someday we will be like machines but we wont know it.

"It all happened quite naturally really."

A kind of contrived evolution. So be it. I ride through the sun, find some shelter under a tree where the wind whispers, breath in the decay of leaves so I know I am real. That I am... indeed alive.

"How strange, these people who can smell death and know it means life. They eat bizarre things from the earth, roots and tubers. They walk with their feet." "Oh, I've heard but never seen. I hear they have no place between."

The emptiness between distractions.

Why have I chosen this path? Seeking to simplify the convoluted. Lying around smelling dead leaves. Listening for signs of life in the roar of dead things. The wind shakes the leaves and fills my eyes with light.

What if everything you heard was a lie?

Well, you'd have to pull yourself up. Be strong. Go ahead and try.

Look past... everything,

breath slow and deep,

let it in,

let it go.

Now, stand like and ancient tree beside a polluted river. Listen to the light in the leaves. The river waits for the prophecies to fulfill themselves. She has plenty of time.