Reading John Steinbecks Cannery Row seems to imply that ” life in a pearl moment” isn’t a sought out lifestyle but of those moments of plain chores we all have when the madness of making money isn’t consuming our every waking breath.
My progress towards creating a simple coffee table out of walnut has slowed. This has been a educational moment in my life bringing a new breath to this very old tree. It was standing quietly watching the seasons pass, then saw the time had come to be quiet an wait.
Looking at, an hoping that in the surrounding community there was a standing tree that was available for free. I was surprised that one was nearby. This tree had seen its days an was falling down. The minute I saw this massive tree, bringing it back to life was my goal.
The picture below is the final section for me to chainsaw into 2″ thick by 14″wide by 8′ planks.
Have been creating a simple low to the ground heavy wood working bench
For those that know me, I struggle with daily the need to flee. To run, escape my madness. My past is littered with leaving any an all, loved ones an material items behind an hitchhike until I can’t physically travel health wise. It’s a madness that’s hard to explain, to travel with the nagging feeling of being hunted. I travel swiftly an extreme long distance. At least 8 states away to a quiet place remote an pleasant . I’m currently experiencing the same feelings an what prevents me is one thing, my GSD. I have this beast that senses my madness, my choking or nightmares an responds by approaching me an seeking my attention. Waking me speaking to me in the GSD way. Through barking or jumping partially on my lap. Wella is getting on in her years an I’m wanting to get a male puppy to raise with her as a mentor. I’m trying so hard not to run, an see the need to remain an live through this GSD eyes. That being said, please look for a GSD male puppy that’s not fixed. I know my track record an I’m trying to stop the madness.
In our quest towards the American Dream we have been told that a common thread is one of working together caring for each other and most important is compassion.
During our quest if you would like to name it that we discovered a tremendous barrier of greed to sap each aspect of our progress mostly in the name of insurance. Insurance to protect each person from any type of mishap or unwise decision.
Fantastic names were devised to convince us that this was the way that would limit our risk. Risk of something intangible, a fictitious event, a thing that could hold us back from success towards that American Dream.
First an most likely on the list was mortality. Each social group of society was guided by a preceived infinite power that answered the question we each pondered over every waking moment, an in some cases our dreams.
That question was why are we here and what am I supposed to do? How do I leave my mark an also that mark for my children. Will I be remembered as what society says I’m supposed to be remembered for. A form of epitaph on a marker where the human being was last viewed attempting to fulfill.
the days an nights aren’t really important anymore. Time as well. The dog wakes me at different times depending if she hears voices or a deer. She has this low growl that continues into full blown vicious barkin. It’s the start of another day solo in the woods.
Remembering the times of helping the homeless in the streets through a tough moments of dispare when I am sitting here enjoying the moments of silence.
The mornings of silence is welcome to me. A silence to reflect upon the beauty of birds singing their solo songs inviting you to listen an enjoy. Their struggle is your struggle to listen without interrupting. Your survival is similar to theirs. Learning to hear their song of survival.
The past is creeping up in my brain, it comes back to me in tiny bits. Found this pic below haven’t any others. Threw everything away. Hitchhiking requires you to destroy the past. Can’t carry the weight mentally an physically.
we all seem to have similar experiences with the VA some more brutal than the other. what i think is important is we as a group have become lost in our mission. that mission is to leave no brother or sister behind. the VA isn’t our mission, they confuse us an make us not believe in our core value as a warrior. A fighter for our rights an our self esteem.
The media has a mission of misinformation an they are successful because we don’t have voice in the way the public views us.
The wounded and homeless are one in the same.
If we as a group could and would remove us from the domestic terrorist list an get each an every American Legion, DAV, VFW to stand up and unite to police the streets and alleys for the homeless veteran.
To place veterans in each private hospital as advocates an warriors to get free health care for each an every veteran.
We can work together not relying on the VA Hospital System to destroy our remaining lives an dismiss us as valuable members of our communities.
We have become what they want us to be.
We in turn refuse to fight anymore because we know they can an will ban us from any VA hospital grounds or place us in mental wards an remove our rights to bear arms to protect our freedom. Using the excuse that it for our safety an the public.
Time to change people. time to fight back!
Memories are surfacing slowly these days. Most of the time I’m attempting to live in the moment. Its slow going, those memories.
April 1983 I was walking off the base leaving on terminal leave after serving three years in the jarhead corp.
I was determined to continue to keep finding work and had a chance to travel to a location not previously traveled
The wife and daughter would be staying in Diego on Coronado Island where we had lived since our daughter was born at home there on G ave. My decision was not to reenlist in the USMC because even with the bonus they offered and a TOW mos addition to my two other trainings they would not allow my family to go to Japan with me.
Up to Seattle and then a flight to Anchorage. My destination was a small island at the beginning of the Aleutian chain, it was named Popof Island the little village was called Sand Point.
Landing on the tiny runway on the edge of the island seemed a impossible task for the twin engine jet carrying mail an purse seiner crew members.
Greeted by a long ago army buddy. We served at a field hospital together in 1973. He was a surgical instrument tech an I was a field medic. We called it 28th Surgical Circus it was actually 28th Surgical Hospital M.A.S.H. M.U.S.T. at Fort Bragg.
He had stumbled on a career as a salmon fisherman because his sister married a native of the island but for some reason that fellow refused to fish an carry on the tradition so the father gave my friend a share and permit to set net.
Reposted today in memory of those spirits on the road as nomads!
May 24, 2011
I left on my area of employment cooking crackllins to venture out into the wilds of the american interstate highway system. The true gauge of the condition of the american people and how tough living has become.
Standing alongside of highway 6 heading west in Louisiana the traffic was steadily coming and going into the cut rate tobacco and beer store. I was flying a sign written on cardboard with word DALLAS on it. Large enough for the local fishermen heading towards the Toledo Bend Lake to see. Most vehicles were coming from the Texas side of the long two lane bridge to load up on beer and ice. It was breezy and overcast. Standing there smoking cigarettes for about a hour finally a man picked me up and gave me a ride for about thirty miles. The miles aren’t really important to me anymore. Only the hours of sunlight and hours of darkness.
Standing at a intersection of 4 roads for a while in the warm humid air, there was a constant flow of trucks towing little boats designed for shallow water fishing . Across from me was a coffee and hamburger stand in a old gas station. Coffee was the attraction that caught my eye even though I knew it would be the watered down version so common to american taste.Two older ladies sat on a picnic bench in the shade talking. It was a lazy saturday or sunday afternoon It didn’t matter to me what day it was, once on the road time and day disappears. .
Two cups of coffee later a pickup driven by a young hispanic man pulled over and asked where I was headed. Of course I”ll say Dallas in case there is a chance of a straight through ride not just a short 5 mile ride. As it turns out we went about 40 or so miles to the intersection of highway 59 north. The ride was fine he spoke in broken english and we got along fine with a little discussion about his work and my traveling destination goals while in the background spanish music came from the radio.
What has your life revealed to you when using the words, Time, Want, Need ? In my case it has devoured my whole being. The belief of principles that shaped my ideas of what my purpose was. Without time dictating every aspect of my being would I be a free man that hasn’t the concept of material items to create love or a mind of peace?