Well here we are again, feeling certain things and
wondering certain things, and being a bit disgruntled and tired and lacking
enthusiasm for things, all because of…
Today I’m beat because of yesterday, which beat me up
(or down) – that conversation with Abbie which left me feeling drained and
exhausted and sad. Just felt like a lot of words and fighting for my corner and
being misunderstood. All those things I said weeks and even months ago, stored
in her head and returned to me with interest.
Makes me feel like I wish I hadn’t said those things.
Hadn’t shared myself with her. Had been more careful with my words.
Words. Just like I was thinking with Peter. Be careful
with words. Realise their impact.
Is that what’s going on right now? I was saying that I
didn’t really feel I had much to learn/work on at the moment.
And then the rest of it: what to do with my life, my
near future, that whole business. Matt and Easterly and kids look like coming;
that’ll mean another 5 or 6 weeks here, for sure.
Should I fix up the Santuario? Put some signs on the
tree? Build up the sweat lodge and offer groovy things? Sit there and continue
my hot springs maintenance and see who swings by?
Or hike up the canyon first and see who I am/what the
world is after that?
That feels like a bit of a “yes”.
Then there’s always the writing…the idea that this
could be the perfect place to do it…that all I need is some power and some
shade and I’m good to go.
I think about that a lot. And I do still like it here.
I’ve just had a bit much with people and talking and listening and all their
complaints and opinions and chatter.
Hard work. All the village women (Conny excepted), and
some o’ them visiting ones too.
I should have been less caustic with Jenna (and, to an
extent, Lily and Abbie and Peter).
I don’t like it so much anymore. I do it to fit in,
and because I sort of can. But if I don’t appreciate it when it comes back to
me, I shouldn’t give it out (like that time with Shamus).
I probably got a bit arrogant too, a wee bit flip with
my tongue, bashing Americans and blowhards like Pete and Jay, etc.
Showing off in front of the girls. Enjoying that
sardonic jaded sarcasm.
Yes, it can be fun – but only for the right ears, and
certainly not so much of it that I start to take it seriously.
Wasn’t that what I loved about not being able to
communicate with people? That I couldn’t complain?
Sitting in the hot springs wondering why people were choosing
to focus their minds and words on such negativities, when surrounded by so much
beauty – but didn’t I end up doing the same?
I need to think more before I speak – and even to
think more before I think.
What do I really mean? What do I really want to be?
Where is peace and niceness? Isn’t everything
beautiful? What reason to be so mean in words?
I need to be better. I can hardly complain if I get my
ass kicked, after all the nonsense I’ve been handing out.
Abbie smokes and swears and drinks. She may not be the
best influence or company for me. If truth be told, much as I like her, I don’t
know if I can really trust her – don’t know if I really know the real her.
She’s a good soul. She’s hip and nice and good at
doing the right thing. But I’m not so sure she’s so good at being real.
She talks and talks, and spouts and spouts – non-stop,
ceaseless, neverending – but when I hold her in my arms, everything goes quiet
and she becomes tender and sweet.
Who is she, under all that bluster and ‘tough guy’
exterior?
And I shouldn’t have said anything about Stefan.
Naturally she was protective, and defensive. She’s known him a long time. They
were together three years. She has an investment in him not being a schmuck –
because that reflects on her.
These are examples of thinking more deeply. In
attempting to go beyond what people are merely saying, and feeling out what’s
really going on for them.
It’s not enough for me to just say what’s going on for
me. Though when was the last time I really got to talk? I guess we’re in one of
those zones again.
It sort of shines a new rosy light on my time with
Pearl – even though I was screaming to get out of there by the end of it (and
several days before the end of it too).
Was Pearl the beginning of my downfall here? I was
plenty happy before that. Dreams of books dissolved in experiences of women.
Wherefore went the hilarity of my OJ idea, and even
the resurrection of MSWL?
Is that what I should be doing? Or should I be
thinking San Miguel and San Pancho?
Sure, the rocks and water here may suit me – but are
the people really on my vibration?
And Tamahara, of course – that was an interesting one.
Weirded out, at first – the way she followed me to the rocks, stared at me,
snuggled up into me, told me she’d be sleeping with me – but it was actually
quite nice.
The softness of her body. Her giggles. Her laughing at
my jokes (biting and sardonic though many of them were). And the way we didn’t
have sex or kiss or do much of any of that sort of thing, really. Just wanting
to fall asleep. Just wanting to feel another body close by.
I need to go up the canyon.
I’m afraid of what waits for me there.
It’s hot in the sun and cool at night.
It’s a long, lonely way – and perhaps impossible, and
foolish.
I want to lie down and feel...
God. God. God.
Always my mind goes to God, in times like these.
A defence mechanism? An excuse, and a justification?
Or something deeper than that?
What difference my urge to leave behind North American
complaining and chitter chatter than my urge to escape everything and find
something more the first time I was here, in ’99?
Oh Momma. Oh Buddha. Oh Jesus. Oh Amma.
I knew nothing of all of you when I first came here, a
young nobody, just 22.
Now I’m 41. Some things have changed; and some have
stayed the same. But is the whole show beginning once more?
No John, no Shane, no Shawn, no Lindsay. That was all
unknown and unforeseen back then. That whole mad unimagined world that I
stepped into.
And now...a new world, a new way of life desired. Not
the world of Abbie, of Biosana, of Jeanetti and Susan. Something different,
something more.
Is something else unimagined still possible? I’m not
sure it is. But I’d sure love it if it were.
Is it waiting for me, up that mountain, finally?
Or is that just more pipe dreams, like Israel desert,
like a dozen more before?
What left is there? Save more of the same, and maybe
just writing what has been?
Up the canyon we go, I guess. Nothing left to wait for
– no pot lucks, no airport rides, no movie nights, no girls or people.
One month till Matt and Easterly arrive. A few good
weeks then, I’m sure. And in the meantime...
Well, You see me: see what’s going on. See the people
and opportunities that exist around here.
See the whole rest of the world, too, and know how to
get me to move around it.
Erica in San Pancho?
That intrigued me, once upon a time – though the
thought of her and mainland has faded somewhat.
In a nutshell: I have to be a better man. I have to
get off my arse and go hike up that river, finally. I have to talk less. Find
something more. Get myself back on track, and not be distracted by women and
fruitlessness.
Also, watching a bit of comedy and telly might help.
Snaps the brain out of its rut. A little light relief.
Laugh at other mad people, not real. :-)
No comments:
Post a Comment