Going with the wind, but not gone

There is a wanderlust in my blood that just won't go away.  There are places that just seem to call to people, like a secret is about to be whispered to them.  When the whisper comes, I have found, in my past experience, you go.  There are many people who don't understand what I am talking about.  They are stuck with their obligations, their responsibilities and there is nothing wrong with that.  There is a time and season for everything.  However, there seems to be something wrong with staying 'safe and secure'.  If we don't allow ourselves to be pushed and strengthened, what happens to us in moments of weakness?

Sometimes when a new adventure comes my way, I can't help but feel my stomach churn.  I don't know it all.  I don't know the whole path.  I don't know the plan from one day to the next.   I only know that first step that leads on to the second step.  I can't see how it's all going to come together and for once I don't have all of the answers.  I have a round-trip ticket to an adventure that I don't have all of the pieces for, and though the destination is a physical one, I am wondering what I am going to learn and who I am going to meet along the way.

I am on my way to Allora, Australia.  What awaits me?  I don't exactly know.  Does that worry me?  It's is the good kind of nervousness,  like the kind I went through the first time I went to Paris or my first flight or my first kiss.  It's the not knowing it all that actually gives us that tingle of excitement.  It is that state of being when you just realize we really don't want to know it all.  We really do love learning for ourselves and not being told how it's all going to turn out.  It's that innocence I love. Whatever I see, whatever I will experience, it will come unadulterated.

In this age of information overload, it seems we get fewer opportunities to not know.  It makes me realize how we may have become too comfortable with the boring and predictable.

Traverse The World

Many people do different things when they go through a major upheaval in life.  Some might call it a mid-life crisis, I would have called it a mid-life explosion.  The end of things, a change of priorities, the sifting of souls, etc.  Whatever you want to call it, I learned an important lesson, embrace the free fall.  At the time, I was reading a lot of Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Proust, D.H. Lawrence and George Orwell's lesser known work and even a lovely bit of Charles Chaplin's life.  They were my counsel and guides through the city of Paris and in particular about poverty.  When I came to Paris the first time, I did not seek out the glamor of the higher rent districts.  I sought out the streets of Pigalle in the 18th and in the 19th, I met an assortment of people from all walks of life.  Each district, in their own way said they were the "real Paris", while others weren't Paris at all.  To an outsider, it appears that there is a bit of having to validate yourself.  Is the Eiffel Tower...Paris or is the person staring at the Eiffel...Paris?  It seems in the city, so full of symbols about freedom and liberty, one would realize the importance of not having to dominate others in order to have a 'free and open' society.  It was in Paris I had prepared myself for the 48,000 miles I would travel within 3 years and I began my journey on a street named for an ancient route.  I do take notes along the way, because the signposts have seemed like funny coincidences. 

So I felt like I was going to undergo an ancient journey, since I was free to do so.  All obligations had fallen away and my time in Paris, writing what I saw, experienced, and learnt enabled me to focus on illusion, reality, fantasy, art, love, passion and the experience of being apart of a city that is known for the world walking through it.  Countless creatives come to Paris for some sort of divine inspiration.  Often many fantasize about becoming someone important, famous through whatever they create in the city with a focus on becoming "somebody".  Of course that totally destroys the process and more often than not, you see copies of other brushstrokes instead of the original.  The original gets buried somewhere because of that gnawing fear of public rejection or being made a fool of in the gallery world.  That fickle world of art, where experts proclaim or denounce a person and you cannot make a mistake.  I met many a great artist, many a good artist, and many a poor artist.  Perfect strokes of illusion that copied other lives and yet, even in advanced ages, failed to live their own.  Too caught up in the image game in order to be "accepted".

Wandering around in Pere La Chaise, sometimes feeling that death was more celebrated than life in Paris.  It's a strange city that actually celebrates pain more than love, often equating misery with art as I recalled an artist who showed her "Dear Jane" rejection letter to strangers to ask what they thought of it and using their responses to gain press.  I found it rather pointless because all she did accomplish was a way to exploit her relationship failure and make it public.  In a way, a bitter cast-off.  Bitter women are miserable to be around and are never pleased with anyone.  How does one heal with an openly wounded heart if you keep ripping off the emotional bandages??

Perhaps Saint Roger has an answer for the lovelorn...and then again, perhaps talking to stain glassed windows loaded with lead might earn you a well needed rest in a observation ward.

Paris, is not just a city famous for love, but is infamous for its suicides.  Whether it's jumping into the Seine, or in front of a Metro train, Paris is quite possibly the most famous city you can choose to die in. 



So why does this city seem to suck the life out of the young and aspiring? Hmmm.

When I returned to the states I stayed in a very small township.  The town was named "Divide."  I myself was divided.  I felt old beliefs shattered.  I felt new ones trying to take root without any success.

And that was a good thing.

Feeling Roots in The Soil

It's been a quiet year of reflection.  As I have come back home, I have travelled a bit and just wondered at times where my journey was going, what I was going to share, what I needed to learn...and all of those damn "I's" in the sentence put me on ice.  There was a homeless man who I met in DC, who went by the name of "Fingers", mainly because he had arthritis so bad that it looked like they fused together.  His joints were large and swollen, but he still managed to hold a drink.    We talked about life and my travels, and out of all of it, I shared some of the lessons, I felt I learned.  His dark brown eyes, looked dead into mine and I could see sobriety in them as he said one word, "Self."  He sat upright.  "You learn nothing, but self."  Now, there are a couple of ways to take this wise man's words, because I never push away words from the elders.  I turned those few words over and over again in my mind.  That raspy voice executing a quiet authority that commanded respect because of the truthful nature that walked with those words.  Everyone learns from doing, their experiences, but was I only looking from a perspective of personal application?  How was I helping anyone or helping myself?  And even in this action of helping, what was the real drive behind it.

We often reflect on those turning points in our lives by looking either backward or forward to another time, another dream, another moment--that is any other time but the present.  We compare, contrast, and think, perhaps I should have spent our time in other ways, or had the foresight to avert or avoid our little disasters in life.  The "had I known" quotient.  How much of our life is wasted by not being in the moment?  And as we look back, how much of that time was spent looking backwards or forwards instead of just being on the journey?  

Neither good or bad questions, since this ground actually seems to repeatedly come up through varying sources that tell us to be ever PRESENT.  Can you be ever present without self-obsessing?  So I stopped.  I stopped writing.  I corresponded with others instead.  My "aha moments" stopped.  I replaced them with "ahhhh" moments.  I stopped knowing everything and shut up.  I went back to being the student of life, which is a proper perspective, in order to start doing things I had forgotten how to do, never had done before, or had thought I already knew.  "I know nothing."  Everyone knew I had stories to tell, but forget them for now.  I was no longer the confidant on the road abroad, I was now the expatriate at home.  Home?

A year was spent chasing my tail trying to just figure out my life.  What was "I" going to do?  When I thought about a regular job working for some sort of corporation, acid and bile filled my digestion.  Listen to your stomach, it tells you the truth when no one else will.  Friends and family were getting anxious for me.  However, I did something completely strange...I embraced being clueless.  I embraced being lost.  I walked around in a void because everything I was touching and seeing wasn't "it".  I searched through non-profits, government, corporations and even had a stint as a precious metals trader because of my zero belief in paper currencies, but still that hollow sound that echos.

So what do you do when you know you are not at that place where you need to be?  In a word of doing, I was not doing.  I was lost in deep thought, silence and trying the acquisition of patience.  It took a lot to shut up my mind and to start digging into my character.  What did I really need to think about?  What was the real desired impact?  Then, it began to happen inside of me.  I began to start seeing what I wanted to see once I let go and knew nothing.  This whole year, was about knowing nothing and being teachable again.  It was more than physical possessions I had needed to let go of, I needed to let go of the known, the boundaries, the definitions, etc.  in order to create that fertile ground to start learning.

"I have never." are three words that keep people from doing.  The secret is, make the attempt even if you fail.  You have no experience as a child, but that doesn't stop you from trying.  A child is instructed, the task modeled and the child repeats and repeats until the task is satisfactorily replicated for a foundation where they begin to recreate and hopefully evolve to create something that shows their imagination.  A light goes on.  That is how you create a Tesla, an Einstein, or even better, a YOU to bring your gifts to the table.  In China, I was honored to be called Lao Shi, which means teacher, because to me, that meant I touched their lives.  In this journey, in various points, I have been surrounded by diverse peoples, population

 sizes, and now, in this quiet small community where the population is numbered at 4,210.  I am immersed with nature and the sounds of woodpeckers, tree frogs, and roosters.  I smell the earth, see clear skies, and can see the sun rise almost 30 minutes prior to those who live in the city, with an unobstructed view of the horizon.  The people speak slowly as though their thoughts continually simmer.  Their words chosen with care, as to not offend.  The earth is turned, the seeds are planted and the weeds are pulled.  Character, not wealth is valued.  Oaths are made with handshakes.  Impressions are made by the quality of craftsmanship, not the contents of empty promises.  There is poetry in the till, grace in the floating honey bees, and the paint and varnish of heels and make up is put away.  To retain your soul, your essence, no matter where you travel in the world is one thing.  To give of yourself, along the way, without expectation is quite another.  The mastery of a child is "not knowing".

There was a Chinese parable of a student who came to a master to be taught the art of Zen meditation.  The master refused the student because he refused to not know all he had learned in life.  "You must first unlearn all you know and then I can teach you."  Another way to look at it is how can new furniture be delivered to a full house.  Maybe it took me a year just to know nothing and it will take me a lifetime to master the art of not knowing.

Chasing Windmills

Though I am not chasing imaginary villans, as my literary character of Don Quixote did in his quest for chivalry. I do reflect on how my windmills have a certain significance in my life. Not meant to be a telling account, but I do remember certain things about windmills and about Don Quixote.

This moving windmill, not just a decorative piece, sits just outside a Starbucks in Downtown Daegu. It was easier finding the windmill, than the Starbucks. Complete with a beautiful garden of tulips, it reminded me of the first time I set foot on foreign soil when I was just 16 in the Netherlands. It was early summer, the tulips were in full bloom and had not been scorched to death and yes, I saw my first windmill and I have been chasing them ever since...

I, however, also will never forget the Honorable Judge Paul Siegel, of Miami, Florida. In his courtroom he had a wooden statue of The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha, with a warning not to pass the statue unless invited to do so by the judge himself.

Gloves, Scarfs and a Stylish Hat

For those of you who are enduring the frigid weather in the states, I know you do not have any sympathy for me. This was the official first snow in Taegu, a dusting that was gone by the evening. Though temperatures have been cold, a mere minus 10 degrees Celsius...nothing really to complain about....ahhhh but at least I can prove it did in fact snow.

I have to say that I notice little things, like the fact that most women here refuse to wear hats no matter how cold it is. They will wear scarfs but the absence of hats makes me laugh. I think I feel naked without one, no matter what my hairstyle. Not exactly a deep thought, but it made me remember my observations around Paris. Most people would not wear gloves and they walked around with pink sausages for fingers, and yet I rarely see naked hands here and the infamous surgical masks that now are sold with all sorts of colors and logos, such as Hello Kitty.

At least I have warm hands and a warm head to keep my wits about me...and a smile under my scarf.

The City of Hope - Daegu

It has been an adventure just getting here to South Korea from Florida. I have to admit, when I first saw my itinerary I was overwhelmed with the prospect of having so much time in-flight. The respite I did get was the lay-over in Japan in the outskirts of Toyko. Bleary-eyed and aching just to be stretched out for a moment I tried to be excited, but it was difficult fighting the clear fatigue that had been raging within me. Such as my human form was, I dragged myself through security checkpoints and continued on for the final leg of my journey to Seoul. It is amazing how normal alerts stop when your body wants to shut off the reality around you. When we boarded our flight on time, I was just aching for my seat, to close my eyes on one more flight that would normally take about two hours. Instead, an hour passed, and we finally taxied out, only to be called back to the gate. Apparently there wasn't enough fuel...thank God for checklists....but I wasn't even worried. I fluttered my eyelids and begged for a nap. I have to say, under any other state I might have been agitated, but that is the control freak part of me that my fatigue had placed under submission.

I kind of just realized I just felt I was required to make this journey, a predestined destination to bring me closer to whatever the fates had in store for me. My journey was far from over after landing in Seoul, being met by my agent, whisked to a conveyance, then to a bus, since the last train out of Seoul had already departed....four more hours...another day had passed and I longed for the examination of my eyelids.

I think often it is strange what can seem like a lifetime ago, and what can seem as freshly imprinted as if it was a day ago. I like to think that we choose to forget those ordinary moments where we are captive audiences told how to put on our oxygen masks first...how our seat cushions can be used as floatation devices...and yet we ignore these obligatory pacifications of our attendents. The reality is we would be screaming for our bloody lives if something tragic were to happen...the panic of realizing that our chips might be called at that moment...and in those moments we think about our unfinished business in our lives.

I asked the question of myself a few years ago about my own life. Not so much about being given a death sentence or the like, but the serious question about what I had not done with my life that I wished to do. I began to make an internal list. I didn't have to write it down, because I had been writing this list my entire life. I realized, gladly, that most of what I had wanted to do, or had said I would do I had indeed done. However, there were things still on my list I had not done and I knew that I had to act now or live with the regrets of never acting on my internal desires. That is a luxury few people have. I didn't realize how many people are unable to go after their dreams, most are riddled with assorted prisons and cages, keys, locks, and chains. Some are gladly held because their dreams had changed, mine, the constant search for my various quests.

This quest is quite different for me. This isn't so much about enlightenment, but how to be at peace with myself. The facing of internal demons, and yet the love I simply have for people is overwhelming. Most people hate people. They hate putting themselves out there. They think it is a waste of time, and they tire easily of the company of others. I equate this to being lazy. Though I am a loner for the most part, I am because I am an observer of life. It is strange because I am not a wallflower, engaging easily in conversation, but I see myself like a stream never really forming attachments. I am the comfortable stranger, often taking confessions, and realizing that these things I am told are just to release someone of a burden of the heart.

Often, after the unbearing of a soul, they move on to a deeper truth, and have left me with something to learn. They tell their truths to a strange woman and then keep their public display of lies for others. Perhaps because they act as if it was a kindness to not reveal their real self to others, or to even share to those that are close to them about their wounds.

But, here, in Daegu, I am not taking confession as I have throughout the world. I am in a city of hope where I have to search for the Lotus Sutra...my own enlightenment in a world right now distorted with fear and wars...I have come to a place of peace. I find it ironic and yet I plan to share much with you. These are my adventures of more to come. This isn't about changing the world....this is about living.