Alive Among Ghosts - Part 2

I continued on and heard definite foot falls, sandy gravel being whisked up, heavy breathing. I KNEW someone was behind me jogging closer and closer. I stopped again...confidently turned around...and...AGAIN...nothing.

Now, please, understand.  I am the most rational person you could meet. I have never had a paranormal experience.  I don't believe in ghosts, but I know what I heard and it WAS a jogger.  The temptation was to turn around right there and head back.  That would have been the smart thing to do. The path was open, I'd already been down it once, what could be the harm of just re-tracing my steps, and going back those few miles?  But, no.  I simply HAD to see where it led to.  Maybe it is the German in me; going back was just not an efficient use of time.  Nein!  I vill go on vhether it kills me!  And the Irishman in me loved the wee bit of misty, faery land I'd just discovered.

I checked my cell phone again, it said "8:20." Sure didn't feel like an hour had passed. Another shiver ran down my spine. But I wasn't going to give up. I NEEDED to know where the path would lead.
I began walking again. This time I distinctly felt like I was being watched. But I didn't turn around. I didn't stop. I figured "...whatever will be will be..."

There was rustling in the bushes again.  Didn't turn around.  A strange bird sounded like it was laughing in my left ear.  And another returned the laugh in the right ear.  Their calls echoed for a long time.  The jogging began again, as if the person had stopped way back to catch their breath and then started up again.  The foot falls got louder and louder again.  Didn't turn around.   The breathing was labored and half-coughing.  Didn't turn around.  I simply refused to play the ghost game.  Something told me that it was the playing along that got people into trouble; made them see things they weren't supposed to see.  But most of all, because I have a skeptical mind, I simply BELIEVED that I was misjudging the situation and I wanted to get to that damn Highland Avenue intersection before it became completely dark.  Also, honestly, I knew that if I turned around, nothing would be there anyway.

And slowly, gradually, the sound faded out again.  The steps grew slower and more distant.  The feeling of not being alone subsided.  And before long, I knew I had been right to not look back.
I reached an enormous soccer field...then another...then another...then ANOTHER. Then to my right were 3 or 4 baseball fields. I kept saying to myself, "Where the hell am I am I? What IS this place." somehow I missed the dirt path that led from the paved path and out to the main road--Highland Avenue--what should have been my destination.  Even today I have no idea where the road would be, were I to be plopped back down in that field.  I haven't had the chance to zoom up on the map yet.  Ah, the joys of limited Internet use.  It certainly was NOT apparent when I was actually crossing that foggy field.

Even with the jogger-sound gone, there was something not quite right.  My instincts told me that I was isolated, in a different realm of some kind.  Again, for no good reason and in spite of my initial confidence, I felt like I was being watched.  Maybe I really was.  I mean, maybe the neighborhood kids (wherever the neighborhood was) were hiding in the woods beyond the fog?  I just had to keep going and make the call about how to get back home.

I was clueless. I even walked methodically around the parking lot and could not find the road that led out or in to it.  This began to seem more and more like a Twilight Zone episode or a bad trip.  I even began to wonder whether I was in-fact dreaming.  In the distance, towards what I judged to be the south, was a segmented fence of some kind.

Each segment looked like a solid 30 foot area and then a small break and then another solid area, etc., all the way across the horizon. What the??  There were about 20 of these solid rectangular forms. Sure looked like boxcars from a train to me. It was raining for real now and assessing my embarrassing and temerarious state, I smiled and then very consciously sighed.  I knew this would be something to sit back and laugh about (or better yet WRITE about) at some point.  But I was SO alive.  I was beaching my row boat on the Maine coast back in the 16th Century.  I was washed up on a foreign land.  I was thrust into the jaws of uncertainty.  It was a new world.  And though others might not see it as anything special.  Something in my life aligned to produce this feeling.  It was pure adrenaline and it electrified my soul.  After all the depression and gloominess of the day, now I was stuck in land of frigging Oz, in the midst of a parking lot with no entrance or exit, at the end of a physically psychedelic path, haunted by a dead jogger, standing on the buried remains of a horse track.  GOD, I loved it!  And there was NO ONE around; no houses to be seen; no traffic to be heard... I said out loud, "Well, this is what I get for taking 'the longest road.'"

Somehow, I gathered myself up and resolved to continue on.  I really had no choice.  A melted orange glow hung diffused against the western sky.  The sun would be gone long before I got out of there.  Of course I had spent nights outside before. If I had to again I would. Thankfully I had my faithful and well-stocked backpack, with extra clothes, a lighter, a flashlight, meat ends (ha!), a pint of milk, a fleece jacket, a towel, a pocket knife and a rain poncho.  But this spending the night was a ridiculous notion to contemplate!

If worst came to worst, I'd just find the head of the trail and walk back again.  It seemed my soul wanted an even larger experience that my mind was willing to allow.  Not being one to beat around the bushes--as it were--I headed for the segmented "fence." As I approached I realized that I had been correct with my train theory; it was indeed a series of boxcars, left there for god-knows what reason.

"Ha, ha!" I said, "If I can get on to the tracks I'll be able to see a traffic crossing at one end or the other."  Then it was simple and straightforward, I'd just follow the tracks to the intersection.  I started through the tall grass toward the tracks.   When I got close enough, and after falling in and stepping into several hidden pits in the ground, almost twisting my ankle, I worked my way up onto the tracks at the end of the line of boxcars.  Right on cue I heard a distant train whistle.  Like a friggin' movie!  I wished so badly that my camera had been well-charged.  Documenting this whole thing would have gotten me a grant...

But I couldn't see a god-damned thing. About 100 meters in each direction faded off sharply into the now darkening fog. I could hear the inner-Homer in my head say, "Doh!!!"

I noticed there was another track beside the one I was standing on.  I walked over and through another pit-filled gully and a black pool of rust-colored ,oily water, to stand on the next set of tracks.  But alas, no view, only fog again and - not surprisingly - a louder train whistle. "Shit!" I said, and then ran back over to the other tracks, then skipped over the pits this time and back on to the field. Obviously there was a turn-off off of the main track and these cars were being stored.  They each displayed the word "Boston," along with some of the filthiest graffiti I think I've ever seen.  Even *I* blushed.  It was apparent the boxcars were waiting to be used again soon.  I looked for hobos but only saw myself... Ha!

Now I was feeling pretty stupid and was GLAD no one was around. At this point I was becoming fed up and decided that going back to the path was my only choice.  It was 9:15.  Darkness had pretty-much enveloped everything. I was happy to be out in the open where there was still a bit of light from the sky.  Yet the notion (no matter how brave I am) of walking a couple miles back along a pitch black trail with the jogger ghost panting behind me was not exactly a welcome one.  But what choice did I have?

I figured I was almost back around to the head of the trail anyway. It was one-soccer-field away.  I had circumnavigated the whole complex of fields.  I made my way along the gravel siding next to the tracks, and now instead of water coming up through the holes in my shoes there were small stones AND water. 

As it grew darker and darker, I had to stop two times to dump out my shoes before finally rounding the corner to a straight dirt road leading to the paved part of the path again, up-aways.  Upon the third dumping-out of my shoes, I noticed two dark brown forms way up ahead, in the same place I had started off across the field at. They were too far away for me to tell whether they were people or tree stumps.  As I put my sneaker back on, I reached in to the lower pocket of my backpack and removed my binoculars.  I stared through them, focusing first the middle knob, and then the right lens.  Sure enough, it was two people; one tall one short.  I strained to see them better...  They were walking but I could not determine if it was toward me or away. 

The lenses flattened the image, which also shook slightly.  At this distance there was very little depth of field... And then... They stopped walking and stood there side by side.  Now I just felt weird.  I crouched down to rest my elbows on my knees in an attempt to settle the image, at the risk of looking like I was trying to hide--though I wasn't.  The image wasn't shaky anymore.  But these people had no distinguishable characteristics; no faces or light clothes.  Their arms were straight down at their sides.  You'd think that if they were talking or something they would at least turn to face each other?  One looked like he was wearing a hat, old-style, like Indiana Jones.  But they just stood there as the rain steadily fell.

I just DID NOT get it.  What the hell were two people doing way out here in the rain, at this time of night? They could surely see me. My shorts alone were khaki, but looked bright white in the gloomy reflection of the overcast night sky as it was lit from below by distant city lights.  And they looked to be right where the paved trail led back into the woods--that is, right where I needed to go. Like a fool, I waved. But they just stood there.  They wouldn't have seen the wave anyway.  They were just silhouettes.  Why would they just stand there? Were they facing me or away from me? Maybe they were walking and I was just too far away to tell?

I slid the heavy backpack back over my shoulders and carried on toward them. I walked on and on. they didn't move.  It seemed to take forever and the forms of their bodies didn't seem to resolve themselves any better as I approached them.  About halfway to the spot where I would run into them, I stopped and took out the binoculars again. Before bringing them up to my eyes I got my bearings, since it had become so dark and I needed to make sure I was pointing the binoculars in the right direction.  I used my naked-eyes to do this, then finally looked through the binoculars... And like a mirage...they vanished!  I quickly removed the binoculars from my eyes and like the fading of a frame in a video, they were completely gone!  Oh man!

The third shiver of the evening passed over my back and neck like a train of ants up a log. "Wonderful!" I said out loud.

Mentally adding these phantoms to the now-long list of unfortunate things I might face along the way back down the trail, I grit my teeth and bucked-up to the challenge of meeting at least SOME of them.

The fatigue and desire for this little adventure to just be done-with took over.  I threw the binoculars back in the pocket of the backpack and walked quickly now toward the place where the two people had been standing--the head of the path. In military history there is what is known as "the forward retreat."  That is when you are surrounded, knowing you will be cut down if you remain on the battlefield, desperate for a way out.  It forces you to run forward through the enemy's lines and - God-willing - break out behind them, where you would presumably keep running all the way "home."  Well, I wasn't going through the indignity of running, but I just didn't give a shit anymore.  It was time for the forward retreat.  I was going to get back down that path and back to my my some-what abnormal life, no matter what it took!  Earlier, when I had removed the binoculars I had also taken out my pocket knife, opened it and carefully slipped it inside my shorts' pocket (notice the word, "carefully").  It was better to be safe than sorry. Better to have a knife and not need it then to need a knife and not have it.

In virtually no time I reached the path head. I didn't stop. I wasn't afraid. No! I was THRILLED! THIS is what I desired so much: the uncertainty of where I was; the threat of being ambushed by who knows who or what and having to fight for my life in the black overcast with the threat of even heavier rain...

This was TRULY living!  THIS was what I didn't get to have in my former life; what most of us never get in our safe comfortable, but stale, existences.  THIS was why Iwallk!  I marched like a soldier, muscles tight, jaw clenched and ready, down the path.

I made my way around the grassy, land fill hills. I re-entered the darkest part of the path shivering again but determined...on fire for what lay beyond.  I resigned myself to follow it no matter what, though I couldn't see a thing.  By sheer instinct I walked on and on.  I stayed in the middle by judging the grade, as the width of the path arches slightly down on either side.  I didn't speed up and I didn't slow down, I simply marched at good and confident clip.  I considered stopping to pull out my flashlight, but then thought better of it.  If there were people around they would be able to see me and my light better than I would be able to see them in the shadows.  A sickly orange glow was occasionally visible through the ceiling of leaves above.

Shivers kept running up my back. I felt like I was on some kind of amphetamine; like I had just injected the strongest speed.  But, it was better than any drug.  I'd never done that kind of drug anyway, but I figured THIS must be some-what how it felt. There was a rustling on my left side I turned my head, but did not stop.  It got loud--like stomping, and then seemed to run away.  Maybe a deer? 

I saw nothing as I pushed on, just pitch black.  My mind seemed to light the entire forest from within me; fed by the luminosity pouring out of my soul.  I was a bat or a dolphin way down deep in the blackness of the ocean, seeing with my ears.  A glow began to fade in to my vision, faintly up ahead, ghostly, ominously on my right side.  I marched on and on.  When I got within fifty feet I saw that it was the tent. Obviously, its occupant was there now.  Maybe he or she or they were the ones in the field?  No time to stop and ask.  I just kept walking.  I swear "things" were breathing audibly all around me.  It seems they wanted me but could not quite find the right moment to plunge in.  I was one of them now, a creature of darkness, a demon ready to fight or bite my way through this.

Strangely, unbelievably even, I still felt NO FEAR; none at all.  I was ready for anything.  I knew that passing through this wasteland of imagination was proof to myself that the world could throw anything at me and I would be able to face it like a man.  After this half hour of blind uncertainty, no human being could ever intimidate me again.  Even the specter, death and the devil himself, who once pushed my face into the mud, no longer had power over me.  I would live-on...EVEN if I died. 

Yes, I was ALIVE, bristling with energy.  Every nerve was expecting trouble...wanting trouble.  And I LOVED every single second of every minute of it.  Dreams, visions, nightmares passed through my mind.  Long-ago scenes from the deepest reaches and darkest ditches of my life experiences passed through me.  Ink-like, suffocating blackness from the sleep seasons of my past flooded into my mind.  There was nothing else to see but them.  But I was ready for even these inner torments, conjuring them up on purpose.  And still I pressed on, HOPING almost praying that something would jump out at me from the shadows.  I gripped my knife in anticipation...but...nothing did.

Approaching the entrance (now exit) to the path, the street lights and the noise of the traffic lay just beyond and attacked my heightened senses like coming up out from under water, up for air.  As I passed by the concrete re-enforced pillars that blocked cars from entering the path, I knew it was over.  The test was over.  I slowed my pace. The restaurant whose parking lot I now invaded like an army of one, was closed.  I slipped by it's lonely outdoor tables and flickering lights.

On the road next to the sidewalk I was now safely making my way on as cars zoomed by.  A truck peeled out from side street.  Someone was yelling at their kids from the front porch...AH! To be back in "normality." I jacked up the straps of my backpack, reached inside my pocket and closed the knife with my right hand, while I gently wiped some tears of genuine joy from my eyes with my left hand.

And while I moved along this well-traveled and familiar path, I wondered why every day couldn't be like this one. I thanked God for my Odyssey and my life of uncertainty.  I knew then that I was doing the right thing.  What more could I ask for as validation? What spice could be more awakening? I knew presently that I had just emerged from the woods as the new Ulysses and in the adventures yet to come the collective challenge of post-modern humanity would be mine to express as best I could.  And IF I could, anyone could.  It prepared me for the great duty that I will be called upon to complete.  I don't know what that will be but it won't be an easy task and it may cost me all of even the small amount that I still have left in this world.  But I will gladly fulfil it, whatever it is. 

And...maybe...for a passing moment...my mind really WILL "light up the entire forest from within; fed by the luminosity pouring out of my soul."  Even if it IS only for a moment, what joy of human life could be more satisfying? 

No, I have no home.  I have no things.  I have no rest.  I have no comfort.  I have no bed with warm blankets.  I have no idea what my future will hold.  But, for the first time in my life, I DO have this feeling of becoming new, becoming truly alive.  Now I dare to say to myself that I really AM worth something.

I slept well later, on that dark night of the soul, dreaming richly and colorfully of things yet to come. 

Now the REAL work begins..........

Alive Among Ghosts - Part 1

[I've decided to delay my planned post for now in favor of one that should still be pretty good. The support for the last one was completely overwhelming. You all have lifted me out of a funk and made me feel like that light at the end of the tunnel is for REAL. THANK YOU ALL!]

It was growing dark. The overcast was billowing, saturated and dense like a white towel dropped into a dirty pool of water. There was still time to kill before I could head back to my sanctuary, sleeping bag and sacred computer. I'd been reading a collection of works by James Joyce, and was able to let that absorb my interest until the natural light got too dim at Mill Creek Park.

In the previous hours I had explored the many streets east of downtown South Portland, around the marina and then up and down the neighborhood roads.

It was that in-between time now. I had been up at 6:30 am like every day for the last 40 or so days. And I was just plain old tired. Despite my brave attempt to put a stoic mask over my sun-burned and now cloud-covered face, I was (and am) growing weary of this time in the "wilderness."

Earlier in the day I had spent several hours at Tim Horton's, where one cup of Jo buys me a table. But, I unthinkingly bought a second cup too. I am very sensitive to caffeine and halfway through the second cup I noticed that I was getting anxious and my mood was darkening. I need to learn to say "when" with coffee. But "when" was ancient history by the time I decided to head to the park.

Now that I was ready to leave the park, my thoughts were mired in a canyon of negativity. My feet were wet. They had been all day. The sneakers I have are wearing thin and each has a small hole in the bottom now. So going through a puddle or even walking in wet grass squeezes water up through the soles and into my socks. It was also a cold day and despite my usually good preparation, I had neglected to bring jeans, so I had to deal with shorts. For a while I put a towel over my legs while sitting on the bench and this helped, but in my never-ending mission to not stick out in the crowd--though no one was around, I thought better of it, and stuffed the towel back into my backpack. Besides the towel looked like a skirt. Not cool.

Of all my time out "here" - since walking out the door of my last apartment and the first night of trying to ride that ridiculous bike - I was truly feeling down. I kept trying to remind myself of how much support you have all given me, and even though that did make a positive impression, I just couldn't seem to hold the thought as I sat wet and trapped in the drizzle of this dark day.

Finally, reluctantly, I ventured back toward my sister's place. Usually I head down Broadway from the park and then head up Anthoine Street to connect with Highland Avenue. But that would have brought me back too early, so I decided on the longer route of remaining on Broadway until I reached Amato's and Evan's Street. I was still dubious about arriving there too early, but I really had no choice. I was tired of sitting and needed the change of environment.  Along the way I checked out some places for lease (I am trying to start a business and am always looking at empty buildings). I figured that would kill some time.

When I finally reached Evans intersection I noticed that the bike path that ran parallel to Broadway continued on, adjacent to the intersection. It was still rather light out, the air was fairly dry and I was in my meditative walking mode. I decided to cross Broadway and Evans and check out the trail that set off into the woods. I'd been to every South Portland park and walked every trail, but this was like a secret I had not yet heard of.

This is when things began to change...

I later learned that this was the southern part of the South Portland Greenbelt Walkway a paved path paid for by the State of Maine, which the City of South Portland won an award from the Federal Government for as a high quality and naturally beautiful project. Yet...I didn't know any of this at the time. To me it was (presumably) just another way to reach Highland Avenue further down, and a way to kill time. And boy, did it ever--kill time that is!

My cell phone read "7:15" when I entered the path.

As I walked into the mouth of the path and under the sheltering cover of large oak and maple trees the drizzle diminished. I could imagine a sign above the entrance, like Dante's phrase above the Hell Mouth: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate ("Abandon all hope ye who enter here").  I chuckled to myself.  And a strange stillness, a dead silence, hung over my steps. All I could hear was the "squish, squish squish" of my sneakers waterlogged and unable to hold more moisture. I remember that all I wanted was to get back to a warm space and let my feet dry out. They felt like wrinkled, dead meat ends (ha, ha).

The path was pleasant and peaceful though. I slowed to a more measured pace. The sides of the path were lined with thick clusters of Japanese knotweed (Fallopia japonica).  You've all seen this before. It is a kind of invasive plant that grows quickly around pavement, in poor, sandy soil and looks like mini-bamboo. It's density was so great that peering into it was impossible. The space between plants was pitch black. It would have been a great place to hide. As a kid, we had some down our street and I just loved exploring though it. I was even tempted to do the same thing now. But I came to my senses.

The woods beyond, on either side, when the knotweed thinned and temporarily disappeared, was beautiful, vast and over-grown with pines on the edges of small streams and swampy, leafy areas. Venturing further and further in, I found that the houses and other buildings stacked up along the side of the general path, thinned and receded the deeper I went.  It became very dark indeed in the woods, though I knew the sun had not gone down yet.  Had it not been for the tar pavement, I would have mistaken the area for a medieval forest.

I kept expecting someone to ride by on a bicycle or jog by with a nod of greeting, but I was completely alone. As I wandered on I had that strange sensation that I might be headed in the wrong direction; south perhaps, toward Scarborough, when in fact I needed to stay in south Portland. On and on and on and on I walked. A mile post passed by. Then another. And the sounds of civilization faded completely. The sky grew darker and darker and the drizzle became more like occasional bouts of rain. At the same time I was wondering just what the hell I'd gotten myself into.  Fortunately though, I also recognized that my dark mood was gone now; replaced by the instinctual need to stay alert and a growing excitement about penetrating into the unknown.

I was glad to be back in a lucid state of mind. I was becoming quite impressed with the length of this trail as I ventured on and on. As you might imagine, things that seemed long to me before I made lengthy journeys of this kind had become less so in the last month and a half. Yet STILL, this time seemed to be different somehow. It was very much like I was passing into a lost world, while being sucked into my own mind.

I felt much as I had inside my many adventurous dreams. You know; when you find yourself out of your comfort zone in a dream, looking in every direction, wondering what you should do?  [I will have much more to say about the value of these dreams in some posts soon to come.]

I drank up this feeling. How much better was it to be lost on a trail of mystery than to be languishing on a park bench, cold and depressed! THIS is what I craved. THIS is what I needed. After what seemed like a half hour I passed by a tent on my left side. I slowed, feeling VERY alone, but wanting to see as much as I could. Was there anyone in it? Had I only known about this area when I was looking for a place to spend my nights early on... A strange notion of fear and growing excitement passed through me. Maybe this guy was a psycho? In a way...frankly...I hoped he would be. Sad to think that life has gotten so boring and predictable that I actually craved danger. But I have to admit that I did.

The sides of the tent were white and blocked any view of its interior. There was a rustling on the other side of the path. I immediately stopped. A shiver ran up my spine. I peered deep into the woods, but there was only a stream and large drops of rain to be heard, making there way down from the closed, leafy canopy above. I methodically turned 360 degrees, peering as intensely as I could in every direction...NOTHING.

With a bit more trepidation I started on again, this time a bit faster. I passed another mile marker. It seemed impossible to me that I had gone three miles. The treetops above me were very dense now and seeing a clearing ahead was a welcome sign. Maybe THIS would be the passage to Highland Avenue and my route back to civilization... But it was not to be.

Now I was passing into a weird area of large grassy hills. Several signs were posted (about one every 50 feet) warning walkers not to venture up on to the hills.  Apparently this used to be a land fill and "dangers and hazards" were plentiful there.  Cool!  Plus, if I strayed, I was likely to be caught by whatever authorities roamed this desolate area and given a $1,000 fine (no shit!).

The brighter sky above me was a welcome sight too, but, as luck would have it, it turned dirty gray again after only a short time. The Wizard of Oz song kept looping through my mind... "Follow the Yellow Brick Road...da da da da da da da..." For fun I tried to change the mental lyrics to "follow the black tarred road," but it just wasn't rolling off the tongue.

I have an excellent sense of direction and when I realized the path seemed to be doubling back on itself, I started to feel pretty foolish for even entering it in the first place. Would I meet a lion without courage, a straw man in need of a brain or a tin man lacking a heart? I sure as hell hoped so, since I felt quite alone at that moment.  But it wasn't a complete curve in the path and in little time I was headed back in my original direction (roughly, east).

Finally, I passed out of the grassy, hilly area. There was a bench that had a small brass plate on it, and read: "In Loving Memory of (so and so). Father, Grandfather, Brother..." etc... I wondered what this poor man had done in life to earn a bench plate ten miles out in the woods in death, where no one ever saw it. Then I considered that *I* should be so lucky. I didn't stay long at the bench, wanting more than ever to just get my soaked sneakers off and feel the softness of my sleeping bag... On the other side was a marble plaque that told about an old 19th Century race horse track, called "Rigby Park." I suddenly remembered that I had my camera on me and kicked myself for not documenting the trip thus far. But when I pulled it out and clicked the power switch, the battery icon flashed and it turned off; friggin' thing was dead. Figured!

I journeyed on. I passed into a humongous clearing. That's when my thoughts started to become a little twisted. There was a strait-away, maybe 500 yards in length that I had stared down. I noticed that finally, I heard someone jogging behind me. Finally another human being was close by. This strange Bugs Bunny cartoon was ending.  At last, with someone around, I was less likely to be abducted by aliens, see a Bigfoot or have an anvil drop on my head.  I stopped and turned around......NOTHING. "Weird," I thought.

Making Dead Ends Meet

Today I felt that the appropriate theme would be a focus on the struggle to get by with little to nothing; its usefulness as a lesson and its ennobling quality for the soul. 

First I have to thank the people who have donated to this blog.  My only fantasy - and please don't spoil it for me - is that these donations are coming in because you enjoy the writing, and not just as charity?  OK.  Well, now that we have that out of the way...

Despite the wonderful support of you readers, I am still somewhat below the waterline; owing a power bill from my last apartment and trying (with very little success) to save up to buy a new hard drive for my laptop.   If I could accomplish this latter task, I would have the huge advantage of working online during the whole of the daylight hours, and not just 60 minutes a day. Night time is good, because I can finally get online, but I usually end up spending most of the time answering the many emails that come in during the day. And - as of late - I seem to be nodding off, no matter what my work plan is for the night, around 11:30 pm.

In perhaps a vain attempt to avoid confusion, let me say that I mention the above, not to glean sympathy or further donations...OK, not JUST to gain sympathy and further donations...he, he, he, but as a preamble to the philosophical standpoint that has made itself so apparent to me lately.

As I have discussed in past posts, the intellectual benefits of having long periods in which to think, to ponder, to contemplate - while Iwallk from town to town - is becoming readily more and more apparent.  The self-clarifying of my personal issues (that initially seem to be so irresolvable) - the way their solutions are facilitated - moves them a long way toward working themselves out. They register as actual, tangible solutions for my material struggles, bring a greater awareness of my place in the world - maybe even in the universe, and offer an unbidden, but welcome, vision of what seems to be shaping up as a relevant destiny of some kind.  If I did not truly FEEL the significance of a future role for myself I think I would be more prone to giving up.

This edification is not something I consciously seek, but seems rather to be automatic and inherent to the human state of mind when one is doing a physical activity over a relatively long duration of time.   At the same time, this process becomes a catalyst for lubricating the mental areas where friction once dominated and stultified the ambitions of the past.   By "friction" I really mean the scraping or braking to a slow crawl in the process of goal attainment.   And by "goal attainment" I really mean the non-material, more meaning-laden goals of the soul, not a promotion at work or the purchase of a new car.

There is a kind-of vital supplement to the light of experience found in the harder trials of life that I have on the street and it seems they can simply be found nowhere else. When we were so-called "primitives," this light must have been a more natural outgrowth of simply surviving in the natural world. But here in the 21st Century, and having grown up a rather pampered member of the human gene swarm myself, I never really knew, nor would I have ever believed, just how profound and profitable lessons learned through toil, hunger and discomfort can be.  I don't want to romanticize suffering.  Suffering should be avoided.  But if it can't be, then extract every last bit of positivity from it that you can.

Of course I see other unfortunate folks who are literally on the same physical road, yet worlds away from the above realization. They are self-defeated, unhealthy, addicted to their own sense of perpetual indignity.   There are ways of surviving that don't include letting one's self go. There are compromises with one's state of social deflation that don't have to include a sense of failure, nor a sense of personal downfall. 

One must always see where one is at in any moment as the most temporary place in life, but also the most important thing to be focused on.  Gandhi said, "What you do is not important and it is very important that you do it."  Only the future and the past moments are eternal.  In my personal view there has never been a past and there is no future.  The present is the evolving datum of experience, ONLY.  For myself, I try to stay alert to my own desire to stay afloat as best I can. I make it a game, a challenge, sometimes even a thrill to just maximize every situation that comes rolling down upon me.

As I was telling my good friend Jason the other night by email, I certainly am not always successful in prosecuting this positive attitude. I often DO feel defeated, unworthy and exhausted.  I doubt my self at some point every single day.  I feel intimidated by my own preaching. 

I hope it is not too much information to admit that in my past (more often than I probably should be saying) I have contemplated removing myself from this world. It is a seductive notion that once experienced and seriously contemplated can haunt a person, no matter how successfully they think that they have re-adjusted their viewpoint, even unto the natural end of their lives.  And to be perfectly honest, during the darker and less-confident hours, I do still see the ghostlike dress of that seductress...lightly flowing in the stale air.  She is a beauty, but pale and cold, stretched out across some dirty, back-bed of my mind, waiting for me to return to her. She will not leave me, until I leave this earth.  My challenge is to no longer go and visit her.  I know she's there but thankfully I have neglected her for many years now.  She is my dead end.  To sleep with her is to sleep forever.  How could I call to her now that I am finally awakening?  Still, it is a curse that when I dispare I hear her intoxicating voice calling to me...  Even writing that gave me a shiver....

There are many things that I hope to sit back and relate someday as I recline on my future back porch; maybe with a bit of humor and a little smile on my face.  After my camera battery died and I was walking past a retirement building in the west end of Portland, and after filming my last post, I saw two old guys sitting on a bench talking.  It suddenly struck me the way an involuntary flash rips across the mind of the unsuspecting, that one of those men was actually me.  I saw through his eyes.  I saw the city.  I saw the weird looking bearded guy with the camera and the sagging backpack walk by.  And the eyes of my future self met the eyes of my present self.  I was swept away into the future.  I talked to my wrinkled up old friend about the adventures of my Odyssey so many years before.  And there were a lot of funny tales to tell my captive audience of one.  I REALLY felt this exchange for a moment.  Then I was back in my younger body, in the late afternoon, making my way to the Casco Bay Bridge.  Just what would I tell my old friend someday?  It is funny all the practical things I've done to survive.

Here are few... 

Change is important.  And here I refer to coinage.  Returnable bottles and cans are nickles and they are everywhere (see my post Learning a Litter More Each Day).  Twenty of those suckers earns me a green piece of paper, called a dollar bill.  Not taking advantage of what the "normal" people toss in the bushes as refuse would be insane when spending so much time on the street.  I pull in about $1-$2 each day from returnable bottles.  That is a lot.  It can be 15+% of what I spend in a day.

My budget of blog donations and a few occasional royalties allows me to spend about $3-$6 per day.  And that doesn't count laundry day.  That is what's known as a "starver day."  But I'd rather have clean clothes.  A missing a meal is worth it.  Again, why let myself go?

One local supermarket has machines that take individual bottles and cans.  So I'm in there three or four times a day, turning bottles and cans into little promissory notes, and then converting those into food each evening.  I'm also there to buy food with my budgeted money too.  I am there so often that I smile and wave to the security cameras; knowing that the people watching the doors are wondering just what is up with me.  I figure I might as well be friendly if there going to have to see my ugly mug so often.

This same store provides some other essentials including a clean, private bathroom.  This has been a place to wash up and occasionally load up on toilet paper and paper towels (not too much but enough to last a couple days). 

Each day - several times a day, I've noticed - the deli puts out meat ends (get it, "ends meet...meat ends"?).  I can get nearly a pound of turkey or ham, or a baked chicken quarter for about $1.69!  Any of those meat items is certainly enough protein for the better part of 2 days.  Near the bathroom area is a nice, cold water fountain.  I fill up my 1/2 gallon jug with water and that too will last all day, of course refilling is easy. 

Further down the isle are day-old, price-reduced fruits and vegetables.  Bananas, especially are a good deal, $0.50 for about 5 or 6 pieces of fruit.  Bananas are also serotonin catalysts (a blog post usually follows one of these purchases!), and they are high in carbohydrates for short term energy expenditure.  Then in the vegetable isle there are single cucumbers and/or large carrots for $0.59 each.  One whole wheat bag of 8 hamburger buns is $2.50.

So, $1.69 + free water + $0.50 + $0.59 + $2.50 = $5.28 (no tax).  That is three or four well-balanced meals.  I stretch that into 2 days of 2 meals per day.  No need to eat more than two meals.  That kind of spending is on a good day.  But getting a few of these things even on a poorer day is not bad.  It IS enough to survive on.

Coffee is a luxury and I celebrate with a coffee on mornings after a donation is made.  Coffee (in moderation) is also an appetite suppressant and obvious energy provider.  Thankfully I am blessed with a high sensitivity to caffeine.  I can buy one large Green Mountain coffee at McDonald's ($1), drink half of it and save the other half for the next morning.  It is my present to myself.  On a rainy day, or on mornings when I am down town earlier than the library opens, I use my purchase of a coffee to basically rent a table for several hours.  And that will allow me to work in my notebook without guilt or pressure to leave.

Here's a funny one... Twice now, while in Portland, people have asked me for cigarettes.  I don't smoke (since 2000), but I found a full pack of Marlboro Reds (someone's bumming!) on the sidewalk, realized their value and kept them.  So when I am asked for a cigarette I sell them for $0.25 each or 5 for $1.  If the guy (and it usually is a man) looks REALLY bad off, I will just give it to him.  I've made a couple bucks doing this, and I still have a few left to sell.  It is funny to say, "Yep, I've got a butt but it'll cost you a quarter," and then watch their reaction.  Most people look confused for a moment, but surprisingly even a guy begging for change in the morning will spend a quarter for a butt in the afternoon.  Hey, I think it's fair. 

Yes, smoking is bad for people, but these folks really couldn't sink too much further anyway.  To punctuate depression and destitution with brief moments of pleasure is OK in my mind.  Maybe I'm overly liberal in this regard.  And, though some of you may disagree, I believe that having a little pleasure is a HUMAN right.  Only in the stark, hyper-stoic, self-righteous, prudish and constipated Western mind does the idea of complete abstinence from all forms of psychoactivity reign.  Most people don't realize that the desire for intoxication is not exclusively a human trait.  Animals seek intoxicants too.  Our brains are designed to use them.  And that is a FACT.

My advice to moralizers who want to engender guilt for partaking in the occasional intoxication - a mental break from the monotonous life of being downtrodden - is: GET OVER YOURSELVES!  Most "normal" richer and more fortunate people imbibe to release the pressure of the day and the knowledge that they are whoring themselves to "the man."  Why shouldn't the people who have been thrown away by society, trampled under foot and made to feel like trash be able to take a break every now and then from that condition?  Just my opinion I guess.  The percentage of alcoholics (for example) in either group ("well-off" or homeless) is about equal.  Hell, I'm a bum and (right now anyway) I don't use any "drugs." 


When  it comes time to rest, it is much more couth now that warm weather has come, to take a nap in any of the parks around this area of Southern Maine.  Deering Oaks in Portland is especially luscious and green.  No one gives me a hard time and there is shade from the sun on hot days and sun to warn me on cool days.  I often don't quite get enough sleep at night since I have to be out so early in the morning and am working on  business plans so late--sometimes until 3am.

The real question is:  Will I be able to be so prudent and frugal when I have plenty of money again?  If I could be this efficient with my funds when I am re-upped I should be able to save quite a bit.  Honestly though,  I don't think I have the self control to keep from buying Sushi instead of meat ends, to see a movie instead of roaming a beach, to sleep in until 9 am instead of being dressed and out the door by 6:30 am, to fill my shelves with fine wine instead of filling my jug with water...  I wish I could live starkly poor even when my bank account is overflowing.  It is something I am anxious to try.

But I promise you all this...

I KNOW now that there is no reason for three car garages, yards filled with unused jet ski's, boats, and ATV's, shopping JUST to shop, saying "yes" to a boss who is abusing power, dreaming of STUFF instead of dreaming of peace of mind, eating until I'm full instead of being just a little bit hungry when I go to bed (over ONE BILLION people go to bed having not eaten AT ALL, every single day; half of them are children), drinking until I'm drunk instead of enjoying two beers, pissing on the homeless instead of empathizing with their plights, squandering fossil fuels instead of walking when I am able, presuming I know what is "normal" instead of allowing for the spectrum of all possibilities as the REAL state of "normal."

A dead end is a dead end.  But when two dead ends meet they are no longer "dead" or "ends."  They are ONE ROAD.  And this road leads to the brightening of the spirit, the strengthening of the soul, the justification of the mind and the comfort of the body.  Whenever I reach the end of the road I don't stop............Iwallk.

ODYSSEY - Day Thirty One - Working Portland Tour

I've decided to post another of my video tours.  This was a "working/walking tour" of Portland.  Without saying too much about my coming business plans, I need to scope out some properties and similar businesses in Portland.  I wanted to get an update on the scene in general.

It seems that the entertainment area of Portland has moved from the Old Port up to and around the Arts District.  Larger venues have replaced pubs as places to feature musicians and artists.  I really like this.  It is somewhat interesting just how many places there are now in the western region of Congress Street.

For local residents and folks familiar with Portland, I'd be very interested in you comments about any of the places featured in the video below.  Also if anyone knows of other leasable/purchasable properties I'd love to hear about them. 

I spent the entire day in Portland, going first up Congress Street then back down to the Portland Public Library as it opened for the day.  Then I walked around the Old Port quite a bit.  I ran across a couple of young women playing a pretty good tune and caught much of it (which happily earned them a couple bucks in their guitar case).

I got a good bit of Old Port footage, I decided to head down Forest Avenue to Hannaford Supermarket to buy lunch.  There was no way in hell I would buy lunch in the Old Port, at three times the cost. 

After lunch I journeyed back up Forest Avenue to Deering Oaks Park for a very delightful rest and re-couping.  I had never seen the little wading pool before (behind the stone bridge); very cool!  I was surprised that there were only a few kids there. 

Feeling that I had gotten just about as much as I could for visual images, work-wise, around town, I decided to end the afternoon with a sojourn around the West End of the city.  I remember many times, when I used to drive, going out of my way to enjoy the architecture of that area.  Now I could view it for as long as I wanted (as long as my camera stayed charged). 

As you might be able to tell, I'm kind of an architecture freak.  I took some extra electives in high school and college that brought me great satisfaction on the subject and whenever I get to see these houses I feel the same way--inspired.  Someday....

This following movie is longer than the others have been, but not uninteresting.  It was a beautiful day and I really wanted to record everything that I saw.  The background music is "Aether" from my ambient (instrumental) album, Psychoambience.  (Feel free to download a copy or the whole album--good relaxing music.)

Hope you enjoy this, and let me know if you have any comments or reviews on any of the businesses in it.  Thanks!