As I mentioned in my last post, this past summer was a great time of renewal and inner, positive, psycho-spiritual work. That some of it has unraveled a bit in recent weeks is not an indication that progress wasn't real, nor useful.
I had two opportunities to head down to Southern Maine during that time. The first reinforced a tradition I started back in 2016: that of rough camping in Yarmouth during the Clam Festival. After setting up the old IWALLK tent, I had a terrific time late each night, drinking a beer, while smoking on my little one hitter, doing some deep contemplation at the secret site as I paced up and down the quiet train tracks. I also got to hang out with my mom, sister, and her kids. The day before returning to Farmington, I helped my sister clean out some stored items at her house in South Portland. I had about two car fulls of my own stuff that I was finally able to organize. I took one load up to my land and then returned the next weekend for second load. Honestly, even though I had so much stuff now to find a home for, it was great to see so many things I'd forgotten about. And although my whole "thing" is downsizing, I was happy to have the remnants of the great library I was possessed, along with old childhood and other memorabilia.
Let's look back on the first days of fall to see just how domesticated things were here at SoftAcres after finding places for all my stuff. It was this mild and comfortable environment (at least by my standards) that allowed an opportunity to bring out my inner gentleman farmer.
My studio--ready for when I've built up enough power storage to use it again.
My desk.
My comfy beddy.
Notice the angel motif. One side of the throw has the white cherubs...I like the other side.
With not enough room in my tent, the notebooks containing my self education
materials had to live in the "kitchen" area.
Items could now be stored on the shelf which (once lying on its side) was used to
support my mattress.
The base of my totem pole contains the little items I've found along roadsides and other places.
As an experiment, I leave them exposed. They are just trinkets, metaphors for memory...
Further up is the IWALLK nomadic symbol, capped by a representation of the Spark
(a diamond earring that has lasted there since the first day I moved in in 2017).
It is a symbol of faith...through all weather. It rests figuratively within the Trinity,
at the Center of Infinity--a fragment of the First Source and Center.
As the Spark has existed since the near times of eternity, descending all the way to the lowest
levels of reality, simply to indwell the mind of one of God's most foolish creatures, with a Will to lift his broken heart and many disabilities up enough to complete the soul and return to the Center,
so my crazy diamond shines on...
One of my favorite plants-sweet peas.
Compost. Left is this year. Right is lasts year's.
Looking southwest. My sunset chair.
Rain guards. None of this canopy remains as I write this in November.
Green beans on the left. Tomatoes on the right (planted late, but yielded well).
It was the fat time of the summer and harvest of early fall. My days consisted of waking, walking around the perimeter of the land while I drank my coffee, pulling on my backpack and walking down town. There, I'd buy no more than the day's meal (I eat once a day).
Upon returning, I'd write throughout the afternoon, or doing some physically hard yard work, finishing up around 6:00 pm. Then, in a kind of ritual way, the meal would be cooked. I tried to make time to sit and watch the sun set after it painted the trunks of every tree on the mountainside in blazing orange. Often, I would then go down to the fire pit, listen to the radio and watch the fire burn low. When I got sleepy I'd head into the tent, with it's cozy lights and serenaded by the peepers, crickets, owls, and distant celebrations of coyotes, to work on designs or other ideas. Sometimes I'd watch and listen to ASMR videos at YouTube. "Tingting" is my favorite.
At some point each night the Spark (though largely dormant at that time) would assume control over my mind, closing the curtains of another day and ushering me into vast realms of lucid consciousness or restful unconsciousness, there, to train me in the deep mind, perhaps for future somewhere in the mansions of light?
Back in the struggles of my Journeys, now feeling a million years away from them, I learned to "own where I was." In my book you will someday see how this mantra changed my entire philosophy about private dignity. Even sleeping in the merciless rain - with mud creeping in through the tent door, in some godforsaken Virginia (for example) wilderness, as an assumed social vagrant, a piece of trash blown off the highway, a guy people didn't even try to steer their cars around as he walked each day - I demanded (and any person would deserve) the dignity of a space in which to lay my head. I found the sleeping/dreaming peace of the Spark, even if it was only a few hours. I owned every single place I slept. And in a sense, I still do. Each one of those rough campsites now sits across 28 states as sacred memorials to the Modern Nomad, at the end of history, who owned them simply with his choice to stay there. The talisman of the IWALLK nomadic symbol protects them for any future Nomads to find his/her own peace there--for them to own. I transfer ownership.
If you ever find yourself setting up your own little tent after a long day of walking, and you look up to see a strange mark on one of the trees nearby--a combined "i" and "W" capped by a Spark or Tao, you will know that this place is yours, just as it was once mine.
Seems so peaceful and efficient. :-)
ReplyDeleteSurely is. And needed....
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