THE NAKED ANIMAL

So I'm taking my usual late night therapeutic walk a few days ago, and the streets are pretty empty as usual, when I see this lumpy old goth guy dressed all in black coming my way down Santa Monica Boulevard. I'm walking near the street, under the trees, and he's in the middle of the sidewalk, which means we're to each other's left. I continue my route, and I can see the guy getting nervous. He starts sort of twitching, and shaking his bottle-dyed Stevie Nicks locks, then he suddenly veers over to me, blocks my path for a moment, and says, "In America, we pass each other on the right, Man!" Then he goes on his way in a huff. "WOW!" is all I can say as I continue on my own way, "Everyone's a fuckin' narc these days."

A lot of people talk about how the U.S. is moving dangerously close to becoming a police state, but I think that if there are evil puppetmasters secretly designing society and its citizens to their own greedy ends that they've already engineered us into a much subtler system than that--there's a growing fear in the flabby, feeble-minded masses of people who do things "differently," which is not a problem in itself, but there is a corresponding easier readiness to lash out because of these fears due to our government's oh-so mature and even-handed proclamations and policies about foreign powers and protesters. I swear to God, people, sometimes I feel like I'm on a big ol' poorly supervised playground that's full of nothing but bullies and tattle-tales, and I can't wait to get my education over with and get out into the real world, if there is one anymore.

Categories: fucked-up

Today, the mayor of Salt Lake City, Utah, Rocky Anderson, gave a speech that perfectly crystallized the lies and crimes of the Bush administration and the true yearning of the people for truth, peace, and accountability. Has anyone suggested that this guy run for president? He seems ready to really kick some flabby ol' neo-con ass. Watch the speech here or read it here- it's about 15-20 minutes long, and chock full of a lot of things a lot of people have been wanting to say for a long time. And then there are little nazis in the making like this twit, who must have their say as well, I guess (yawn). Let the sheeple be sheered, I say, since that seems to be their imperative. Those of us who are still thinking, breathing, dreaming people will prevail.

I've been feeling so misanthropic, curmudgeonly, and paralyzed by my hopelessness regarding the human drama and my still undefined place in it that all I've been doing is wandering around the house or lying on my bed in a half-conscious stupor. Two nights ago, my body had finally had enough, apparently, because it had me up and walking out the door before my manic mind or dormant spirit could catch up with it. That night, I walked for three hours, aimlessly, making turns without thinking, zigzagging through the backstreets of Hollywood while the good people of the world dreamt of sugar plums, or whatever it is the good people of the world generally dream about.

Walking in LA at night is a very old technique of mine, developed in college and mastered in my twenties, wherein I was able to glean all sorts of things about my chosen city of residence that I would never have learned at any other time but during those few wee hours of the dark, early morning. But I'm no longer looking for oddball late-night adventures or glimpses of paradise through dark shadows. My current walking spree is taking on a firmly inward character, so much so that I barely notice the other people around me as I wander--not that there are that many pedestrians about at two in the morning. What few fellow walkers do appear are all either crazy or drunk, and probably assume that I am, as well. Ignoring others unless they insist is common practice when late-night power-walking. Just in case you decide to take it up....

It sounds funny to call what I'm doing power-walking, but that must be exactly what it looks like to people. I'm not doing it to keep in shape--though it never hurts--but to lose myself in the rhythm of my steps while the bounce and motion gently jackhammer the sedimentary gunk that has so slowed down my soul as of late. I'm walking because it's the only way I can tolerate at the moment to reconnect to my own power. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. It's a different kind of power-walking, I guess.

That first walk, I strode off layer after layer of latent rage, and since those layers seem to settle back upon me fairly soon after each cleansing, I find myself doing the same during every walk. Last night, I walked Venice Beach to the Santa Monica Pier and back so fast that I could've kept up with rollerbladers if there had been any. There were quite a few people on the beach at midnight, to my surprise; dark little human forms crouched or standing here and there, some alone and some in pairs; I'd notice them as I approached, but pass by so quickly that I didn't even have time to develop any interest about them. It felt quite good to be so detached from anything but the beat of my feet in the surf and the sound of the waves as they broke. I was hoping for lots of stars, but that part of the coast is so bright that you might as well be in downtown Hollywood. You gotta go up past Malibu to see any stars, or at least as far as Topanga, which I may do one of these coming nights.

Today, I literally stormed out of bed, into my sneakers, and onto the streets before I could rub the sleep from my eyes. By the time my mind was fully aware of what I was doing, I was down on 6th St. and La Brea--a good 2 or 3 miles from where I live. I momentarily dreaded the walk back, but once my feet headed me homeward, the dread fell away and my pace kept my spirit and mind at peace. I hate to even say what my mind and spirit are like when they're not at peace, but let me just remark here that I certainly do empathize with all sorts of terrorists during those less than peaceful times. In fact, I feel like I'm right on the edge of either hurting myself or others, and luckily, my body has found this incredibly simple way to keep me from acting on these almost-impulses. I DO scream or, shall we say, "emote vocally" sometimes while I'm walking, which, I'm sure, does nothing for my image as a sane person.

Besides, I think that absolutely everyone in the world is completely insane no matter how sane they appear to be. There's no other explanation for the mass insanity that passes for pleasure, politics, and progress. I'm realistic enough at this point to know that there's no one out there who's going to beam me up out of this mess, and I lost the ability to fly many, many lifetimes ago. But as long as I have feet that can take me from one place to another, I still believe that I can get there (Where? Ah, that's an entirely other question)...at my own pace.

Categories: emotions, transformation, healing, exercise

The Naked Animal has been off wandering in his native habitat quite a bit lately, that being the forest and the mountains and the rivers, these particular ones in far northern California. In fact, I almost got my foot in the door on some land up in Mendocino County in exchange for refurbishing a century-old ranch-house, but the whole thing fell apart when my would-be contractees started changing their minds about things I thought we’d already agreed upon. Suddenly, I saw a long chain of contortions and manipulations I would have to perform in order to do the project, which would only continue to complicate my life, when my intention is the exact opposite.

I’m a natural purger and I’ve always tended toward simplicity in practice and design, so it’s no surprise to me to find myself at forty with nothing but one room of dear and useful furniture, a suitcase of clothes, and a few treasured knick-knacks to my name. Then there’s the car that’s worth less than I still owe on it, and my cat–a definite drawback when you want to do what I want to do, but I’m utterly unwilling to part with him. We saved each other’s lives, and I know that one day we’re going to be able to communicate with each other through interspecies telepathy. Perhaps I’ll become the next Dr. Doolittle....

But that’s not my immediate goal. What is it that I really want to do? Well, that question has been nagging at me for the past–oh, I’d say about three decades. So, when I recently quit my job and went back on disability due to a rare, chronic leg infection that makes my shins, calves and ankles swollen, red and very painful in sporadic cycles (it’s called Helicobacter Cinaedi–doesn’t that sound like some swanky Nero-era Roman matron?), I started thinking about it a lot. I dove into many deep, dark places in a last ditch effort to hide from what I really wanted, and then went down even further to escape the fact that it wasn’t about want at all, but about a true, deep, dire, burning need. And that need, for me–my purpose, if you will–is to heal.

I don’t even know what that means or what it looks like from where I’m sitting, because I’m sitting in a place where I’m going to have to expend all of my energy healing my highly toxic and diseased self before I can explore what my urge to heal means beyond my own field. I have a power in me that I’ve kept stifled for so long that I thought I had finally snuffed it for good, but it’s still there, burning meagerly but unwilling to go out, and it’s going to burn right through me if I don’t use it to ignite some change in myself, and in the world.

Now, where do I start? Hmmm, let me see... Well, I mentioned my cat being a drawback earlier, and that has to do with what I want to do on a logistical, physical level rather than a spiritual one. But since they’re all intertwined, let me introduce you to my second most burning need; one that is intimately connected to my first: to live completely off-grid; in fact, to grow a completely new kind of civilization that operates not against, but completely outside the current paradigm, in which I’ve always felt like a trapped animal or disoriented alien.

But back to the cat. I mention him because many already operating off-grid communities do welcome new members but are opposed to pet ownership. In fact, I recently stumbled across what would have been a perfect gig for me on craigslist: a one-year, live-in contract editing three books of a spiritual nature for an author who had also established a small, off-grid, intentional community in the Wisconsin (I believe) wilderness. I didn’t even apply because the description of the community included “pet-free.” I am of the opinion that humans have a contract with the animals they have gone into partnership with over the past several millennia, and believe that we are all going to need each other’s help as we forge ahead with our collective evolution. So the cat stays with me.

That’s my personal drawback: I always have to do things my own way. Some call it an asset, but if so, the pay-off has yet to come. My complete inability to compromise my ideals in this matter is the reason I’m not already living in an off-grid, intentional community. There are dozens around the country, and hundreds around the world, and I’ve personally visited several, but I am simply very bad at joining any already-formed group. Or perhaps I just haven’t found the right group to join. But I suspect that I really just need to start my own. Yup, I’m the type who likes to re-invent the wheel.

Actually, my problem with most already-formed off-grid (or near off-grid) communities is that they are all tainted by the dogma of their founders and/or current core groups. When I say “dogma,” I refer to either a proscribed spiritual belief system or religiously practiced psycho-spiritual therapy technique–there are many, many “alternative” paths out there, most of which are certainly harmless and even beneficial to copacetically attuned souls, but I’ve never followed one that I didn’t later find was in fact presided over by the twin powers of dogma and ego, just like every other group-oriented concern on the planet. (Sounds like a law firm, right? “Good morning, Dogma and Ego, how may I direct your call?”)

I really don’t want anyone’s psychic detritus trailing along behind me into a new paradigm–especially my own. I feel the need to shed all beliefs and attachments, even those that currently lie beyond the mainstream. (Okay, except for my cat!) What I want is to go all the way back to the basics in order to rewire my being and its connection to reality from the ground up. In this I see the seeds of a new kind of spirituality that cannot be fully grasped in my current state. Some groups, to be fair, are already finding this in their own ways. I’ve just got to make room on this planet for my own way, whatever it may be, which is what everyone in this planet is trying to do in some way, I suppose.

Meanwhile, I strive to forge a clearer vision of that path, while acknowledging that I am, in fact, already on it. The next fork in the road leads to the release of addictions and improved health, and then we’ll just have to see what that stretch presents to me on its horizon.

I don’t know why I’m posting this, really. I feel completely detached from the need for literary achievement or success in the current marketplace, so it’s not to attract attention. Perhaps it’s to attract possible cohorts, or wise words from those who have gone before me. At the very least, I hereby record my thoughts and feelings as I move through some very big life changes. (Uh, yeah, Rob, it’s called keeping a journal, and it’s not like it’s some kind of new concept or anything.) No more stories of the past–I’m sick of the past and my quasi-nostalgic attachment to it all. Present tense is what I crave, with no strings tied to either the past or the future, a creature afloat in the river of now, of no-time, of all-time-as-one. No more simply dipping my toes in. It’s time to take the plunge...

[Splash]

Categories: healing, transformation