Archive for the ‘Wander’ Category
No Struggles
March 26, 2011Shook Ones
March 22, 2011
The first place you feel an earthquake is your stomach. Right where you feel fear and heartbreak, the place that drops away when you’re falling through the air or in love. For a moment, it shifts. Then everything is shaking.
I remember the exact moment I knew how serious this was going to be. A long aftershock was gently rocking my house, and I was watching the news break online. The whole country was shaking, but everything sounded as good as it could be. There are few places more prepared for an earthquake than Japan, and there were no reports of buildings collapsing. And then: “Seriously, anyone on east coast of Japan needs to head to high ground.” My stomach dropped. It was time for work. The wave rolled in.
That night we knew what had happened, but only saw people trying to reach their families on Honshu. We heard most had no electricity, but fortunately everyone was safe. At that point, for us, it was disaster without death. The next morning we saw what had happened. Exactly what you saw. The Japanese, who weeks earlier were searching through the rubble of Christchurch, were now struggling with tragedy of their own.
It was one of those increasingly frequent and intense reminders of the fragility of human existence. A reminder that everything, no matter who you are, can be ripped from you with total impunity. Families, friends, homes, lives. Anything you hold closest, value above all else, can be destroyed. We are fragile, and we are invincible, and we are beautiful.
Suddenly we were caught at the centre of the global news cycle. “I’m safe, everything is fine,” was not a mantra we repeated to ourselves, but to everyone back home. What can you possibly say to yourself? What else can you say to them? “Don’t watch the news on TV,” would have been a good start. We were calm and collected. As the days passed, reporter/actors dramatized the images bouncing around the globe. What they said reached everyone who cared, and through them, came back on us with a ferocity I could never have imagined. I lost track of who knew I was ok. I also lost track of who was ok here. A lot of people were stable until they listened to the wrong person. Occasionally that was someone here, but mostly it was anyone out there.
Nuclear fear. Rumours, tension, distrust. Town cleared out. First the tourists, then people like us. The entire staff of a ski shop left in the night. Who knows what they heard. A little fear caught in a feedback loop will consume anyone. Who is telling the truth? Are we about to be part of the worst nuclear accident in history? If we had to, could we get out? What if this is the end of our world? These are not questions you ask every day. After what we had seen and experienced, we understood life can end at any moment. Knowing you might have to flee at any moment is something much harder.
We went to work, and followed the news. We toasted to the end of the world. We made green tea. We ate breakfast in the sun. We bought each other coffee. We cooked with good olive oil, or said forget cooking. We talked, went riding, listened to the XX and Nina Simone. We held each other together. What the fuck else would you do? There was calm and stress and laughter. Our radiation humour was on point. There was gravity. I felt grounded. It was possible to see with the manic clarity of chaos and fear.
Can the whole world feel something? Because I’m right fucking here, and I can feel it. Can you feel me? I want to reach out to you, and you want to reach out to me, but can we connect? These are the moments you find out. They are the moments that define you in ways you can’t immediately understand. You will always remember them, but don’t know what you’re going to remember.
In Japan I have seen the same thing I witnessed in Louisiana as New Orleans was evacuated and Gustav hit. Only now I understand it. Home is the place from which there is nowhere else to go. Earthquake, tsunami, nuclear disaster, or hurricane. I have watched people bear them all with tears and laughter. Drawing strength from each other, because there is nowhere else to go. They are home. It’s a sense of place so strong nothing can break it. I see it in certain places, cultures and generations. I’ve seen it in Japan and New Orleans. I come from a place, a culture, or a generation which lacks that sense. What will happen when we inevitably have to deal with tragedies of our own? I know one day this will be Vancouver, and living there may never feel the same again. One plate slides under another, just like they do here.
We are all here. With each passing day, the world gets smaller, and we become closer. Within this tragedy I am nothing, but I hope I somehow brought you closer to the people who are really hurting. To the life, love, fear, death, heartbreak and strength in this moment.
People grow together, and they grow apart. The universe brings us together, and it tears us apart. The most valuable thing you can have in this life is a bond with another person that remains unbreakable when it does.
Peace.
Falling Snow
February 24, 2011
I have lived a lifetime in falling snow. I have stood on mountaintops, at the beginning and end of time. Searched for the stars, as they fell all around me. Walked down the middle of an empty highway, to the end of a silenced world. Been entirely alone and entirely lonely. Known synchronicity, supreme peace.
I have stood above the abyss and leapt. Wind has screamed for my blood to freeze, before we whispered through silent trees. Curtains of flakes fell as it blew, and I moved through time as they grew. From above the clouds to below the lights, that illuminated crystal city nights.
I have been the richest man on earth, for what it’s worth. Dead broke and smelling like wood smoke. I have kissed, cried and dried tears. Loved falling. Fallen in love. From the stop sign every time, to surviving on a life of crime. I never forgot that it would end, but always knew it would last forever.
I have risen in darkness, descended at dusk and dawn. Woken not knowing where I was, but sure it was where I wanted to be. Eaten breakfast on my feet, from muffled bombs to marches down the street. I have waited for just as many buses as I caught. Fought a child’s battle, won a man’s war. Stood with my heroes, equal, more and less heroic.
I have seen death and rode his scythe. Made a truce and earned back life. I have mourned the dead, and toasted living. Found friends I’ll never lose, extended family evolved from crews. Out of the mist, the memories drift. Bound to who I was and who I will be. I won’t stay young, but I will stay free.
I have. Slid out. Slipped up. Tripped out. Fucked up. Made footprints. Lost the way. Walked the tracks. Wished I could stay. I’ve seen heaven and I know, I want to die in falling snow.
Bang Along
January 24, 2011
I was raised on libraries. From my first book to my first year of university, easily more than 95% of what I read was borrowed from a library. When I was young and things were simple, I didn’t understand why anyone would buy a book when they could read it for free. In high school, money was the issue. Why would I spend what little I earned on a book I could borrow, when I could buy clothes, weapons, paint and things that explode?
As my horizons broadened, money was still an issue, but better calibre libraries (and the Internet) also became available. From the VPL’s downtown coliseum to SFU’s seven floor fortress of stink[1], the range of books widened, and their magic held. I still have fond memories of finding the well-worn hardcover edition of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test tucked deep in the stacks crowning Burnaby mountain.
When I moved on to real mountains, things changed. Like most other people I had a couple boxes of books. Mostly used, gifts, and a few I had never returned. Nothing special. At the time, Whistler’s library was shacked up in trailers, and let’s just say I had to start buying books. Which was fine. The idea of actually keeping books and building a little personal library had become very appealing. So with the help of the breezy village bookstore, and the dirt cheap prices at the greatest re-use-it store ever, that’s what happened. My attitude had gradually shifted from wondering why people bought books to discovering little I’d rather spend money on.
Then my humble collection united with D’s, and over a few years it became an unmatched force. But like the tower of Babel with it’s top in the heavens, it was eventually struck down. One half leaning on suddenly sparse shelves, and the other in a heap on the floor. Despite the split, our momentum carried, and to this day I know of few people our age in the same league.
People excepted, what I miss most often these days are my books. Sure I brought plenty to read, but hardly a day passes without the need to reference something I’ve read. From David Choe to Swami Sivanada Radha, my memory craves their exact wording and images[2]. Fortunately, travel is one of the best ways to add new dimensions to any collection, and I can’t wait to share what I’ve picked up. It’s easy to love what you have, but even easier to miss what haven’t found yet. Don’t let what you miss keep you from finding what you love.
[1] The smell aside, I’ve seen people cry over Arthur Erikson’s architecture. Some in awe, others in total despair. I’ve got a few choice words and general contempt for his work and the clowns who love it. On my best day I see him as someone who carried out bizarre experiments on humans while under the influence of the 80’s.
[2] I recognize that in this age of tablets and cloud storage, some techno-savages (not to be confused with technomads) would suggest I ditch the whole thing and make moving twice as easy for the rest of my life, but there are certain things I simply can’t replace.
Just GPS-ing Myself
January 9, 2011
I ducked to Sapporo for a couple days. Solid move. Shot a roll of film, but it’s currently on hold with a few frames to go. Been writing like crazy, but it’s coalescing into something bigger. Just wanted to touch base and say a word: Peace.
