Eclipsed

It was almost disconcerting tonight, the lunar ecplise in the middle of everything, so quick and so distant I almost lost it amid the city lights. And, yet, sitting on my front stoop for twenty minutes or so watching, and it was like another world. I could just barely make out the waning moon caught between the treetops and apartment blocks, but it took my breathaway.

I wished I were gazing at the sky from somewhere else, away from the city lights, away from the Safeway, away from the traffic. But at the same time, it sort of touched me, that something so simple could draw so very many people. That all across the country everyone was doing the very same thing.

The take home message of the week? It's so easy to be eclipsed by everything going on around me, far too easy to go unnoticed. The temptation to pull the hood up and poke the headphones in, to be the one on the bus who turns the other way while someone struggles on the sidewalk, it's the easy answer. To sit in my little book-cave and ignore the night sky. Complacency though, too, makes me internally uncomfortable. I both crave and fear the challenge of pushing myself.

Front Country Adventures and Hidden Messengers

I like to think I'm a firm believer in fated messengers in human form. What I mean by that is basically that we meet the people we are supposed to meet at the right times. That the people we encounter are supposed to enlighten us, though its up to us to figure out exactly what form that takes.

This is the story about how I happened to be in the wrong place at the right time in order to discover that there is some law/company regulation that requires portland city transit drivers to stop and deal with apparently health and safety emergencies if they see them....On my way home from work this afternoon (the shitty not happy fun outdoorsy kind) and I'm sitting in the front of the bus being the shitty wannabe hipster that this city turns me into and we come to a corner and I hear the driver go "oh shit thats not good" and lo and behold some dude is sort of crumpled face down at the busstop. And then the driver freaks out and is just muttering to himself about insurance or something and pacing on the sidewalk and calls his dispatch and gets back on the bus and continues to talk to himself and mutter about how he thinks maybe hes breathing (the dude, not the driver) and freak out and looks around helplessly. So he sits there and looks at us passengers, and being apathetic wannabe hipster freaky people we ignore him or sigh and wonder about the state of the city and bitch about those goddamned homelesspeople.

After a minute or two I get annoyed so I go outthere...look around, cant figure anything out...no blood, no blatantly obvious mechanism of injury no hazards. Takes awhile of me yelling at the dude and shaking and sternum noogy but he opens his eyes. another minute or so and dude says a word or too fairly incoherently. So not entirely unresponsive, but thats about as much as I'd give him. All the ABC's in order, airway breathing circulation, which as really as far as I'd thought when I got off the bus. Just instinct, I figured I could start CPR if I had to. Thats literally as far as I thought. Another 30 seconds or so and I figure he doesnt speak english. Then picture me trying to asses the guy in spanish. Which i speak (not). The guy doesnt even smell like booze, just has really really dialated pupils. So I keep the guy talking (or swearing at me in spanish as the case may be) and try to convince him not to move for another minute or so (in less than acomplished spanish), till the bus driver starts yelling at me about being off schedule and all my shit and my laptop is on the back of the bus and the driver says the paramedics are coming so I leave him and get back on the bus.

And now I feel like a tool. I should have stayed until the paramedics got there. I know I didnt have to do anything...being the front country and all... I but cant stop thinking about the guy. Just the way that he looked at me. I wish I knew how it ended up, I wish I'd stayed there to find out. I wish I was better under fire sometimes.

More than that, I wish I knew what this guy was sent to tell me. What I'm supposed to get out of the whole adventure. People hit you only when you open yourself to receive what ever they're trying to teach you. What was this guy supposed to teach me?

Heart, My Lovely Hobo

"Searcher there is no road. We make the road by walking." - Antonio Machado

So much good flowing in and from so many different directions. I'm sort of overwhelmed.

No, I haven't fallen madly in love.
No, I haven't failed out of school.
No, I'm not depressed for the moment.
Yes, I do miss travelling.
Yes, I desparately miss outside.
No, I don't know what I'm doing with my life.
No, I'm not excessively concerned.

What I am doing is trying to make the road by walking it, one step at a time. Its pouring outside my window (and I mean pouring), and tonight I'm in sort of a damn-the-consequences mood. Thats kind of my motto for this last semester, do it anyway. Don't wait, don't hesitate, just throw that foot off the platform, and trust that theres ground somewhere beneath. Do it anyway, because if you're probably having this conversation in the first place you know the right choice.

I am not without flirtation and frustration and amelioration. I'm street luging down the dark sidestreet of life headfirst. The trick now is misplacing my anger and fear and resentment and trepidation; it's reteaching all of my internal boundaries of culture and upbringing and temperment, and stop expecting anything less.

What I'd Tell You If I Could

Tonight I am stuck somewhere between aroused and viciously confused. I've been so out of this loop for so long, that I find myself wandering around daydreaming happily, and then I have to remind myself that no, I am not 15 trailing around after my best friend in the secret agony of an absolutely forbidden crush. At so many points these days I am so completely and wholly struck by my age. In some ways it was so much easier in high school, the cues were so much more blatant. And if you know anything about me, you know that there is little that gets under my skin quite like being uncertain, in limbo. I think that's part of the reason that I've avoided the whole dating scene, because it puts me totally and completely out of reach of things that I control.

The bottom line is, no matter what I imagine, however hard I attempt to not let my mind wander, I need to somehow face facts that it will probably not work the way I picture. Nothing ever does. Not like that's a bad thing, its just the reality living with a severely overactive imagination and a penchant for drama. In reality, its really just a big deal for me, a big victory to even be in this situation. Putting myself out there is a big deal for me, when even after four years of solo time, I'm still not totally sure what I'm hiding from. Its even larger and more noteworthy that I am attempting to ignore the voices telling me that I made this all up, that I guy like that would never be into a girl like me. But I didn't make it up, and now all that's left is to wait and see.

If I could, I'd tell you that for once in my life I want to enjoy not being so serious. I'm not trying to marry you or date you seriously. All I know is that I liked spending time with you, and I think you thought so too. I'd like to do so more often. That's it. Casual. Noncommittal. Fun.

I want to prove to myself that I can do this. That I can be grown up enough to be smitten with someone, and not try to drink myself to death in the process. That I can do this and not be eaten up by it. Or turn anyone gay in the process. That I'm bigger and better than my demons. That I can be loved. That I don't think everyone and everything to death. That I can be patient enough to see things through, though the more patience required, the more I tend to let my mind wander places it has no place going.

I need a distraction from this distraction.

The Last of the Sunny Days

I am so greatful for this stolen moment of stillness in time. I am sitting stretched out, my back up against the base of an old willow, the sun on my face, looking down from the Cemetary onto the city below. I can see Hood and St. Helens, and all the lightly dusted sugar-topped peaks of the distant Cascades. For the sights of far off mountains beyond mountains alone I bear the afternoons of such crystalline and frigid words of art. I had so much to say, so much crashing at the gates of my brain all morning, and now all I want to do is sit and peer out on the valley at my feet.

Good lord I need to get outside.

How I Spent North Dakota, Montana, and Idaho...in less than 24 hours!

I wish I could write this adequately. Of sunrise over North Dakota so bright and so sudden and so riveting that I struggle to tear myself away, and am seeing spots for minutes on end.Of land carved by some unforeseen spoon, dotted with horses and the white remnants of an early thaw. Of prairie grass that would it not for early January flapping in the breeze. It sort of makes me undeniably content just sitting and watching the world slide by, surrounded by lost souls and adventures so similar to my own.

Theres no good way to voice the spontaneous immediacy and distance I feel, looking out on the waves like foothills. Its sort of like sitting on some abandoned Atlantic beach and knowing that the only thing between you and Africa is water. Where cowboys ride trains past ancient Pioneer cemeteries with three graves and faded Pickett fences. And footprints mark the snow pack even hours from the next town. And empty churches and freight liners whisper sweet departure songs to empty grain silos. Even the sun makes rainbows through the ice.

For coffee and sagebrush I could translate the tails of this forgotten West quite happily for days on end.

Riding trains is sort of this sweet zen. I've whiled away nearly the whole day just staring out the window. The more you stare at the same things for hours on end, the more intriguing places your mind usually wanders. Deep Montana in the early evening, and I was really hoping for a sunset to light up the prarie-land and the very beginnings of high mountains. Clouds came in, so instead I'm marvelling at the beginning of the Rockies in the dying light and two guys with twelve-string guitars playing old blues and John Denver.

Someday I'll learn to play the guitar. I've got to. Montana is flat. Every small town we've passed through today I peer around desperately, trying to imagine myself here. Its so brown, that's the first thing. Other than that I think the endlessness of the high-prairie and the slow heave of the horizon just might grown on me. I love the expanse, if that's even a word. I love a gaze in every direction going on for miles on end. Even the sad sort of desolation of empty houses and empty land, its something bewitching.

There would certainly be sunshine, however...

Adventuring Again

Trains are in so many ways like some slow nostalgic rapture. I could stare for hours on end out the windows, locked in some zen-like battle for concentration and coherence, and never quite come out on top. It's Tuesday night and I'm fighting my way through some bittersweet comings and goings, and doing my best to work through and compartmentalize a long week of hello's and goodbyes and internal reminisces. As always, my work is to understand instead of mourn.

I'm closing in on Tomah, Wisconsin on day five of this epic adventure. I can't quite shake the notion that my story, the one that again places me on a path greater than schooling, begins again here.

Seeing Rachel again made me feel incessantly old and Russia so very long ago. Friends like that where you can pick up after two years of limited contact, and talk for two days on end about nothing and everything at all, well, they're pretty much amazing. We talked as we did that long fall day in the one Western coffee shop in all of St. Petersburg, almost without pausing for breath. I can never quite find the right words to explain the wonder I feel at being around people with whom you share more than just a mutual understanding of life and ethics and passions and priorities. It was nice. I'm so proud of the work that she's doing, and only kind of secretely jelous of getting to go back and face the mysterious darkness of the Russian bureocracy...Only kind of.

It was so good to see Chad again, and so unexpected. The Chernov clan I can take or leave, but Chad I will truely miss. I tried all summer long to figure out what made working for him such a pretty awesome experience, and never quite completely defined it. It was a treat to work for someone so wise. He taught me so much over the source of the summer, and saw so much good in me and the work that I do. It was so nice to talk about my plans and ideas for the future, and my mythical thesis project in a completely objective manner, with someone with the experience to know what I'm talking about. I appreciate so much the encouragement and support and belief that I am doing the right things and fully capable of all the bigger and better and crazier things I am dreaming of. I admire and respect him alot, and a little bittersweet to leave.

I've been so struck by the strangeness of doors that are closing behind me as I pass further west. It was downright bizarre and a little disconcerting to leave home for undoubtedly not the last time, but for the last time buit-in, expected, and counted on. It's sort of the same effect of leaving Czech, heartbreaking because you don't know the next time you'll be back that way again. Being there is so strenuous that I have a hard time parsing the difficulties of leaving. Its a completely different feeling then usual, when I know I'll be back for a visit in four to six months time. I probably will, but when the money gets cut off it'll be on my own terms and on my dime, and I can't help but feel a little bit marooned.

I saw Fradkin briefly, and really shouldn't have worried to tell him of my abandonment of Russian. He actually mentioned it, more like suggested it really, before I could. We were talking about grad schools, and he said something like how he thought my skills would be better used in something environmental rather than Russian. I was amazed that he could read me so intuitively. I am so deeply and profoundly blessed to have and have experienced so many guiding figures such as these in my life. I am continously realizing what a large impact all of these mentor folks have on me, and I can't express how thankful I am.

Minnesota Line and time for a nap...