Late June finds me on the north California coast. I'm writing from Gualala, near the Sonoma and Mendecino county line. Last weekend I attended a regional Burning Man event near San Jose. I had some hesitancy since I have fewer friends in the Bay Area than in Oregon where I attend SOAK, a festival in the forest of the coastal mountains. I'm so glad I went. There were a bunch of great people who had a great time being great people together. I picked up my friend Alex from the train station in San Jose beforehand, and another friend joined from the Petaluma area.
After the festival I dropped Alex at his apartment in SF, and drove about 100 miles up the coast where a friend has an acre property, at almost exactly 1000 feet above sea level. I am currently squatting there (with permission) while I take a few days rest and evaluate where I will be able to replace a tire. The used tire I bought about a year ago has worn through. That's forty bucks well spent. Though I have the privilege to use this wonderful piece of land to camp on, it is a challenge for some reason to accept how easy and good life can sometimes be. Though I have a mild car problem to solve, there is no particular hurry, and I am in a beautiful place, only minutes from the ocean.
Last night I read a short story my father wrote in 1988, when I was five. It is called Sandpiper Coyote Man, and I am one of the primary characters. There are only four characters; me, my mom, my dad, and Coyote, who is a Vietnam veteran on the beach. My father and I approach him to give him some change, but we stay to hear how his leg was lost, and I get to feel the stump that remains. My dad had told me about the story before. I think it is one that he was proud of. I am glad to have the experience of reading this story today, as it is part of my history in this world. I am able to read it today and appreciate my father sharing his experience and perspective, in spite of a bias in the story against my mother. That there is a negative attitude toward my mother does not surprise me. My dad had issues with women. While I can accept his "story," I do so while keeping in mind that all of our stories and colored by our individual biases and limitations. So, I do not defend of pretend to admire the parts of his story that indulge in self-pity and hate. I have some of that same darkness inside me. Most of us do. We are allowed to be angry some of the time. Besides, were it prohibited, it would do no good. So, I accept you, dad, for how you were. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And if you were here now, we would experience the spectrum together. And when you got shitty, I would listen a little bit, and if I was feeling saintly enough I would smile and give you all of the love that I had. I then I would say, "Please stop. Discipline yourself. Train your mind on something that brings you joy."
I'll close this post by sharing the lyrics to my most recent song:
To be on the open road, is a dream my friends say
Well I'm livin' it today, and I s'pose I'm gettin' by
I ain't bathed in a week, and my car is full of junk
But I'm free, 'cept for the highway patrol
And the park rangers, who all want their cut
For the privilege to sleep in this land
Don't got no license to drive or to fish
To use my camp stove, to park in the snow
So I must lay low, know when to say hello
And when to look, down, into my book
I'd ditch my blue car, if it weren't, for my guitar
My possessions are weighing me down
I'd eat me some drugs, and hike into the woods
I'll keep running 'til I find my peace
Well maybe it's a job, that'll move me along
And show me a pace to the day
A good lay, from the waitress who's thin
And who's apron always holds an extra corkscrew
Or maybe it's a gathering, at the end of the rainbow
That will blow my mind once and for all
And once I've found wisdom, then what will I do
The serpent can only eat it's tail twice
Take respite, my friend, this is not the end
Your wagon won't be the last to break down
To be on the open road, is a dream my friends say
Well I'm livin' it today, and I s'pose I'm gettin' by
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