21 October, 2007 – Eugene, Oregon

Miles from nowhere
Not a soul in sight
Oh yeah, but it’s alright

The road goes ever onward, as my good friend Bilbo said. The Eugene screening is the eleventh in twelve days, and the road has taken us so far, so quickly, that I no longer feel like I know where I am. People mention a book or a name or a website and I remember that somebody else mentioned that same book, that same name, that same website, just a day or three or nine before, but I cannot remember who, or where, or why. I feel a bit like Billy Pilgrim, unstuck both in time and space.

On the one hand, this is disconcerting. I am accustomed to knowing where I am, knowing which way is up, where is where and who is who. I am accustomed to driving myself, feeding myself, housing myself, steering myself through the world. I am accustomed to being in control. But now I cannot be. And I find I must put my faith and trust in others, the many great souls who have volunteered to care for us and feed us and accompany us along their portion of our journey.

On the other hand, this is exactly what I want and need. We can no longer afford to simply talk about a new paradigm. It is time, now, for some of us, for more of us, to feel our way more fully into some new way of being. I do not believe we can think our way there, but I sense that we can begin to feel it, as I am feeling my way into trust, and letting go of control. There’s an immediacy to life on the road, life on this tour, which feels very natural. I feel like an animal, a living creature walking the planet, meeting both people and place and relating to what is in front of me. And there is something about that process that feels simply right, and sane, and real, and even sacred.

The ride to Eugene began on Vashon Island, with wonderful spinach and cream cheese omelets and bagels from Maryrose’s kitchen, and conversation with her and Dan. Peter arrived and we loaded our luggage into his truck and crawled into the cab and made our way down to the ferry launch at the south end of the island, to catch the ferry to Tacoma. And then we drove south.

Along the way we learned more of Peter’s life story, and of his current work with seeds and plants. We talked of the tour, of the screening the night before, and of the screenings yet to come. We stopped in Portland for some coffee, giving Sally a chance to get online long enough to make some travel arrangements further down the line. Finally we arrived in Eugene, at a large orange home that housed an intentional community, to meet our organizers, who waited a potluck meal for our arrival. We dined on salmon and potatoes and salad and soup and soaked in the energy of the place, and these people.

Moving at this pace, we get little time to see a place, or know the people. That was especially true in Eugene. Our friend Dan, a novelist (Sally recently read his latest book Prairie Fire and really loved it…) who wrote one of our earlier reviews, was there. He was the motive force behind bringing us to Eugene. His wife Judith was there. And there as Aaron and Jan and Richard and Peter and Beverly and Rob and Megan and others who’s names I’ve forgotten…. sweet souls who welcomed us into their lives and helped us as we passed through.

Soon it was time for Dan and Judith and I to head over to the venue, a classroom/theater at the University of Oregon. Go Ducks! There we met another man named Peter, and we figured out the projector and sound and lights, and wrangled chairs for the circle, and closed the curtains to darken the room. Sally and the rest arrived and set up the tables and DVDs. People started to trickle in. And the trickle quickened to a steady flow.

My estimate is that we had 180 people in the audience. I’ve given up trying to get a head count when the crowd is so large. I think my guess is pretty close. We did our intro, Sally adding a Rumi poem to her usual words. I hit play and cut the lights and away we went, once again. Showtime.

Sally and I did some email, catching a solid hit of campus wi-fi with Peter’s password. We talked to a woman who had to step out for a while, overwhelmed by what she had seen. (Eventually she went back in, and then came to the circle afterwards.) We stood in the back and watched the crowd as they watched the movie. They laughed in all the best places. I love it when that happens. The end credits rolled, as they always do, and we said our next piece, and the audience broke, some leaving, some helping to set up chairs, some stopping to thank us before they headed out into the night.

Forty two of us stayed and sat together in circle for the next ninety minutes. Sally explained the circle and the talking stick and made her requests and posed her questions. She asked these people in Eugene to open their hearts and speak to what moved them, and they did just that, sharing their deep grief, their tears, their intense anger and frustration, their resignation and despair, their relief and their gratitude and their joy. We spoke of responses taken and responses yet to make. We spoke of it being far too late. We spoke of evolution and extinction, of resignation and of empowerment. We spoke until the time ran out, and then we ended, and moved up out of the theater, into the lobby and hallways, and then out into the night, speaking still as we walked, thrilled, at times, for the opportunity to speak these things out loud to another human soul, and not wanting to stop.

Dan and Peter took us to a local microbrew, where we ate soup and breadsticks and drank a beer or two. We told our stories and shared our lives, with much laughter and deep appreciation. Afterwards, Peter drove us to a local co-housing community in town, and guided us to the small cob structure in which we would spend the night. We slept.

The next morning, we hiked around the neighborhood, finding a coffee shop and some breakfast. Then we holed up in the cabin, getting our books in order and catching up a bit on the many emails that come our way, making more plans for further down the road. The sun came out, bringing us a delicious warmth. It was a few hours of quiet and calm, a few hours of welcome rest, down to just the two of us, not a soul in sight, and it was alright. In the early afternoon, Peter came and drove us to the bus station, where we would catch our ride to Ashland.

Our thanks to Dan and Judith, to Peter and Beverly and Rob and Aaron, to the many others who helped organize and publicize the screening, and to the people of Eugene who came and shared themselves with us for an evening.

Ever onward…

Tim

PS: When I opened my computer the morning after Vashon, Todd was waiting for me with an apologetic sticky. It turns out that his mother had attended the Vashon screening (she lives in Tacoma), even though she had told him she wasn’t going to. But she didn’t want to introduce herself. (According to Todd she said that she didn’t want to “be a bother.”) Todd really wanted us to connect with his mom, but since I didn’t get onto my laptop, he was forced to find another way to communicate with me. He attempted to get into the sound system and actually speak through the speakers, but somehow he overloaded some part of the system and blew it out and was unable to fix it.

So that’s why the system failed. Todd has promised to go do some computer work for Peter to make amends.