What a Way to Go: Life at the End of Empire

I have my freedom
I can make my own rules
Oh yeah, the ones that I choose

Well, that’s pretty much the problem, isn’t it? Individuality run amok? An unconnected and thoughtless sense of entitlement and freedom to do whatever we want, making our own rules with little or no concern for the fact that we’re not the only ones here, and little or no understanding of the laws and limits under which the universe operates? Making our own rules has not proved to be particularly wise.

And yet I understand what Cat Stevens means when he sings these words, for I know that longing for a real freedom, a real choice. Born in captivity, trapped in a culture of fences and rules and borders and roadblocks and rules and taboos and conventions and agreements and stories that make no sense to our animal selves, most of us share that longing for freedom, that true freedom that is far different from the one that gets sold to us in our culture. And it seems as though we have to get miles from nowhere to find it.

Speaking of miles, we logged another bunch as we moved from Ashland to Nevada City. Zoe told us she had to travel down to Grass Valley on Thursday, and wanted to explore the possibility of us riding with her. That threw us into a hasty period of travel re-arrangements, as we discovered a mistake in our travel connections and plans, and had to find a new bus that would get us down to the Grass Valley area that day. We packed up and rode with Anna to the Medford station, where we caught a bus directly to Marysville, and into the arms of Janaia and Robyn. As it turned out, the train we had originally scheduled from Klamath Falls to Sacramento was six hours late, so we avoided a 10 PM to 4 AM train station layover. Thanks, Zoe, for causing us to check our itinerary!

The ride by bus down to Marysville was…. well… a bus ride. My long body suffers a fair amount in those small chairs, and there is little opportunity to move around. I get very sore and exhausted, and I can find no position that is comfortable for long. The drive past Mt. Shasta was very cool. Shasta is an amazing mountain to behold on a clear and sunny day, and our bus driver clearly enjoyed telling us its geological history, which I found quite interesting. The drive-by, which takes an hour or so, seems to bring you nearer and farther with every turn, and Shasta seems to grow and shrink and dance and turn around as the road weaves its way toward and past and away. I need to come back here one day, and I will likely not do that.

And that brings me back around to Cat Stevens and freedoms and rules and choices. I learned this day of an acquaintance who is creating a yoga workshop for people to attend - down in Mexico or Costa Rica or somewhere in Central America – I can’t remember exactly where. This is someone who has seen the doc and said, in response, words to the effect that, “I want you to make a documentary about the solutions.” I don’t get it. Isn’t one of the more obvious “solutions” (a word I’ve grown to hate, about which I’ll write more in my next Conversation with Todd) to stop planning workshops half way across the world that require the participants to get into a huge metal tube and travel at unnatural highs, burning tons of fossil fuel and spewing carbon compounds along the way? I mean, isn’t that more than obvious? Don’t we, at the very least, need to learn to say NO to our entitled egos, our wounded and deluded selves that insist on traveling the world in search of something they will probably never find there? I’m not pure in my behavior, by any means. We were born into a world of compromises and contradictions and it’s not always easy to find our right actions in the world. But… can’t we start to give it some serious thought?

Ahem… end of rant.

Janaia and Robyn, creators and producers of Peak Moment Television, took us to an Indian restaurant for dinner and conversation. It was so great to finally meet them after having done that trans-continental video interview with them back in July. We headed back to their home in Nevada City, a small off-grid dwelling in the Lone Bobcat Woods, where they’ve managed to set aside and protect a quarter-section of beautiful living land for the bear people and deer people and mountain lion people and bobcat people and squirrel people and woodpecker people and hawk people and tree peoples that live there, for the soil and water and sky people that hold the space, and for the powers and forces that walk that portion of the Earth. It is a sacred space, and we were glad to be there.

We fell into bed, exhausted and full and happy. Sleep came easily, and morning came late, and the new day began.

After a breakfast of home-made kombucha and coffee and home-ground-wheat waffles and spruce-tip syrup and moo shu eggs and fresh pears and figs, Robyn headed into Grass Valley to meet some other folk and set up the projector and screen and sound system and chairs. While she did that, we sat with Janaia and talked further and made arrangements and caught up on email and read poetry and cried and told stories. Technical difficulties kept Robyn from returning as she had planned, so we had a quick snack on the deck and packed up and headed into Grass Valley, to meet Robyn at the Oddfellows Hall, at which the screening would take place.

After a while we were joined by Mary and Carolyn and Nory and Adam and Shirl and a couple of other folk (I hope I spelled all those names correctly!). We set up signs and tables and snacks and all of that, then sat down together for some Thai food that Mary had brought. We talked of the forces and events in our lives that had allowed us to wake up and see the world situation for what it is. Screening time approached and we went out to meet the arriving audience.

We had about eighty people show up to see our film, more than was expected, which has pretty much been the case at every screening on this tour. Janaia and Nory made introductions and announcements, Sally and I said our piece (I spoke of climate change and tectonic plates… a bit of a departure from my usual rap), Carolyn hit the lights and Robyn hit play. The picture looked great, the sound was excellent, and Sally and I stepped out for a bit of fresh air, and a bit of conversation with the organizers who had seen the movie many times already. I got one of my deep hamstring stretches. And I sat in back and watched at least half of the movie, as is our usual habit. There’s something about watching with an audience that is moving and rich.

Forty-five of us stayed for the dialogue circle. Sally has gotten very good at creating a safe and workable space for a group this large, and she made her explanations and requests with clarity and ease. Mary presented us with an official “picket pin” (thanks, as always, to Derrick Jensen for bringing this piece to our film), which we passed around the circle, sharing from our hearts: what was moved, and how did we want to be changed by what we had just seen? There was sadness and deep grief in the circle. There was seething anger and disbelief and confusion, joy and relief and comfort. There was shame and self-blame, and there were words of hope and encouragement and action. Connections were made and plans laid, announcements issued and thank yous voiced. We spoke and hugged our goodbyes and walked out, to see the full moon overhead. We made our way back to Janaia and Robyn’s for a quick cup of tea and a piece of apple pie. We made our plans for the morning and went to bed.

Our thanks and deep appreciation to Janaia and Robyn, to Mary and Carolyn and Nory and Ken and all the people who helped put this event together, to the Oddfellows for providing such a great space, and to the people of Grass Valley and Nevada City, for coming and giving us another dose of honest expression and truth telling.

We wish you all well.

On to Pt. Reyes.

Peace, all,

Tim

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This entry was posted on Friday, October 26th, 2007 at 9:40 pm and is filed under Travel Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.