5 October 2007 – Deerfield, Illinois

…oh yeah, to reach there…

We were back in an old haunt. We rolled into Chicago’s Union Station only 90 minutes late, then headed north on the Metra to Northbrook station, where we were met by our next host, Doug. As we drove through Northbrook, to his home where we would be staying the next two nights, I was struck with waves of nostalgia. I’d live in the Chicago area in the early 80s, before moving ever northward to Waukegan, and then to Kenosha, before flying south for twenty winters in North Carolina. City names and street signs sparked my feeble memory, and there was something that felt like home.

That evening I flew solo, dining with our hosts and screening organizers while Sally dealt with a touch of Amtrak flu. By the next morning she was better, and we spent the day doing yoga, reading, catching up on email, and taking a long walk around the neighborhood. Todd, who had lived and died in the nearby almost-suburb of Spackle Grove, was now in his new haunts, and spent the day visiting some of his favorite spots, and stopping in to sticky a few old friends. He probably caused quite a stir.

At six we headed over to the North Shore Unitarian Church, where our screening would be. There, generous and competent people were setting up the projection and sound system and putting out coffee and wine and cheese and crackers and other snacks. It was a beautiful venue, with very good sound and picture, and about thirty-five people arrived to watch the doc.

Our new friend John showed up, with his friend Anne. John is that very talented and extremely clued-in musician I mentioned in a blog a while back. We’d met over email a month ago. I was really great to meet him in person, to shake his hand and thank him for his music and wish him well. There’s a strangeness for me in meeting people these days, knowing what’s coming, seeing what I see. How will John and Anne fare in Chicago as things play out? How will we? At what point will we lose touch with those we have come to know? You never really know when you’re saying goodbye to someone. It has always been that way, I suppose. But now, it’s all much more clear.

Over two-thirds of the audience stayed for the dialogue afterwards, a moving and heartfelt sharing of reactions to the movie. What a Way to Go never fails to evoke a variety of responses, as we seek to process the fear and sadness and anger that arise when we look directly at the situation, and as we look for some way to respond. Do we move into action? Or do we spend more time in feeling and sharing? Do we fight or flee? The predicament is so confronting that we find ourselves at a loss about how to be and what to do. And we just sit with that, and try to normalize it, and make room for it, because it is what’s so.

We spoke of fear and blame and hope and hopelessness. We spoke of action and of despair. Two of us, middle-aged white American men (I was one!) spoke of being moved to tears when we hear The Colors of the Wind from Pocahontas, when we are moved to consider what has been lost to us in our culture, and what has been lost in the world. You don’t get that just anywhere. And that is what makes these circles both sacred and healing. We were so glad to have visited there, to have meet those good people and to have heard a piece of their story. We wish them well.

The next morning has come, and we’re off to Spokane. We’re taking to the sky for this next leg of the journey. A quicker hop, and easier on our bodies (maybe) than the Empire Builder that took us there two years ago. The travel time from West Virginia to Northbrook added up to 22 hours, door to door. Not a long time by historical standards, to be sure, but long enough.

That’s something I’m exploring as we journey through this tour. How much of my attention is on the goals, the stops, on the “there’s” I am reaching, and how can I find my way into the moments along the way, the journey itself, the now… the now… the now? Too often I lose track of those nows, relating only to the “reaching there”, and judging myself and my time only in terms of whether I’ve made it there already or not. And I find that this no longer works for me. The old “there’s” I was reaching for are gone. Most of the new “there’s” that have taken their place look like places I do not want to go. And so I must find my life on the path, on the road, in the now, taking my time now.

If I live now… truly live… then I need not be afraid to die.

On to Spokane, ya’ll. Todd’s back, ready to go. He says that while he was out he rigged ATM machines all around Chicagoland to randomly spew out $200 in cash. That’ll be a bit of fun. I hope he doesn’t get us into trouble…

Tim