Life in the Orchestra Pit

Tuesday Bones took Lizzie and Baba and Dharma Dog and me to the Martin Luther King Memorial. We walked and danced and sang and played music down the Katie Trail, to the bemusement of the joggers and bicyclers.

What's it like living in a theater, a rehearsal hall, a writer's colony, a performace venue, a house full of astonishingly creative and lively souls? And this weekend more than ever. Our houseguests include six lovely people from Louisville the Soapbox Sirens, here to perform and share their joy. Tonight is the first performance of Lizzie's and Baba's Tumbleweed Cabaret, Acts One and Two. They have been scripting and rehearsing intensively all week, and I mean all day and most of the evening. They've pulled James, our great friend and fellow thespian, into the show, and I mean it literally when I say he wears many, many hats.

Alicia and Ron came by with a huge pot of spaghetti and sauce, ready to feed us all. FD showed up this morning, fresh and glowing, ready to jump in and do everything. What a gal. Huge smiles, encouraging hugs, generous energy. Bones, who is now also part of the Cabaret. People, smiles, warmth all around. Involving, a little exhausting sometimes, literally head spinning. Baba, point man on all things practical as well as musical, the engine that drives it all, the vehicle, in a sense, for Lizzie's driving vision.

I sit quietly in front of my computer listening to chatter, singing, guitar playing in the background. Lizzie has just finished what is likely the last run-through of tonight's show (note: nope. At least one more coming up as I write ...) and, like the matador preparing to face the bull, can now retire, relax, refocus, concentrate, cleanse, whatever she does to ready herself.

It's raining as I write, again. It has been doing this for over a week, off and on. Baba put out grass seed and covered it with straw a couple of days ago, and now the rain gently falls on it. Tulips burst forth yesterday, or today, not sure. I rise and walk downtown every morning as usual and I don't always open my eyes as I should. I chant as I walk: "Thank you, thank you, thank you for this day!" In time with my steps. I'm not awake yet and it's not until the walk back that I really appreciate the amazing flowers blooming all around me. Spring, it's such a natural high.

Yesterday I finished the first draft of my first short story. I've put it away and will go back to it in a couple of weeks and re-read it and probably rewrite it. This morning, on a whim and to clear my mind from the mainstream realism I've been drafting the last couple of weeks, I wrote as many tiny playlets as possible. Five "plays" - short description of a stage set and character, in some cases a bit of dialog and action. Each more whimsical than the last. Like I said, I'm living in a theater.

Climbing the Mountain - Slowly

Every day takes on a new and different character here from my former life. Wednesdays, at least for now, is Get All the Holy Road Gardners Together to Howl day. Tonight we had a wonderful dinner and talk with core members Alisa, Kaos, Mike Clark, Pam, Alicia and Ron, and Shane Ferguson, who gave a fun talk about his organization, Access Arts. We even had a drop in by Dick Cravens, who came over to loan me a monitor for my upstairs tower. Then we all convened to the kitchen and whacked out the final paint job. Mike Clark has amazing energy, both as a "house artist" and as a visionary contributor to the Holy Road.

This is what my walk toward town looks like these days. The bus station and beyond. This morning I was walking to breakfast at Ernie's, a new exercise for me and an old, old one for some Columbians. This is close to deja-vu for me. When I first moved to this town in 1980, we discovered Ernie's immediately and right away knew we were among intelligent, copacetic souls.

I spent my first night on the third floor of the Tumbleweed Hotel. I'm still getting in shape but for now that walk up - and down - and up - and down again was wearing. Good for me, this physical exercise, after years of too little of it. I couldn't sleep well and woke up late. So off to Ernie's and coffee and eggs.

Mike Clark and Baba and Lizzie primed the kitchen walls yesterday while I set up my PC and got to work on a friend's web site, a long overdue project. Baba has been doing short videos of this project, amazingly fun and well done. You can view them on his blog.

All in all, another fine long day on the Road.

Stormy Weather, Sort Of

Yesterday and today it rained off and on. Brief but intense showers followed by sunshine. It reminded me a lot of my days on the island of Guam in the south Pacific, where this happened often, almost every day. A sudden overcast, a brief furious blast of water from the sky, followed almost immediately by sun and clear sky.

Yesterday I ran errands on my scooter and got all wet. Drenched. Today I did the same thing. I rode a long way across town to get groceries under increasingly darkening skys. While in the store it apparently rained - briefly. When I came out, it had stopped and I was able to ride home again without getting anything more than an occassional spatter.

Saturday I received the DVD of "The Secret" I had ordered. Very cool. Funny and cool and oh so true in the ways that are important. So I should admit that, before I left today to get groceries, I put an image in my mind: I would ride to the store and back and would return dry. Did it work? You bet it did. Okay, I know how silly that sounds, and you could be right. If I had held in idea in my mind: "Today I will not be attacked by a werewolf!", and if I had made it through the day without getting attacked by a werewolf, could I claim that I created that reality?

But I know on so many levels that it's true: we create our own reality with our thoughts. It was the rather sudden realization that this is really true, that it really works whether we mean it to or not, that we must learn to take responsibility and learn to focus and control our thoughts and feelings in order to bring into existance the best reality we can for ourselves and the world -- that was the moment I was inspired to create the Convergence Conspiracy Collective - a union of artists and musicians who were willing to at least entertain that notion, and to celebrate it loudly.

Mike Clark and Lizzie and Baba and I finished mud daubing the kitchen walls tonight. Tomorrow we sand and prime, and paint them a lovely basil-pesto green the day after that. It's fun working together on a project to improve our space, make the Holy Road House, the Tumbleweed Hotel, an even more inviting and livable space.

Truth is I found myself spacing out while doing the work, and wondering why. Then I realized I was replaying old, old programs instilled in me when I was very young. I dislike doing wall work because it takes me back to when my dad pushed me hard to do it, though I felt clumsy and inadequate at it and really wanted to be off hiking the woods or writing stories or playing with my mates. Childish reactions to my dad's efforts to discipline me into productive work. So feelings of sluggishness and mild guilt kept creeping up on me. It's unusual for me to feel that way about anything. I take the experience as part of a healing process - part of discovering and acknowledging those old scripts and reactions and replacing them, healing them, forgiving myself and my dad for my childish irresponsibilities.

My my. The lessons keep on keeping on. Learning every day. I love this life!

One Full Week in the Tumbleweed Hotel

The "Holy Road House" is still that, and probably always will be to me. But it's also the "Tumbleweed Hotel" as Lizzie's performance evolves, and I very much like that name too.

I moved in last Sunday afternoon. It's been a week. Of course it's too early to have set down real roots or carved real grooves here. Of course I'm still a newbie (my life story, innit!). But it feels like I'm putting down roots. It feels like I've already begun to find new rhythms, to carve the new Song of my Life.

Our weekly show last evening featured Lezlie Revelle from Kansas City performing her original songs. Sweet, intelligent, courageous. Then Lizzie and Tony performed Act Two of the Tumbleweed Cabaret to a fun houseful of supportive folk. It was moving - smoothly presented (endless scripting and rehearsals paid off, you guys!), felt intimate and closely felt, evoking Tears of Remembrance in us all. James served as Greek Chorus at the opener and demonstrated his own well honed dramatic skills.

But that was just the highlight of the week for me. I am howling, inside and out, every time I think about how bountiful the universe is and has been, and how much joy and wisdom seems to be blossoming forth on this planet, and especially at this place, the Tumbleweed Hotel in Columbia, Missouri, USA, planet Giaia. I look forward to living in the NOW each week, month, year doing this work.

First Friday

Short one tonight. Too much fun, too much good wine and even better company.

I made great progress today on my first short story since moving into the Holy Road House, but the best part of the day was when Scott and Laura came over. Tony fixed us all an amazingly fine meal - a very carefully made salad, assembled on each plate individually, featuring some of his favorite Wisconsin herbs and spices, and he fixed his now famous quasadeas (sp?). Some fun conversation followed, then we convened to the guest room (which I've been occupying temporarily) to watch the video of Lizzie and Tony's most recent performance of the Tumbleweed Cabaret. Video work was great and the whole thing was made even better by the audio mix provide by Matt. Altogether a fine show, and for me better than the original because I could hear all the words and follow the story much more easily.

Act Two of the Cabaret happens here tomorrow night and we're all very excited about it. Tony and Lizzie have been working hard on the script and rehearsing it intensely, like the serious troupers they are. Stay tuned. This adventure is kicking into an even higher gear every day.

Three Howlers In One Day

One of the signs of right livelihood is that progress seems to get easier. Successes come, when they come, with the ease of a perfect dumpling sliding down one's throat. Today validated that for me not once, but three times.

First, I finally managed to get up early - 6 a.m. - and get down to writing at Lakota (my favorite spot so far) well before 7. The short story I started a couple of days ago demanded to be continued. I wrote for maybe an hour, but something was wrong. I couldn't see what happened to my character past a certain point, and it was turning into yet another internal monologue, another pseudo-journal entry. So I stopped. Slightly hungry by now, I pondered buying a small breakfast at Lakota, but it just looked too much, too early. So I put on my jacket and went out the door.

It was raining. Lightly, off and on, but enough that partway down the street I had to haul out my cheap umbrella. The wind immediately caught it and whipped it inside out, exactly like a cartoon umbrella. This had never happened to me before. So, cool, wet, and windy, I made my way to the local library. My goal: find out where Columbia's social security office is located.

Along the way, I pondered the situation of my story's character. I kept getting distracted though. Finally, at the library, I had a bagel for breakfast and got the address and phone number of the Social Security Administration office.

It seemed like the morning was going to be a bust. The story wouldn't move, the SS office was in a part of town I was not about to go to, even on my scooter, especially in the rain, and I really wanted to get my application for social security retirement benefits going. So I started walking back to the Holy Road House, umbrella held in front of me like some protective shield. Along the way, I started talking out the story plot to myself, out loud. It was like a conversation - I'd explain one part, then reply to that with another perspective, and then yet another. All the while I'm thinking, "Okay, I'm now a geezer with wet pants walking the city with a broken umbrella shouting out loud to no one. I'm now the people I used to stare at from my car when driving back from the mall."

But the self-talk worked. I found the ideas I needed to reshape the story and to carry it to a conclusion. I was able to visualize the ending (as Asimov suggests writers do), and then to shape the story to get to that point. I had an outline in my mind. This was my first great Howl of the day.

I then did some role-playing with Lizzie in the kitchen as she fine tuned the script for the Tumbleweed Cabaret.

The second success was finally getting a clue and going to the social security web site, where I was able to submit my application online. I was done in less than an hour, when I had earlier been convinced that I would have to go to some stuffy office and sit around until called, etc. etc. Howl number two for the day!

Then FD came over and after crashing and banging on drums and percussion toys with Lizzie and Tony, we went to the basement of the House and proceeded to clear and clean and organize close to half the space. Major Howl number three!

Then dinner and fine conversation with FD, to celebrate and thank her for her great help, and it's home to this blog and to bed. A good day, my friends, and a fine glow. I feel more blessed than I can say.

It's official: I'm a Gardener!

Long and busy day today here at the Holy Road House. But every day seems to be this way - a very good thing indeed. Busy hands, busy minds, all that. But the things we're up to!

Lizzie and Tony did a brief but wild dance in the basement, sorting and clearing, making space for the soon to emerge lounge/bedroom/rehearsal and performance space. Much more to do, but a good start. I managed to resolve a couple of issues preventing me from taking care of online responsibilities. I can now send e-mail and upload files to my web server. Web development work has been waiting this last week, and will have to wait a bit longer while chores get done here at the house. But at least I can now take care of emergency updates to the many web sites I maintain.

The most amazing thing though, was the first meeting we held tonight with the co-op's core contributors. The mission: to define what needs to be done to shape the whole amazing adventure into something meaningful to everyone involved, and sustainable. We began by thinking of ourselves as gardeners and of the co-op, the Holy Road Tours and Holy Road House, as a garden which needs to be designed and planted and tended to perfection.

I was able to bring some of my experiences in businesses and on boards of directors to the session as a facilitator. That, of course, quickly meant that I would volunteer to develop the first draft of our operations manual, or business plan, or whatever you might want to call it. Happily, I might add, because I feel it's something I can do and want to contribute. And contributing is what it's all about for me here. It is the most meaningful and rightous work I can imagine at this stage of my life.

So the core contributors, those of us who have found the Holy Road a source of powerful inspiration and meaning in our lives, those of us who dedicate ourselves to making this magic happen, we are now called the Gardener Members of the Holy Road House coop.

The garden will grow itself, with our careful attention and input and maintenance. The magic will happen as it's meant to happen. It's no more complicated than remembering that it happened and how it happened. But it will be gratifying if I turn out to have a green thumb.

First steps down this road

Blog 2 - March 20 2007

Second day in my new life. Many details reveal themselves a little at a time. Like remembering to set a daily morning alarm to wake early. Finding my toothbrush and towel. I've gotten up at 8 a.m. sharp the last two mornings when I meant to rise much earlier. I've set the alarm to 6 a.m., so I'll soon see when I actually am able to open my eyes. With the sun, I expect.

It feels relaxed and easy to be around my housemates each day - I hope they feel the same, but there is a tone of trust and respect and honesty here. I'm trying to be as conscious as possible and impinge on my environment as lightly as possible (a lifelong habit, actually). But the irony is that we don't know what we don't know, what we're not aware of, and people don't often experience reality in quite the same ways, so I'm certain to overlook some things, unconsciously indulge some annoying habit or the other. But there is real joy in being aware of even that much, and working as consciously as possible to experience life from as many points of view as possible. Many challenges remain, especially how to reduce attachment to things of the past, to clutter, really, and to live more simply and economically - to lead a more zen-inspired life. In fact, it's easy to imagine I have stepped into a new level of self-imposed and self-directed zen training, a long and final stage of cleansing.

I was invited to jam with the Deli Lama Orchestra last night - a taping at Pete's studio. Many old friends were there, including Bob Runyon and Jeff Wheeler of C3, Dave Lacky, Neal Miller, Steve (Radio Ranger), John and Pam on percussion, and more. We made beautiful sounds for over two hours, and as there were few melodic instruments (keys, guitar, two basses), I felt I had room and permission to soar. It felt great.

I also took my first pass at planning the basement space in the house. Measurements, drawings, do-lists, assignments - all part of the fun of making that space usable and comfortable before April 7, the first performance there by C3.

And now, here, sitting in Lakota drinking morning coffee, the buzz of fellow Columbians starting their day, writing by hand my blog until I get my computer set up again, writing my journal, the account of my journey, inventing myself, rethinking my life and habits, creating space for something creative, fulfilling, embolding, uplifting. I can only bow my head momentarily in gratitude.

The holy road journey begins

Day One - Monday March 19 2007

"All that we are is the result of all that we have thought.
It is founded on thought. It is based on thought."
~Buddha, The Dhammapada

Well. This is the road, and this is the beginning of the journal of the road. I now live in one of the finest places I could imagine, a house owned and occupied by fellow artists, musicians, and writers (Lizzie and Tony), where other artists, many artists, gather and celebrate almost daily. A boarding house for those on the way to liberation, a salon for those who have found ways to sidestep lives of fear, oppression, and quiet desperation; a home for creativity and discipline and love and hope. The sort of home, in other words, we all should have grown up in, and a lucky few have done, and yet another fine model for cooperation and support.

But the Holy Road House, or Tumbleweed Hotel or whatever it's finally called, is or will be better described elsewhere, so I'll leave that for now. Yesterday was my moving-in day - a strong gathering of friends who selflessly whisked me and my still-staggering accumulations to storage and to my new home. Dick, who gives and gives and asks little or nothing in return; Alisa and Chris, blessed blossoming consciousness both, and strong friends who thrive on helping others; Shane, former bandmate, generous soul, restless and less than fulfilled but dealing with it with courage and positive energy. And Baba, smiling while lifting and loading boxes that must have weighed close to half his slim body's weight. And other friends who would have come if I had called - I can't thank them enough.

Most boxes went to the basement of my new dwelling. Some went to the top floor, causing sweat to break out on us all finally.

My next steps: unpack and begin my integration into the life of this house as gracefully as possible. To organize the basement space into a comfortable venue in which bands may lounge, rehearse, and even perform. To find and settle into new routines, to discover who and what I'm meant to be in this dramatic new stage of my life.

It feels a little like becoming a college student again, but with none of the pain of hikes to classes on tight schedules or having to deal with overloaded bureaucrats. Certainly none of the rude class issues associated with imposed initiations, none of the posing required by power imbalances between students and teachers.

Instead, just the opposite: serene equality among enlightened fellow travelers. Early risings, yes, but to our own purposes. Discipline, of course, of our own choosing, to achieve our own most cherished dreams. For me, at this moment, that means finally, finally learning to tell stories well and sharing the vision of a better way of living by publishing the Holy Road Journal.