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.

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.