A Birthday with Three Sisters

High in the mountains of Colorado near the town of Evergreen is a popular Open Space Park where the locals hike, bike and walk their purebred dogs in the saddle between four rock formations. Given enough motivation and some basic supplies you can find yourself far from the boundaries of the park with miles between you and the next inhabited area. This is precisely where I found myself three hours before my birthday in the summer of 2007.

I had, on a matter of principal, decided to avoid my family on my birthday and was wandering aimlessly about three miles from the nearest supported trail. In the late evening I shook myself from my thoughts and found that I had long passed the opportune time to set up a safe camp. In lou of a more common sense approach I settled for a large campfire and an old wool blanket in an open meadow. As the deeper watches of the night fell over me I stared through the flames and felt sorry for myself for growing older (chuckle) and being alone. Late in the night or early in the morning (I don't know which) I heard the silence break in a warbling howl which reminded me of a weeping child. Not yet afraid but definitely cautious I rose from the fire and stepped a short distance away so that my eyes could adjust to the dark. As the flames faded from my eyes I found that I was surrounded by a herd of Elk which had wandered into the meadow on their way to parts unknown. How I had not heard them I'll never know, but there they were picking their way carefully through the field and taking no notice of a lonely camper in their midst. As I watched their slow progress my senses adjusted to my surroundings I began to notice the rustle of wildlife from the treeline and the dull roar of a stiff breeze through a distant valley. Finally I looked up and was stunned at the depth of the the sky above me. No description, no metaphor no emotional outburst can sum it up when you feel that you can see to the very corners of the universe from your tiny perch in the world.

As I returned to the warm circle of my fire and settled in for the night I decided that no matter what my feelings were to the contrary, I wasn't alone there among the stars and wildlife of the mountains, I wasn't alone as I went about my business in the city, and I certainly wasn't alone with my family in such close proximity.

As a side note to the story I decided that morning to spend that birthday with the family (as I always do) but I continued that day with a better perspective brought to me courtesy of a herd or elk near Three Sisters Park.

Homesickness and the Second Moon

As I trudge through my second month in the Deep South I find the opportunities to enjoy the fragrant smoke of my pipe becoming less frequent. The only happiness I've had recently was the offhand wish for a good Valentines day from a friend who does not now nor will ever know what she means to me. At the same time my mind keeps wandering back to the Rocky Mountains. Though I was not born in the peaks of the Great Divide I still consider them my most fundamental home. The foothills outside of Denver were the place where I found my first social niche, my first love, my first trade, and the natural solitude which I learned to love and depend on in hard times.

The vast contrast between here and there continues to be the worst kind of culture shock for me. In several conversations I've mentioned the more drastic differences to a friend and driven her to the point of distraction over what she perceives as habitat snobbery. SO in the interest of better Zen I'm going to focus on some memories of my home and see if I can impart the poetry of those little moments which, when experienced, seemed to mean so little...

The Zen of Throat Cutting (Repost)

Tonight as I feel my face and smoke my pipe I'm counting the new injuries on my ugly mug. There are six right now and every one of them came from the keen edge of my straight razor. Understandably not many (smart) men attempt to test their skill at the traditional method of hair removal these days. So, feeling that I am indeed a smart man, I'll have to review my reasons for doing so. Especially in light of the freshly plowed furrows on my face. However, as with all things I tend to see a deeper meaning in the blood letting.

I woke up late this morning (as I do most days when my work no longer excites me) and decided that, despite the late hour, I had time for a shave. I should have quit after the first nick. After three I was too far along to quit. Sure that I had not honed the blade properly, I gave my steel a thorough stropping after which I promptly nicked myself again... and again. So off I stormed to work and fell into a bitter complaint session with one of my co-workers. He pointed out (with a bemused look) that if he were as high strung as I looked at the moment, it would take an act of God to get an open blade near his face. Needless to say I denied being wound up and went on to stampede through my day.

This evening I began to think that maybe my good buddy the Shop Guy had a point. I got to thinking a little about something I had written on the first incarnation of my MySpace blog. It was about how I could always tell when my life was falling apart by the state of my pipe smoke (yet another long drawn out theory which I may re-post here). That led me to the further conclusion that I've filled my life with little procedures which I can't perform unless I'm on an even keel. This includes the long process of stropping, mugging, and drawing a sharp piece of steel across my face. Or the time consuming act of winding and setting an antique pocket watch. Or even the fill, tamp, puff, tamp, light, tamp, puff pattern of smoking my pipe. All these things make it impossible to be in a hurry. At one time I made these choices in a concerted effort to slow myself down and keep from stressing out while showing a healthy respect for tradition and style. While these little rituals accomplish this quite well under ordinary circumstances, they also serve as a fool-proof gauge of my mental state... which I have found out to the detriment of my face, my wallet, and my badly burnt tongue (at different times).

SO where can we apply this in our new philosophy... in what niche can we place this rather mundane story? Today we will call this a lesson in trimming the excess. My advice today is this; If you add ritual, drama and complexity where none is needed. If you over engineer your emotional walls, over analyze your relationships, or wear one mask over another... well just be prepared to deal with the scars (both physical and emotional) of a needlessly complex existence.

Watch out for those nicks,
-B-

Intro to my Zen

To date, I have scrawled my thoughts across the pages of Myspace, Facebook and 360 with no particular structure. As I change social networking sites I find that I loose some decent material when those accounts die. So I'm going to try to centralize some of those post here and build a structure for future post. I only do this because there are a few people who have shown some interest in my ideas... and some who I hope will in the future.

I found myself talking to someone today and we discussed the usefulness of posting this kind of thing. after a while I found myself explaining that I had written just such tripe and had stopped because I didn't think that someone who really knew the important things in life could find Zen in his pocket watch, or gauge his mental state by his morning shave, or see meaning in the wisp of smoke streaming fro his pipe. She responded simply that she liked it. SO if it gives me something to do in the long watches of the night... then who am I to refuse.

I'm calling this back corner of the web "The Zen of Throat Cutting" (a tip of the hat to straight razors which are also call cutthroat razors) and it's going to be my continuing attempt to add weighty meaning to the small things in life for anyone who, like me, lacks the big things enjoyed by so much of the world. The following couple of post will be repost of old material just to get me started...
-B-