I first saw a grown man cry at my Grandpa’s funeral. It was late November, on a Saturday. Leaves were fading from orange to gray and the air thick with cold. There had not been snow yet, but the ground was frozen. I was nineteen, wedged against four sisters and six cousins on a hard, wooden pew. My Nana sang in the Lutheran choir so the funeral was down the road from our usual Baptist house of worship. The Lutheran church had huge, flat grey stones covering the outside like a medieval castle; all that was missing was a moat and drawbridge. In the interior hung heavy purple curtains beside banners that depicted Christ’s resurrection in crimson paint. Drafts of wind jabbed at us through the ceiling cracks and I remember shivering despite the heat from my sister Alexis’ shoulder.
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Oliver and I like the same food, share an interest in history, have the same obsession with Europe, smile a lot, and make the same inane jokes. Although he doesn’t listen to all the same music as I do, he looks a whole lot like Robert Plant, which is close enough for me. Unfortunately, I got to see him so rarely that I discovered only halfway through a relationship that Oliver had actually dated this same girl. I probably should have figured this out sooner, but Oliver had at that point mostly fallen out of contact with the outside world. He stopped coming to school, and few people got to talk to him for a long while. But while I never got to be one of those few, a doomed mission to boost his spirits by paying his family a visit gave me a memorable window into his condition.
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The blur of snowflakes seemed like a shower of stars shining through the high-beams of the old Chrysler mini-van. Looking out the side window I could see only my reflection and a few of the glowing green dials from the radio. It must have been two in the morning. As we raced past a small car that seemed to be snailing along, I looked over to my Grandpa sitting at the helm; he was never one to follow the posted speed limits. “Is this going to work?”
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Suddenly the Bell
And the danger of rattlesnakes
As redwings take flight
There is no sign, just a turn-off. The weedy car track bumps down, down; a line of fat eucalyptus trunks with peeling plates of bark pulls my nose along. Their sweet fragrance pushes away the sweaty highway that now hangs outside and somewhere above, and raucous thoughts of my new romance back home dissipate. Like totems, the row gives a gentle greeting. Welcome to this planet of strange plants and rituals. Welcome to beginner’s mind. Welcome to Green Gulch Zen Center. (more…)
Appearances can be deceiving. From a distance, the dormant, benign giant lies peacefully with no malicious thought or intent, yet I know better. Even its name, “Monashee,” meaning Peaceful Mountain, cannot fool me. It has already been a week into my cross-Canada trip, and despite a crippling pain in my knee and an overly optimistic gearing on my new bicycle, I have managed to battle and conquer its younger cousins along the Fraser and Okanagan region. I know, though, that the real battle is about to begin. (more…)
Twenty-three years of swimming against the apathy of societal norms had pressed me to a precipice. It was another sunny day in California. There was the smell of fresh cut grass and the sound of children laughing as they splashed in the pool. I could feel the heat of the sun on the back of my neck like the excitement that was burning in my soul. I had been married for three months to the girl with the far away eyes: far away from ordinary, far away from tame. (more…)