Dreaming the Inconvienence

Last night I flew.

I hovered above a cliff’s edge, the ground below me green with grass and beige with stone. My legs extended below me, my arms outstretched comfortably on either side, I gazed over the cliff’s edge. Hundreds of feet below, the land cascaded out as far as the eye could see. Rivers disappeared into forests, hills rolled over meadows and birds danced above the treetops.

In the air I hung, having just glided to this point, elated by my long lost “flying” skill. Here at this cliff’s edge, however, I hesitated. Yes, it seemed as though the skill to fly had suddenly returned to me, but would it carry me out over this new expanse? There was but only one way to find out, my friends. And so, as my heart raced, my adrenaline pumped and my fear turned to sheer glee, I pushed through the sea of air and sailed out over the edge.

The crisp, clean air filled my lungs, the sun energized my every cell. I felt everything, magnified by the pure exhilaration of self propelled flight. Much like that red and blue caped God, I soared over the vast breadth of the land. Birds of the air and beasts of the plains looked to me as I chased the sun across the sky.

Then I stopped and, purposefully, I fell. The feeling of freefall embraced me as I tumbled through the heavens. Excitement exploded through my every atom and in that moment, I felt life.

Thus was my dream. Thus is my life.

For many a night I dreamed of flying. If a dream became a bore or I felt the urge, I simply ran, jumped and, just before face planting into the earth, I flew. I would soar high above my dreamscapes, escaping all that they had to offer, engaging in my own pattern of dreams, setting my own mark.

A soul must be free to soar, you see, or that soul will languish. My soul was bound by routine and the never ending doldrums of a waking world. So, in my dreams, it flew. Once life mirrored these dreams, the flying became intense, until, one day, in my waking life I had flown so high that I no longer needed the escape of a fantasy dreamscape. I lived a life so full of adventure, love, laughter, tears and pain that I had made being awake the dream, the escape.

It appears as though the time is drawing near to regain the altitude in my waking life so that I no longer need a world to escape to within my dreams.

To that end, I will be leaving. Not right away, mind you, but soon. I will spend the summer months playing in this sunny paradise that I now inhabit, as I do so love it here. But, come October, this man will fly. I will gain myself a truck, some form of road trip machine (such as a Four Runner or Land Cruiser) and I will drive this great land of ours. I will trip to locations that I have never seen in this US of A and then I shall venture south, very south. I shall take my hippie road trip machine and venture into Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, etcetera etcetera etcetera! I shall write, I shall video and I SHALL LIVE!!!

This entire adventure will be documented here, on this very blog. It will also be documented in (hopefully) numerous newspapers and magazines as well as some video doc site. My hope is to survive off of my writing income, settle somewhere in Latin America and continue this life that has caused my waking life to be the dream and my dreaming life the inconvenience.

Three hours of hard time

This column appears in the January 10 issue of the Grand Traverse Insider.

The New Year is upon us! Many people believe in signs and omens. Such people would take the event that happened to me barely one week into the New Year and state that my year was cursed beyond all recovery. I, thankfully, am not one of those people.

This monthly outlet has been full of many things since it first graced the pages of this newspaper. I could continue in that vein, I could write of the three day New Year party that I wandered around with, I could write of recent trips to some of Michigan’s fascinating cities and the adventures held within. I could, but I won’t. Mostly because I have been violated. (Note to Editor, please tell people that was a joke)

I was in our lovely downtown TC last night. I am in need of new shoes, so I had just checked out the stock at Golden Shoes. I returned to my car as I had a meeting with a friend at The Catch. I pulled out, drove a block and was pulled over for failing to turn on my headlights (downtown is bright, afterall, I didn’t even notice). After sitting for about 10 minutes as the officer (a perfectly cordial individual) failed to make the return trip to my window to scold me and send me on my way, I thought maybe something might be wrong. Before long, I was seated in the back of the cruiser, handcuffed, convinced that something must be wrong.

That something was a suspended license.Long story short: Driver’s Responsibility fees, there not just for drunk drivers anymore! Oh no, they’re now for people like me, who do a friend a favor and allow them to borrow my much more capable vehicle whilst I borrow their less capable one only to be pulled over for 3 year old tags and then find that the vehicle is not insured. Lovely.

Apparently it is the policy of the State to send out notices that one’s license is suspended only when they feel like it. It is also the policy of the State to victimize their law abiding citizens by squeezing every penny out of every mishap that they can to make up for their own self inflicted budget short falls. Everyone has seen medieval movies, when the Lords are short on play money, Prince John ups the levies, right? Yeah.

Anyway, having already paid all of the fees for the Driver’s Responsibility Law (last Fall) I thought that I was in the clear. Having just spent a year and a half living in Guatemala, I suppose that the culture shock of my return numbed my brain to the possibility that I might need to visit the Secretary of State.

Thus began my three hours of hard time. (Another joke there)Officers and Corrections officials alike were flabbergasted that this situation had landed me in the spot I inhabited for three hours last night. The joking was plentiful, never at my expense and actually very funny! The typical questions from other hardened detainees made me think of changing my story.

"Whatch ya in fer?"

"Murder......three people.........all pro wrestlers. That’s right, I’m hard-core, pass it around."

I found our Grand Traverse County Jail to be nothing like what one sees on TV. The officers were willing to banter and friendly besides. The actual prisoners seemed resigned to their fate, having accepted that, yeah, this might be my fault. No riots were raging, no chiseled pretty boys with tattooed maps were hatching escape plots and no one gave me a soap on a rope.

I sat on a bench in a public area for a while, answered some questions, paid some money, shared some laughs and went on my way. Lesson learned, never trust the State.

I am no longer suspended, I am free and clear to drive! And drive I will, right to the capital, where I will protest heartily for the right to go out to dinner, get pulled over and NOT go to jail for a crime that was never a crime in the first place.

Maybe I should retract that last bit, they might suspend my writer’s license next.

Time and Such and Things

Oh how the world does change...........

Could any of us have predicted where we would be now if we were asked to one year ago? Two? I know that I could not. Not so long ago I was engaged, living in the house that I see out of my bedroom window right now. Not so long ago, my life had a direction that neither thrilled me nor excited my senses. I lived a life of predictability. I lived over there, blind to all that was happening around me. Blind to the pain in this world and the pain in that house. No longer.

I know the pain in the world, I have felt its touch and I have felt the joy that accompanies the act of repairing that pain. I now lie here in a bed that I never thought I would ever inhabit. I gaze out of the window and see the sidewalk I walked so cluelessly down so many times. I see a home that once housed a good friend, now void of any acquaintance of mine. That friend now calls Thailand temporary home.

Memories come fast and thick in this town. Memories of time wasted and time exalted. When sitting on that porch, a mere 50 yards away, life seemed so simple, so normal, so out of reach.

I now continue my recovery from a moment well lived, a moment grasped and exhausted. I begin now my search for the next grand adventure, the next moment to be sapped of all of its lovely life. I shall remain in this spontaneous limbo for a few months more, but life's tug has begun already. Come with me, it says in my ear. Your's is not to remain here in this time and place, your's is to disappear, to explore, to challenge the norm and the unjust, to bring a smile to the downtrod and, in doing so, touch the face of God.

Within the fold of those who choose to serve, those like me, I found a kinship unlike any other I have ever known. I found a passion for life so raw, so full of gusto, so full of unbridled carelessness for tomorrow as to not be believed. Living within the moment is the stuff of this life. Causing each moment to count a bit more than the last, causing one's life to count in that of others, there is the stuff of dreams!

If I could but change the world of someone else a few more times, I would be happy. The feeling of giving, the feeling of LIVING whilst giving, is one that intoxicates and renews. I shall chase that high from now until forever. Come what may.

My little solo experiment, by the way, was a smashing success. Solo play, my friends, is also the stuff of fun and living!