earth bliss

5/2/09

Went for another surf again today. The waves were phenomenal and it was another bright sunny day. Caught a few nice rides, so I was pretty stoked. We are definitely going back out for a early morning session tomorrow before we leave for Togiak. Mike bought a .22 Remington today. I am laughing at him right now as he is so frustrated because he took it apart and is having a hard time putting it back together. I am in an annoying kind of mood-the kind where Whit poked Gabes over and over with a pencil in the middle of a church service.  Today started out being a hard day, and is ending up wonderfully. It is amazing how going outside clears my mind of all negativity. It is my healing source, and I wish  I would take more advantage of it. I am on the right path now, so that’s good at least. A harbor seal paid me a visit during the sesh. I caught a glimpse of his white head out of the corner of my eye right after I got caught inside and was battling my way back out. I was so exhausted and about to give up when he looked at me with his dark eyes,  giving me that extra motivation I needed to keep my arms paddling away. 

I am reading a wonderful book right now called “Touch the Earth”. It is a compilation of quotes, passages, and narratives of Native Americans from various  tribes and times. I only read one page a night, trying to make the wisdom of these words last. One song in particular has struck a deep note within me, and is constantly in my head. I recall it in moments like surfing, fishing, and being out on the water in general, so pretty much all the time. It embodies how I feel about things in this stage of my life, describing my views better than any words I can come up with. It was written by an Eskimo woman shaman.

“The great sea

Has sent me adrift

It moves me

As the weed in a great river

Earth and the great weather

Move me

Have carried me away

And move my inward parts with joy.”

motorcycle madness

5/1/09

Went surfing again today.  Don’t feel like writing much tonight but suffice it to say it was a gorgeous sunny day, and both Mike and I needed “therapy”. We got home feeling much better. I feel like I am cheating by putting journal entries from previous trips into this blog, but I am pooped right now and I don’t  really feel to motivated to get too cerebral. So, here is a little passage from my motorcycle adventure from southern Mexico to Utah. I had just left Zion National Park in the early morning, temps were in the lower 30s, and the “rosy-fingered-dawn” seemed to blend right into the monolithic red cliffs lining the highway. I was a bit high that day- high on life, independence, loneliness, and all the testosterony juices flowin through my veins that only a straddled motorcycle can induce. 

“Here I sit, a modern day warrior on my modern day steed. The wind rushes past; stinging, piercing, finding every crack. Inhaling sharply, leaning into the cold, I yell my warrior cry. I am free, unleashing all inside-embracing who I have become, embracing who I want to be. Staring into the distance, I wonder what’s to come, who I’ll meet, where I’ll find myself when I am done. Can’t stop now-I’ve started my journey of transformation-there’s no going back. Its just me and a pair of handlebars. My head clear, my mind unclogged, my thoughts come and go as fast as the million white streaks whizzing by.  I am who I am, and I am not ashamed-no one can touch that! And this journey continues long after the kickstand is down; it continues on past the day my engine no longer fires in the cold morning sun, and still beyond into that other realm so often brushed on those hair-pin turns and close-call swerves. A new adventure to celebrate; solo; riding the wind. Ayeeeeeeee!”

mental check

4/30/09

The contrast of my black gloved hands in the clear green water somehow prompt the ridiculous thought in my numbed mind that they seem vaguely similar to sea lion flippers. I rue how much I could use their strength and grace at this moment, because it is all I can do to even lift my arms anymore. I have about as much strength and grace as a log; a flailing log at that. I force myself to breathe. Stroke, breath, stroke, breath, stroke, lie there helpless, lifeless, and pause for a brief rest.  The arms of my 5 mill wetsuit are heavy with water, a small price to pay to be able to play in the 42 degree water for a few hours. With every crashing wave I have to remind myself, convince myself, that I am having fun. It is quite an indescribable feeling, like my head is exploding into a million little pieces, rendering thought, movement, or will to do anything virtually impossible.  Its more intense then the worst brain freeze I have ever had in all my memories of wolfing down ice cream as a kid. The only thing to do is relax, wait for it to pass over(the few seconds are an eternity) and face the next wave, all the while making your arms paddle on, one stroke after the next. I am having fun right? I keep forcing myself onwards, loving it-loving the craziness of it, the preposterousness of it. As I recover my wits from that last thrashing, the conversation, or rather the argument, continues something like this in my head “What the hell am I doing out here?!”  “I am living, that’s what!” “Your gonna get yourself killed! The rip is gonna catch you! You are going to drown!” “Shut up-I am fine. Besides it’s a challenge, and I always love challenges. If I can’t go anymore all I have to do is hang on my board and ride it out, right? I am fine. Besides this is fun!” With every beating I take I am tempted to ride the white water in, get washed up to shore, not sure I can take anymore. But when my vision focuses after each tumble I look about to see where Mike is, and he is always farther out then I, battling away. I deny that voice of reason in my head in and face the next oncoming wall of white water, fighting my way out past the breakers. My pride manifests as stubbornness-if he can take it, so can I. And besides, I am having fun, right? Finally I get to where I need to be, out of the path of the breakers, and I pause, suspended in this moment in time. We are at a surf spot called “The Sag Shack” at Narrow Cape on Kodiak Island. Its blowing about southeast 40, and the sky is as gray and drizzly as the clay cliffs lining the coast. It is beautiful here, so rugged and forlorn. I could live in a place like Kodiak. There are snow-capped mountains everywhere, old forest growth covers much of the land, and there are hundreds of unexplored little bays and coves. The land is teeming with wildlife. We drove by a deer, and two different foxes.  We stopped to look at one of them, and it sat down on the side of the road and stared right back, just as intrigued by us as we were by it. I wont forget those piercing blue-flecked eyes, unafraid and curious, mysterious and wise. These waves are beautiful, although a bit unpredictable as far as where they break. Normally there is a pattern, but here they seem to break all over the place, inside and out.  They are about 8 foot faces, and I haven’t caught anything yet. That’s not the point though. I am out here and that’s all that matters.  I am still a novice surfer, and I get the feeling this would be a totally different thrill if I was actually able to rip it on these waves. But I am thoroughly enjoying myself anyways. It is a challenge, a mental test, a way to experience the ocean from an entirely new perspective. If I had to answer why I endure what some would call misery, why I choose to put myself through this insanity, I would have to say it boils down to the fact that it makes me feel alive. My thoughts are interrupted by the next set rolling in. I see Mike get absolutely annihilated by a monster, and it is hopeless for him to try and fight back out where he is. He gets washed in. Exhausted,  I except the punishment of one of these breakers, and relax as I “rag-doll” in. I can’t feel my feet any more, and my hands are wooden blocks.  My feet touch bottom and my knees are weak and shaky as I stand on cramping legs.  My only focus now is to make it to the vehicle. Truck=heat. I forget there are still waves crashing in this shallow surf. I get struck in the back, and my wetsuit flushes with freezing water and gritty sand as I flounder about in the shallows. I have had enough. Cursing in utter exasperation, I will myself out of this agonizing frustration, and up the beach to the car. Barely able to process thoughts, I realize I still have to change out of my wetsuit in these chilly conditions. I don’t even care anymore. I fight the neoprene with numb hands, my naked skin exposed to the blustery weather. With my damp jeans halfway on, I throw myself in front of the heater. Every time people in Mexico asked whether I surfed in Alaska, they’d say, “Boy! It must be cold!‘ They have no idea. I am having fun though, right? 

late night musings

4/29/09

Its almost the end of April. Unbelievable! It seems just a few days ago I was in Kansas, Mexico, Utah, Germany, Austria, Holland!  Where has that time gone? Stored in the annuls of my memory which always seems to be slowly purging itself, recycling information no matter how hard I try to hold onto certain things. It seems a dream to me! How strange a thing is the mind! I wonder how much goes unused. How many synapses fire in our brain that will never come of anything? If only we could learn to harness some of this waste! But who’s to say that’s not possible?  Whit was telling me of archers in some eastern land who can hit dead center of a target every time, blindfolded. What about the Buddhist monks who can sit naked in the snow for hours unharmed, or the coal walkers in India, and what about all the supposed voodoo that goes on in the tropics. Are these stories real? Who’s to say?  I think there are supernatural occurrences that happen on a daily basis and only few have an open enough heart to realize or observe them. They may not even be supernatural, just incidents that we have not yet been able to explain so we label them so. Even though I am open to the paranormal, I really have no inkling of such things, no personal experience with them, but I am not one to say they aren’t  possible.  I must ask who defines the absolutes of possible and not possible. Who has the authority to say there are things that simply can’t be learned or understood?  “Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find” . I think this is probably true with more things then just god. Or maybe it is all related. All I know is that we progress only as far as we allow ourselves., and that the only limits we have are the ones we create… 

Maybe I am spewing rubbish now. But the older I get, the more I believe in magic. And not the rabbit out of the hat trick, but the utter phenomenons like light particles traveling from millions of miles away that were generated millions of light-years ago, giving tiny seeds enough heat to germinate and then later to photosynthesize, producing oxygen which we in turn somehow suck into our bodies, which in turn is converted into liquid which is pumped through hundreds of tubes by some self generating electricity,  and on and on and on. When I actually think about these processes and the thousands of others just as amazing, it blows my mind. And it is not just happening to us, but everywhere we turn! It can’t be explained--the science of it can maybe, but the meaning? Is there any meaning? Are things connected? Are they only connected if we want them to be? It seems that the more of an effort I make to become aware of minor details, the more they seem to relate. But is that all in my head? Maybe it will take me a lifetime of experience to decide. Maybe if I happen to be lucky enough to live long enough to lie on a deathbed someday I will still have no idea. I think we believe in things a lot of the time in order to make sense of our lives. Certain people believe in reincarnation. But as Jack Nicholsen puts it so well in “The Bucket List”, what does a snail need to do to move up in the caste system, lay a perfect trail of slime? Or just as strange of an idea, that of predetermined fate. How can there be free will when an all-powerful being knowingly created certain beings to go to hell, also a place of its creation/imagination? Along with that, why would a god create a nemesis trying to lay claim to souls this god originally created to glorify himself? Why would he create the entire concept of sin? This version seems so incredibly selfish to me-like all of these things were brought about at the expense of our human suffering in order to fulfill some master plan. How can that god be good? Or how strange is the idea of blowing up hundreds of random humans to get to a fairytale land of fantasy and bliss? Where is the goodness and peace in that? All of it seems so bizarre to me. There is one common theme I see among all religions though, or at least the ones I have heard about, and that is fear. Fear of death. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the lord. Fear of hell. Fear of not being accepted. Fear of sex. Fear of being de-ranked into lower standards. Fear of change. Fear of evil. Fear of the unfamiliar. Fear to really live. Fear, fear, fear. It dominates. Is it a universal human quality? Every human I have ever met has fears, for lack of a better cliché, their own demons.  From where do these come? Even if raised in a perfect environment, how and why do they come into being,  lodging themselves in the minds and souls of the strange homo-sapiens? The meaning of life is a mystery to me as is the entire universe, an infinite concept of time and space which my mind cannot comprehend. But I ask myself, am I afraid of the unknown? And if I am not, why are other people? The unknown arouses my curiosity all the more-leads me to believe in endless possibilities-makes me question anything any human ever said as an “authority” of a subject/s.  I guess one could say I am a disbeliever. Maybe I am jaded, but more and more I have become less trusting of what I am told until I discover it for myself. And god? If he, she, it, or they choose to reveal themselves to me, I don’t think they will need any humans to do it. Of that I am fairly confident. Personally I already believe I see a bit of god/s on a daily basis. In the water, in the sky, in the sun, in the trees, in the rocks, in every creature, every human, in everything, even the very gas we suck in our lungs. Its everywhere. I don’t “know” this, but I feel it, hence I believe it. And whether I am wrong or right, I believe in something like this because it helps me to make more sense of things(which in itself is a bit of a paradox as I have a hard time making sense out of anything). But every time I find myself experiencing this planet in its original and natural state outside of the modern human’s range of disruption and disturbance, I feel a pulse, a vibration, an energy in all the Life around me. And an overwhelming feeling of gratefulness floods my soul. I don’t know to whom, or whether if it needs to be to anybody specifically, but nonetheless its there; it permeates my entire insides through and through. I feel lucky to be alive, lucky to have a flash of experience in this mysterious universe, this infinity of  time. Is time infinite? Do we constrain ourselves to this concept because we only understand the reality in which we find ourselves? Are there other realms of existence governed by other laws? We know time keeps ticking no matter if we  live or die. Time itself is not measured by human life, or any of the natural laws that we understand. Even if the earth were consumed by fire, time must still keep going. Yet we define ourselves with time. We chronicle human “history” as far back as can be remembered, we measure our individual life spans by numbers of days, months, and years, and we schedule our daily lives around appointments, increments, and rotation of our earth around the sun. We define ourselves by time and have thus defined time, but this confounds me because time is indefinable, incomprehensible. How did it all begin? Or was there a start? Many people believe in eternal life. How can we even know what the concept of eternity means?  If time has no end, then can it have had a beginning? It is something impossible for the human mind to comprehend, at least my human mind. I really should consult some books and people way smarter then I. Didn’t Einstein have a theory? I must admit I am pretty uneducated when it comes to his contributions, and physics in general. Wow! I feel I have “entwickeld”(pardon the deulisch) my way into a thick bramble of rambling thoughts- maybe it is has something to do with the fact that its 3 AM and I can’t sleep. And what is causing my mind to stay so active tonight? To be honest, I think it must be a bit of pain, a bit of hurt, a bit of betrayal, all of which I may be subconsciously trying to ignore by filling my mind with unanswerable questions and concepts. But now that I have analyzed this, brought it from the sub-conscious to the conscious, maybe I can deal with it. Maybe it is an example of some of the human fear that I was hammering upon earlier in this entry showing itself in my own soul. What is it that I am afraid of? What is it that’s aggravating me so inwardly and once I can define that, the question becomes why do I let it?  And since I have volunteered this journal of my experiences and reflection  to eyes other then my own I cannot delve any farther into the subject, at least not on paper. It will have to suffice leaving it at that. So. Here I lay digging deep within myself. One thing I have learned is how easy it is to be dishonest within oneself when it is convenient, and precisely the thing I am trying to relearn is how to only be honest with myself all of the time. Only then can I be content with who I am--only then can I truly know myself; know the stuff I am made of. A quote on the skipper’s special coffee mug just came to mind, and it seems like an interesting note to end on. “To judge a thing, one must first know the standard.” Maybe I can personalize it by saying “To  judge myself, I must first know my standard.”

a dab of poetry

4/26/09

“Fishermen”

The hours are long, 

Faces are drawn,

Backs feel broken,

We dread the dawn.

 

We’ve pulled our share,

It’s time to end,

Lest we dare 

Our spirits bend.

We’re headed back

On a homeward track,

Ready to face 

Tomorrow’s race.

Heartache

4/24/09

It has been two days of sitting and waiting. And waiting. And waiting.  Fish and Game has been testing these herring for the last 48 hours and there is still not a high enough percentage of ripe herring roe for these waters to be opened for fishing. So what have I done with my time? I have to admit with self disgust that I have wasted a lot of it. I have tried spending as much time as I can reading but 1) my current book is really heavy, full of philosophy, and there are a lot of distractions in a small living space, and 2) my brain can only handle so many hours of reading before getting burnt out on it. So my alternatives? I eat constantly and watch a lot of movies. Pathetic I know, but it basically is like reading in that I am engaged in a story, it is just not as much work on my brain because I don’t have to process so many words.  Mom and Dad, I know what you would say to that but it is kind of true if you think about it. Its just a different part of your brain that is in use when you watch movies, because you still have to process thousands of pictures flashing in front of you, feel the emotions of the characters, and listen to (sometimes) beautiful music all at once.  I started working out again, but that only takes such a small amount of time in my day and there are only so many kinds of exercises I can do on the boat. 

I had a really hard day today. Dave was so prominently in my consciousness and nothing in this life really seemed important in comparison to my deep ache and anguish. Some days are just a terrible struggle like that though-those are the days I just cant wait to be over. But at the same time I am trying to learn to embrace my feelings, every one of them, even when they are impossibly painful. I crawled into my bunk, my cave, den, hole, only place of privacy on this boat. I listened to Daniel and Whit play Mozart on my Ipod, then Brahms Clarinet Trio, the Dvoracks Cello Concerto. I was in a dark place and could scarce bear the burden today brought with it. The only thing that brought me comfort was the thought of the rest of the fam. I tried to come off the focus of the pain by redirecting it to thoughts of each individual in our clan. I am so grateful for that. Yet it terrifies me to think I will have to go through this 9 times more. And if I should go earlier then the rest, that they will have to go through it. Death is as much a part of Life as birth I guess. It is so hard to come to acceptance of that though.  I am not scared of it, in fact I embrace it now that I have had such a personal relation pass through that door. It has made it so real. Now I am more curious than ever, and  I can’t wait to follow his footsteps and see where he went. I guess I have to though, wait that is, and in his honor I want to live well. Mike my confidant, friend, coworker, inspired me to do a workout program with him this winter called cross-fit. It is the same program all those bodybuilder looking “Spartans” used to get in shape for the movie 300. It is more of a lifestyle though-ultra discipline not only on the physical activities, but diet and how well you treat your body.  I remember all the hours I spent in Health Strads with big D. We used to get up and run there before school sometimes. We loved working out together; we motivated each other, and dave especially loved the cable TV so we’d spend at least an hour on the bike or stair-master watching ESPN and sports center.  He knew the background of virtually every player in the NFL as well as the NBA-their names, position, stats, college, previous teams, etc. I never quite figured out exactly how he was able to store all that information. If I did, I would probably know 3 more languages by now, at least.  Anyways, my point was that this new workout is going to present challenges to me that won’t exactly be pleasant, but its always gonna be D in the back of my mind pulling me through like he used to. He was so focused on working out and to be honest I never really understood why. When we would first start a new workout regime after some fresh wave of resolution/motivation hit us, he used to ask me everyday whether I noticed a difference in his abs or his pecs. I used to laugh, make fun of him, or play along, and say “D, its only been a week, ask me in a month!” But as I look back now, I see he had this tenacity, this will, this desire, and once he got it in his head, he became so focused-to the point of drinking spinach smoothies and choking down those disgusting protien shakes! I just hope I can have one tenth of his motivation. I miss him so much! I find myself having to hide my face on this boat more than ever in the past year. I have almost felt guilty these last few months because my tears had seemingly dried up, and somehow my mind was elsewhere so much of the time. I just figured I had no tears left to cry, but I didn’t want to let my memories of D fade. Out here on the water, in the wilderness, it is different. I can’t get him out of my head. Maybe its because I wanted to share this so bad with him, and he would have loved it so much here. He always told me how proud he was of me. I question myself now whether I truly was listening to him like I should have. Whether I just brushed it off with some sort of artificial modesty, dismissively changing the subject. But how I realize now how important these conversations were! I wish I had a more accurate playback of them in my mind, because I am guilt ridden now when I know I shouldn’t be, and that a lot of this self blame is a natural human reaction when we lose someone close.  His love for all of us was so great, so real. I just hope he knew how reciprocal that same pride was that I had for him. It was always good for him to hear it and I only wish I could have told him more than I did. Sometimes I thought of Dave as the most transparent out of all of us. He was authentic and pure. He had a true heart. Sometimes I think he was almost childlike in certain aspects- in how open he was, and honest; he never tried to hide anything from me. I saw the good and the bad. And it was always more good than bad, even when he was fulfilling his role as “older-brother”. And there was never a moment I felt where “bad” in the real sense of the word, ever came out of him-only confusion, frustration, and hurt. I want to be more like him. Hold nothing back. Have no secrets. Be passionate about things with his same dogged determination. Have his sensitivity for people-his compassion and great heart. He was such a warm person, a wonderful human, and the best bro I could ever have asked for. I want him back so bad, and I know these are fruitless feelings, wishes, fantasies. And I know they don’t help me now, but it still doesn’t change how I feel. This is so hard. I don’t think I could suffer anything more difficult then this. It seems to dwarf any problem that has ever come up in my life, any problem that could potentially come up in my life. I want to keep him with me in everything I do, but sometimes I don’t know how, and I know I shouldn’t hold myself guilty for not keeping him in my thoughts every single moment. Yet like I said, I don’t want my memories of him to fade, and it is still too painful to try and write them down.  Maybe I need more time. It has practically been a year though and the schmerz is there as much as it has ever been. That will probably never fade though. It seems that in my entire life thus far I have been the one to leave, moving from place to place, from job to job. This is the first time I have been the one left behind. It is so hard.

El Capitan

4/22/09

Captain Ahab. Far from the monster depicted in Melville’s book, Jamie is a good skipper. He is better fisherman then all the guys here, and as far as I have seen, a better man to work for. He treats us with respect, and when we are not fishing we are friends talking about anything and everything with topics ranging from women and environment, to religion and politics.  On a lot of the other boats, the relationship between skipper and crew is strictly work related, an occurrence which I don’t even know how is possible, as we share a cabin space of 14 ft by 10ft and are constantly interacting whether we choose to or not.  Jamie is pretty hilarious. He is a joker. It is hard to take him seriously most of the time. But despite his lightheartedness, he is very concerned for our well being and constantly asking how we are doing. He is normally collected, yet when its time to fish, he changes into a maniac.  He has so much energy and he doesn’t quite have a handle on how to harness all of it, so some of it has to find a way out somehow-namely through his vocal chords. Yes, Jamie is a screamer, but not the bad kind. That word has such negative connotation because most screamers scream with no respect. They yell at their crew with every curse known to man, swearing to high heavens and to the depths of hell. I am not saying Jamie’s screaming is excusable, but at least he has respect for us and doesn’t put us down. His mind flies a hundred miles an hour, and there are constantly about 5 things to do at once, so of course he gets flustered. Although it can be so frustrating and hard to concentrate though the intensity of it all, I have been learning to get used to it and just focus on my own movements no matter how apoplectic he gets. Speaking of which, that is one of the many “jamie-isms” that are starting to become part of my vocabulary. A few other words that come to mind that he always uses are “hermaphroditic” : ugly, and “bubbacide”: the act of overeating as in “I just commited bubbacide”. I will be sure to mention the other hilarious words as they come to mind. Mike said it best about Jamie: “you learn to either hate to love him, or love to hate him”. Jamie has many enemies. He has been involved in the politics of Alaska fisheries since the seventies, and has been a sort of revolutionary in certain aspects. He set up some of the most successful combines(co-op fishing) in the state, and has been responsible for many other political developments too complicated for me to explain. Needless to say, he has accomplished a lot, yet in doing so created enemies. Many people are jealous of his success, his boat, his operation. He is probably the best herring fisherman in the state. He has been named “highliner” several years in the “National Fisherman” magazine, a prestigious nomination due more to his contributions to Alaska’s fisheries rather than actual fish caught. I respect him a lot as a fisherman, and more importantly as a person. He doesn’t let the petty criticisms and trash talking of others phase him. He is not interested in the awards or the image. He just loves to catch fish, and he loves being the best at what he does. And most important in my eyes is how much he loves his wife and kids. It kills him to be gone for so long, but he flies home at every opportunity, and they come live on the boat when they can in the summertime. He is a good guy no matter what people say,  and I feel honored to be working on his boat. I will write more about him later.