"Tip me over and pour me out."

Do you ever feel like you are waiting at the edge for someone to tip you either way? Is it possible that we can vacillate for so long that when we feel an external force push us in one way or another we MAKE it a deciding factor? Seems that way at times. And I don't think it should be so.

I set out on a path and it is one I have to finish, one way or another. But along this route I have seen numerous alternatives and there is a weight that comes from rejecting each one of them. And in postponing others.

There is plenty I can't do shit about while "on the road." That is just the reality of it. I can't work on certain relationships that mean a great deal to me. I can't have a proper home for my children or feel at home in a church. I just have to keep on moving and hope it all catches up to me when at last I stop. And then hopefully I am able to catch my breath, and again begin again.

As a mother I can not simply live out my dreams because they are laid out before me. Even a dreamer's child needs stability. Even my children need routine.

It is very possible I will be offered a position in my field, in Montana, in the next week. It's a position that I applied for before I set sail, and one that I did not take all that seriously. I just figured I would apply and do so in the most honest way possible and then keep moving. But I stopped long enough to finish the process and it may have done me in. At least as far as the massively long trip goes. If I get the job, I would be foolish to reject the offer in order to go starve a bit longer from coast to coast. Even if that is what I truly want.

We all know I struggle with the concept of what is "meant" to be. And most often it seems we can tell ourselves that it is meant to be if it comes easy. I am not so sure. Maybe we are meant to turn our back on the road that is laid out before us and forge a new one out of the alternatives? Maybe in some cases this is what is meant to be?

In my case, I guess I will see when I get the call next week. I will either begin a new position in a new state, or I will set sail again. And as of this moment I feel on the edge, just begging to be tipped.

"Go and Sin no More"

I guess even the good stuff will eventually tire you out.

Driving across the country and attempting to find something has been, and continues to be an amazing thing for me. I could use even more cliche words to describe it but I think by my journeys end my photographs may be able speak for me, and do without the same cliche's. And that alone would make the journey worth it. If people just took a look and understood. And is that not what it is all about? Maybe what everyone needs most is to simply be truly understood. And whether it is art, or writing, or whatever....it's just all of us communicating and hoping we do ourselves justice. Because if the world only knew us, truly, they would do as we wish. Then maybe everyone would just play the part we have in mind for them?

Che and I have gotten far enough that when I look on the map, I am not inclined to turn backward. And yet we have been still long enough to miss the things a still person takes for granted. My bed, my La Crouset wok, and my electric tea kettle all call me intermittenly. And I feel guilty and weak when they do. I am strong enough to stay this course, and see this country, but I am easing down no roads. It does not work like that. As a matter of fact I think seeing this country in the shape that it is in, and in the shape that I am in, may land me in therapy. It can get heavy. You take sooo much in and find it is difficult to let go of a comparable amount. And so your balance is not constant and takes it's toll. But you roll on and think "I will think about that at journey's end."

It's not like the thought of tragedy and the increase of risk escapes you. It is just that you believe it is worth it. You skip by some, and see others a little too close. But that is okay because there are still a number of places that you have to go, and more film to waste. You just sort of walk on and do your best to simply love it all.

And though you understand nothing, you hope a few hearts or minds get you in the end.

"Let go of it" may not mean "throw it away" after all?

I am telling the truth, and doing my best to be kind. But it does not smooth my path. I still bump into concern.

My daddy told me to get rid of ego and expectations and I would be a happier camper. Well, Dad...I can't. When I am real with someone, I expect the same in return. And when I am wrong about someone, my ego is bruised. Malcontent is the result. I have not learned to avoid it.

I mean have you ever tried soooo hard to avoid something that you almost seem to inadvertingly manipulate it into being? Well, that may be me. I try to be as honest as possible so as to avoid communication error and "expectations." Then by some design my attempt at communication results in a whole new set of quagmires. I find myself wishing that I still had the option to just not say shit.

Too late.

Path and Point

Woody Allen said that "If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." And I believe he states the truth.

If you wanna get through this life even close to intact, you had better learn to bend and flow. As a young child I was crazy about "Kung Fu." I was one of those 5 year olds interested in the travels of a shaolin monk. I could relate as he frequently kicked ass and it was NEVER his fault. Caine seemed to have no plans and still managed to be right on point and on path. He just sort of rode waves across the dessert finding himself where he was meant to be. No stress. But maybe eventually we all need to learn the lessons that come from staying still?

I get that all things need to adapt and evolve to be truly living...but that don't mean I'm ready. I crave stillness but doubt that I am capable. It's gonna be a hard one for me. Stopping, and letting it all just be? I don't think I am alone but accepting that I am indeed "at home" is near to an alien concept for me.

But as long as this road in front of me is turning out to be, I may well be done by the time I reach the end of it. In the process I may just cure myself of the need to wander.

And besides, it is so hard to have a garden while on the road.

So far...Soooo good.

The Lord never sends Moses down to part the seas or anything else just because you have an idea that needs to see its way through. It may be a great idea, and the right thing to do, but that don't mean you can count on any sort of divine intervention. Sometimes quite the opposite.

I am not any sort of biblical scholar. And I do not have a degree in Philosophy.
But I believe that some times; some people are meant to go the hard way. You may indeed be "meant" to do something and yet still see what seems to be a divine hand throwing obstacles in your path. I see it in the people I meet, and also see it in me.
Sometimes.

And when this happens?
What of the person who upon being met with these obstacles, changes course? What does someone like that look like? Is it that haggard man drinking coffee and smoking Pall Mall non filters while staring into space at the end of the counter? I mean really? Because if you truly believe that you are called to do something, what does it feel like to then hit a wall and then decide that you are meant to fail at that very thing? Is that when you "wake up" like they told you to? Or is that when you just give up?

And what if you just stay the course and keep on moving?
Is it all gonna be okay in the end just because I am meant to be here and now?
Possibly no. I suppose one can never know. But I am pretty sure that when it gets hard, it is not a sign from God telling you that "you are as stupid as you look and best give it up now." Even if I am.

I have taken a lot of pictures lately, and many of them were of someone I've seen everywhere lately. The person who gave up only to realize later they did not have to. And it is no one I want to be.

We make wagers all through life.
And all of the different methods of gambling really only produce one absolute.
And that is simply the knowledge that even though we don't know much of anything, we still better get busy doing something.

The train does not stop so that you can get yourself a bit more ready for the trip. And contrary to popular belief, You can NOT just sweat it out at the station while the train leaves you behind. No. Everyone rides or dies.

Hear me Pac?

"Yes, his name is Charlie."

I took Che to a park today and found a friend.

The old man saw me just this side of the bridge he was crossing and as he stepped off he said "hello" in a way that only an 85 year old Navy Vet could have. With confidence in goodness and pride in the life one had lived. With grace.

He thought he heard me yelling "Charlie" rather than "Che." He said his name was Charlie and asked me if that was my son's name. I couldn't dissapoint him so Che was Charlie for just a short while today.

I don't like people much. Even the best of them can hardly help being hypocritical and fake a disproportionate amount of the time. But the very old and the very young have a harder time cloaking their transparency than the rest of us. Or maybe they just can't be bothered yet? Or anymore?

He fought in World War II, he lost two wives, he moved home to Montana and took a walk, and then he let me in.

I thank him for it.

There are beautiful people everywhere. Even on the street.

Sometimes it is hard to rid ourselves of the belief in the "other." That sneaky feeling that somehow we are essentially different than those who follow a different path or end up on a different corner.

It is getting easier though.

The state of being homeless has never really concerned me. I have not feared it as I so often experienced it as a young child. In fact we were left on the edge so often that it nearly seemed the natural state of things. And when I walked by homeless folk on my lunch break, in my uncomfortable shoes and even more uncomfortable tights, I never felt there was a distinction between them and I. Not beyond the fact that I had someone to report to if my lunch break went over and for the most part knew where I would be sleeping.

Nor did I ever have an opportunity to form an opinion of the homeless that blamed their position on any sort of lack of character or motivation. Even as a child I understood the unpredictable element of luck. Some people had it. Some people didn't.

My family belonged to the latter, much bigger and more inclusive group.

I'm not sure of luck even now though. If one is born unlucky, can we alter this reality as we alter our course? I don't know. Not yet.

You can not tell from the video that my new friend has no legs. Eventually you, I hope, will see my photographs and will see then. I only mention it so that you will have some small piece of context. I stood there taking photographs of some of the other men in his company and then turned my head to see him wheel himself close to me and ask "And what tribe are you from?"

"My mother was Choctaw, but me, I'm just Black."

"Well you look more Indian than Black. Let me sing you a song."

My mother used to say teh same thing when I had my hair in a braid down the back of my head. And instantly I remembered her, deeply.

I think it's possible for others to be welcomed into the comradery of these groups as I have been. All it takes is the understanding that nothing is simple.

Snell was not simply an alcoholic Indian. I am not simply a single mother living out of my car for a spell. And so on.

Nothing is as simple as we make it in order to more easily deal.

Walking by Snell, as most do, without even a thought as to whether these complexities exist says something about our society. We overlook the "other" to lose ourselves in routine. "I can't look down at that drunk Indian because I am late for my lunch date" or "I pay enough in taxes that I am sure there is a program he could be applying for" fall from even the most kind hearted "liberal's" lips.

But things just are not that simple.