Blog 62 Ego (Gary)
I wrestle with ego and beauty. I will start with ego: my fear of it. I don't like too much acknowledgment. This comes up as I have recently received significant acknowledgment. I find that I don't like it. Yet I have been touched by the differences in men's lives because of something I contributed.
Is it because I don't value myself enough to let it in? I always say I despise ego because I have seen what it has done to people. Am I afraid of my own? That is what the mirror could be telling me.
Let's explore this. Maybe it's a cover. Maybe I don't want the responsibility of having made a difference. Then I would have to show up more. I would have to stand out, and there is a risk to that. Is it the risk of making a fool out of myself, or being shamed, or looking stupid? I have to be with this, but I talk it out loud to Mark as we walk together. Mark attempts to help me see that I don't abuse ego. I get that I have been hurt many times by others’ egos. Disappointed and hurt. At the same time I can get in an ego state that creates arrogance, and then I awaken and stop myself. I don’t want to separate myself. I prefer to join. My goal is to not feel alone but rather to feel connected and loved.
BUY THE BOOK
BLOG 61 Ego Vs Acceptance (Gary)
Ego vs Acceptance (Gary)
Mark and I walked on Friday. That finishes my exercise for the week. I talked about my frustration and pain in dealing with recent clients’ addictions. I don't usually get worked up over such conundrums, but the ego involvement was so pronounced.
One man is a survivor from Vietnam. He is a boat person whose ego helped him survive, and now he is a multimillionaire who looks very successful, with multiple symbols of success, and multiple addictions that are leading to the end of his marriage. My other client relapsed, and had to go through a hospital detox because his ego didn't know what to do without the sustenance of alcohol.
Often, people without their addictive substance end up anxious and relapsing because they don't know how to survive without it. They have to be taught acceptance. I know this fires me up because I am still learning self-acceptance, and I can say that because I have become quiet enough to get the ego out of the way. When the ego is quiet life can be pretty sweet. That is why I walk The Hill with my brother, continuing to collect more evidence for further change in my own psyche.
Hoka Hay (Gary)
I am sitting in the sun
in my beautiful back yard
with my dog,
looking at my thriving plants’ colors.
It is Fall..
Hoka Hay:
Today's a Good Day to Die. BUY THE BOOK
Blog 60 Surrender (Gary)
Note: Interesting timing for this piece.
“God damn would you stop whining! You are becoming histrionic.” Mark is testing my patience around surrender. I say, "Ye of so little faith." Yet ONLY he has ever been in this place. That's my job just like it is his sometimes. Not to fix but to listen, although I would claim he has more fixes than I. Sometimes he doesn't want to listen long enough for me. I surrender and listen.
You see, I believe that it is useless to fight, or try to control certain events. It feels to me that things always seem to provide a lesson or a better way that you won't realize until later. Enough people have told me stories that were tragic yet in some way the outcome made sense. Obviously, some things are just tragic, period. My side hurts, yet I am setting too fast a pace for Mark. He invites me to go on alone. I slow up and tell him I will follow his lead. I will walk with him. We are not as fast today but we still make it to the tree in a great time. We turn at the tree for the downhill, and our physical energy is spent as well as his angst. We float down. It has been a good hike. We have seen only one bike rider and at least one of us has left a large piece of our load here. We are quiet now. Thank you, spirits of the mountain.
Blog 59 Shadow (Gary)
I notice that sometimes we are in shadow and sometimes in light. What a great metaphor. This walk is a perfect exposure to all the elements, most particularly those within our self. I also came across a black feather today, and wonder what bird has left a part of himself, and was it from grooming or from trauma? Is he alive? That, too, is symbolic to me.
Can we rid ourselves of the dark parts? It seems to me we can, but it is usually only through grooming ourselves to a different level of understanding, and letting those parts go, or through some trauma that forces us to change. Most of the time it seems to me that we are forced to shift through some form of trauma. Maybe this is a message for me to let go of something dark. I don't take everything I see as a symbol or sign, but I feel quite often it happens the other way, in that there was a sign and I didn't pay attention to it, and should have. So I look at today’s sign and ignore it only to look at it again now as I write. I have slowed enough to observe from a deeper place and ponder the question.
Is there a deeper sign here? I play with it and have to say there is some truth in this possible message. The more I let go of what fantasies lay in dark shadows, the more productive I am in writing this book or getting any task accomplished.
I pick up the black feather and reflect on what magic it may carry. As a matter of fact, it was resting in the shadow of the trail. I carried it with me into the light. It doesn't seem to hold much for me now, so I let it go. How perfect, I think now, as so often I embraced something in a dark way, and when I thought about it—and by doing so brought light to it—it didn't have any value. Of course, you deserve an example.
Surrender (Gary)
“God damn would you stop whining! You are becoming histrionic.” Mark is testing my patience around surrender. I say, "Ye of so little faith." Yet ONLY he has ever been in this place. That's my job just like it is his sometimes. Not to fix but to listen, although I would claim he has more fixes than I. Sometimes he doesn't want to listen long enough for me. I surrender and listen.
You see, I believe that it is useless to fight, or try to control certain events. It feels to me that things always seem to provide a lesson or a better way that you won't realize until later. Enough people have told me stories that were tragic yet in some way the outcome made sense. Obviously, some things are just tragic, period. My side hurts, yet I am setting too fast a pace for Mark. He invites me to go on alone. I slow up and tell him I will follow his lead. I will walk with him. We are not as fast today but we still make it to the tree in a great time. We turn at the tree for the downhill, and our physical energy is spent as well as his angst. We float down. It has been a good hike. We have seen only one bike rider and at least one of us has left a large piece of our load here. We are quiet now. Thank you, spirits of the mountain.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 58 Support (Gary)
What I loved about Mark Ruskell was that he was a straight shooter and if you needed a hand with something he was there. We had many honest conversations about our feelings, and we had a boatload of adolescent fun together. We went on a couple team trips to Mexico and a canoe trip in which he was the only one to come back and save my ass from spinning in a circle.
Remember that old science experiment where you put a pin on top of a cork in a bucket of water and watched it spin as a compass needle? That was me, and that was our first adventure since our Sterling Men’s Weekend. I had decided to be macho after the Sterling Men's weekend, and took one of the canoes by myself after a water fight. Well, I got in the middle of a lake, and the wind just kept spinning me in a circle like the pin-on-the-cork experiment. I spun from east to west and back again time after time. I was exhausting myself trying to move forward only to be blown in a circle. Mark came back for me, and we somehow got me to the dam where the trip ended. His weight and strength saved the day. I never forgot that.
To have a friend who will come back for you is a treasure and a measure of someone you want to walk with throughout life. Do you have friends who will do that for you? If not, seek them out. Those are the kind of friends I have chosen, and it most certainly made life’s struggles much easier.
The Hill became more than a hill, or exercise, or being in Nature—it became a relationship: a relationship with Mark(s), and a mirror to reflect back an image of myself and my relationship with me. Each chapter reflects part of my, and our, struggles for wholeness. Sometimes those are the most beautiful times.
It's amazing that we always fall into a pace that is mutual. Maybe it's just that, but I add the word respect. It is a pace of mutual respect. This walk is many things, but I think our pace represents a mutual respect for each other. We have melded. Why so? Is it the walk? I think it is because this walk is a catharsis for two, sometimes weary, older men. Notice I didn't say "old." Fuck that. I am tired of people referring to themselves as old. Especially when I know we are in better shape than most forty-year-olds.
We are trekking through our past and into the present through our babble. I really shouldn't call it babble because that might give you the wrong impression, but sometimes it is just that. That is what catharsis often is: just a lot of babble. The mind seems to need to occasionally relieve itself of too much gas (yeah, that is often part of the walk as well) or something. Yes, brain fart now has a new meaning. This is either because we have pressed the mind too hard, or because it's in an infinite loop. It's stuck without any way to free itself other than by babbling. Simply put, the mind needs to detox from all the input it gets from the world. Eckhart Tolle, author of The Power of Now, refers to this as "the pain body."
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 57
Earth School (Gary)
I believe we are all here to learn something, otherwise what the fuck. Life is a school for the soul and if you don’t get the lesson it will be repeated. I hate those repeats.
I wasn’t hungry for the learning. I was starved, literally starving.
I feel that past generations were forced to choose more of a shadow way of thinking in order to survive. We have the greater luxury of conscious thought to choose which one will predominate.
Some go numb, some awaken,
some are just shaken—by Nature.
It is the God-given caldron that blends
the best and worst of a man to go deep if he allows.
To stretch, wither, and die if he chooses.
I prefer awaken.
It chooses me and I choose it.
I am open to every smell,
every breeze, tree, flower that varies with each season,
the colors and shades, feathers, scat,
a rush in the brush.
It is all vital to me.
Clean air, blown in from the coast,
blue skies, cloud formations always changing,
shadow and light, blackberries,
early morning feeding birds,
my track upon the ground.
It is here in the dust I am most alive.
I live here; I exist in the city; but I live here.
This is where love comes from.
Its origin is here and I can feel it.
We are born here and this is returning home for me.
Thank you.
Thank you for Love.
It originated here and I feel in my heart that we all did.
Home is in it.
In the earth.
Maybe that's the body.
The soul seeks a higher place, and as yet unknown to me.
What might it be?
Maybe it's flitting in and out of all of it,
the whole spectrum of the universe.
As I look out over the expanse of ocean,
breathe in the air,
I am enlivened:
to pull it all into my body and—soul.
Drink in the river. Swallow it whole.
I am it, and it is me.
Ah, so close to God.
It is an energy that moves in all things.
Spirit, Holy Spirit, no, Wholly Spirit.
I soar with thee.
There is a God for me and She is in everything
but clearly seen up close.
Most clearly seen up close!
Thank you.
This reminds me of Mothers, Sons, and Lovers where Michael Gurian talks about drinking in the sea of the feminine. I now think of the Universe as the Divine Feminine or Divine Mother. That is where I walk. I walk with the Divine Mother. She nurtures my soul. She feeds me light and dark energy and makes me feel at home. This is where I come from and this is where I go back to. I am a part of it and it is a part of me.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 56 Choose the Light (Gary)
I’ll get back to the point. I notice that any time I go somewhere, I do people's inventories. Part of me is always contrasting and comparing, evaluating and judging. Hell, I do it just driving down the street comparing houses, cars, people, almost everything in my field of vision. Recently, I have made a real effort to stop this dark practice of projecting shadow on everything, realizing it's the ego that is always on alert to protect, defend, or fight for itself. I notice when I stop this mind chatter I automatically shift my focus to more productive aspects of life. It's a positive shift. In other words, I bring in light rather than dark energy. When I do this I am automatically more productive. So sometimes I walk in the shade and shadow, and sometimes I choose the light. Today I choose more light. I am separating from my mother’s shadow. I end my allegiance to her cause. I fight the negative imprinting we all have from our parents rather than surrender and be just like them. I had to choose: Will I be awake, or be asleep and unconscious of choice? That is part of the work of therapy.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 55 Sacred Moments (Gary)
As I walk The Hill several times each week I try to lock each experience into my memory as though I may never be able to do it again. Just like the way I am playing ball with my dog right now. Yes, as I write this I am playing with my dog, Cedar. He loses the ball under the cabinet, and I have to get down on my knees to retrieve it. I will always remember these moments because it is a part of "our" game, a sacred game wherein life is precious because I know that his life is short. Not because he is ill but because he is a dog and he maybe has four years left. That kills me to know but at the same time keeps me conscious and holds "our" time as sacred. Not so different is my relationship with Mark.
We share much that I treasure, and I hold each walk sacred because that too may end. Either because he moves to establish his career, or moves away, or one of us becomes ill or dies. It all happens. Staying conscious is part of the walk, the walk of life. I could choose to ignore my feelings, but I choose not to because I also enjoy more of what I have. I am alive to walk and feel life fully, living each moment to its crest, rather than the way I used to do things, which was to feel like someone had to pinch me in order for me to believe the experience. Disassociation is another way to avoid pain.
I felt outside of my experience much of the time. I know I am not the only one who does this, so that makes it okay for me to disclose, right? I can feel my ego again. I certainly don't want you to hear that I have any flaws. Ha, that's funny, because I always tell my clients that I prefer humility, but now, with you, even though I probably don't know you, I have to be humble. It's a good thing. I know I have been a successful practitioner partly because I am real and willing to share my wounds, my teachings, what I have learned, and laugh at my flaws. It’s also a way of screening my clients for motivation. I only want those who are willing to join me, in a sense, and do their work, otherwise it is a wasteof time and energy for all. I know with all certainty that is what makes my men’s groups so rousing.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 54 The Quality of My Death (Gary)
I walk the hill alone today. There is gusting rain and fog on The Hill. I must go. I am pulled by The Hill and I must respond. I ignore the blacktop leg of the hike to the trailhead, and look forward to entering the sanctuary of the open space.
I brought my iPod, which quite normally I would judge as an intrusion into Nature, but to me it's a new toy that I must play with. I am listening to David Deida (The Way of the Superior Man, 2017) lecture on love, passion, and heart. It is an intrusion on the soul of Nature, yet it blends by subject.
I am wearing Levis and a rain jacket. My pants are buffeted by wind and rain, but that's okay; I am warm enough on the inside with a long sleeve pullover and a Polartec top. There is no one on the trail, and I am loving it: the closer to the summit, the more severe the weather and the denser the fog.
I feel a sense that I would be an unconscious easy prey for a mountain lion as I am cocooned inside my rainwear. I hear only gusts of wind and rain outside of my iPod lecture hall. I reach into the outer pocket of my fanny pack and pull out the scabbard containing my razor-sharp knife with its ten-inch blade and molded grip that I carry for safety, and place it in my right rain pocket and keep my hand on the handle. I am totally contained now. I am safe and “snug as a bug in a rug,” as my mother used to say.
I have another realization in the writing of this that I pulled my knife less for safety and more for not wanting to risk embarrassment. I feared being killed only if I didn’t protect myself. This was akin to the situation I was so chagrined to realize in Vietnam.
I was put in a possible attack situation where I was alone and couldn’t really protect myself against what I understood to be overwhelming odds. I didn’t want to die a fool or in shame. Believe me or not, I wasn’t afraid to die in a fight but I had some pride in how I died. Dying was a given; dying alone in shame and embarrassment was not acceptable: a BAD feeling believe me especially having experienced abandonment as a child. This was my worst moment. At least on The Hill I had some control over the quality of my death, here and now.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 53 Men of Fire (Gary)
At this moment I am sitting on a hilltop waiting for my Men of Fire group to arrive, a heart centered group of men that I have led for eighteen years. I have a slight ache in my side (still trying to cleanse my liver) but I am comfortable in my inflated camp chair, sitting atop a slight mound of gravel and moss between two large oaks, with a view down into dry grasses and a forest of mostly pine.
Ah, smell the clean air. Life is good. I don't need no stinkin’ fantasies. I am HERE, and my wife says I am important. How about that! I have actually prided myself on being unimportant. I have to laugh a little. Somehow that is a funny part of my journey, another piece of the past that no longer serves me. I choose to let it go and accept (perhaps) that someone really loves me and thinks I am important. Okay, so I am still absorbing that possibility. Big inhale. It's good to be important to someone. I just don't want it to go to my head. I've had practice at this so I think I am good. I wish I could smoke a cigar here and maybe have a glass of champagne, a little celebration of self. Why not? No fires or smoking, high fire danger. Darn, I had to bring that up. Maybe in another place like this soon. That would be good, HO! I don't know why it was so fun writing this today, but it was.
I've been reflecting, and I've come to see the trail as no longer dirt and stone, but ironically as a mirror, flattening my illusions and countering my false beliefs.
Find ways to practice experiencing and, even better, seeing and feeling. It has been a big part of finding my way home.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 52 Completion (Gary)
I notice a slight pant as I edge up The Hill, and in just about the center of The Respite I let out three big sighs as if on automatic. It has been a heavy day in my private practice, and I recognize the sound of my own grief, like carrying a heavy emotional load. One man has threatened suicide, one told us last night he may have cancer, and another didn't show up for his appointment and may have relapsed, again, into his alcohol addiction. No sooner do I realize my grief than I see a hummingbird slip its tiny beak into a pretty red cylinder of a flower. Everything is okay now. I leave The Respite and begin the steeper climb. Ah, life is good, and I take in the air. I notice this week that I am feeling good without my usual fantasy wonderings. There has been little thought given to cars and real estate. I am enjoying each moment there is to enjoy. I occasionally ask myself how I am feeling, and when I stop to answer it has been to just notice that I am very comfortable.
How often do you allow yourself to “just notice” where you are? It’s a way, with practice, that you can know yourself, or you can become a “human-doing,” as they say, rather than a “human-being.”
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 51 The Hawk Comes Home to Die (Gary)
There are little saplings everywhere here on Gurian’s land, and I am listening to the creek. Again why do I cry here? Now I look at the meadow and I cry some more. It is tall green grass and a forest of trees just beyond. But why do I cry? It feels so sweet; I have missed it. My heart hungers for this so much my head cannot know. A white butterfly wings past. My heart seems to sing behind it until it disappears. The wind opens the trees to more sun, and it feels for a moment as if I am in heaven. The sweat lodge is fifty feet away. Perhaps I am home again.
Michael tells me this is where the hawk came to die a couple weeks ago. Mike was coming to his meditation spot on the creek, and this old beat up hawk didn't move from his spot only a few feet away. The next day Mike saw him sitting in front of the mountain house, and in the morning he was dead. He had come here to die. It is a good spot to die, or die into, as we all will or could.
Butterflies continue to visit and the sound of the creek is soothing. This is similar to the place I grew up, years before I started my walks in the clouds. It was there on logging roads that I hiked and became lost in marshy creeks with skunk cabbage abounding. And water skippers who hopped around in the water. This was where I learned to explore and hike. My friend and I would go to the war surplus store to get our gear. Our packs were WWII vintage. My brother did the same but his were WWI vintage. Ah, the smell of the fresh cut trees from the lumber camp, and the smell of the chain saw oil. You could smell it from a distance. I realize more than ever why my hikes in the hills of Los Gatos mean so much to me. Even fighting off the flies in the hot sun brings me back—back home. This is a respite.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 50 A Sacred Object (Gary)
My mother before she died would often say, "What does it matter?” In her depression, nearing the end of her life in convalescent care, she gave up. I now understand what she said at a different level. I see the value not of giving up but of surrendering to what is. I like the Alcoholics Anonymous saying, "Let go; let God." She could have been at peace by letting go, but instead she was angry and bitter that she wasn't getting what she wanted and that her life was over. The point is it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters unless you make it matter. In a sense she was right. Even then there are often times when you do so much better by surrendering and letting go. Just like it is on The Hill. Some days I just have to surrender to the heat, the rain, or the fog, and I love it.
Since the fire trail has been graded recently there is little if any glass or garbage to pick up. I consider it my duty to keep this trail pristine. It's a sacred trail, and needs to be respected. Yet there are years of broken pieces of glass that litter the way. I will say much of it is gone, thanks to me. To me it breaks the spell to find a shard of green glass sticking up from the ground where there has been peace. Peace: that is a good word to describe this for me.
I now connect the dots. The Hill has become another sacred object, like the ducklings I loved and cared for with my aunt, and like my uncle’s hat. They all have given my life a sense of stability and meaning: a true grounding.
What grounds you to or in right action? Without something to ground you, you will spin, moving as fast as you can. Thus is born the “Addiction to Hurry” (Jones, 2003).
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 49 Looking For My Tribe (Gary)
Most certainly one of my heroes in this regard is one of my clients who after much personal pain, abuse, and abandonment by his father, and twenty-three years of recovery became an incredibly loving man. He didn’t graduate from high school yet has a very successful contracting business. I don’t know about you but I have worked in construction and most contractors have a hard edge. John can have that edge; however, he greets his men with a hug. Sometimes they don’t know what to do with that. Those who have known him for a while will stand there and wait until he is available. He also spontaneously engages strangers, one of my favorite things to do. I call it “not being a victim of circumstance.”
The lesson this man has taught me is to lead yourself into the life you choose. Wait for no one or for any thing, validation, acceptance, encouragement, or sign.
I know now that when I accepted Michael Gurian’s invitation to visit his 105-acre country estate north of Spokane I wept there because I felt accepted. At first I thought it was my response to his total acceptance, but that wasn't all of it. It was the embrace of the alder trees that surrounded me, the warmth of the sun, the gentle cooling breeze, the butterfly that landed on my shoe. There, as well as here, I am not alone, and I am blessed with total acceptance. So where does this hunger for benign acceptance come from?
I remember the first indicator. It was first grade. We were supposed to draw something for some kind of art project. It seemed we were all trying really hard to get it right. Somehow it was challenging. I remember giving it my best, but Johnny next to me wasn't taking it seriously. I remember now he was drawing a duck. Wow, that just flashed into my mind (the value of writing from a “let go” position). He was fucking the duck, so to speak. I loved ducklings as my aunt and uncle had frequently taken me to the park to feed the ducks and I had a string of toy ducks to pull around on the floor. I loved ducks. How could he do that with no respect? It was so wrong, and so awful, I took his drawing and ripped it up. I got in trouble for it, but I knew what he was doing was bad and wrong, and now I reflect that I must have had a fear of destruction of beauty, which for me may have been the equivalent of abandonment.
I think it had something to do with security because I had found something beautiful and sweet, and I treasured it. I was so emotionally bereft, so insecure and fearful of abandonment, that little things meant a tremendous amount to me. As a child I guarded my little treasures with a passion. That fuzzy yellow duck must have been an anchor of sorts.
There was another time when my uncle’s brother came to the house, and I thought he was wearing my uncle’s hat. I got really upset and adamant that he couldn’t be wearing my uncle’s hat. It was actually part of their shop clothing, but I didn’t know that. Everyone evidently thought this was cute, but actually it was another example of me trying to maintain a sense of security, a knowing that sacred items would stay as they were; if they did it meant everything was going to be okay and I would be safe.
I know as an adult that what anchors me or makes me feel grounded is being or doing what my mother initiated in me: my father was dead when I was three years old, and I was to take care of her. Thus the hero was born.
What anchors you?
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 48 Neighbors on the Walk (Gary)
I recently met Corrine and Bob, who have a home at the trailhead, and made immediate friends with them because I took a liking to their old dog. I think it was because the dog took a liking to me as well. They showed me the house that was for sale across from theirs and even invited me to come up The Hill with them while they changed the community water filter. What a treat. I didn't go with them but instead took their suggestion of a shortcut down The Hill along with information regarding a closer and legal place to park. Wow, it certainly pays to extend oneself. I always say to my clients that everything happens out of relationship, so here it is. What a pleasurable return on investment. Sometimes we can get a little selfish in how much we interact with people because we become consumed with our full minds. Yes that includes me.
Speaking of others on The Hill, there is Hanna the Akita whom we pass on most hikes. She is there to bark at us, as that is her job, and occasionally when she is lazy, she just ignores us like we are old news. We were blessed to have her on the trail with her master, a delightful lady and her new baby, one day last year. I took their picture and emailed it to her. That was sweet. Most times I would just say hi and keep moving, but this day Mark and I took a minute and I made the offer of a picture. Now she has a pleasant keepsake of herself and her baby in Nature with her dog. Simple gifting can delight the soul. It was Bianca, Hanna, and Jessie, and now, a year later, it's Bianca, Hanna, Jessie, and Paula. Another picture, another email. We now seem to have a ritual of doing this twice a year by running into each other by chance.
Another time I made a good attempt to get what seemed to be a lost dog back home. Initially he startled me a bit—okay, a lot—as he came around the corner. I am always hoping to see a mountain lion so when I saw him come around the blind bend it was a relief to see he was a dog. You know how that is: Watch out for what you ask for. I read his name and the phone number off his tag, and called the owner to rendezvous at the trailhead, but the dog took off again. I had to let him go. I called the owner and that was it. Then I ran into a biker and asked him to assist. We ran into each other on another hike and he said the dog had followed him to the top and he seemed to have found his way home. We now share that little saga every time we meet. That's another sweet story from The Hill.
I got it. This is all about proving myself. The climb, the hardship, the heat, the cold, the pain; I get to keep proving myself on a regular basis. There is no moment lost. And maybe I will make a connection along the way. Maybe that is why I notice whether Diane, or whatever her name is, and her daughter notice me at the end of the trail because they have seen me before. Sandy, who lives on The Hill, talks to me. Then there’s Corrine and Bob who say hello. I am seeking validation of existence. I have always known that but not known that. Ah, the value of connection and not feeling alone.
I have found that life is much fuller and richer when seen as a series of shared experiences and a validation of the value of each other. Sometimes it’s a simple smile or nod. I get just a little high from the smile or nod back that tells me I am not alone.
I encourage everyone to reach out to the small spark of life that passes from one soul to another as it energizes and lifts the spirit. It’s also a reminder of your humanity.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 47 “I have a Responsibility to Make a Difference” (Gary)
Mark took off a couple days ago for Germany. He said he was spending a few days in New York with his niece and nephew before going to Europe. According to his plan he must be in Germany by now.
I drove home after work and changed clothes to do the hike up The Hill by myself. I was overdue and had to go. I don’t like to have moe than four days between hikes. I was a little concerned about the air quality as I hiked but it seemed to be ok. I checked Spare the Air and it said the air quality was good. I was still suspicious. I found myself making pretty good time and I passed the Hill of Cruelty quite easily.
Here I am again with feelings coming up. I thought again of all those people who died in the concentration camps, for what? Somehow I feel I have a responsibility to make a difference. I just know I felt bad for a brief moment and felt a responsibility. The rest of the hike was a joy and I exchanged appreciation of the day with a group of bikers on their way up The Hill.
I look at myself and think of the sacrifices my ancestors made that have made my world just a little bit better than theirs. What sacrifices will I make and have I made that will make life just a little better for those I love and the generation to follow?
I advise you to look beyond yourself. How or what sacrifices did your ancestors make that helped make your world just a little bit better? What sacrifices will you make for the sake of the generation after you?
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 46 “Don’t let those people have died for nothing” (Gary)
Mark and I were supposed to walk The Hill today. He called and said he couldn't make it. That was a big disappointment for both of us. However, he just moved, and was down because he had to downsize into a marginal neighborhood. His wife is suffering from anxiety, and he is clearly stressed. He is packing for Germany to speak at a conference on forgiveness. His presentation is based on his dissertation about the unique posttraumatic stress of the grandchildren of survivors of the Holocaust. Heavy shit.
I grab the picture of The Respite off my office wall to give to Mark. I am very attached to the picture but I know its better service at this time. It is also a token of my affection for him, and a sign of support for his mission. I drive to his house to send him off. He pulls up to my truck and I take out the picture. We both admire the detail offered in the watercolor paper I used to reprint the picture. He seemed detached, but I understood and allowed it to be.
We hug, I wish him well, and am motivated to say as I choke back emotions, "Don't let those people have died for nothing”. I didn't expect that to come up. I will think of him and his journey for his twelve days. It will be a strenuous trip to do alone with a wife who is in the middle of setting up a new house after a tough move. I tell him I will check in with her.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 45 A Different Hill Today (Gary)
This one I climb by myself, and wind through the dry blond grass to the top of a small mountain a short distance away from a major mountain artery. There is some traffic noise but I enjoy this piece of isolation. I am sitting amongst old oaks in a barren space. The ocean breeze whips around me. I can look toward the ocean, but smoke from a forest fire keeps me from seeing beyond a distant ridge. It's warm, about 72°, and few bugs to bother me, although they usually don't anyway. I find the more you relax in places like this the more they leave you alone.
I am here early, waiting for the men in our Men of Fire group. What a gift to be able to do my work here. It's a dream fulfilled to be able to meet on a mountain. Usually we meet in my garage (although I call it my barn for another desire). We have been meeting here once a week for about a month. Life is good.
Today I wear my new wedding ring (I have lost two). I am determined to keep this one. My wife gave it to me for our thirtieth wedding anniversary. I guess I am a keeper. I asked for this design—an elk in front of a mountain. The name given to me in a Native American Naming Ceremony is Quiet Elk, which I changed after my New Warrior Weekend to Wild Elk. Maybe it should be Crazy Elk. You can decide that.
BUY THE BOOK
Blog 44 Silence (Gary)
So often I forget that my creative juices moisten in the quiet rather than the business of life. Somehow I have been brought to believe that I am more creative if I am busy. In that state of being busy, thoughts and ideas come up and they only occasionally stick. But in the quiet, when I am still, I create an idea and act on it. It becomes substantial in the stillness. It's like most of these words. They have made it to the paper because I have been quiet enough to hear them. So the truth is that I am more liable to implement a change or creative idea if I spend time in silence. I certainly like the idea of more silent time. The author Carlos Castenada called it the "do nothing" time. Most importantly, it is a time to feel. The one time I saw him, his departing words to everyone were, “Remember the most important thing you can do is to be quiet for one second a day.”
BUY THE BOOK
BLOG 43 Connection (Gary)
When I walk The Hill I am often taken back to distant memories, fond memories of walking the logging roads in Oregon as a kid or walking the sand dunes in North Bay, Oregon, with my brother. When we cross a sandy part of the trail I always think of the time my brother and I walked a great distance until the sand dunes seemed to run out and we turned around. It was warm, it was an adventure, and my brother was leading the way. When I was walking the lumber roads it was with my buddies. We borrowed single-shot .22 rifles, bought a box of fifty rounds for fifty cents, and were off to explore and see what we could hit. My friend David Zimmerman (where are you David?) was a great shot. I watched him shoot the cigarette out of our friend Thorold Simpson's mouth. Those two were tight buddies and now I can't find them. Anyway, this is just one reminiscence out of many when I walk this trail.
Sometimes I want to smell those logging-camp smells of fresh cut wood and chain saw oil again. Sometimes I want to recapture the moment with my brother and my friends. This is about connection. I feel most alive when I am connected.
Find the energy that makes you feel most connected and that is the best medicine. What from your history fuels you? Uncover what it is. Pay attention to what has meaning to you. No judgment; just the truth of what is.
For me it’s like the moment at this morning’s coffee meeting (tea, for me, actually) when my friend Barry taps me on the shoulder and says evenly, “Shut your mouth.” I used to be a mouth breather and he knows I am trying to break the habit. His simple act of caring means a lot to me.
BUY THE BOOK