hugs so good we don’t know whose heart is whose when we let go

I awake to the sound of roosters in the distance, the air is cold cold cold but I am warm and snug inside my sleeping bag, in my teeny tiny orange home nestled in the tame woods of the homestead and permaculture-inspired Laytonville ecovillage. There is no hurry to do any thing, though the thoughts of sipping hot tea around the warmth of a fire is enough to make me unzip and step out into the world. I make the trek down the path through the woods to the outdoor kitchen and communal area, a sleeping bag wrapped around my gently aching body from yesterday’s work, and yet again I find myself marinating in anticipation for this new day.

My tent has been pitched in the same spot for 3 weeks, a welcoming contrast to the daily get-up-and-go vibes of the month prior, and my soul feels acclimatized – the settled feeling one has when all of their emotional, physical, and spiritual needs are met. The travelling life offers perpetual stimulation and humbling lessons and challenges for soul maturation, and a life of stability offers one the chance to integrate the lessons of that past – the full realization of the depth of change that occurs when one lives outside the comfort zone. Volleying the two energies about in an authentic game of snakes and ladders keeps life fresh and inspired, aligned in the flow of ying and yang, fast and slow, hard and easy, the extraordinary and mundane — a joyful expression of the circular nature of all things.

I like to hug. A lot a lot. The timeless space of free affection felt as ones breath begins to align with another, the instant release of stress and dis ease as warmth spreads from one heart beat to the other. Good hugs acknowledge the connection, and excellent hugs unquestionably remind that there is no separation, that my heart is your heart is their heart. Release the shoulders, relaaaax, deep breath, siiiiighhhh and giggle as the exchange of sexual creative energy vibrates peacefully through out, filling any needs for nurturance and fulfilment. I can never underestimate the power of a hug, the one act deeply missed as I travelled alone on my way south. The verbal connections found and made, the smiles exchanged, and the stories shared were no match for the hugs I began to give and receive just as I needed the physical expression of love the most. I was writing a letter to a dear friend (tiny T!), which sorry I never sent again, at night in my tent, letting a tear slip out as I reminisced of famlied-friends (a term coined by me just now?) and our free exchange of physical comfort, pen-to-paper shouting to the universe that I was in need of someo’this NOW. I fell asleep feeling better for expressing my needs, as futile as it might have seemed at the time, and looking back with hindsight at my disposal, the universe was quick to heed my call.

This entry begins to pull together two lessons that intertwine with one another seamlessly, lessons that I have been given over and over again by self and others, to which I am fully grasping now as I ground myself in the physical and metaphysical planes of existence. One, the requirement to admit and call out for help – you do not have to do this alone!, and two, the beauty of community and the freedom to love without boundaries. They intertwine naturally, as the need for help is reduced with each connection that blossoms, the supportive energies that build internally as the external world manifests around you with bodies and faces that express their support and care with bright eyes and given smiles.

How many people I have met on the way who have insisted that I ask for what I need! How many of them that have done just that, and received all that they needed in abundance. I, shy and timid to ask in an absurd fear of rejection, knew this to be true but could not bring myself to open up and admit a thing. So I experienced almost all of my hardships alone, feeling alone, in being, alone. The letter I wrote was one emotionally charged and in tune with the rhythm of living, and as such was answered just as I had intended it would be. The following day, after my letter of manifestation, a round-pole natural building work shop was hosted by the ecovillage, and in such an abundance of radiant souls came to learn more about living with the land. Oh how lucky was I to get the chance to know and be known! In the knowing, in the full expression of spirit, hugs of plenty were inevitable – I laughing at the universe’s sly humour, for inviting so much abundance into my life, for filling me fully up with kindred souls and new opportunities, opportunities that supported the new growth of being.

As I said, with community comes support, they are one, and with each new connection I have made over the past few weeks, the more I feel contented and at peace, despite my lack of wares and money. I am in the same position I was in weeks ago camping out in the Redwoods, save the fact that I have voiced my needs to people that care, and that support me in ways that I could not have done so by my self. I in turn give to them freely of myself what I am able. The exchange of energies match each other, and I no longer worry or wonder about where my next meal might come from, or lack feelings of acceptance and love.

In the short time since my last entry, I have found sisters and brothers, two homes, daily fresh food grown on the land, supportive dialogue and endless physical affection. I have travelled to Mount Shasta for a Rainbow Gathering in a flurry of sexual and creative healing, explored with sensitive bare feet, began to express my knowledge and thereby teachings of astrology and tarot to others, worked with trees and wood to build beautiful natural structures, picked more plums off the tree than we know what to do with, and have learned so much about myself by knowing others. I feel supported, loved, and a developing jupiter-expanding world view – that yes, everything is already here! Believe that you have everything, and you do!

As life lives on, I have so much to share, when the time is right, but friends know that I am feeling and being all of my experiences, and that someday I’ll hug you again with even more of my self, and all of this love that I am learning will touch your soul too. Yay! the awesome realization that that which benefits me, benefits you, and round and round it goes. I am wishing for you the power to overcome the challenges with humility, and the wisdom to share your strengths, so we can all get through it together.

CA ❤

i never thought I would be here, doing this

I met Wild Man outside of the grocery store, I stuffing as much food as I could into my pannier bags, and he doing his best to restrain Big Boy so that the friendly beast of a Labrador-Rotweiler cross wouldn’t escape from the dusty white 2 door pickup truck they were riding in.

 ‘Where ya from? – Oh yeah? Let me tell you about this one time I was in Canada, and everyone I’ve ever met from Canada, and then – SHUT UP BIG BOY — every cool thing I’ve ever done in my 60 years—‘
‘Cool, cool. Yeah man. Hah really! Swee-‘
‘I have the best swimming hole in the country on my property.’
‘Cool,cool. Swee-‘
‘I also have a huge farm – you know what this land is famous for yea?’
‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Well it’s your lucky day, I have lotsa work, let me grab a few things and I’ll take you there.’
‘Mmm, well I planned on sticking around town for a bit longer  *shifty eyes*
 how about you tell me where it is, and I’ll come by in a few days? Phone number too, eh?’

And so a new season begins.

My style of logging is not so much to rehash the amazing mind warping past of the weeks that have gone by, the weeks of ‘no internet’ thus no web logging, but to continue representing ‘A day in the life of’, where the long gone days are already stored in the bank of ‘stories I’ll share throughout the years when something of the present reminds me of the past, and I am able to relive it once more while hopefully offering a nugget of insight, inspiration, or comedic value to whomever is present during the time of said rehashing’.

Some key phrases or words of the past few weeks: Forest. Alone and again alone. Revelations, painful. Down to last $20, what do I do? Peanut butter, pasta, and bread.  Broccoli, dinner treat. Hiding out in redwood forest, waiting for something to happen. Angels descend, wisdom and encouragement offered. Feeling small and insignificant yet  Ancient trees nurturing. So many letters written but never sent. Set up tent, set up home. Waiting till dark. What goes bump in the night? I am supported. I am loved. I am grateful. Simplicity of living. Enlightened sun beams. Tragic bug bites. This too, all of this, shall pass. Aum, connecting. ‘Everything is gonna be alright’ – whistling.

I am laying on a motel bed, the biggest splurge of the journey – omg a room to myself!- the fan is on, attempting to fight the 40 degree heat of the day, and my belongings are scattered, my clothes are off, and the fridge is full of sustenance that are too rich for my pocket, but entirely necessary for one to spend an entire day lounging around with contentedly – a scene of pure cancer-moon comfort. I am glad I can share this in the comfort of the rich imagination of our collective wonderment, you can replace me with yourself, and gain the appreciation of having a comfortable place to rest in after almost 6 weeks in a little tent. This short stay a byproduct of the 4 hour day yesterday of trimming some of Northern California’s biggest underground but totally exposed cash crop.

‘I can’t believe this.’

I came to Wild Man’s land via an old bridge with no railings, an incredible distance above from the creek below – a sure death if one weren’t too careful, the wafts of marijuana plants appealingly pungent and robust with flavour, and the biggest dogs I ever did see, ever, running around wagging tails and barking. 1 trailer and 3 RV’s dot the dusty land nestled in between a steep incline of mountainous trees and the  unsightly clutter of equipment and waste all but forgotten in the overwhelming mid day heat.

The tour consisted of a green house, an acre of green green sugary-smelling shrubs, and the disastrous innards of the main house and its patio deck – a mountain of trash, dirty dishes, and mouse turds. I am taken back, but not surprised – I would have been more surprised and relieved, to find a more organized residence of a tall yellow haired man dubbed Wild Man, but alas his property is a reflection of what I had come to suspect in the grocery store parking lot.  Totally innocent, but totally awash in a sea of ignorance.

My first instinct is to start cleaning, and I tell Wild Man of my love for organizing. He is appreciative of said love, and I go to work immediately in cleaning off the deck – the trim area, and the area I intend to spend most of my waking moments at. The deck offers tangible demonstrations of the effort I have put in in order to cultivate a space in which I can freely live and work in happily, but as soon as I enter the interior and begin in the kitchen, the next station I imagine myself spending a lot of time in, I balk in terror (what is that smell?fuck) and even the gloves I am wearing do not offer me the protection of mind I require in order to meet my immediate needs, and I find I am on a downwards spiral of motivation, losing all of the naive energy I had once had for this hopeless project. The trailer needs to be bulldozed, any health and sanitary inspector could see the same.  

There is no clean water to drink other than cheap bottled water, ‘don’t drink the water from the tap, we found a dead bird in the spring’, and I take preference to squatting outside over using the washroom. I start to feel paranoid about washing my vegetables in water and decide I also don’t want to shower, so I go to bed early caked with thc crystals, dog slobber, and dust.

I spend the night in my tent, with dogs intermittently guarding me, barking, and rummaging through the surrounding bushes. Home? I sleep, some times.

I wake up early, fresh with the question marks of what is to come, and after a quick breakfast of granola and bananas, I am put to work in the fields, armed with a sharp pair of scissors, ‘landscaping’ the big bushes of bud that have been neglected and over-run for months and in critical status, teetering on the brink of moldy death. This is the first time I have ever found myself next to a marijuana plant, and I find that I sincerely enjoy spending time cropping and removing the leaves and foliage that prevent it from receiving maximum sunlight, the foliage that keeps that buds on top from growing to gigantic proportions.

Music is coming from the green house nearby, and the radio is blasting music from the local Christian rock radio station, and after a quick ‘break’ with one of the men also working the field- Mud, I find my self in acknowledgement –  this weed is Christian. And Christian rock music is geared towards people who are feeling hopeless and directionless in life, requiring some form of optimistic reassurance that life will indeed get better, and that the pain they live is not lived alone – we’ve all been through loss, grief, indecision, and loneliness. My previous judgements on Christianity and religion in general, is lost in a shed of quick tears and understanding, that those who seek religion are in grief and are suffering, and they are ignorant in only that they do not know that all is god (even this suffering shit), that we are supported, there is no real distinction between any one thing, only perception of mind >>>

I am now covered and sticky with THC after hugging bushes all morning, and my face is beginning to flush from the sun, so I depart the fields and the uplifting god blessed music, to the deck so that I can start trimming the preseason stalks.

After a no-tutorial, I am resigned to a 5 hour fate of sitting in a chair, interchanging sticky scissors with ones soaking in alcohol, cleaning off very leafy bud, bud I would have never purchased my self, and thinking of ways of how to break it to Wild Man that I could not live at his place as it was. I have already found a clean, safe space to stay at – an ecovillage not far from town, a place I had found on the WWOOF site – 10 hours work weeks in exchange for sustainable living education and a place to call home. After getting paid out for the day – $170 total, I check into my humble tent, relieved that I do always  have one clean spot in which to relax in.

As night began, the dogs begin to bark, and do not relent – still nobly on guard of my tent within ear range, until the whee hours of the morning, and I am decided, I will leave in the morning.

I offer my services to Wild Man, but from a distant ‘few days/week’, take my earnings and hide out in the motel room where I bathe, and veg out from the past weeks of forest dwelling. The days past, totally worth it for this little piece of gratification.

Tomorrow, I meet the community at the Ecovillage, and I hope that I have found a comfortable spot to live at as I continue to find work in the predominate industry of the county, networking, and making connections with people. I have word from a few farms for October, ones that align more with my philosophies of healthy living, and feel content to be in this area and wait for when work is available.

A new season of work begins, so that a new season of travel come mid December is well cushioned.

~I work today so that I can play tomorrow~

Writing again, soon enough