the morning

HI. I MADE THIS. YOU WILL ENJOY?

The Morning from tee pee on Vimeo.

from ocean to sky

from rain to sunset
from wet to dry
from darkness to light
from ocean to sky...

Kuana Torres Kahele Live @ Kalani

Enjoy some awesome Hawaiian music I shot during the Puna Music Festival.

lava lava

We took an early morning trek to see the lava just down the street.

I have some incredible video of it for my untitled mini film project, but I will post some B-roll here soon.

Until then, enjoy the pics!

another perception...

This is a note from my sister, containing her perception of my reality...

Aloha!

I'm back on the mainland from year-round hippie summer camp for adults (Kalani) and wanted to give you a preview of my trip to visit Hawaii (err...Taylor). First of all, it was awesome and great to have a brother-sister trip for the first time since the only other one we've ever had (Costa Rica 2004). TP lives in paradise in an intentional community with a wide range of (mostly) wonderful people full of love and acceptance. Some of them have never even practiced yoga, and each one is a character in his or her own way.

I stayed in Taylor's A-frame, which I later found out is registered as a chicken coop to sidestep permitting issues. It was fine and has electricity and wi-fi-->a big step up from a tent. He built a loft so his bed is 'upstairs,' where he sleeps diagonally, while I slept on the inflatable sofa that folds out to a queen bed that took over the 'bottom floor.' It's been awhile since I've had to shower in sandals. The complaints at Kalani are ridiculous and minor compared to the complaints of those of us in 'the real world' (BTW- Kalani is the real world if you so choose for it to be).

I got to see the way things are behind-the-scenes at the rustic resort. I LOVE the way the community works (locals, guests, volunteers, and staff). Many of the volunteers lengthen their stay or just never go back to where they came from. We had communal meal times with a plethora of freshly prepared yummy food options. People range from 18 - 70 y.o. For example, there is a 60-something y.o. fancy pastry chef from Paris and London (who clearly never thought he would be volunteering anywhere).

I learned that the local residents have decided that the beach nearby is clothing-optional. And there is a clothing optional pool at Kalani. I saw more private parts than I've seen in my entire life--most of them were old and wrinkly or hidden from chubbiness. Strangely, it quickly became not-a-big-deal at all. I still declined to join in, but had to argue with TP a few times to convince him to keep his shorts on while I was there. He begrudgingly respected my boundaries.

We hiked on lava and crawled into a lava tube/cave that led out to the ocean in the middle of a cliff. We went snorkeling in tide pools and swam with fishies and a sea turtle. Ahh-mazing! I think I'm now obsessed with sea turtles. We even went through the 'free box'--a closet full of things left behind--and dressed up for a(n) (April) Fool Party. We went to beaches with black sand, white sand, and even green sand. We went up to the active volcano to see the crater and steam vents. We went to the southern-most point of the U.S. and up the coast to Kona. More beaches, gorgeous ocean colors, body surfing, and waterfalls. I will never tire of the sights of paradise.

I never thought I would be going to the CostCo Kona, but TP had to see what the fuss was about. He felt guilty for buying something (external hard drive and lots of beer!) from CostCo instead of Amazon, but couldn't beat the prices. I bought lots of macadamia nut goodies (you're welcome, Ry!). Before heading back to the airport, I ended up changing in the Walmart parking lot. Classy. At least I didn't have to sit next to a super fat person that squished me into the window on the plane (yes, that's happened before) during the red-eye flight back to Lala Land.

Ryan and Peanut are pretty much the only reasons I actually got on the plane back to LA. I think I'm still on Kalani meal times; however, I have to prepare my own meals again. And I still have sand in my hair (sandruff), ears, and belly button (eww!).

Anyways, Aloha and Mahalo!

If you get the chance to visit TP, DO IT! 

Much love,

kp

What are you doing?

Give all that you are.

Here, in this place, on this island, you can give all that you are.

Give every particle of doubt, self-hate, depression, sorrow, fear, or resentment to this island. Shed every poison, tragedy, mishap, every horror to this earth.

Because this island, this earth, this molten lava, this rock, this vast pacific ocean, this changing weather,  this stellar sunshine, will take it.

This whole, entire world will take it.

And this world will transform it.

And this world will bloom. This world will laugh and shine in flowers, with exotic plants, with unimaginable color, with wonderful people.

Take note. And you too, give this world every quark, every proton, every neutron, every atom, every molecule of what you know is calm, happiness, peace, smiling, laughter, shining, of love.

Do it now. Because no matter what it is, it is what you have to give.

Give ALL that you are.

swallowed by the sea

I had never swam more than 30 feet in the ocean before. Apart from a few sloppily successful attempts at surfing, snorkeling and paddle boarding, my ocean experience was kept at a very respectful minimum. Stories of people swimming across the Atlantic or in some major river, were commendable, but very out of the question even on my long, long list of things I would love to enjoy.

But I am here, and I am in a place where a lot of fascinating experiences that were “could nots” turn into “how could” and then “why nots?”  And for the most part, that’s how I ended up swimming 1.3 miles in the open ocean with no support, but more importantly how I learned valuable lessons about letting go into trust and respect for how awesome the beautiful ocean of life can be.

It began with some urging by my active friends to join the aptly named Aqua Boot Camp semi-club here at Kalani. Boot camp occurs at 4:38 on Wednesdays, but pretty much occupies participants’ minds the whole day with anticipation and a degree of healthy anxiety. After getting past the excuses of not going, the daring few show up for an orchestra of swim conducted by a former Canadian water polo player and synchronized swimmer.  The hour is chock full of circuits of all different swimming styles, long lasting minutes of polo ball play with legs maxing out and of course,  the surprised bystander’s favorite, under water lava rock running. No better way to get more comfortable with not drowning.

After a few weeks of exhausting water work outs, I was ready to swim in the sea. I had heard about Richard, the wonderful founder of Kalani and all around badass, swims a “triangle”  of about a mile at Kahena beach nearly everyday for over 30 years. Since I share an office during my IT duties with Richard, the natural question came up to join him during his 11am jaunts to the black sand beach just down the road from our little paradise at Kalani.  A simple “yes, we go tomorrow” was all I needed to get me out to the beach. And some very calm ocean days helped too.

The “triangle” swim opened my body to what is really possible. With just being in reasonable healthy shape, one can swim in the ocean with ease, as long as you enjoy it. When you enjoy the water, the breathe becomes slower, natural and more full. When you enjoy the sight of water deeper than you have ever even SCUBA dived, your anxiety of you making it anywhere fades into fascination of where you are. Thoughts of your self only being a tiny spec in the ocean aren’t intimidating – they are calming, the kind of calm that you feel when you release your muscles into a loved one’s hug. You let yourself get swallowed by the sea, and the sea takes such good care of you.

The calmness of the waves of early February and the newfound calmness of my whole experience in the open sea compelled me to take the very releasing adventure of swimming from “the point”, an incredible grove covered lava rock cliff face directly in front of Kalani’s oceanfront property all the way to kahena beach, a distance of 1.3 miles. With calculated steps and due confidence, Alicia, a fellow swimmer took our risk of jumping into the ocean and starting our fantastic swim to Kahena. Although we had cast ourselves into the whim of the ocean, our trust was solidified when an enormous sea turtle caught our eye upon entry into the water. Delightful strokes of grace and power propelled our bodies past the cliffs, rocks and completely inaccessible coastline to our right, and the open ocean expanding to infinity on our left.

Yet halfway through are journey, large swells began to form and slow our progress. The waves began to grow, and with them a since of doubt in my mind. I looked up into the beautiful day, with the loving deep blue ocean, but started to only see a creeping darkness of the lava cliffs. The doubt started to grow, because I fed it my power. My arms started to not send me through the water as fast, and my nursing of my doubt started to pop the idea that there was a chance that I wouldn’t make it in my head. Like a slight poison starting to cloud my arteries and veins, my arms and legs started to feel fatigue and really felt heavy. I then knew how people don’t make it in challenging situations – they listen to the story that is being made up in the head, instead of looking around and experiencing what the world is telling them to do. I shifted my power of doubt by physically stopping my swim in the sea. I looked up and saw Alicia, who asked if I was OK, and I deep down inside knew I was, but gave her a silent nod, as if I wasn’t sure. She said, “Oh this is so, so beautiful, look around Taylor. I know two currents are holding us here right now, but let yourself get wrapped in the cradle of the ocean, and we will be swimming again to Kahena.

With a self imposed dunk in the water, I remembered what I knew all along. Just as doubt can get you into fear, it can get you out. I flashed a smile to the ocean floor and just took in air to my lungs and waited for the ocean to show me where to go. My arms and legs started to move again, instantly feeling less fatigued than just a moment ago. Like a locomotive starting from a dead stop, I started to  gain momentum from every movement. Although the start was hard, I began to see ease as I gained pace. I was once again moving with the ocean, and the smile on my face was clearly visible by the creatures milling about 200 feet below.

Walking up on the black sand shore was invigorating, but I felt I was walking out of a comfort zone into something else. In just 50 or so minutes, I had gone through a whole learning experience, something more intriguing than covering a feat of distance in open ocean I had never even thought of doing just a week or so earlier. My comfort returned when I sat on the driftwood log and looked out to the endless horizon of the Pacific. Nothing had been conquered, nothing had been proven. My respect for the ocean had turned from fear to collaboration. I couldn’t have done it without it, only with it. 

forgiveness...

If you have ever been to a retreat center, you will observe that the intention in most peoples’ experience is change. They come to change something in their life. It may be that they come to change their whole way of being into a more authentic self – as I witnessed with many women and a few men with a yoga teacher training just last week. It may be to fully immerse yourself in this lifestyle by running from something and living here off the land as many locals do.  It may be to serve as the volunteers, staff, sabbatical and tradespeople do here – in a whole new way, in a very special place. It may be just to change their scenery – to open up their world to the beautiful jungle of life here and to press their face into the ocean as it breaks against this black lava cliff shore.

Whatever the reason, this is what people do here. The constant is change. It is flux. It is the way of the world. And it is so amazing to be an observer, here, to see this change. I see people stand in lines when they get here, finger poking away at their iPhones, cursing their magical device for “not working”, not even noticing the flower, gecko, coconut that is watching them. I see them leave a week later with a whole new face (yes, you can SO see it on people’s faces!), a whole new beam of light that is so excited to get out and share itself with the world. I am not always the observer, but when I am, it is bliss.

I will share an experience from today. I ran the amazing technology behind a webinar that allowed a wonderful kahuna, Harry Jim, share the beautiful Hawaiian practice of Ho’oponopono with physically, temporarily sick people around the U.S.  Broadcast live from the beautiful EMAX performance studio set steps away from the Pacific Ocean, Harry spread a message of forgiveness to those sitting thousands of miles away, in front of computer screens in their homes. He said many things, he helped us breathe better with a lovely chant, he sent Aloha through the wires of the computers, cables, undersea fiber lines, data centers, and wireless connections. But through my perception, through my experience, something really landed. He said.

“There are two types of forgiveness:

Now, or Later.”

Just those simple, imperfect words have so much in them. They trigger so much in so many experiences or things we have been holding on to, or just feelings alone. He said it again,

“There are two types of forgiveness

Now

Or, Later.

Which are you choosing?”

mauna kea

the summit

My insides are starting to finally calm down from such an exhilarating experience to the top of the island. The descent from 13,000 feet to sea level in less than 2 hours can explain this feeling. Or maybe it is the seemingly awkward feeling of the sleepy Japanese tourist’s head nestling into my left shoulder.  Either way, I am heading home from the Mauna Kea, like an astronaut coming back to gravity upon re-entering the earth’s atmosphere.

Mauna Kea, or “White Mountain”, eluded me for the first few weeks of my experience here in Hawaii, with trips being booked to capacity and the waiting list not giving in. Finally, with a little help from the universe, I was ready for assent to the top of the highest point in Hawaii, highest point in the Pacific, and even, the highest mountain in the world, when measured from base to peak.

My initial fascination with Mauna Kea started long before I stepped foot on the Big Island, in a dark, neglected science lecture hall in college. During my last year while I was busy scrambling to attend to the last of my forgotten science credits to fulfill my  liberal arts degree, I made the wonderful choice of “Astronomy 1301” on the registrars list. I wasn’t exactly in the mindset to learn a new subject at that time in my life, but the acclaimed Dr. Olsen did not disappoint with his cranked up enthusiasm for stars, rainbows, galaxies, moon phases and especially telescopes – with memorable diatribes of the magnificent instruments that he had visited around the world. The Keck pair and other telescopes (13 in all that reside here, as I now know) Dr. Olsen mentioned stuck in my memory when he dazzled us with pictures of white domes sitting quietly above the clouds pointing to the heavens, as if they were striving for something more beautiful than their own location.

view from the road to Mauna Kea while starting to ascend above the clouds

So my excitement was imminent when Omkar, our tour leader/fellow yoga teacher, pressed his Land Cruiser on the rocky, barren Mars-like surface road towards the summit after our terribly long 30 minute altitude acclimation stop at the Visitor’s center below.  I would keep glimpsing forward to see the world’s best telescopes open their hatches and start a night’s work of exploration.

Poking up on the landscape on the side of Mauna Kea, Cinder cones that long ago sent lava from the core of the earth to make up now what is this island

We got to the summit with an hour of sunlight left and a much different climate than what we were used to. Jackets and parkas were divvied out while we were reminded of how high we were – physically and mentally - due to the 0 to 13,000 feet climb we had just completed and the lack of oxygen. I needed no reminder, I was already in bliss, but I knew that my slow thinking, reduced judgment and giddy laughter were a combination of extreme excitement and extreme altitude.

It was time to walk to the top, beyond where cars can tread. I spent my next 20 minutes preparing camera gear and trekking through the mini snow banks to the true top of the summit. My quick glimpses of white rolling clouds covering the island and the Pacific were breathtaking, with more than one meaning.

Slower and slower, I pressed on to the peak.

Just as I reached the top, the mental clutter of this experience shifted towards what was really happening in this moment. I remembered that this wasn’t just a mountain; this was a mountain in the middle of the Pacific, formed by thousands of years of lava spewing by Earth. This wasn’t just an observatory; it is a place where we look out to the stars, to the past, to objects and concepts so magically unfathomable and inconceivably distant from our day-to-day worries, situation or problems. This wasn’t just a place; it was a place of sacred burial and visitation by Hawaiians, the great appreciators and treasurers of this truly beautiful land.  Things did begin to slow down, and I really started to see the truth beyond the symbols of what this place was according to astronomy, mythology, history, and other descriptions. I started to see this place for what it is… 

here is yoga

For me, my yoga practice has been somewhat of a life altering experience. Many could say the same about other physical or non-physical activities that has led them to a more profound place in their lives - or better yet, led them to awake to life as it really is - a simple, beautiful experience that we all have the extreme pleasure to enjoy. I have fought, struggled, cried, cursed, laughed and disappeared in yoga poses. But after every practice, I come out different than in the moment I started. And I like that. That is just the tip of the island when it comes to the involvement of yoga in my path. It has affected many others in many different ways. What is your yoga?

To emphasize the boundaries that I never thought were available in my practice, I choose to share some intimate photos with you below captured through the lens of a friend here at Kalani. Enjoy.

Your strength have always been within you, it is your choice to tap into it. 

hawaiian time

"In Hawaii, everything is expensive except for time." - Bud, Hawai'i jungle shack resident for 17 years

-t

Work

I work. I make. I live.

I love workshops. Freedom to create is what they say. Come in and play.

One of the greatest things about working at Kalani is that you are working with people. One person continues everyone else’s project. No ownership. Just getting things awesome in the jungle.

This brings new meaning of “Non Profit Organization”. No mandatory obligations to even keep this place going. Just a lot of love.

Do anything for the love of it.

I love. I make. I live.

star power.

As a former employee of the energy utilization industry and avid admirer of all things energy, electrical power from the sun has always captured my imagination. Although sometime society is a little slow in realizing the obvious, every day around the world we are utilizing our great expanse of nature to create more energy.  In this case, my current home, a little retreat-property in the middle of no where (or center of everywhere, as I see it) has teamed up with local entities to build a photovoltaic solar array capture a staggering +50kW of sunny sunshine to power around 1/3rd of the entire property’s energy needs.

I work under this apparatus on Thursdays. I sometimes stop and listen to the light hum of all that power going through the 7 inverter boxes, all against the backdrop of the daytime murmur of the jungle. 

My nerdy self smiles at the fact that this message is brought to you by the sun’s wavelengths, making their way across 8 light minutes of space and time, only to be whittled away by man’s transistors, invertors and wires to this little machine.

Good to know that even the abstract machines are star powered.

walking out to the sunrise over the expanse of the Pacific

It has officially been a week since I re-entered the sacred grounds of the Puna Coast, home of Pele, Hawaii’s almighty fire goddess who created the lava earth not so long ago. So much has been experienced and so much more is in store, but the worries and plans have no place for this nighttime moment in my tent while I listen to the cataphony of bull frogs whistle against the background of pacific waves crashing on black sharp rocks. My home is now here, at Kalani, a very special place with very special people.

my new home

messy room

My whirlwind of excitement over these seven days has been made up of bicycle rides that start passing new found friends on the retreat property and begin with a gigantic smile. I ride out onto the open rural road covered in overarching trees of every sort and style, creating a green tunnel that opens to a vista of gorgeus sea blue crashing against crags of black lava rock. My smile deepens and my heart begins to race when I pedal on and start to wind, dodge, twist, turn, up and down on this coastal road. The sea and lush jungle take turns amazing and overwhelming me, this little odd creature on this black mechanical contraption traveling in my own little space and time. 

at the pool

These days have also consisted of exploration in new yoga styles and classes that come to life – that make the jump from “seems interesting” to “I am doing”. Intuitive yoga to wake up my body peacefully along with the rising sun in the morning, vinyasa flow classes to fluidly end my afternoon. Guest yoga groups with new techniques to keep me humble, and aqua boot camp at the pool, to …. well, make me way more humble.

50kW array that provides about 30 - 40 % of the power for the entire community

These cycles of daylight and nighttime also consist of working in the Maintenance and IT departments. Fixing little computer issues and helping with needed projects under the massive solar array shed keeps my continual learning on track and my project focused mind humming away. I geek out to 1/3^rd of the property’s energy coming from the sun and all the drinking water coming from the sky.

"work"

kalani staff and volunteers enjoying the abundant, awesome food

But these days also include my new Ohana – my new family and community here at Kalani.

Yet it is quite strange. After just 7 days here, I don’t worry about things to come or about anything I have done. I am just here. In this beautiful place that I already feel a part of.

morning view

So alas, it is time to use these sunny days for more bike riding, exploring, swimming in the ocean, sunbathing in the black fine sand and laughing at my fantastic present moment. After the excitement of the day, it is great to exhale into star filled nights in the aptly named "field of dreams" looking at a small fire, drinking a beer while conversing with friends from all around the world and finally falling asleep to those bullfrogs and crashing waves.

So much love from Kalani, Hawai'i

taylor

Are Cities Forever?

I wrote this a long time ago, but just found it... So ill post it in honor of BP and the oil spill and happy Father's Day!

Its unedited, and very stream of consciousness, but here it is...

9.13.09 11:03 p.m.

The view atop a 17 level condo facing the downtown cluster and its surrounding sprawl of Houston, Texas draws alive. I was born here, but I have never liked this place - its big, dirty, car infested, seemling dark and seedy. This reputation has been

furthered by closed, suited up deals made in the skyline before me. Big Oil's home is glass and steel of the pure and cheap and functional variety - not the awe inspiring, soul-and-purpose fed architecture of New York, Paris, London, Hong Kong or numerous other weath cities. Yes I am amused and pleasured by this city's skyline and its beauty. The twinkling lights, sirens, and straight lines of the super city placed over miles and miles all cumulating to the great, compact building cluster of Downtown seems like a feudal castle eyeing a massive fiefdom. And I am sure this is how many poor and normal, struggling for the top of society, feel about the buildings towering over. The dealings of those rooms - that I have seen, as a tourist, decored in drab 80s oil boom "texas art" and other tacky eccentricities - have the comfort of a fat, 10-gallon cowboy hat wearing, plaid suit bearing, cigar choking, 55 year old beer and meat gut driven man clutching to gobs of dirty money --- oh, warm as a fireplace on christmas eve, huh? These white walls inside hold stories not ever to be really told of ill mannered oil-for-food programs, "regime" changes, war, poverty, and genocide of the planet. And all for the invisible dream and non reality of money and greed.

But like all expectations - the story is so much more real than we know. My left side view from this exquisite bird's perch is the colossal medical center of Houston, a city of itself and city of hope for so many. The World's Cutting Edge Medicine lives here and even my very sick grandfather's hope is fluctuated here through high technology and advancements and tests and all that well.... hospital stuff (most of it ill never understand). It warms my heart to know a couple is welcoming a child into this world - another concoction of atoms with all the possibility to achieve beauty, to add more and perhaps take less. But it also perplexes my understanding of the other couple at the end of the ward, who are thinking they are losing one another by misunderstanding the freedom of death.

But that well lit, left view of the smaller cluster doesn't hold my attention. The downtown skyline commands my piqued interest - not the subsidiary shopping complex known by a cheap italian rip off name called the Gallaria or the MediCity, however beautiful they may be. I may be going out on a limb here, but this beautiful cold air is telling my soul to feel something here. I feel that if this modern granduer in front of me can cause so much change in this planet, then our global conciousness is able to shift so much more and in a direction so positive, that the atrocities of Big Oil in this town will pale in comparison to what we can achieve.

Can cities last forever? No.

We have seen Athens fall in the pages of our textbooks and our respective rural villages drift reluctantly into bigger cities for uncertain dreams of misguided prosperity. Oh how much awesomeness can be done on any latitude and longitude of the globe! But now is most important. Now ther are lights, people and yes - reluctantly, cars - in this particular city's skyline. And there is love and hope and an underlying current not seen but known;

One that is more powerful than all the energy powering this city.

One that resides in the silence between the sirens, in the light behind the bulb of the streetlight, in the deep of the night walker.

One that is readily accessable.

We are here, we are now.

teepee.

the big bend, part one

The plan was simple and long overdue. An 8 hour drive out to Big Bend National Park in the West Texas desert with my father with his trusty truck, packed full with sleeping bags, water, sandwich and taco supplies. No additional baggage, no bikes or additional camping gear, no more than a weekend of stars, hikes, and a peek at the moon's reflection off the Rio Grande while sitting in the hot springs on the water. But when it comes to even the simplest adventure, perhaps all that you ask for is not all you find. The hint of espresso in my cup was the first thing that made me conscious of Saturday's 5 a.m. takeoff in the truck. I haven't seen this side of a weekend morning since Austin's South By Southwest music festival a few weeks ago, but it was peaceful and dark and desired by father and son for 4 months. Conversation sparked between my dad and I during the first 3 hours of the twilight drive out of Austin then Kerrville then open road and obscurity. Observations were fed only by heavy eyes, as I was the passenger in this 8 hour haul to what seemed like a wild west studio set. Eyes close, eyes open, an 18 wheeler passes, eyes close, eyes open, a speck of a wind turbine in the distant limestone ridge, eyes close. Eyes open, and my sight fills with the future of energy encased in blinding white towers, each with 3 spinning pointy arms. The hum of efficient turbines churning away provides a contrast over aging, dirty-black oil pumps that defined Texas in generations past. This wild west set sends a tumbleweed across the road almost on cue, just to make sure we realize we aren't on the rollercoaster of the Texas Hill Country anymore - we are in the desert of West Texas now - and its a whole different planet. With every mile we drive, all 600 of them, the trees get smaller and smaller and the grasses get less and less and the brown rubble of the West gets more and more spread through out the land. Now I am fully awake and its time to switch drivers, as I know my dad cannot say the same. I pass through western sounding hamlets, like Fort Stockton and Marathon, with indifference as my intention is to arrive at the only national park in Texas and wash away the endless stimulation constant civilization provides. It is my dad's first trip to Big Bend, but I don't blame him, it isn't near anywhere and its a grueling 7 hour drive just to get inside the park boundaries. The trip doesn't stop at the front gate, because there is still another 50 minute drive to the first main ranger station, but an exhalation of relief in the stuffy truck is noticed. The flora is now reduced to scrubs, multicolored cactus, very thirsty grasses and an occasional occotillo, with its flowers resembling tiny red rockets blasting in every direction and the stems as their condensation trails. The desert mood is reduced and slowed from the mini plants as well as from the 40 mile an hour speed limit imposed in the park - so you have time to brake when approaching retired RV dwelling birdwatchers from 15 miles away. The landscape is just quiet short notes on a violin in a grand atrium of the sky.... I smile... its quiet... inhale.... exhale.... then... VHUNNNNNT! The Chisos Mountains appear in all their glory as triumphant BROWN ABUNDANCE breaking the monotony like a sudden crescendo of strikes on a upright bass, startling the audience from near sleep to full surprise in a great opera hall. My mouth opens to a smirking smile while dad´s attention is peaked with the peaks. We are here.

its a resurrection!

Hello!

Long time no type! Its spring, and I am relatively stationary here at the home base of Austin, Texas, but that doesn't mean I have any less to share on this worldly blog. So its time I do a little updating - and keep it coming for all those who are interested. I am going to revamp the blog this week and try some different formatting fonts and such. But more importantly I am going to sound off on a recent beautifully adventurous trip to Big Bend National Park and other local travel I have been focusing on recently. I will also highlight some past travel I haven't got around to typing about, current travel projects and some interesting international hotspots that I have experience with. In other words, I am bringing this blog back from the dead! I hope you continue to read and keep it in your RSS feeds, so you know when I am updating. I will update as much as possible! I humbly thank you for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoy. teepee

Virginia, I am sorry!

I'll be the first to admit, I am not the biggest fan of Fairfax, Virginia. This is the true location where I have spent the last few weekdays sleeping between work and scampering off to much more vibrant places like Washington D.C. and oh, the beloved, honored, New York City. But it isn't just the suburbia, anywhere USA style of this place, its a bit more than you and I think... I live more or less in HotelLand. HotelLand is every major hotel chain in America, where like most else, the swanky style of travel and staying in fashion and glory away from home has been reduced to its Cheapest Common Denomenator, the chain hotel. Mr. Marriott and Homey Hyatt would be rolling in their graves if they see how the CEOs chasing the boring buck have reduced their once stylish abodes to. A lot of business travelers, I guess I am now lumped into this lot, don't like hotels after a while because they are away and miss their family. I love my family and am just fine with being on this adventure called life, wherever it takes me so I don't agree with that. I see the hotel chain as just about the most drab place in American existence. The cheap mass manufactured feel of these places seems like Walmart designed it. The food is frozen, the pool is a small square inside, nice and safe from the elements, chlorinated too kill anything less than a 5 year old and complete with an extremely bored and extremely unnecessary lifeguard. I've dug some positives out of HotelLand, such as the willingness of the awesome cleaning ladies to feed my chocolate twice a day, the availability of free San Pellegrino (which is a new affinity for me) and the many opportunities to jump on my bed to no avail and the chance to be so isolated that I just have to write more. Yippie! But all in all, I don't spend much time here. Which brings me the purpose of this post, and that's suburbian Virginia. SubVirgin, as we will call it, is completely missing the point. Overpriced houses sit in pretty little lots behind absolutely beautiful trees shedding their leaves and strutting their multicolor warm beauty between tree needle covered runways tucked in between nicely paved roads. They are ignored. Ignored by passing, agrivated motorists that spend more time in their cars than anywhere else. I luckily have my bicycle to give me hope and happiness, but I yell and feel bad for these souls, stuck in the endless circle of driving... everywhere. I have seen traffic to no ends in Los Angeles, in Bangkok and in Houston to name a few, but this place, has it just plain bad. The daily traffic radio report is a loop, played back every day while the traffic seems to increase more and more. "Oh poor humans", I say on my bike or on my own way to work, while I sneak a meditation in, "Oh poor humans, what are you doing to yourself?" I think even the big beautiful trees of all sort look on the side of the highway and say the same. Or maybe they are even laughing, causing them to shake their leaves and nuts to the ground. Either way, the metal box with wheels promises so many so much mobility has caused these poor, poor Virginians minimal 2 hour commutes to work and back, resulting in a silence where only the trees speak and only if you listen. There are malls, bars, restaurants, all very car accessible, but all very unfruitful to real life. Time and space become real barriers and sources of real stress here, where riding the metro or the bicycle can melt Time to an opportunity for a good read pr more deep breaths and Space to a fast paced, joyous blur to be enjoyed, not overcame. So I somewhat pity you suburban Virginians. You have Cheesecake Factory and Macy's, HotelLand and Starbucks, but you have time and space stripped away from you. It is a lifestyle unsustainable in so many ways, but for the meantime, you are more than welcome to join me between your tall, happy trees and their oh so warm colors in your cool, calm evenings, while I ride my bicycle on excellent pathways to everywhere and forget your traffic, time and space are even there. (gobicyclego!) teepee

Walkington, D.C.

Heading south on Connecticut Avenue, restless mind shelves the thoughts of the day and opens up the blinds of presence to reveal my location. A brisk pace is feeding me delicately with a pleasant Thursday night’s sounds and sights. The young and earning casually dine out in hip green cafés between nibbles of stylish hors d'oeuvres while the aged and powerful hammer out deals in sealed glass coffins of spit-shined silverware only taking breaths to push in thick, rare chunks of manicured meat into their strained potbellies, already rumbling with cognac and today’s dollar bills. They are not mutually exclusive, these cliques, yet opposite and resentful towards each other on the outside. I am not-so-subtly reminded that their aims of more and better by a sign to my right side offering “Organic Corporate Catering”. The 80’s power block office shells are where they both dwell and the juxtaposing mod-cafés are where they both get their lattés. The decided and the deciding harmonizing so easily on a crisp October night, that’s what this is. A Thai upscale restaurant on my right, an art deco Passport office on my left. I am here in the nation’s (or more explicitly, the nation where I was born) capital district, Washington, D.C.

The undercurrent of power is not at first obvious, but it sneaks in as a reminder once the suits start multiplying and the number of police departments are counted. Oh, there is the Park Police, that’s nice. And the City Police, that’s good, they should be here. Capitol Police, well you gotta watch the Capitol. National Police. State Police. FBI. NSA. CIA. Thought Police. Wow. A few days of observation and now I realize that my phone calls are on a little spinning disk deep in that exact observably nondescript black office complex. But by this 8^th day here, Big Brother paranoia has passed, calmed by the short height of the buildings around me and abundance of trees I don’t usually get to look at. The generally happy presence of people simply running about their day brings humanity back in the moderately intimidating city. Every ethnicity is represented in force, a warming reminder – or confusion – of what it is to be an “American” in the most “American” in “American” cities. Which brings me to the stale Anywhere, USA Best Buy and Taco Bell stink and stickiness of American Suburbia – which happens to be well represented next to my hotel, far from where I am now, on the outer ends of the D.C. metro system – thus I prefer these every-other-evening forays into Washington. Although the changing leaves and pine scent of the ‘burbs are pleasant to wake to, the animation of the city in the director’s seat of the American national comedy is just too enticing to avoid.

My walk is only slowed chuckle at the vanity of Fitness First Health Club on my left and Laser Hair Removal on my right. My stepping continues to the beat of a Spanish voice reciting a story to a near perfect one-and-a-two and a one-and-a-two cadence. Tonight’s destination is the Lincoln memorial, a dare-not-miss landmark that I have somehow managed to avoid on the past few brief adventures into the city. But this night I refuse to be run off like Cinderella to my oversized hotel bed at the strike of 10 pm, my usual boring bedtime. Oh no, I will keep marching on to see this cherry tree chopping, stoned individual and see what he is really looking at in that big comfy rock chair.

My eyes begin to peer into the eight story office cubes only kept warm by late night newbies and their accompanying florescent lighting. I start to envision a young, overly eager Monica Lewinsky doing just as I am doing, peering into these same offices and wondering how I can get into them… so then I stop thinking. My fascination drifts to the surprising diversity of ethnic foods and bikes and fashions and street corner oddities…

A successful jaywalk maneuvered, a delightfully designed building past by. One wouldn’t really know the reflecting pool of The Mall is so close if it wasn’t for the “evacuation route” signs on Pennsylvania Avenue.

A cop there, a PhD student here and to complete the symbolic trio, a matted wool blanket covering a dread-headed soul and his whole tomorrow neatly stored in his Styrofoam donation cup.

Big Brother rears his annoying head once again as even the obscure Office of Personal Management watches me with its big electronic eye while I pick my nose on purpose. Yet I quickly shrug it off to stop and stare at the giant white, water stained monoliths of the Department of the Interior. A construction crew gently pushes me onto the street and a full moon says “oh, hello” to my little bipedal self as the night gets darker and the trees more abundant. I have found The National Path, or at least what it should be called, but it is eerily lit and creepily abandonded, making me feel like I shouldn’t have said all those nasty things about George W. Bush in college, because his CIA cronies could easily jump from that odd bush over there and push me in this dark body of pond water thus making me famous for three days or so via the back page of the Washington Post.

Aside from a creepy lampposts and large weeping willow trees providing a setting that Jack the Ripper would love, I dig the welcome respite of cool air, the repetitive blink from phallic obelisk known as the The National Monument, a few dusk and just me. Its amazing how so many public, free and open places are deserted and how many benches go unfilled while pricey bars have 30 minute waits.

The Path opens to a somber but mighty stone piller-and-fountain tribute to those who gave their service in World War II. A unique ‘whoa’ fills the sight and respect is just the tip of my thoughts but I keep wondering, dedicated to take it all in from the white marble steps below Lincoln’s feet, now in my view.

The gravel dutifully crunches below my feet and the aligned trees shed little leaves in my path and I am soon staring up at the clean white stone structure that houses Abraham Lincoln, the uhhh 4^th? President of the United States. Shame sets in at this idea. I am not really sure at all if ol’ Abe Lincoln is the 4^th president or the 9^th. Im pretty sure it’s a prime number, but there are a lot of prime numbers. (I double check to see if 4 and 9 are prime numbers and I confide myself that they are, and I am more sure of this than I am of Abe being the 4^th President of these United States of America. My shame builds as my random access memory of my brain reminds me that a friendly Swede could recite all American presidents in order from her year as an exchange student in Indiana or some state boring enough to make a young person memorize a different nation’s national leadership. Jefferson was second right? Then Adams… oh well, Abe did good and was down with abolishing slavery – which definitely earns him a statue as impressive as this one.

The stone is white, very white... almost scary white, white like noticeably bleached teeth, really white. Either no one spills coffee in this monument or the government is on top of keeping the 15 meter statue in pristine condition. I assume the later and walk closer for a better look. Its impressive, quiet and the surroundings make one consider that this man had a lot to do with the start of the healing of the horrible dark period that America gave itself, so young in its existence.

I have met up with a fellow couchsurfer by this point at the monument. This gentleman is a nice, but harmfully nerdy late thirty something that has lived in the city for a number of years and judging by how much he is talking to me, he hasn't talked to anyone in about 5 of those years. He is nice, and I agreed to just say hello, but his mouth isn't getting that I want to see Lincoln in awe not have a beer and chat. This doesn't bother me or trample my experience. A primitive part of my brain continues the colloquial light conversation over travel, hotels, blah, blah, airplanes, blah, blah, while my inner self smiles and stares out over the National Monuments reflection over the pool that is The Mall.

This is Washington D.C., where the constant dialogue of lives cannot overcome the beauty of the epicenter of a nation.

I sit down in on the steps, and everything gets quiet. The air smells different, the silence from beyond the sound comes and I take a picture by closing my eyes.

teepeegoDC