Right...

...as steven wright says "there's a fine line between fishing and standing on a dock in the rain for hours, like a fucking idiot".
...just a reminder.



Blah.
I remember, a couple of years ago, we were having some deep discussion in front of a fire. I said something like, "My biggest sin, is that I don't **live** life. When I die, the thing that will bother me is that I didn't live up to my potential, I didn't live life fully". Blah. (Spiritual Sloth?) Blah.

Gravity

old...105 degrees, the day jfk jr. crashed...

Did you ever have a really bad week, where you figured, "If I went skydiving, and the shoot didn't open, ..oh well, ...who cares?"

So I jumped out of a plane at 10,000 feet today. It was a tandem jump, which means you got a guy strapped to your back who knows what he is doing. This allows you to freefall for 45 seconds or so, and do some little tricks. Endorphins are pretty good for depression.

Of course, I'm now on crutches - hours before the jump, I twisted my ankle in a hole in the grass while running. I have never seen my ankle so swollen. This is not swell. Like I said, shitty week.

Its also hotter than a witch's burning broom stick again.

Anyway, I must really have my head up my ass, because I didn't even get nervous. The whole thing was so surreal. When you are freefalling, there is no sense of the ground rushing up to splat you. It was one of those "different" basically alive feelings that you just gotta experience. (The experience cannot be accurately be described - ya gotta do it!).

So whats bugging me? Sometimes I blame it all on money. Sometimes I blame it all on woman. Sometimes I blame it all on me. Its currently all of the above. I guess this to will pass.

Anyway, if you ever have the opportunity to skydive, go for it. Big smile.

Put me on ice.

A Northern Dip

I remember, a long time ago, a special night. It was a very clear night in August. We were hanging out next to a bonfire on this beautiful sand beach at a lake in Maine. We were young, having just a few beers, talking to some of the locals who we were very friendly with. The air smelled like pine with a occasional wood fire scent. ( Ok..the air smelled like smoke, with an occasional pine scent..) The sky looked unnatural for me...like being in a planetarium. Millions of stars. About twenty feet away was the lake. The crystal clear water, clean enough to drink, was like a mirror. It could not have been calmer, and you could see the stars reflected in it. With no waves, the only sounds came from the crackling fire, the frogs in the nearby bog (they hadn't learned "Bud" yet), and our own voices. The conversation got really cool... the wonders of the universe, the wonders of life... lots of personal beliefs being discussed and explored. After a while, we let the fire die down. We all lay down on the sand and stared up at the sky. We saw planets, constellations, lots of satellites, and a shooting star at least every two minutes. I was cuddled up with this special girl, thinking life does'nt get much better than this. Then the sky started to change. I thought it was my endorphins overloading. The sky started moving in glowing greens and blues, kinda pulsating like a giant phosphorescent jelly fish had made a dome over the sky. It was the first time I saw the arora borealis, the northern lights. It was one of the best nights of my life. I was right, life didn't get much better than that. I felt so alive. For some reason, I get this feeling a lot when I go to Maine. Maybe its because I'm usually on vacation, but it is a special place.

I love the ocean. It is beautiful, even here in NY. I can stare out over the ocean for hours, gazing at the horizon. The horizon is where the ocean meets the sky. And the night sky always reminds me of Maine. (...and skinny dipping.)

Rock Hop

.....a short piece of writing by Dean Potter, a rock climber:

***Cold air from the valley drifts upwards. It's predawn and I've been moving on the north Nose of El Cap through the night, focused on the rock in front of me in the faint light of my headlamp. Suddenly, I think of how tired and exposed I am, alone, ropeless, far past any point of retreat. A surge of panic courses through me. I try to think of the summit but that thought, too, is dangerous.

An image floats into my mind. I'm following my father in the early through a pasture in the White Mountains in New Hampshire. He strides towards Moosebrook, his favorite fishing spot. I'm not even half his height, and the frosty grass brushes all the way up to my waist.
We reach the river. My Dad skips from rock to rock, downstream to the first hole, and looks back for me. The water is freezing, and the rocks are covered in slime. I'm afraid to follow. I burrow painfully through the thickets of pricker bushes, swamp, and blackflies as my father calls for me. The bugs chase me back to the river's edge. and I timidly wade in and try to catch up. Tense and anxious, I lose my footing, and fall into the river. I gasp for breath in the icy water, but manage to scramble onto a rock where I bawl until my father comes back. "I don't like fishing. I want to go home".

My father shakes his head at me, and his eyes sparkle. "Dean, put everything else aside. There's nothing to be afraid of, except a little cold water. Just focus on the next step you are taking. I feel so happy running down the river, the sun reflecting off the water, my body naturally going where it's supposed to. I almost don't think at all. I just respond to what's in front of me."
He stops talking and heads downstream again. We slowly pick our way across the rocks, catching rainbows and brook trout. The day passes quickly and my confidence rises. Soon, I'm playing and racing down the rapids with eyes wide and senses alert, not knowing I've just received my first lesson in Zen.

The air drifts over my body. I grasp the immediate. I reach for the next hold.****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I remember being about 6 or 7 and visiting my Grandma in upstate NY. There was a gully with a stream rushing through it, complete with rocks at all angles, slippery moss, and icy water. This story struck a chord in me. I used to love hiking in that stream as a kid. It was beautiful. Fairly quickly, I learned the art of sprinting from rock to rock, without any distractions. As you pushed of with your right foot, your body already knew where your left foot was going to land, and how much angle you should land on to prevent slipping and to send you in the direction of the next "pre-selected" rock. And it was all so effortless. It exhilerated and calmed me at the same time. I guess my addiction to "Flow" started here. I never would have remembered if not for that article. In winter, I progressed to "Don't Break the Ice", using frozen spots to step on, the trick being to move very quickly over the ice without breaking it. (Its amazing how warm you can stay when you are exercising after your mom bundles you up for outdoor winter play, and you are soaked from the waist down.)

When I experience Flow, I experience Being. In the moment, at peace and harmony, in complete concentration without effort, feeling like you are more than you are...but also less of a self, being part of a system (like becoming one with the stream - I know ...cliche). When you experience this, there is a deep joy, a smile on your face for days. You have tapped into a great state of consciousness that is not always easy to do.

Ok, so enough rambling... Go back and read the article again. Instead of reading about climbing and rock-hopping, read it as a metaphor for life ...