We make the way by going

Adventure: embarking into new territory, not knowing what will unfold. The less I know, sometimes, the greater the adventure! And yet, on this adventure, Carol and I are allowing another kind of knowing to lead the way: we intend each step to be guided by inner knowing. We mean to feel, rather than think (as we were entrained) our way through life. By “feel,” in this case, I mean responding with our whole beings, our expanded Selves. If we are moved from within to turn right, we intend to turn right, even if our itineraries or ego aspects say, “Go left.”

Carol and I had been sensing that it was time to move, yet we didn’t feel called to any particular place. Though we enjoy and celebrate a rich, abundant life, our material inflow progressively dwindled to a trickle. In this way, we compelled ourSelves to shake off inertia and make big changes. But where to go? And how – especially with resources so seemingly skinny?

I got the feeling that it was time to make an active choice, rather than wait for a “next place” to present itself before taking action. Carol and I had been noticing synchronicities around Colorado for months, and after tuning in intuitively and doing some research, we were drawn to the Durango area.

Yet “going to Colorado” is a useful focus, not a goal. We’re adventuring, not arriving.

It’s not so much about going to a particular place as it is about creating opportunities for evolutionary connection and community. And as soon as we took our first steps, the ones right in front of us, we were blessed with an abundant experience of this. Many people – with lots going on in their own lives in these intensely evolutionary times – showed up and generously assisted our moving.

In our experiments in “feeling our way through,” we greatly overestimated our readiness to move and our preparedness to camp. In the past, I would have seen this as a failure, a mistake. This time, I  held it as a perfect part of the adventure, and made way for miracles.

Our many angels showed up in perfect timing to help us pack, eat, haul, carry, clean, deliver, store, and more. Some sent energy, prayers, and manifestation intentions. Some gave gifts of adventure cash, the gift of a beautiful tent (and several generous offers for tent loans), the loan of a special vacuum cleaner, and the use of a nearby garage (which, as Carol said, “…pulled our asses out of the fire”). One helped us pack, and helped nourish us, too, for two days straight. Another helped haul loads near the end, when fresh muscles were so needed. One helped with the last of the cleaning as we neared time for the 10:30 PM walk-through (done so late thanks to the generous flexibility of our wonderful property managers).

Earlier that day, with the deadline to be out of the house by midnight, bodies weary and sore, we were still surrounded with tons to do. We’d been plurking steadily for days, and we did not want to be setting up an unfamiliar tent, in an unfamiliar place, in the middle of the night, with a distraught kitty in tow, our living-basics in chaos, and totally exhausted. We had talked about finding a place in town for the night (and heading out to our prearranged campsite the next day), but in the whirl of moving, we hadn’t taken action to find one. So though we didn’t know where we would lay our tired bodies down that night, we trusted that all was unfolding in perfection, and that we were, as always, perfectly taken care of.

That’s when the unexpected phone call came with the offer for us to stay in this cabin in the woods – which turns out to be so much better, in so many ways, than anything we could have planned, and is a further manifestation of expansive connection and community. And though we are so appreciative of the person upon whose land we had arranged to camp (and we’re continuing our sweet connection with her), we feel very glad to be in a cozy cabin on this magical land, which serves perfectly for this stage of our adventure.

I am experiencing this as an amazing, humbling, heartful, AWESOME beginning to our adventure, for which I radiate great gratitude – to all of us. Thank you, thank you, thank you, one and all, All One of us!

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The Renewal of Time

I spent the last few days at our old house in an acute awareness of “deadlines”  — something that had actually become fairly unusual for me in recent years.

Since I first started my own business in 1988, I have been pretty much solely self-employed.  Depending on the work I was doing in the course of my business, deadlines came into play to lesser or greater extents, but I had a far greater degree of management over them than I did when I worked at a J.O.B. “job”.

For the past ten years or so, I’ve been steadily playing with time and cycles in my “work” and, even though much of my income-production did come through making appointments and setting specific time for classes and workshops, I got fairly adept at creating a life which included a lot of organic, unscheduled time (at least in-between the scheduled bits).

So, when we were counting down the final days as renters at our most recent home, and managing the complex of activities involved with a) moving out of and cleaning a space, b) preparing our stuff for storage and moving, and c) making ready for a distinct change in how we lived our lives day-to-day (residing in a small cabin or camping until we were ready for the big move, and thinking/prepping for life on the road) — there suddenly seemed to be a lot of “deadlines.”

Which is a weird concept/word/phrase, when you think of it:  Dead Line.  The place where something dies.  Or ends.  Or something.

For me, the most profound shift in moving from a life that is “fixed” — (I live in this house, I rent it for this amount of time each month, etc.) — to a life that is far more mobile and fluid (we honestly do not have a fixed date for when we will head East — we are staying here right now) — is that it has completely renewed my relationship with Time.

Example 1:  There are things that need doing on the car.  I took it in to the mechanic for a “road worthiness” check and found out all the stuff that needed doing, and I had this sudden realization that most of it was stuff that I could do myself.

You know — like I used to do, before I was “too busy.”

The fact is, I enjoy working on the car, and I’m pretty good at it — back in the day, I did all my own work on my VW Bug and Datsun pickup.  Somewhere along the line, I stopped doing that (because I was too busy making money to pay to have someone else do it).  Which seems a bit weird to me at this moment.

So today, I’d planned to work on the car — and today, it was schvitzing raining all day.

So I didn’t work on the car.

I did other things.

Like drive into the little town that is much closer to where we are than Port Townsend is, go to the local library, and get a book.

A book just to readFor fun.

And along the way, discover the nifty little organic grocery that is right down the road from us and has nearly everything we usually drive into town for.

Which brings me to my relationship with internet (or, more accurately, The Internet, which I love with all the fiery angst of a besotted teenager who has started a fan-club and everything).

See — here, I am using my smartphone to access the internets tubes.  Which means I have a bandwidth cap.  Which means that I have to actually thinkto become more conscious — about how I use the Internet.

Which, I am beginning to suspect, is a very good thing.

First of all, in terms of this renewed relationship with Time, I find it interesting that my bandwidth cap has little, if anything, to do with how much time I spend on the internet, but rather, how much (and what type) of information I am sending and receiving through the internet.

This means that I now actually take a moment to consider what links I click and what videos I press “play” on, whereas, with my always-on/no-limit connection, I would often click through to any ridiculous thing that came my way (see also: “surf haze“) — and I’m fascinated to observe the considerations about what seems “worth” a click, and what doesn’t (I’ve had more than one “Huh.  I didn’t know that about myself . . .” moments).

I’m finding that the act of actually having to go someplace that is not here to get unlimited, high-speed wifi access seems nothing like an inconvenience — instead, it is simply readjusting my perspective about something that had become so “normal” that I didn’t notice it anymore.

I actually want to continue viewing the internet as miraculous.  This adventure is helping me do that.

Going back for a moment to my VW Bug-fixing days (circa 1976 to 1988), I will say this:  I wish I’d had the internet back then.  When I first started working on my Bug, I had one book (every die-hard VW lover probably had it) — How to Keep Your Volkswagon Alive — A Manual of Step By Step Procedures for the Compleat Idiot.

It was an amazing book, and during many jobs, I did just as the author suggested:  I had a friend sitting there beside the car reading to me, step-by-oily-step.  Yes, there were diagrams and pictures, but still . . .

. . . this week, when I needed to know exactly how to get to the fuel filter on this particular model of Plymouth Voyager, I could watch three different videos of the procedure on youtube — and it’s not just the access to incredible volumes of auto-mechanics schematics, videos, and fix-it sites — it’s the amazing array of personal experience from other people who have run into exactly the same weird-ass problem that you have just run into, and the opportunity to benefit from their experience.

In times past, little towns like the one I grew up in often had one (or at the most, two) auto-mechanics — these guys (back then, they were invariably guys) knew everything, because they serviced everyone’s cars — and they could often cobble together a fix for you, even if the part you needed wasn’t readily available.  In a way, the internet now offers us access to thousands — perhaps hundreds of thousands — of those guys.  (And yes, you have to be discerning — but you had to do that in the little town, too, when every Tom, Dick, and Harry offered you advice about this, that, or the other thing.)

But back to my renewal with Time.

I realize fully that the life I was living in my previous “fixed” situation was still far more spacious in terms of organic time than that of a vast majority of people I know.   As a self-employed person, I made and managed my own schedule almost exclusively — yes, there were always bills to pay “on time” which were not under my control in terms of cycles, etc., yet I had created a life that included a huge amount of organic and unscheduled time, compared to most people in our culture.

I realize now, though, living in this far more fluid manner, that a great deal of my relationship with Time in the past was still lack- and fear-based —  I find myself keenly aware of how many hours I used to spend “killing” time, whilst simultaneously responding to Dead Lines.

Now, I’m “feeding” time — nurturing and nourishing each moment into a full and healthy state — and only entertaining Live Lines.  I intend to live at High Bandwidth without Time Caps.

It’s still raining.

I’m going to get that book, now — that book, just to read.

For fun.

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This Seems A Good Time To Begin

Today, some people in the Continental U.S. had the opportunity to observe a pretty-much-full Solar Eclipse.

That seems sufficiently auspicious as a concurrent kick-off event for this blog.

We are on our way.

Last Tuesday, we “moved out” of our house in Port Townsend.  Which means that we moved the majority of our stuff in to a storage locker in town, and ourselves (and the kitty we share our lives with) to a lovely cabin in the woods some miles from town.

That moving day was noteworthy in at least two respects;  1) we were both on our feet and hauling/lifting/cleaning/doing for eighteen hours straight, and 2) at the end of the day, we were officially “on our way.”

The moving day itself was full of miracles, angels, and affirmations of community and connection (not the least of which, by far, was being offered the lovely little cabin in which we are currently ensconced).

We’ve spent the last few days recuperating from the final moving push,  getting our vehicles prepared for the longer trip to Colorado (yes, the van, but also, our own physical units), and soaking up the loveliness of this forest glen and the many beings that inhabit it (humans, pileated woodpeckers, ravens, blue heron, etc.).

Our host and hostess here are as lovely as the land they tend.

After moving the entirety of our earthly “possessions” into storage or out to the cabin, we’ve come to a collective certainty that we still have too much stuff — so lightening that load further is on the list — along with tuning up the van, getting the brakes worked on, etc.  Moving forward on this preparing/ lighten-ing (whilst thoroughly enjoying where we are in the moment) represents the sum total of our “to do” list at the moment — and that is wondrous, too.

OK.  Phew.  There’s the update of what has been.

Here’s the update of what is now (or at least, what is VERY recent — as in: tonight):

Tonight, we celebrated the Solar Eclipse by building a fire in the fire-pit just outside the cabin.  It was overcast, but still, the evening light took on a strange look as the Moon passed over the Sun and we toasted ourselves around rising flames.

We recorded our first-ever outdoor podcast and got it posted.

I picked up my guitar for the first time in ages and passed through this “ring of fire” eclipse in bliss and delight.

Now, I am pleasantly sleepy, glad to have kicked off the blog (the first step always seems to be the most difficult), and ready to see what is next.

Here We Be.

(Pictures, Videos, etc. to come.)

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