At the Banteay Srey Butterfly Centre, near Siem Reap, Cambodia
I had not intended to leave the United States in mid-September and travel around
the world, but this is what happened. Yes, for certain I knew I would
go to live in Venice, Italy where I stayed five weeks, and maybe visit India and Thailand.
On November 2, I was in Varanasi, India and by the end of the month living in Chiang Mai, Thailand. In
Thailand I realized I could only legally stay 30 days and began
imagining where my footsteps might wander next. I chose the neighboring
country of Cambodia and a visit to the famous Angkor Wat Temples.
I only stayed one wonderful week, and circumstances brought me to Bali, Indonesia. By then I knew I would continue circling the globe east back to the USA. From Bali I
went to New Zealand—and then my mother died and I hurried back to
attend her memorial in Santa Barbara, California.
Over the course of 119 days, I made 25 paintings, shot thousands
of photographs, wrote 17 blogs and made scores of journal entries,
traveled by boat, train, car, rickshaw, bus, airplane and foot. The
experiences are enough to fill volumes and will be woven into my
future like so many brightly colored and various threads woven into a
composition of exceptional fabric.
Now, my traveling is inward, into stillness, psychology, spirit.
Heart rending apathy struck me during the week after the
memorial for my mother, when I slept in my parents home in Santa
Barbara. Apathy is such a strange word to associate with my life. It
strikes me as not hot and not cold, in which case, as the Bible has
said, God will spew the person out of His mouth as tasteless. "So
then because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew
you out of my mouth.” -Revelation 3:16
I remember sitting in the comfortable living room, amid all the
familiar furnishings and feeling no creative passion or eagerness—just a dull pain.
This, after I had just circled the globe on a remarkable journey full
of creativity. To invent passion seemed pointless, so I made an
analogy that I was a sailor who found himself unexpectedly in the
doldrums: no wind to fill his sails. The only thing to do was wait.
Now that I am back in Santa Fe, the feelings continue, but I am
getting perspective and it is positive. An estate has been given to
me in exchange for watching a cat. It is spacious, very private, full
of character and history. The furnishings are artful, well made, and
wonderful books fill shelves to overflowing. A perfect place to do
nothing. Especially as winter draws to an end.
I am now of the opinion that I am like a field that after many
seasons of productivity has become tired and depleted and needs rest.
A wise farmer plows a crop back into the soil, and leaves it fallow for a
season. It is dormant.
Another biblical metaphor: “Verily, verily, I say unto you,
except a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it abides
alone: but if it dies, it brings forth much fruit.” John 12:24
I am not to be the same person. I have felt a dying, and and it is
as a husk that must be broken for the heart of a regenerated creation
to break free and emerge from ground. In time, my paintings will come
forth with new vision and vigor, writings will arrive with fresh
voice, photographs will be fine tuned and shared. Spirit will have
fashioned a reborn creation.
After some searching, a friend and I arrived by car to a hidden
oasis in the mountains above the serene southern California town of
Ojai, where hiking, spiritual retreats, fruit orchards, as well as a
farmers' market on Sundays contribute to the city's self-styled
nickname of "Shangri-La" referencing the natural beauty of
this health-and-spirituality-focused region. The place, ( it does not want to be named in social media), has hot springs, and it is rather hidden. We had to ask
directions several times and almost gave up looking. Its sign had
fallen down and when we pulled in to the parking lot a smiling young
man came out of a trailer and said yes, we had arrived.
I had not seen my friend in decades. She learned I was in
Southern California and contacted me about meeting. We had determined
Ojai, because I remember when my parents lived there, and wanted to
revisit. After a cup of coffee and conversation, we had re-established
our friendship and were on our way.
The oasis usually charges $20.00 for two hours, but waived the fee
because my Mom had just died. An agreement form must be signed when
entering the property and when I learned photography is not allowed
I was baffled. The young man said that the hot springs are “clothing
optional.” My friend and I looked at each other and grinned. Neither
of us had brought swim suits and were not prepared to get naked. As
we started down the trail, I was wondering to myself if I would go
nude or not.
The day was balmy and warm. We had picked from a basket of free
fruit and sipped free filtered water and I was being
transported back to my days of being a hippie, when I had visited and
lived in Ojai. A happy wave of nostalgia took me to carefree youthful
days being a wandering nature lover with long hair and eyes of
wonderment, mind full of poetry, and heart of song.
When we came to a split in the path, one sign pointed to the hot
springs and another to a bridge across a creek. I asked my friend
where to go and she chose the springs. So off we went. When we
arrived, there were some people bathing in the pools, with swim suits
on. The property only allows a limited number of visitors
at two hour intervals. We found our place in pools surrounded by rock.
I undressed down to my underwear and she just went in with clothes on
and soon was floating on her back with a big smile on her face. A
sense of calm and happiness quickly came over both of us. I contemplated all the
fantastic experiences of the last four months traveling around the
world, and concluded that life itself is a journey of surprising
circumstances and experiences.
Here I am, back in the United States of
America for the first time since September 12 of last year. Following
the scenario that seems sketched out for my life, THE DREAM has
surprised me again and put me on a stage with a strange set and I have to improvise my part.
In New Zealand I had spent ten
days on the south island and was preparing to go to the north island
and explore further, making paintings, writing, and producing
photographs when my mother died suddenly. I had been feeling
strange for about week—bewilderment and tinges of grief after
being adrift for so long, and then the news arrived to complicate my
inner life further. Perhaps I had been unconsciously anticipating the
death, knowing it would happen soon. My mother and I always affirmed
our bond with each other by ending our conversations with statements
of love and affection.
I felt better after determining to go back for the memorial. Yes,
I would not be visiting the spectacular north island and doing what I
had planned, but I would be going “home” and getting closure,
bonding and celebrating with others my mother's life.
The home of my parents in Santa Barbara, California, USA
I have been alone in the home of my parents for several days. My
sister arrived last night and a brother is to arrive today. Another
brother is already living in Santa Barbara, and one brother is not
coming—he lives in New York state. I have had continued feelings of
being adrift and not knowing the future or being excited about it.
But I am working at improving. There are reasons for everything that I
feel, going back over the years and now with the loss of my mother.
But yesterday I realized I could turn around the feelings of grief
that are associated with loss. It takes willpower but I am doing it
consciously—celebrating instead of grieving.
An "angel" cloud that formed over the house, the second night
I hope she does not die while I am in foreign lands. This
thought occurred several times before leaving the United
States last September. My mother had escaped death before, astonishing even
seasoned workers in the hospice field. At one point I had been called
to her side by both her caregivers who were certain she was dying,
and after flying from New Mexico to California and arriving at her
side, that evening she beat me at a game of cards. My brother and
sister who live nearby shook their heads at her turn around but did not put it past her.
I stayed another seven days, waiting for her to die, but she was
phenomenal. Her neighbor arrived with a fresh bag of books from the
library, which she finished in no time, (with speed-reading
skill), and we watched music videos together and listened to her
favorite rock groups—The Eagles, and The Band. When I left, I swore
I would not be jumping on an airplane every several months when an
alarm went off.
About the time I arrived in New
Zealand from Bali, Indonesia, I was four months into travel and began having morbid feelings but could not
decipher them. Perhaps I had become too unsettled from
travel around the globe. Maybe I was not prepared to go home and
start hustling for income. Had I not resolved the hurt from divorce a
year earlier?
With her five children
New Zealand's beauty and majesty
entranced me and I threw myself into it, yet could not shake feelings
of sadness. Then came a message from one of the caretakers that Mom's
heart was failing and to please call. I spoke with my mother and she
sounded far away and muffled. She wanted to know where I was. The
next day I called again and she sounded much better, even accusing me of
being narcissistic like my father and reminding me of the fable of the
young man who fell in love with his image reflected in a pond. After
I took exception and remarked I am quite aware of my flaws, she
apologized and asked when would I go home to people who love me and
want to see me. That night she died.
Her body has already been
cremated. I am cutting short my time in New Zealand to go to Santa
Barbara where my siblings have scheduled a memorial. I feel better
now. My last ticket is to go home—not to mine, but to where my
father and mother lived contentedly for 35 years.
Since September of last year, I have traveled eastward through nineteen time zones. In New Zealand, I am 21 hours ahead of myself were I to be at home in the USA. When I communicate
with people there, they are in yesterday and I am in tomorrow.
After so many exotic sights and sounds, foreign experiences,
awakenings and little deaths, I am transformed and don't know how I
will pick up where I left off once home. I want to continue
sharing what I have seen and experienced. Fortunately, all the
paintings I have sent back to the USA arrived safely from Italy, India
and Thailand, and I have with me the others made in Cambodia and Bali.
The photos I have spent countless hours creating are on my laptop and
backed up on an extra hard drive. So far so good.
After densely populated Bali, there is more solitude in New
Zealand, even though it is summer tourist season. Nature has greater contrasts here and it is more of a struggle for
inhabitants to exist year around. Days are gorgeous now, easy to enjoy, and the sun
does not set until two hours before midnight. In the winter, days
can be seven hours shorter. New Zealand has glaciers, as well as
volcanoes.
Today I hiked to the foot of a glacier and was lucky to hear and
see an avalanche. Flowers bloomed and made a carpet at my feet, the
mountains capped with snow and ice soared above and waterfalls
cascaded off shear rock cliffs. Wisps of clouds gathered to play
around the peaks. I took off layers of clothes along the way . . .
but never ended up as naked as in Bali!
Bali throws flower petals at my feet everywhere every day. When I
step outside, fresh plumeria blossoms adorn my path. Arriving at my
car, they are on the windshield. It is beautiful and I have
experienced it in other tropical places such as Hawaii. The blessing
is compounded in Bali because blossoms are ubiquitous to the island.
Balinese people make offerings every day and
leave them all around and on the ground too. It is called canang sari. Canang
means beautiful purpose and sari means essence. A small tray
made of woven palm leaves is filled with different colored flowers, with
perhaps some food, incense, and even money. The whole arrangement is
specific and includes careful placement as to direction of each
object. It is time consuming to prepare each day and I have seen a
woman at my hotel here in Ubud spend hours carefully preparing scores of trays to be
placed in many places each day. People all over Bali spend countless
hours in this daily ritual of prayer offering. To walk anywhere in
the street is to see canang sari on the ground in front of
businesses, at temples and homes, adorning sculptures and shrines;
everywhere. This morning I walked to my car and the vehicle next to
mine had a freshly made canang sari offering sitting at a place of
prominence on the dashboard.
Balinese girl, adding fresh offerings midday on a sidewalk in front of an establishment or home
On a sculpture of Ganesha
At first, I took note and simply stepped around the little baskets,
but now I am also honoring their meaning and absorbing the blessings.
It is respectful. I feel blessed.
Read more here: Offering
On the pavement
Offering flowers being sold at market.
Early morning, on a car dashboard!
On a sculpture of a praying man.
I love the term canang sari, beautiful purpose—essence! Something to meditate upon. The Balinese do each day, and then spend time and resource manifesting it.
Traveling in THE DREAM has a life of its own. All experiences are
essential and woven together, and cannot be labeled or isolated by
the dreamer. They unfurl like a flag in the wind, ceaselessly
changing shape. When I arrived in Sanur, Bali, I spent the first
night in a hotel near the airport, since my arrival from Cambodia was
after midnight. The next day a short taxi ride brought me to a
homestay I had booked in Sanur, in a densely populated neighborhood
not far from the beach. The hostess from Finland met me, along with
the Balinese owner of the house who lived with his family in the
rear. Cia, the Finnish woman showed me around and I put my things
down in my room. Immediately, I felt a bit sick to my stomach, and
when alone, went in the bathroom and vomited. I realized that
something was amiss. The room was windowless, and had a shallow
light, peculiar smells were in the air, the furnishings were worn and
drab, and I felt unsettled.
Cia is a short woman and underweight. She drinks and smokes, and I
soon learned that she is battling lymphoma cancer and has large
tumors on her neck. Her mind is bright, and she smiles readily, but
there is a darkness settled around her. I discovered that she cannot
eat because it causes her pain, but drinks beer and smokes
cigarettes.
I never had the thought of leaving, and spent seven days with her.
I didn't feel comfortable in my physical circumstance, but I
am not physical. THE DREAM brought me to Cia, and I came to
appreciate her and could relate with her because I lost my Naomi to
cancer and walked with her for two years through the valley of the
shadow of death. Cia has been living in Bali for five years and has a
wealth of knowledge about the island and its culture. She speaks at
least four languages, is an ardent animal lover and takes care of
them wherever she finds they need help. Three cats and a dog have
found her and stayed to live with her. She is pragmatic and accepts
her condition in a matter-of-fact way.
One night at dinner she mentioned she was trying to make a
doctor's appointment for the next day. I told her I would go with her
so she would have company and not feel alone. Her eyes opened wide
and she stared at me and said, “But you are on vacation, you don't
want to do that!” I looked back straight in her eyes and said,
“Yes, I do.” Her jaw dropped, and looking even more intensely
into my face she said, “I believe you.” And then she started to
cry, and apologized. Later I told her that the two years I spent in
close communion with Naomi, by her side through all her medical
treatments and living with her in foreign cities, was the best time
of my life. “We were burning the candle at both ends.” I said.
I left Cia a couple days ago and THE DREAM put everything in place
for me. I found a lady from Bali who is renting me her car. Anne, a
young woman from Finland who is a friend of Cia's has given me the
keys to her bamboo house up the coast in a place that Cia wrote on
her list of places for me to visit. I am now in the bamboo house,
making paintings, visiting nearby villages, swimming in the sea,
taking photographs, and continuing creatively.
Cia said, “There is a reason we met.” We will meet again. I
left a few of my things with her so must return before leaving for
New Zealand in about a week.
It probably has happened to every salty-dog sailor while crossing the sea—doldrums are encountered, the breeze stops blowing, and the vessel slows to wait for the wind again to fill its sails. The travelers are at an impasse,
unable to go forward or back. I am at an impasse in this voyage
around the world. Here in Bali, I can stay a month, but was planning
to leave sooner and go to Papua New Guinea. My original thought was
to end by traveling in Ecuador before flying home to the USA. I
invent as I go along, and have discovered New Guinea surprisingly
expensive, as is Australia, and likewise getting to South America
from anywhere in these parts. I feel stranded and realize I
need to make plans quickly to book the passages I need and get the
best opportunities. Maybe I don't know what I want.
This feeling of being stranded in my personal life has
occasionally come upon me, and it is like the sailor in doldrums.
What can one do but wait for the wind?
The poor jungle nations of Asia never appealed to me. Cambodia
fell further in my opinion after learning of the atrocities of the
Khmer Rouge regime during the civil war, 1991-1997, when millions
were ruthlessly massacred. So I arrived in Cambodia after a sojourn
in Thailand with trepidation, and have been pleasantly surprised. The
people are gracious, more fluent in English, and smiling too.
Cambodia is the country cousin to Thailand, without an ultra modern city like
Bangkok.
My journey to Siem Reap from Bangkok went smooth enough, and when
I arrived at my hotel after 10 in the evening, I found my room
spacious and comfortable. The next morning complimentary breakfast
satisfied my taste, especially with a cook in the room making custom
omelets to order, and after walking around the neighborhood visiting
a nearby grand temple and old town with bustling market full of
foods, fabrics, and arts & crafts, my previous attitude
melted away.
If there were any doubts of the value of being in Cambodia, they
have been completely erased by Angkor Wat and the cheerful beauty of
Cambodians. I had seen photos of the largest temple complex in the
world and was not impressed by the drab colors and jungle scenery. I
did not know that it is the most visited sacred site in the world,
and if I did, that would have discouraged me further.
I set out this morning before dawn with Francesca, an Italian I
met on the flight from Bangkok and became friends with, and Dara, our
trusted and smiling tuktuk driver. Even before we got on the road to
the temple, tuktuks with passengers were everywhere going in the same
direction through the darkness. Fifteen minutes and we were pulling
up to Angkor Wat and joining a throng of people walking toward the
featureless dark temple. A crowd was already massed at a lake, unable
to go further until opening time. As the sun rose the sky brightened
behind the spiraling domes and slowly the temple features became
visible in bluish tinges with a rosy sky above, embellished by fluffy
clouds of purple. We were a bit in awe and simultaneously
disappointed to be at the back of a crowd, unable to get the pictures
we wanted. Surprisingly, a charming little girl arrived by our side
in the half-light and took an order for coffee, then dutifully
arrived back in minutes with tasty hot drinks. When we continued
forward my impressions steadily rose at the base of the complex while
I looked up at the massive scale of the carved rock and orderly
beauty of the temple. As we strolled, it became apparent we were in
no ordinary place. The crowds quickly thinned so we were actually
quite alone. The place is so huge, people set out in all directions
by foot and tuktuk. Our wandering excursion took seven hours and there is far more to see, but we were overwhelmed, hot, and growing tired. I bought a ticket that allows for two more visits.
At various times Dara would find us and drive us from temple to
temple. Always, the beauty was great along with the dimensions,
especially in grandness of design and the ubiquitous stone carvings
adorning every facade and corner. Angkor Wat is more interesting for the fact
that it began Hindu and later shifted to Buddhist, so the two
influences are mingled. The jungle through the ages has entwined with
structures, so that huge trees are often seen growing out of temples
and snake-like roots wrap around carved block. Many stone faces
appear, sphinx like and huge in improbable places high above,
adorning towers. Often, monks in orange saffron robes are seen making
an accent amid the monotone structures, and I loved taking their
picture. Always a smile in return for a smile. And that is the way it
has been in Cambodia so far.
The Lavender Umbrella, Chiang Mai, oil on canvas, 40 x 30 cm
Like unstoppable sand falling to the bottom of an hour glass, my
time in Thailand is running out. I have to leave within a week, and
although just stepping across the border to Cambodia, thinking of going away brings tinges of remorse.
I have Thai friends here in Chiang Mai, the streets are no longer
confusing, I like riding my motorcycle, the cost of living is low,
the climate is great, I have had good apartments including now when I
can go swimming at the pool every day, I have made paintings and
captured wonderful photographs. There is much more to explore—yet
I am leaving. Thailand visa requires a limit of thirty days. I can turn
around and come back immediately and stay longer, but THE
DREAM is carrying me around the world and I must arrive again in the
United States.
Papua New Guinea has always held an attraction for me, ever since
I saw photographs in National Geographic of fearsome men in makeup
and bones through their noses. I am making my way there, and have
found that one of the cheapest routes is through Bali, where I arrive Christmas night.
In dreams, one experience flows into the next, with grand
eloquence and abundance of awe inspiring surprise. This is THE DREAM,
and I know it has many dimensions. I will stay in touch with my Thai
friends, think fondly of them and keep them in my heart as I do with
everyone that I meet along the way. With some people, it is never
good-bye, but rather, we will see each other again.
