Bloom Where You Are Planted

Amy and I moved to our house in the village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca 331 days ago. It is on the outskirts of Oaxaca, the famous city in southern Mexico. We love our home and agree it is the best we have ever lived in. Built by a Mexican architect and his German agronomist wife, money was not an object and great love was poured into it from the beginning. It has survived two earthquakes with barely a crack or dislodged clay roof tile. 

We are Americans in Mexico with permanent resident status. Amy read somewhere that the first year living in Mexico is the most difficult. Certainly it was shocking at first, and even now, there are some aspects we don’t like. The change has been more difficult for Amy. I don’t exactly know why, but I have adjusted from the start⏤even though Amy is much better at speaking Spanish. It is probably because I have reinvented myself so many times in life. I have been around the world twice, lived in many poor countries, been a homeless wanderer, and lost my oldest daughter to cancer at age nineteen in 1999.  I learned this life is THE DREAM, and we do not control it. It is phenomenal, surprising, sparkling, terrible, dark, light filled, wonderful and dramatic. It is best not to resist, but rather be in it totally and observe intently.

It is evident Mexico is poorer than the USA. We live amidst poverty here. A preponderance of streets are broken and dirty, maimed dogs wander around aimlessly, most people do not have cars and rely on little “moto taxis”. Homes are nothing more than concrete block walls or tin shacks. We live in grandiosity compared to our neighbors. 

Yet good values can be seen in the way love exists in families. Often people can be seen walking hand in hand. There is plenty of laughter, music, and occasions for celebration. Mexicans love festivities and participate whole heartedly.

The cost of food is about 1/4th what the USA charges. It is good and fresh year round. Oaxaca has fabulous restaurants. Archeological sites abound and indigenous cultures have deep historical roots going back millenniums. The climate here stays comfortable year around. There are two seasons; dry and wet. Our home is made of adobe and has neither heating or cooling systems. It stays comfortable all the time.

During my hippie days in the 60´s I read a slogan painted on a wall, something from the flower child revolution: “Bloom where you are planted.”

A Sojourn of THE DREAM

 

Can it be we have arrived back to where we began? It feels as though a thousand suns have risen and set; not the sixty we experienced.

Amy and I began our sojourn exotically enough in Oaxaca, Mexico during the peculiar celebration called Dia de Muertos, or Day of the Dead. Dancing skeletons, candles in cemetaries, masks and music on the street all began us in a sojourn of THE DREAM.



Next, Mexico City brought us face to face with Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. Streets teemed with moving masses of humanity, rather childlike . . . even as little boys strummed guitars for endless hours gathering small change from tips. We found fake money in our wallets that local people spotted right away and refused to take.

Onward to Granada, Spain, in the “Old World.” Alhambra and its exquisite moorish castle perched above the city looked over to Sacromonte flamenco caves where every evening plaintive guitars, singing, stomping feet and castanets held forth.

Don Quixote, by Miguel Cervantes, entertained us each night before sleep. We read his knight-errant quests with his squire Sancho Panza, and attack upon windmills that he thought to be giants . . . then we visited the windmills, set high on a hill above a sleepy town called Consuegra.

Our rental car took us through seemingly endless landscape of olive trees to Cordoba, another famous Spanish city. I took plenty of photos of Andalusian horses and riders of the equestrian shows there.

We arrived by chance to Ronda and found it entrancing . . . so much so that Orson Welles chose to have his ashes thrown over the grounds . . . not far from the famous bull ring where Ernest Hemingway and Pablo Picasso took in the action.

At Gibraltar, on a Mediterranean beach under the famous ROCK looming nearby, Amy collected tiny seashells strewn on the shore. A short boat ride across the sea and Morocco captivated us with spices, veiled women, donkeys, sheep, hashish, and ubiquitous mosques calling to prayer five times daily. Chefchaouen and its blue walls painted poetry all around us in the Atlas Mountains. By taxi we reached Fes and found ourselves living in a mansion with courtyard in a labyrinth old town surrounded by thousand year old wall. A modern train ride to Tangier gave us respite from the chaotic grit and grime of street life and quickly we fell under the same spell that bound the beat poets and writers.

Back in Spain we rented a car again and found a hotel in Seville, then an apartment in the old walled part of Toledo where vehicles aren’t allowed. Narrow cobbled passages lead from church to church, castle to castle, with shops lining each side. El Greco spoke to us through his portraits from the sixteenth century in his own museum.

At last Madrid and an apartment for a week one block away from Plaza de Espagna. There is found Don Quixote and Sancho Panza—at a monument with Cervantes himself looking over them. Every day we ambled among masterpieces of art in museums Madrid is famous for. These artworks celebrate THE DREAM in all its facets. And now we are far richer for the adventures it has offered us.

A Blessed Path

We are both a bit thunderstruck—hit by lightning; not burned but filled with a higher vibration from heaven that gleams with light.

Barely a week ago we did not think that our little wedding would be today. Just four other people were with us to make it official.

Now the sun is out and shining brilliantly. A blessed path is before us; we both know it.
Amy Cordova and I intend to walk a holy path together. Our days as artists will be filled with creativity. We share love for life, Spirit and God.

In two days we will be in Mexico. First, Oaxaca for Day Of The Dead celebrations, then Mexico City. From there we will travel to Spain and Morocco. We don’t have a return ticket, but guess that in three months we will be back to the USA. Perhaps then we can celebrate and have a ceremony with loved ones and friends.

Our DREAM together is bigger and better than we can imagine and we are in awe. Our hearts are full and thankful.

It Is Your Birthday!

I was fifteen, playing basketball after school on a springtime afternoon with friends at our local playground. Suddenly, my distraught mother showed up on the other side of the tall chain link fence. “Steven, Steven! It is your birthday! We forgot!” Indeed, even I had not noticed.

Today is my birthday. I am 66. At this age, I am sometimes amazed I am on earth and not somewhere else. There have been a few close calls with death, yet I escaped.

I had a dream once about leaving the planet for other realms. It was not long after my young daughter Naomi departed this life. I had sometimes taken to sleeping in her bed where she died. One night I dreamt this: I was outdoors on a wooded hillside. I looked down below to a small village. Suddenly I was there—standing on a street amidst a festival. People were walking about and I found myself holding hands with a little girl. Then she was gone. I saw a moving carousel and hopped on as it circled in place. The landscape swept by. As I stood rotating, a doorway appeared in front of me. I realized that I could get off the merry-go-round and into another world if I threw myself forward. The opportunity would not come again so I made the choice to jump. Immediately, as I hurled forward, I heard a voice in my left ear: “First you must do something more if you wish to pass beyond the door!” That same moment, I bolted upright in bed and struck my head against the rough plaster wall. I woke, bleeding from a gash on my forehead.

And so I stay active and alive on this merry-go-round earth revolving each day while it travels around the sun.

True Wisdom

The greatest thing you can do to cultivate true wisdom is to practice the consciousness of the world as a dream.  -Paramahansa Yogananda

In 2008 while I was traveling for one year around the world, life became THE DREAM. It was a subtle shift in my consciousness. As I relaxed into my new role of adventurer and observer, I realized how fluid life is—and how obstinately hard my consciousness had become with years of built up mental formulations. I determined to let go and be in flux. I shook off notions of nationality, race, wealth—all the usual prejudices that are obstacles to oneness. The more I let go, the more I realized the world is phenomenal, fluid—and ever shifting sands.

If the sound of waves outside my door kept me from falling asleep, I laughed at how accustomed I had become to silence at bedtime. If I found myself in a crowd of strangers in Africa, and I was the only white person, I delighted how the kaleidoscope of human colors before my eyes shifted radically to ebony. Deep in the blackness I went "clubbing" with new acquaintances in Nairobi; dancing all night. Some people must have thought they were dreaming to see me, just as I knew I was in THE DREAM experiencing the night, the African milieu, music and being lost in it.

In Rome, I missed a long distance flight because I was confused by the 24 hour clock. My plane was scheduled to leave at 01:30. I arrived just after noon, and at the ticket counter was told the flight had left 12 hours earlier at 1:30 AM. I was shocked and breathless for a few moments, but realized how THE DREAM had unfolded with a major surprise. I became observer and even laughed at how I stumbled and hurt myself.

During youth, occasionally my young mind would wander into zones that made me question “reality.” Then youthful angst would set in, and fear of being mentally ill would arrive. After all, aren’t we supposed to be on firm footing in the world, knowing from where we come and where we are going?

When, in the spring of 1997, I found myself in a cancer clinic with my oldest daughter, Naomi, who was seventeen, the surroundings seemed foreign, nightmarish. We did not belong there and I was confused. After waiting, a doctor came to us and announced with considerable concern that Naomi had a very large tumor in her hip and it was malignant. The cancer most likely had spread to her lungs and maybe brain. I sensed being in a dream. Reality had shifted so radically that I clearly perceived we were in an unreal world because in essence, we were okay, safe, protected in SPIRIT; even eternal. But death was all over us. What was real?
Six years previous to that episode, while on a family vacation in Oregon, I had a powerful dream that shook me to the core. When I woke I was devastated. The vision was full of mesmerizing and beautiful imagery, spiritual throughout, but I woke with a start when an arrow, sent by a spirit being, pierced the heart of a child next to me. The imagery and symbolism had been profoundly spiritual up to that point. What had happened?
The day at the cancer clinic, standing next to my child when the doctor gave his report I felt an arrow pierce my heart. How are the worlds bound together? What is “reality”? (For more about Naomi and I on our spiritual journey, see my award -winning book A Heart Traced In Sand)

After my extensive traveling I retained a sense of THE DREAM but it tapered off. Perhaps I needed flux. I needed uncertainty, mystery, enough constant change to keep me off balance. I began missing it enough that I have tried to cultivate the sense permanently.

Surrounded By Spirits

I am surrounded by spirits, and that is the feeling of the Lord.  —Naomi Boone

I love this simple sentence written in my daughter's journal when she was seventeen. She had learned she was dying of cancer.

She felt the power of angels—emissaries of God, sent to strengthen and guide her.

I am practicing remembering the feeling of the Lord as I prepare to go on another extended journey across continents, leaving everything behind to go into the "flux" state I so love. I will "let go". I thrive with the feeling of falling like the little bird pushed from the safety and familiarity of it's nest. A miraculous and hidden power informs the moment so what is needed occurs—to fly.

SPIRIT can take a flock of birds and direct them to determine Earth's magnetic field so they navigate using true north. During the day time they are guided by the position of the sun. Are they doing this mentally? Birds sometimes fly while sleeping during non-stop trips that can take weeks. No, they are not thinking; SPIRIT moves them to arrive unerringly to their destination.

And so too, I hope to leave the mental arena and go into what I call the zone. Like the falling bird, I go from the familiar into the unknown and rely on trust. Surrounded by spirits and guided by them, barriers fall away and I am no longer separate from my surroundings. In oneness, I enter THE DREAM, where miracles live and occurrences become fantastic.

I leave Santa Fe on November 1. First stop is Washington DC, (where I grew up,) to see my brother Wade and his family. I especially relish spending time with my young niece and nephew who barely know me. After four days I fly to Paris, France and book into a hotel on the left-bank for another four days. Time in the streets and museums, being inspired,  shooting photographs and going with the flow . . . day tripping to Versailles. Next I arrive in my favorite place . . . Venice. For a month. It is easy being creative there . . . making paintings, writing and photographing. Next is Egypt. In Luxor I have Egyptian friends that make a place for me in their family. After that it gets fuzzy: but most likely I will go and find the Masai people who had such a big impact on me. They are in Kenya and Tanzania.

I do not have a return ticket. SPIRIT and THE DREAM will direct me and that is how I like it.

Everything will be okay, because God is with me no matter what.  —Naomi Boone

Songs Of The Spirit

Caye Caulker, Belize

When I leave the United States in a few weeks, it will be an inner journey as well. Landscapes, peoples, climates and customs will differ as I visit France, Italy, Egypt and other parts of Africa. Like in a dream, fantastic surprises will come. A kaleidoscope spinning produces new chance combinations of light, shape and color. So will be my experiences. What paths to follow?

"Listen with heart and soul to the songs of the spirit, and treasure them as thine own eyes." —Baha'u'llah

Paris

Before I left home on my first circle of the globe, I had a dream where I heard a pronouncement spoken into my left ear: "The vessel he entered was a grand confusion between his world, and the world outside him." I awoke immediately, contemplating the prophecy concerning my upcoming sojourn yet puzzling over the words.

Granada, Spain

The strange divination proved true. From the start, beginning with my arrival in the all black community of Dangriga, Belize, I felt as if I stepped into DREAMING. My province became unknown and surprises occurred with each hour and day. All became a grand confusion between my world and the world outside. Borders fell. I happily abandoned former identifications, such as nationality, race, social stature, religion, etc. Oneness prevailed.

I came to call it THE DREAM.

The Pristine Moment

The Red Pancho, Oil on linen, 16 x 12 inches

Awakened experiences and new perceptions are occurring regularly and I am thankful for all. My inner child is thriving, along with active imagination, and I have been producing a new series of artwork. 

All I can say is that it must be equanimity. I had a perception the other day—a visualization of looking through a thick sheet of glass. The glass was flawless and absolutely clear, allowing me to see with perfect clarity the world of beautiful nature. I think this showed my inner life is in a calm and peaceful place that allows me to experience the outer world with clear perception. Like a child looking through eyes of wonder, and years of experience offer some wisdom too.

In fact, my energy has been good and I am doing things easily and without resistance. I drove to California for sixteen hours straight. This surprised me. Usually I get dreadfully tired after 500 miles or six or seven hours of driving, and have to drag to a stop. Same on the way back—sixteen hours no problem. My mental state is alert, calm, and reflective. 

If I feel a complaint, I can easily overcome it by absorbing into the “pristine moment.” What is this? It is where love exists in nature and can overcome troublesome mind with great curative effects. 

Daydream, Mixed Media, 16.5 x 12.5 x 3 inches

These days I am busy opening a new art gallery in Santa Fe. It is a temporary affair in the same location on the plaza that I had a gallery last summer for two months. This time I will go three months, taking advantage of the busiest part of the tourist season. I do not know what to expect and I am paying a higher rent than normal for the privilege of not signing a one year lease. Last year it worked nicely, but I am hearing from business people that retail is down from last year. They say it is probably because of the uncertainty of the upcoming election. The whole world is watching as our national spectacle unfolds.

Anyway, I am taking the jump—the same way I did while in New Zealand last January and jumped from a suspension bridge into a deep stream of glacial water far below me. I crossed my arms over my chest and as I hurled myself forward I cried, “Thank You God for everything!”

Blue Pools, Glacier stream, New Zealand

A Life Of Its Own

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.

Pressing Beyond Boundaries

There is no escaping racial issues when one is an American. It is in our history, from the days of slavery, and a terrible civil war was fought over the matter. I grew up in Washington D.C. during the days of the civil rights movement, and experienced forced de-segregation at my high-school. Black inner city kids were bussed to schools away from their neighborhoods, and in my sophomore year my classmates went from 95% white to more like 60%. I found that the experience of meeting the African-American youth added greatly to my education—not in a scholastic way, but rather a social one. 

Back in 2008, when I had determined to leave the familiar comforts of my life and begin a year-long solo sojourn around the world, I chose to go first to Belize, a country on the northeastern coast of Central America. It is the only country in the area that has English as the official language, and is primarily black. And I wanted to live in a black town, so I chose Dangriga. Perhaps I thought that this would awaken me for what was ahead—all the cultural surprises, and experiencing being a minority.

As an adventurer, pressing beyond boundaries and exploring outside of comfort zones is essential to the experience. From the start, when I first set foot in Belize and realized I was in a new world with different rules and scenery, I began a shift of consciousness, and instead of trying to hold on to what my comforts were, I let the the surprising events unfold and decided to live in the unfolding drama, calling life THE DREAM.

 

Click, for photos from around the world

To Live Fully

VAN GOGH, ALL HUNGUP, 24 x 26 inches, oil on linen, in the collection of the
Van Gogh Foundation, Arles, France

We hope that our life will be as we dream it to be, but to live fully, we must allow uncertainty and risk. Risk is when something valued is subjected to a situation where it could be partly, or entirely lost. The reward is that the valued thing could become greater, and of even more value. If no risk is taken, entropy and stagnation might ensue and true value might never be established. There are different types of risk. A woman takes a risk to become a mother. Explorers might risk their lives adventuring into unknown parts of the universe, encountering unexpected hardships, in order to chart discoveries and become conquerors. Investors take risks with their money, investing in new enterprises that hold promise of success and great financial returns. Athletes take risk by devoting their lives to training to be the best in their field and come out on top, though the competition is great.

When I opened my gallery recently, I jumped in suddenly and decided to take the risk. I have signed a two-year lease and must earn over $100,000.00 per year just to break even. In essence, I am testing my strength as an artist and entrepreneur, and there are many risks. The challenge for me is to stay calm and positive, and enjoy the unfolding DREAM.

Plenty To Write About

 “Have you thought of writing your memoir?” Several people who have watched my life unfold have put this question to me. There is plenty to write about.  I could make a book out of just the year 2008, when I traveled around the world and lived in nineteen countries.
It strikes me that there has been so much contrast in my life. I come from a family of contradictions. My father is the product of an upper-class southern household, and went on to the highest echelons of education and career. My mother’s history involves broken childhood homes, poverty, and little education after high school. The two conceived five children in eight years. I am the first-born.  From this crowded scenario, I have found that in adult life, I prefer solitude, or at least anonymity in crowded places.
My first wife had no material wealth when we met.  Several years into our marriage, after our daughter Naomi was born, she revealed mental instability, divorced me and was institutionalized.
My second wife was born into wealth and it only increased with time. We share a beautiful daughter and our marriage lasted 21 years. After my first daughter died when she was nineteen, our marriage became seriously undone. After divorce, I took my year to travel around the world and live as a homeless vagabond, experiencing the basics of earthly existence and living in what I call THE DREAM, in flux. 
A question I am pondering is how truthful to be in divulging my life story. Do I describe growing up in a household without religion and my teenage years as a hippie? Do I tell of my first sexual experience that happened to be with my girlfriend and her girlfriend both? Do I include my times in jail? Hitchhiking experiences from coast to coast? Religious conversion to the Baha'i Faith is easy to tell, but not so easy is my subsequent mental breakdown and three days in a psycho ward. This was after graduating Art College and driving across the USA in my car with four other Baha’ís, visiting Indian reservations and transfixed by conversations about extra-terrestrials, the Urantia book, and Baha’i writings. Do I tell of visions I have had in prayer—of vibrating light coming through walls and then entering my body and causing me to smell roses?
The common advise in writing a memoir is to follow a time line moving forward. Another encouragement is to “go deep” in the emotional experiences, and to write what is hard to write. It is said that those parts can be what readers remember and value most because they reveal inner struggle. Especially, reveal changes in life . . . and for this I have had plenty to speak of.