Since Our Separation

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 27
I notice that since our separation, whenever I am with Jean, our moments are pleasant, cordial and caring. I love her and pray for her each day, but do not want to move back into the house. If I try and argue with myself out of guilt and duty, resistance ensues—with anxiety. I realize I must wait for more clarity.
Sarah came home from college in Chicago for Thanksgiving. We all cooked together and shared a lovely candlelit meal. Later, we went to a movie, and two days later, celebrated Sarah’s twentieth birthday with another beautiful meal, cake with candles, and a few gifts. Jean and I drove her to the airport on Sunday to send her back to school.
After I dropped Jean off at home, it was a bit difficult leaving, but that is our arrangement now. I don’t know if it will change. I am beginning to make plans to live in Sicily this spring. I often find myself thinking “God bless Jean, and have mercy on my soul.”

Driving Gypsy

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 20
Wow! I made it home after driving nine hours straight, from Phoenix, Arizona. It felt good returning to Santa Fe, but included a tinge of remorse at ending my gypsy lifestyle.
I can see why California is the seventh biggest world economical entity. It is big, dynamic, rich in resources, and bustling with growth. When I came to Los Angeles, ten lane freeways stretched for miles in every direction, and they were crowded with traffic. A brown haze of smog hung over the city and my eyes stung.
I spent the night in Palm Springs, where Adagio Gallery shows my paintings. The next day, after painting in the desert, I drove to Phoenix where Heritage Gallery exhibits my art. I stayed with my long time friend John Dugas, who took me to a cowboy dance hall after dinner. I can hang out almost anywhere and be happy.

Bohemians in the Woods

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 15
Big Sur is located approximately 150 miles south of San Francisco and 300 miles north of Los Angeles. It refers to a 90-mile stretch of rugged and awesomely beautiful coastline where there is a dramatic meeting of land and sea.
My artist friend Ken and I meet at Fernwood, a rustic enclave situated along a stream among the redwood trees. We rent a tent built on a platform in the woods. There is no electricity but it has beds with mattress. In the afternoon we paint together, at a roadside outcropping with a view of the spectacular coastline. The light is pristine, temperature balmy, and there is barely any wind. Soon after that sublime outing, rain falls through the night and all the next day, thwarting our plans for art making. Nonetheless, we are happy bohemians, together in the forest, walking in the mist, talking, philosophizing, laughing, and hanging out at the lodge with an odd array of characters that look to be remnants of hippies from long ago.
Two days later, leaving Big Sur, I drive through miles of twisting coastal roadway, hearing the surf but not able to see the ocean because of dense fog. I stop in San Luis Obispo where Ken lives, and we paint together by Morro Bay. Arriving in Santa Barbara around nightfall, it seems my parent’s house has not changed a bit in the two years since I last visited. It is good sitting with them for dinner at the familiar table, with my mother’s old fashion cooking to fill my belly.

The Dancing Wind

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 10
The moments in San Francisco seemed to swirl like a dancing wind and be gone too quickly. My dying daughter Naomi and I spent the last three months of her earthly existence in the city before she passed away in 1999. Each year since then, I have returned, staying in the same hotel, traveling the familiar boulevards, strolling in hallowed Golden Gate Park, and driving across the Golden Gate Bridge to visit the Redwood trees and Muir Beach. The Japanese Tea Garden, with its shrines, ponds, bridges and shaded paths through Zen gardens, always brings out the poet in me. While I was browsing in the gift shop, a beautiful, smiling young woman, dressed in a silk Kimono came in, joked and laughed with a young man behind the register and then left. I wrote:

You appear, blushing like spring—
Dressed in a silk kimono
Butterfly laughter, light in my heart,
You leave too quickly.

Now, my house feels empty
Wind blows rain in the window
A bird flies past
Overhead, a rainbow appears.

Leaving Las Vegas

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 7
Leaving Las Vegas, I enjoy driving west across the desert with the window part way down and the dry air blowing in my face. By the time I am approaching Bakersfield, California, evening is near. On the hillsides are hundreds of windmills churning electricity with the sun setting behind them. From Bakersfield, the morning drive is bleary with haze. I drive up the central valley of California, which is mile after mile of orchards, vineyards and cropland. At one point I pass an orange grove, lemon grove and nectarine orchard all in succession with their unique fragrance.
Driving across the Oakland Bay Bridge, the dramatic San Francisco skyline is straight ahead, and with fragrant bay air streaming in the window, I give a rebel yell, being once again in the city I love.

Arriving in Fantasyland

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 6
I have begun a long drive westward to San Francisco, California. Stopping in Las Vegas, I am amazed to find a fantasyland of theme resorts, with names like Excalibur, Tropicana, New York New York, Monte Carlo, Bellagio, Caesars Palace, Paris Las Vegas, Treasure Island and Circus Circus. These are buildings meant to draw crowds, and they are packed with fun-seeking people. New York New York has replicated the skyscrapers, and Paris Las Vegas has the Eiffel Tower. The Las Vegas strip teems with people, including poor Mexicans who are hired to pass out cards with pictures of naked call-girls. The sidewalks are littered with trashy cards that have been tossed. This is a city that thrives on hotels, booze, entertainment and gambling.

Cirque Du Soleil has several different acts playing in Vegas. I went to see “O” at Bellagio. I was surprised that my ticket cost 250.00, but it is an elaborate production in a state-of-the-art theater. The set is built around a deep pool of water (1.5 million gallons) that sometimes vanishes. The performers are actors and acrobats in almost constant motion—in the water, on stage and in the air. The music is live. Pure theater.

One Hundred Men

MONDAY, OCTOBER 30
For the last four days I have lived with a close-knit group of one hundred men in a spectacular, Spartan setting without women. The theme of the men's wellness conference is “Soul Searching.” Activities from dawn into the night include: simple meditations and QiQong, group rituals, sweat lodges, African dance, guided soul searching with discussions, mask making, singing, a grief ceremony, writing workshops, rugged mountain hikes, gift giving and a talking circle. Really amazing what is accomplished in a short time. The outcome of our soul searching is both individually and collectively rewarding.

Diving Into the Unconscious

Saturday, October 22,
My wife Jean went to Chicago to visit our daughter Sarah, and although we have been separated almost two months, I stayed at our house a few days, taking care of the dog, cat, plants, doing some yard work, and sorting through some of my belongings that remain at home. I love the house and surroundings that I put so much of my life into, yet, at bedtime I felt too anxious to sleep. My heart is torn by opposing wishes.
Tonight I saw a movie called The Science of Sleep. It was both funny in a slap-dash way, and also thought provoking. The protagonist could not differentiate between his dreaming and waking. This blurring made life incredibly vivid, and also got him in trouble. The film showed that our unconscious world has no boundaries, while our “real” waking life is subject to many rules that often are in conflict with our inner desires. Personally, I try to allow as much room as possible for the rich workings of the unconscious, which in many ways is closer to Spirit. It was not always like this. In my early adulthood, my unconscious terrified me, and I tried all day long to keep myself together by isolating it. The suffering was almost unbearable, and in fact I spent a few days in a mental hospital. Now, I am much happier diving into the unconscious, comfortasble with it's darkness as well as light.

Life is not fair

Monday, October 16,
My father called today from his home in Santa Barbara, California and immediately I sensed something was wrong. Someone close to both of us had tried to commit suicide by slitting her wrists. I do not know all the facts, and what comes out of my family is sometimes dramatic and fantastical. Nonetheless, the news overwhelmed me and caused weeping.
What is it about the world that it is so beautiful and painful both?
Naomi, during her forced march through the “valley of the shadow of death,” had so many occasions to complain bitterly, yet only said, “Life is not fair.” She regarded negativity in the same way as the cancer in her body, and retaliated with affirmations. One affirmation she wrote that I am particularly fond of is: “Show up and be lovingly present, no matter what it looks like out there or inside yourself. Always speak the truth of your heart.”

The Glow

Thursday, October 12,
A dear man died. Only a week ago this friend stood before me at a Baha’i meeting, smiling, kidding around with a twinkle in his eye. He had problems with his lungs, and mentioned with trepidation some medical tests that were being done, and yet he seemed to glow. Come to think of it, I know that “glow” of someone near death. My precious Naomi glowed from head to foot before she died at the age of nineteen. Sometimes I could see it, and I always felt it.
So, when I learned that Jimmy died I prayed alone at home for the progress of his soul. As I prayed, I felt him near, and as sometimes happens, his etheric presence formed a picture in my mind. His identity remained, but more powerful, at peace and happy . . . even joyful. So I said hello, and asked him to convey my love to Naomi, abiding in the same realm above.
Today, I made a painting from a photograph I took recently. The painting looks much better. In the photo, the golden trees seem static, in the painting they sparkle and dance. The sky in the photo is a bit washed out, and in the painting, fluffy white clouds drift across the deep blue space of sky. Even the shadows falling across the path are richer and deeper in paint. I am glad that I can take pictures wherever I go, and then use them for thumbnail sketches in making finished paintings.

A Calling

Sunday, October 7
I went to a lecture by a world-renowned doctor and activist, Dr. Paul Farmer, who co-founded the organization Partners in Health. Under his inspired guidance and through his dedication and vision, entire communities of poor and sick people in third world countries have been raised to new life and given hope for better futures.
As Dr. Farmer spoke eloquently of the necessity to help the weak, and how cooperation does wonders, he gave a visual presentation that included pictures of poor, emaciated, sick people and what they looked like after being given food and medicine, nursed back to health.
Afterwards, I felt inspired, and also guilty at my own introspection. My work is in art—a solo activity that does not involve others. But as I reflect further, I realize that each of us has a calling, and everyone in their place is important: the mother raising and educating the child, the farmer growing food, laborers, the scientist developing new medicines, pilots who fly airplanes, the writers and yes, artists too. All essential for the balance of the world.