Capricious Winds

Since setting foot in Brazil, capricious winds have jostled my fortunes. First, after 1 night in Sao Paolo, I returned to the airport for a flight to Rio De Janeiro, but at the ticket counter was told my departure was scheduled from a different airport. I did not have time to catch the plane, so had to buy another ticket and wait hours. I kicked myself because this had happened several years ago in Milan, Italy. Also, my trustworthy Mac laptop that has gone around the world with me, surviving a grueling safari in Tanzania and being dropped on an airport floor, suddenly quit in my Rio hotel. I depend on it for so much, for instance accessing my passwords and important files, processing photos, making travel plans, writing, etc. etc. It is now in a repair shop, but will take a week to get back because of carnival. This forces me to stay in Rio longer than expected.

I could make a book of impressions from my few days here. This city comes at you from many angles, bringing surprises. Right now, it is crowded for carnival. The hotels, and famous beaches-Copacabana and Ipanema are packed. Samba parades and street parties have begun. Friday night I went to a carnival ball  with the theme "Red and Black" at a famous club called Scala. The doors opened at 11PM to allow an international crowd inside. The big band onstage kept up a lively non-stop beat from the beginning and the crowd steadily swelled until the dance floor was packed around 1 AM. The music reached a pitch at 2 AM when dancers and extra percussionists arrived onstage. Only Brazilians can make their bodies quiver in waves from the inside out when they dance. I t has to be seen. I became part of the throbbing, pulsing mix on the floor, dancing with many people, including some transvestites who obviously were having too much fun. When I left at 3AM, the place was still packed and throbbing.

My hotel, located in central downtown, is very clean and modern, with marble floors and courteous staff. But just outside are the grimy, teeming streets, and on Saturday, the contrast became especially clear when the avenues were packed for a party, mostly of Brazilian. I ventured out but did not see tourists. No wonder because it was a drunken brawl. Some of my refined friends would have expired within minutes. The noise of music and revelry was thunderous, with hot, sweating people almost shoulder to shoulder, all talking and shouting at once. Alcohol was being sold in buckets, mostly by individuals selling from their coolers. Sophistication was absent from the event and barely anyone dressed in costume. I pushed through the crowd for a few blocks while tightly clutching my camera, looking to take pictures. The drunken, blind crush made me miserable. Lines of men urinated against the sides of buildings and the air smelled foul. Amazingly, lovers embrace and kissed amidst all this grotesque mayhem, exclaiming their oblivion to misery. Returning to my hotel, I realized vividly the dichotomy of luxury and poverty.
In the afternoon I ventured outside again to pursue my street photography. Strolling into unknown territory away from crowds, I looked for opportunities. Walls covered with painterly graffiti caught my eye, and as I stopped, a boy, perhaps 14 years old, dressed in some carnival attire came up to me to see what I was doing. We struck a friendship immediately and he posed for a few shots and then took some change I gave to him. Further on, I came to a pathetic group of objects spread on cloth placed along the sidewalk. Nobody was there, and I stopped because the chance arrangement of a few things caught my eyes. As soon as I had snapped a few pictures and turned to go, a drunken black man wearing a blonde wig grabbed me to demand money for taking pictures of his things. I paid him from my pocket and continued down the street, taking pictures of old doorways and walls marked with graffiti. Often, when I make these photos, I try and include anonymous pedestrians as they pass by. As I wandered this way, two young women walked past and suddenly one stopped and turned to me, asking if  I spoke Portugese. I replied "No" and she asked "English?" I sasid yes, and she replied, "I will tell you that what you are doing is very dangerous. This is a bad area. Be careful because everyone is watching you!"

Tonight I go to the huge samba parade at the Sambadrome. Next week I hope to have my computer back and will try and post pictures.

The Present Time

My mother’s walking has slowed, but not her reading. For as long as I can remember, she has read at least five books a week, and I notice that she has kept up the pace even in old age. Her neighbor is also an avid reader and goes to the library regularly, bringing my mother piles of books. It is a familiar sight in my parent’s home—stacks of books on the dining room table. “You are traveling now,” my mother spoke, “and have gone around the world, but I find my adventures in reading.”


My parents receive three newspapers each day: The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, and The Santa Barbara News-Press. We agree that the New York Times is best, and remarkably, each day delivers facts, stories and data from around the globe and in many different fields of interest.

Since there is now a laptop in my parent’s home, I am hoping that they can enjoy it. My mother has declared she has no interest, but I have introduced her to something that may change her mind. Google Books is incredible. Thousands of volumes are available for free after an account is established. Incredibly, you can select a book and be reading it in less than a minute. Furthermore, you can adjust the type size, and scroll through pages with just one finger.

Monday I leave for Brazil. People have asked me, “Are you excited?” I reply that what excites me the most is the here and now. Just being alive is exciting, and my perception is that THE DREAM is a single entity. In other words, every moment is part of the one preceding it, and the one to come. I do not divide them but live in the universal. The present time gives me all that I need.


Next week I will be writing from Rio . . . and carnival!

Bohemian Companions

"It is better to be in chains with friends, than to be in a garden with strangers." 
-Persian Proverb

My artist friend Ken Christensen won a million dollars about six months ago. He lives close to Santa Barbara, in San Luis Obispo, so I drove north to stay with him in his new digs for a couple days. At the time he won the raffle, he had recently separated from his wife and immediately gave her half, and government taxes took another 30%. “I had trouble buying a house, because banks did not want to lend to me!” he said. “In previous years, the earnings reports on my income tax statements were very low.”

Ken and I are bohemian companions who share a love of unconventional life styles. While we were together I made a painting and looked at his newest artwork. While relaxing in his home, surrounded by art and books, I did not need to worry about encroaching his space with my artist chaos because he enjoys the same. We took long walks by the ocean, reveled in nature, shared ideas and philosophy, joked and laughed out loud, ate together, talked about women, talked about aging parents, stayed up late listening to music and reviewing art books, and became closer as friends and artistic cohorts.

I am leaving for Brazil in one week. My passport is ready and I have my ticket. I do not know when I will return, but I am sure my friend expects good stories the next time we meet.

 

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." 
-Anais Nin

An Ounce Of Blood

“An ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship.” ~Spanish Proverb

The last several years I have been single and living alone, so now, temporarily sharing my parents home for a month makes me more aware of family and how bonded are human beings by blood lines. Sharing ancestry brings a familiarity so fundamental that it is different from other friendships. “You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them.” ~Desmond Tutu


I am strengthened by my parent’s wisdom, and while I am here, we enliven, support and extend possibilities for each other. Mainly, I am readily available and present to my mother and father for support, and because I am their son, it is comforting. I am teaching my mother to use a computer, and being a companion for my father on a daily brisk walk to keep up his conditioning. While we walk, we share good conversation and are invigorated.

Nations are like families, and I dare say that nations that are open societies that allow the free flow of ideas and encourage bonds of love and trust between their citizens prosper the most and are strongest. This is why it is disconcerting to see one of the biggest countries, China, choosing to maintain strict control of its peoples communication with the rest of the planet. Certainly, the masses of Chinese yearn to be free and broaden their intellectual horizons and awareness of other cultures. This is so easy these days because the Internet exists. Recently we have learned that Google is complaining of Chinese government censorship and meddling that is so offensive and unjust that it might have to close operations there; and this would be a blow to our fellow human beings that want to have easy access to all the information we in free world take for granted. (See article in Wall Street Journal)

Iran is another nation that can be likened to a family with a controlling, abusive father that keeps everyone cowered and afraid. Information is strictly controlled as the government tries to insulate its people from ideas coming from outside. Even new ideas coming from within the family are disallowed. Iran is the birthplace of the Baha’i Faith, and although it is the second fastest growing religion in the world with adherents in virtually all corners of the earth, still, Baha’ís in Iran are constantly under threat of arrest and even execution.(See a recent NY Times article about Baha'i Persecution in Iran.)

In the end, I believe, as Baha’u’llah has said, “The earth is one country, and mankind its citizens.” We are all one family and although there are disagreements and even quarrels, truth will win in the end and civilization will blossom as it is destined.

Wrapped In Wonder

Now that I am traveling again, the world speaks to me in new ways, and I listen. My parents have provided me a room, but it is barely large enough for a bed. I cannot fit my suitcase or clothes, so my belongings are half in their house and half in my car. In THE DREAM, material things are of no concern, for it is consciousness of unfolding time and events that are most important. It seems the moments are wrapped in wonder.

It is a revelation to me how my parents have slowed so significantly. Both of them are acutely aware of and concerned for each other. “Age does not protect you from love, but love to some extent protects you from age.” Jeanne Moreau (Fr. born 1928). Their dog is a fixture, and after my mother prepares the food, my father gets down on his knees to hand feed the old creature. Each day they carry forth; last night my mother prepared dinner for ten people, and my father does 20 minutes of difficult calisthenics each morning when he awakes, and continues working from his home office.Since we are living together, we take three meals and a nap each day. I walk the dog with my father. It is funny to think I am going to raucous Rio De Janeiro and carnival in a few weeks; something opposite of the life I am now living.

I am able to see myself in my parents, and get a close-up picture of aging. One thing I realize is that in youth we take our strength and stamina for granted and push forth with many projects. But in old age, as the body weakens, people are often forced to pay less attention to what they want to do and more attention to the simple task of getting from point A to point B, and surviving another day.
Really, in the scheme of eternity, a human life of 90 years is less than a blink of an eye. My dear daughter Naomi died when she was nineteen, and my father might part when he is eighty-five . . . it is essentially the same length of time: less than the flash of light from a falling star.
Here is a video clip from The Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, honoring my father, Richard W. Boone: Video

Shores Of Life

“You don't really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and why his parents will always wave back.” ~William D. Tammeus

“Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.”
~Anne Frank

I am in Santa Barbara, California, after driving 940 miles (1513 km) from Santa Fe, New Mexico. My parents cleared out a small room and put in a bed for me. They live a humble existence of contentment in a very beautiful place. Their home is on a corner lot, and surrounded by a tall, neatly trimmed hedge, a lawn and a scattering of tall pine trees. An orange tree in the yard is covered with oranges, and some of my mother’s fifty rose bushes continue to have magnificent blooms, even in winter.
My priority now is simply to be available to my elderly parents who move slowly, and walk with small careful steps. Their old dog moves even more leisurely. They take naps each day and retire promptly each night at 9 PM. My mother has taken to speaking of death, and especially is concerned about the care of my father if she were to die soon. Yesterday, she had to go to the hospital emergency room because she did not urinate for twelve hours, although she was drinking plenty of fluids. My father has the beginnings of Parkinson’s disease, and his speech sometimes is halted, but he nonetheless drove my mother to the hospital and ordered me to stay home and take care of the dog.
Santa Barbara is situated on the Pacific coastline and has five beaches. I can ride my father’s bicycle to the ocean, then take long walks on the beach. As I think of my parents, I imagine I see them frolicking in the waves, getting knocked down in the surf, but getting back up for more action. Eventually, they will continue weakening and the waves will be too strong for them. Someday, a wave will knock them down and they will not get back up, but drown and then become part of the ocean itself. The same will happen with everyone, for we are born upon the shores of this life and live here only briefly before being taken back by the sea of eternity, what I call the matrix.

The Indispensable Condition

I have chosen to make the matrix of existence my true home, and flux my companion.
For most people this is not possible or even desired. When I say “matrix”, I mean the primal framework of origination, the kernel of the seed, or the fabric of life that is constantly being woven. Forms spring from the matrix, and when death occurs, substance returns to the matrix. Flux means continual change, or flow.
To the majority of people, reality is measurable and concrete. The average man will say this consists of family, job, home, church, and material wealth. What is real is also dependable and stable, so please do not speak of flux, or life flowing into and out of the matrix. But I think that we must admit that in all things there is flux and change, so for me, what is most important is evolution and this is always becoming. The famous Greek philosopher Heraclitus (c. 500 bc), believed as much when he said, “permanence is an illusion, everything being in a process of constant change.”
This is my last week in Santa Fe. I am abandoning home and selling off material goods, and preparing to be in flux in the matrix of existence for the next three months as I travel to California, then to South America.
“Freedom of expression is the matrix, the indispensable condition, of nearly every other form of freedom.”
Benjamin Cardozo US jurist (1870 - 1938)

“All is flux, nothing stays still.”
Heraclitus, (540 BC - 480 BC)

From My Fairy-Tale Life, by Steven Boone

Consciousness Is A Gift

Consciousness is a gift given to each human. We could never plan something so complex, nor, given our limitations, would we want to try. Look how awkward are the attempts we make inventing robots. Even in a thousand years, I do not think a robot will ever exist that could cry watching a sunrise, or at the sight of a whale breaking the ocean surface as it leaps into the air. Furthermore, a robot will never have curiosity, a main feature of human consciousness. Humans are driven to know, and ask themselves, “What is crying?” and then they proceed to study this phenomenon. Research tells us that crying is a production of tears that result from emotional states that trigger the brain to send signals to the tear ducts. A build up of stress hormones is released through the tears and emotional tears are different in composition than say, the tears from being in a cold wind, or from smelling chopped onions. It is thought that other animals do not cry emotional tears. On average, men cry once a month and women cry five times a month, except during menstruation when they cry much more easily. After my daughter Naomi died at the age of nineteen, I cried every day for six years. (See my book about Naomi, death and dying.)
The gift of consciousness is greatest when we use it to discover truth, for then we become strong and approach the freedom of the divine. The lower realms are slavish and blind, but the higher spheres are where true happiness is found. Aristotle said, “Happiness is an activity, and the highest activity is in accordance with virtue, the result of contemplation.” This is why he remained a philosopher all his life.
I only have two weeks to move from my home, put my things in storage and begin my wandering. I love the bittersweet feeling of letting go.

See all my blogs at My Fairy-Tale Life

A Chain Of Events

My mother has begun entreating me not to travel in South America because of “murders”. But then, my mother has barely ventured past her backyard for twenty years and experiences the outside world vicariously through reading volumes of books. Some of my friends too, when they hear of my plans to wander around in South America, express concern for my safety. One person cited a recent article about murders in Sao Paolo and Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. 11,000 in six years, and these were by the police. Rio is my first stop in South America, when I arrive to experience carnival.
THE DREAM is what matters to me, and I only want to experience all that comes to me. I trust the future will arrive bearing gifts, and so what if some gifts are unpleasant? If I desire to be safe and secure all my days, then I would not take risks that might lead me away from my comfort zone. But I need to be united with the matrix of existence and this leads me to live without barriers and go into mystery, or the opposite of safe, because it is where life abounds, but also death.
One of my best experiences in Africa was in Nairobi. One night I went to a dance hall in a poor neighborhood. I must have been the only white person for miles, and this was immediately after some civil unrest had seen rioting in the city that left scores homeless. Entering the darkened passageway to the club, I felt a tinge of fear, remembering that my mother had pleaded with me not to go to Africa because “They will kill you there, just to steal your shoes!” When my friends and I were inside and I got used to the dark, I realized that the way people looked at me, that maybe I was the first and last white person they ever expected to see in this place. Here, THE DREAM was unfolding and I found it perfect. I was in deepest, darkest Africa and that evening, I loved the night. A live band played steady African rhythms and I joined in the dancing, bonding among strangers. I liked what they liked, and had fun despite some stares.

Last night, I returned from a three-day visit to Chicago, where my lovely daughter Sarah performed in her last dance works at Columbia College. Now she is a graduate, and I am proud of her accomplishments. While I drove home from the airport late in the evening, I had to smile thinking of how remarkable travel is, and that it is a chain of events. Then I said a prayer of blessing to all those that assisted me along the way. Often we take for granted the little touches we receive. I thought back to the porter that opened the door for me at the hotel as I stepped into the cold air to walk to the subway. At the subway turnstile, I had to ask to get a ticket and was given directions by a young woman who then smiled and said, “Have a happy holiday!” Then the ride to the airport, and as I stepped off the train, the woman train driver leaned out her window as I passed by. I said “Thank you,” and she smiled, and said, “Your welcome!” In the corridor, a man played Christmas tunes on his saxophone. At the terminal, everyone was helpful going to the gates. We had to take off so many things at the metal detectors that I joked with the young woman behind me that soon we would be nude. She laughed as she took off her shoes and I finished taking off my belt, and said yes, the guards like their jobs. But we were being protected to insure our arrival. In the air, the stewards were polite and jovial. At one point, a steward announced “whoever had opened her nail polish on the plane, please put it away immediately because it could make other passengers sick.” I sat next to a young woman arriving home from a college exchange program in France. We traded travel stories. The pilot announced it was a stewards 35th birthday. Everyone applauded and cheered. On the shuttle bus from the terminal to the parking area, a young man was wearing shorts, although it was almost freezing outdoors. We joked and he said he was coming from Phoenix. Several of the passengers joked and laughed. I said I was arriving from Chicago, where several days earlier, people were wearing two coats when they went outdoors. As I retrieved my car from the airport parking lot at 10 PM, the attendant took my cash and said, “Drive safely, and have happy holidays!” I pulled on to the highway, turned on my radio and listened to a wonderful program about the Beatles and their music. Someone had put great care into the production for the free enjoyment of others like myself. At that point, I gave thanks and prayed for the blessing of all those who had touched my life and who I touched.

Bound In The Inscrutable

What is it like, to live in a DREAM? It is to realize ephemerality— the fleeting moments in eternity. Whatever it is that we think we know is bound in the inscrutable; the grand mystery beyond human intellect and reason. Poets and philosophers struggle to come near truth, but like Icarus, when they fly too near the sun, their wings fail and they fall into the sea. Perhaps we are not given to knowing perfection because we ourselves are not perfect. We can only guess, and this guessing is like a dream. Even prophets, the most advanced among us, admit that they fall far short of knowing ultimate reality.
When I live in mystery, the place where I am humbled by “not knowing,” and am only aware of experiences that come to teach me, I call this living in THE DREAM. I do not hold on to moments, or avoid them, but simply trust that behind everything, and within every atom, divine love exists and informs the open heart and mind. Further, divine love cannot be contained, but only experienced. We can be vehicles for love, just as breath animates a lifeless flute and causes wonderful notes and melodies to emerge. But the big love, that which sustains universes, cannot be contained, but only experienced.

All things pass, all things return; eternally turns the wheel of Being. All things die, all things blossom again, eternal is the year of Being. All things break, all things are joined anew; eternally the house of Being builds itself the same. All things part, all things welcome each other again, eternally the ring of Being abides by itself. In each Now, Being begins; round each Here turns the sphere of There. The center is everywhere. Bent is the path of eternity. -Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None

Good Happens

Soon I will be homeless again. Don’t worry; it is by choice that I am putting my things away in my studio and giving up my home and car to be a wanderer. This is my calling, to experience the earth without barriers. I plan to leave Santa Fe around January 7, and first go to Santa Barbara, California. My parents are finding life more difficult because of their age, and I want to live near them for a month. My brother also lives there and has been doing most of the managing for their concerns. I will offer my devoted time to help and support them in whatever transitions they are in.
Mid February I will go to South America. When I traveled around the world in 2008, I lived in nineteen countries but missed South America. To accomplish my goal of taking pictures of people from across our planet, I need to visit this important continent.
Before I left the USA in 2008, I thought about starting in Rio de Janeiro, during carnival. Rio has intrigued me, but also intimidated and frightened me. It is known as a brash, seething, violent, and sensual city. I am aware of those same qualities in myself and I have been reluctant finding out how strong they might be. So in 2008, I started my traveling in Belize.
This time, I am starting in Rio de Janeiro, during carnival when the city hosts the “biggest party on earth.” (See a video) I must experience this revelry and take a thousand pictures. Yes, there will be carnal self-expression that goes beyond modest tastes, but certainly a passionate fervor will also be present. Samba parades will proceed day and night, and for some participants it is the culmination of an entire year of preparation. I am not going to be merely an outsider, but throw myself in the pulse and feel the beat. It is the only way, for then I have stories to tell and pictures to show. If I were to moralize and hold myself to a higher calling, perhaps I would not go. But in the streets is fantastic beauty and surprise. It is life laid bare, my brotherhood, and I crave this. I do not try and tell people to live differently, but I love all and connect, and in this, good happens. (Here is another fun carnival video from 1955)
Certainly, my character is challenged while living free. For instance when I was in Istanbul, I became acquainted with a Muslim who befriended me and gave me a small Koran. He worked in a rug shop and spoke English. I prayed with him in a mosque and met his wife and little boy. We went to dinner together, and in the evening drove around in his car. I became incredulous when he began pimping. “Surely you don’t want to spend the night alone!” I said no, but he persisted many times. This stuff happens when I travel and keep open. But then, I simply stayed strong in my love, and in the end, my friend had to respect me and learned something of value besides. And I learned something too. We made each other think.
After Rio, I probably will go to Buenos Aires, then west to Santiago, Chile, north to Bolivia, and maybe Peru.
THE DREAM will take me, shelter and protect me, strip me of what is unnecessary and be my teacher.