The Light

I recently had the great privilege to be driving the only vehicle sitting at a red light in an intersection at 3 in the morning. There were no other cars but mine. There were no people anywhere.

The moonlight scattered through some clouds above me but essentially every other direction was dark. I asked myself: "Why is it you choose to move uncertainly through the dark when you can clearly see the path toward the light?" (That sounds a touch religious, doesn't it? I suppose pursuing this kind of lifestyle could very well be religious; it is certainly one steeped in dogma.)

There was one major source of light as I sat in the intersection and when I shifted into gear, I drove what felt to be parallel to rather than toward it. For some reason this struck me.

I feel that what it is I'm seeking is in plain sight and the obstacle between us is my resolve. I've been compelled toward the dark only because it's familiar; it's conditioned. I'm compelled toward the dark because my eyes have already adjusted.

I want more clarity in my world and in order to have it, I need to take myself out of gear, look to the light and shift in a way that makes sense, instead of in a way that feels expected.

If I take myself out of gear for a moment; if I disengage, I can try and define where I sit these days. So in the next post, if I can muster the courage, I'll paint for you my Barn...or what's in the way of the moon...or all the noise that fills what should be an empty space.

No Thoreau

So this past week, "I went to the woods" but not "because I wished to live deliberately." I am, generally speaking, not a fan of the woods. While the proliferation of life is natural and interesting, I find all of it a bit aggressive and much too haphazard. I also have, what some might deem irrational, fears of people lying in wait to attack. Wild, angry animals whose home I'm intruding upon I'm not keen on but they don't scare me as much as what kind of folks might choose to be lurking among them. Bottom line: there are simply too many places to hide in the woods. A visit now and then, during the day, can be quite nice. Nights spent in the middle of it, not so much.

This was to be a post describing my "barn" or that which is in the way of the moon and while I'm not starting with what I'd intended, this week's stay in the woods proved fruitful for this occasion. We weren't "roughing it" by any stretch but I was beyond my comfort zone in more ways than one. I don't camp, mainly because canopy, tarp or whatever as the only barrier between me and the world while I sleep is unthinkable. We actually stayed in a cabin which was much like a modern home save for the lack of cell service. We stayed on a ranch so we had neighbors and weren't near as isolated as I feared we might be. I didn't choose to stay at this place, my in-laws were in town and had access to the space and invited us to join them.

The ranch is located near Payson which is about 100 miles outside of the valley. The drive up through is lovely, filled with gorgeous rocks and impressive saguaros. The cacti were so great in number that they appeared like soldiers marching up parts of the mountains.

We packed last minute Monday and arrived before sunset. With 2 small kids, 1 of whom was becoming quite sick, there were all kinds of bags and gear that filled our vehicle. Since we were driving and had no weight limit to restrict us, I thought it important to be prepared enough to prevent even a modicum of panic. Of course I brought too much but it wasn't bad to have too much this time.

Here's what I learned about my quest to see the moon from my stay at the cabin:

The cabin was equipped with standard American living essentials and anything that wasn't there that we thought we needed/wanted, we did without or we improvised. I think I can do without a lot of things but it is this act of improvising that I find so valuable and really want to incorporate more of in my life.

While I carried a bin of paperwork, there were few ways to be "productive." Our days revolved around jaunts into nature, conversation, and meals. In fact, I might estimate that the bulk of our time was spent preparing a meal, eating it and cleaning up after it. Between the children and their developing illness, there was little dedicated true leisure or reading or writing time. The presence of television was somewhat of a novelty (as we watch our programming online at home) but the bombardment of commercials disrupted any enjoyment we might have sought (although the "Topsy - Turvy Planter" was a motivating DIY idea).

Here are what I consider some of the solid take-aways from this past trip for my current journey, many of which are affirmations of observations past:

Kids don't need toys or games. Books, paper, pen/pencil/crayons and an energetic, creativity, willing companion can provide hours of entertainment.

Matching sets of items make things visually plain and therefore easier to prepare and execute certain tasks.

Walks *are* a productive way to spend time.

Reading aloud should incorporate books all members of the family are interested in hearing.

More attention should be paid to the act of "breaking bread" and all hands should be involved somehow in the prep and clean up.

We may return someday to consciously pursue leisure time of reading and writing but for now, as with all relatively challenging experiences, this one was for learning. From now on, of things, I'll try to remember to ask myself: "Will this do at the cabin?

Next post should focus more on my barn of today.