Sitting here on this Saturday afternoon, I am thumbing through the latest edition of Adventure Cyclist magazine, which just arrived. This month’s cover story is about mountain biking in South Africa, and my mind soaks the imagery up like artisan bread on mushroom gravy. Then somehow immediately I click channels to the possibility of the Peace Corps. Getting sent somewhere like South Africa would be a fascinating thing, an adventure for sure, and I am sitting here hoping I would be able to bring my mountain bike. In fact, I am mentally pourng over my list of must-have items with some attachment; My mountain bike, my digital camera (with tripod,) my laptop with surround speakers, and my Seagull acoustic guitar. Maybe I would want my touring bike instead of my mountain bike, and maybe my ipod and good headphones would be more suitable than surround speakers…it sure would suck to be somewhere without electricity, but maybe that would be ok too. I could get a solar charger for my ipod! These items are among the short list of personal belongings that I did not let go of, so it makes sense that I would be squabbling over them, as I play with the idea of heading off to a developing country.
 |
| North Coast Tour, August 2010 |
And playing with the idea seems less like play now that I have my nomination letter in hand. It came this week! Being nominated to the Peace Corps is a preliminary hoop through which I have now jumped, and it basically keeps the conversation going. I now have to commence the legal and medical screening process, which from what I can tell is even more complicated than what I had to do to get into the military. I shutter to think, remembering that I had to take the hearing test 6 times to get into the Navy. I was only 18, but had already experienced too many rock concerts. The 1980’s were good to me I guess. No matter – I could use something challenging to focus on (I think in my more negative moments, and there are plenty of those,) something to pull this American life from the pit of atrophy that I could feel slowly setting in. Of course, I then shake myself awake with a bit of gratitudinal reflection. I recognize that I am not at risk of atrophy – that would be impossible, for the part of me that is on fire. So maybe there is more risk of burning to the ground. That’s it, there is a brush-fire closing in on the Temple of ME, and it is a fire with no name.
This week, in addition to receiving my nomination letter from the Peace Corps, I also had a job interview. The interview was with a small nonprofit, for a part-time position doing the kind of nonprofit administrative work that features heavily on my resume, but that has become less of a choice and more of a default position for me – a way to establish baseline income and survive in these times. I have finally accepted the fact that job descriptions containing the words “must be detail oriented” are words that I should avoid. That is fine – it’s great. At the age of 42, I love knowing my strengths and my weaknesses. I also would love to have a part-time job right now. Getting out of my mother’s house has become a priority for me. The idea would be to reach the beach, so to speak – get back under my own roof, and begin focusing on graduate school. It seems that I have been flinging handfuls of mud at the wall, and waiting for something to stick. I’m still waiting.
As I get closer to actually connecting with my target, I rediscover a deep truth, the beauty of this whole Freedom At Point Zero experience; It’s not that I have to decide on my next move, it’s that I’m free to decide. But, as the flames lap up the walls of the Temple of ME, I become privy to the other side of this coin; On some level, there is nothing for me to decide. My rebirth is already happening. I’ve been sitting on this emotional teeter totter for several months, and a little while back, in the afternoon of a very dark day, my good friend William encouraged me with the words…”When you find yourself in Hell, just keep walking.”
I’m actually having a pretty good time, but the keep walking part seems like a good fit. Say “thank you” and keep walking.
 |
| Thank you river! |
The miners trapped underground in Chile had to “keep walking,” at least emotionally and psychologically. Waiting can be like walking across the desert when it’s something important we are waiting for. Those guys had to wait for 33 days for their rebirth, but they didn’t just wait. They were forced to face their mortality together for that entire time, a process that I can only imagine with slight accuracy. This group of men sat together ½ mile underground, praying, fearing, and grieving in limbo, uncertain about everything but the moment of their breath. The container created by that shared experience of profound desperation, is sure to have expanded their hearts and linked them together forever. In a triumphant turn away from death, they now can appreciate that container, and celebrate it. They will cherish it if they are wise. I watched transfixed, and trembling inside, as the miners emerged, one by one, from the little “specially designed” capsule. I was moved beyond words really, as I guess most people were. There were many reasons for this; the valiant integrity of the Chilean government in responding to the disaster, the dedication of families and friends at Camp Hope outside the mine, and the alchemy of engineering, expertise, and imagination that was applied to sustain these men and facilitate their rescue. But the deepest impact on me, was knowing that those guys were now all lifetime members in the ultimate men’s group, taking their greatest journey together.
I took a shorter journey with my men’s group last weekend. We went away to Lake Tahoe on retreat. We entered into community with new men, and offered our gifts to those outside of our circle. Those of us from the Sacramento clan, have traveled many miles together spiritually, and again we were witness to the rebirth of our humility, as we opened to the larger tribe of men - Men on the same journey. We spent a weekend connecting in ways that most men seldom connect. We gathered in a circle around an alter of our own creation, and we made our offerings. There were treasures and symbols of heart placed on the alter, and there were stories…stories of joy, of struggle and hope and pain. Mostly, there were stories of our father’s, the men from who we have inherited these hearts. The tears of suffering and gratitude cracked us all open with fierce intensity, and together we embraced the whole of ourselves, and each other, by the simple process of speaking our truths. We were not waiting to be rescued, and we were not facing death like the miners in Chile. But there were parts of us that died, and parts of us that were rescued. The bond of shared "salvation" warmed us like a bonfire.
The truth of my fire is upon me, as the Peace Corps becomes a real option. It’s the fire of adventure, of my expansion, of doing something different and great and inspiring. It’s the fire of letting my life be completely about service. Change is probably going to happen, and I’m probably ready for it. I know that I like being on fire, and some days, that’s all I know.
I went this morning to Yoga In The Park, a weekly gathering at McKinley Park in East Sacramento. I let the fire burn in my beautiful body, dancing the practice of Power Vinyassa with about 60 other beautiful bodies. I imagined saying goodbye to my home, and doing yoga in a strange place, far from home, with strange sounds and sights, and customs to embrace. I did my sun salutations, with the Fall-fresh morning air and the blue-skied sun in my face, and for a few moments, I was ready to leave.
 |
| Lake Tahoe in the morning |
