third way

I want to remember: this is not forever.

On my second day back up in Santa Fe, I fall into the norms of its life rhythm. The spaciness of the additional 2000 feet of altitude is mitigated by caffeine. Work is more tolerable than expected, its frantic realness a welcome change from the robotic malaise of recent months. Beautiful women walk by all day long, amidst crowded aisles and a friendly crew.

Two years have passed since I worked here, yet there are many familiar faces on the crew. This strikes me over and over as odd, for I have lived several lives since then. I have lived in two other cities, fallen in and out of love, made dear friends a thousand miles away, quit my job, watched money run out, played music on the street, slept on a pier and lived in a van, had people in my life pass away. I have found out those things in life that matter.

That is why I want to remember this is not forever. It is not because I am suffering some difficult oppression. It is because then I can remember what is real: transformation, and the emptiness of form.

I am not sure what I will get done here. Getting anything done anywhere in these quickening times is a proposition perhaps bold, perhaps delusional. Getting stuff done in this thin air--who knows? Will I get to Lama Thursday as I planned? Will I get back to Burque and get some of my stuff moved? Will I even get up to the land this week? Or will it be embodydance class, marimba class drop-in, or the music party being planned by a friend, which already conflicts with the men's group I was supposed to be a part of starting up? What about those mountains?

Such community, you might think. But as anyone who has lived here knows, this is also a lonely place. I may get to none of the socializing, amidst the demands of work and self-maintenance. It is all okay either way, for my path is set apart from all these happenings, whether they be considered richness of opportunity or illusory distractions. And neither is my path drudgery.

These two opinions of life are quite pronounced up here. Neither are these paths of ecstasy and drudgery mutually exclusive. People indulge a great deal here in alcohol, meat consumption, sexual relations, and getting high. It can be confusing to be around suffering that does not recognize itself as such, as it depletes itself and negativity creeps in.


How long I can remain here, I am not sure. Already the great gift of immediate awareness of mortality feels lessened amidst all this color and personality. If I can maintain a 95% follow through on my commitments around these matters, I will feel good about it. I must keep my eyes on the prize. I am saving money for the communal leap, for the path of service, for putting my soul power to the karmic wheel.

For now, the yoga continues. Breathing, receiving vegetables, finding the calm focused chi, dying each moment into love. As perverse as it may seem, by meditating AMIDST all the stimulation, by somehow finding silence amidst all the noise, I can become stronger in the stretch. To fully drop into that zero point of my Source is easier said than done. Yet the work is always NOW.

I am on my way to remembering.