If I last out here until October 20th or so, maybe that's a way of looking at this time. [grad hobo school]
There's a big ground-breaking for a community garden near where I used to live on 10/21, and my mom may be in SD at that time--
Thursday I did not meet the marineros, but the activists instead. The sailors don't meet at Vendimia _every_ Jueves, I was told. However, at the end of the SD -> Ensenada race which started Friday, they gather at the Saint Nicholas hotel--
I did mend my pack: for me a great accomplishment and industry and some inventiveness (used the tab of a Tecate can to run drawstring through so it doesn't cut the sil-nylon any more).
Tues night I was out near Sauzal. Went back to UABC library Weds. Found beautiful coast walk and another back way (past security) into El Coral marina. Posted note seeking to crew. Found new spot practically right over town (in hills) Weds night. Thursday went back out coast walk, swam, found shade, sewed, lay hypnotized by sounds and sights of ocean and ocean life. Have not spent this kind of time right on the coast for years--if I lived near water and beach in SoCal, maybe. . . [something].
But mind was voided [what now? Nothing], and Thursday asked about buses to TJ. Could cost only $10 dlls, but haven't verified. ABC bus line. Every half hour. Trip is just an hour or less? So easy to return. But heard the Valle de Guadeloupe(sp?) is even more beautiful than the coast for at least one SoCal transplant (a marketer). I believe this is along the road from Sauzal to Tecate. Were I headed back north and manage not to rush, hope to go that way--catch the smaller buses or hitch. Wine Country.
I managed to hang on though. I have nothing to do in SD, nothing to do here[--nothing comes to mind]. Why leave? And I won't let myself return to old rut, won't return without some plan of what I'd be doing and when I'd get out.
I did meet the activists in the plaza of large gold heads. October 2, 1968 students were killed (50 or so?) by soldiers in Mexico City(, at UNAM?). The activists would like permanent display space for information about this killing and related issues in this plaza of (~2m altura) gold heads( of prominent males in the fairytale Mexican history--hidalgo, juarez, and??[ De Goma/de Vasca?]).
I spoke most with Jorge--he could find me folks to stay with, invited me to 10peso/pint beer the next day at Amigos, shared info so we could stay in touch. I had my carfree vest on--this is sort of my crowd. . . we knew folks in common from the City Heights Free Skool & Organic Collective. He'd watched from the top of the fence, Mexico side, when the Border Patrol came in on 'no borders camp' (US side) and grabbed one activist and were beating the guy.
Well--I haven't followed up yet. Was sort of thinking of heading north at the time. Things are different in the mornings. I was a bit tired out yesterday [Friday] and laid around in various spots where I found shade: where I woke, until sun was higher, reading papers I'd collected; by the rock wall of the overlook on Chualtepec (sp?) hill, listening to a probably professional drummer practicing in one of the large, interestingly-architectured houses nearby; and in the oasis of shade and mellowly great public space at Parque de Revolución--a ways off the main tourist street. Cruise ship patrons were running through the latter, the town bimbos trying to catch the (generally American, somewhat frat-ish) cruise ship bimbos.
In el Parque, practicing sitting on a bench, sort of felt like a Quaker meeting. Eventually settled down and just sat. Eventually got to reading more Calvino--this time a Spanish translation, his Cuentos Fantasticos del Siglo XIX (something like that). At one point helped my benchmate move our bench a bit so he could be more in the shade. Eventually the little whiffs of exhaust I'd been getting got to be too much. Resolved to get food and make for the plaza near the harbor (better air) and head south for the evening. So now I'm on a hill south of town after having spent some time along the beach south of town [in the afternoon shade behind a deserted guard box/casa de vigilancia].
Some notes of things to look up sometime:
o a google search on "baja permaculture" -- I did this and . . . A site near TJ came up--
o http://trifund.org - united world of art, evironment, culture
o Augen Optics (has a fancy factory near where I spent night in Sauzal)
o Santorini ? Fancy blank façade--toughish males out front. & sanoviv(e) , while you're at it--the med school.
o Ongley Institute
o IWAHQ.org - publishes _Water_ a water industry mag.
o Titulos en español y en lenguas indigenas - www.culturaspopulareseindigenas.gob.mx / cnca.gob.mx
o council cudadano de atención al tourista - ccat
o Coleus (a genus of plant?)
o Comisión de Amor
o Frente Popular Revolución - pcmml.com
o junkraft.blogspot.com - ecomariner Joel Paschel
o solidnav.com / repower
o hospitalityclub.org (ensenada hosp. club)
o bajanews.info
o ensenadadentalgroup.com (a visit to dentist could be good, if they were)
o juventud con una misión (rehab?)
--
A lot of the wondering, when mind not blanked by rolling waves, waves hitting rocks, pelicans flying, surging water, sparkles, light, has been '. . . well, now what?'
Haven't been driven to head to that mountain--not yet, so far. Sort of feel I'm done wandering alone? So: wait around still more to try to meet some sailors who may need crew. Wait until redpillsailor is ready to leave--. Go to family farm and grow something(s). Go to monastery. Continue to hang out and do nothing/read ebooks/whatever. Go back to SoCal or US somewhere (along beach? or anywhere else--) get some sort of job [McDs?], make money, pay rent--, go work on some permaculture project-- , urban planning or library school/work--
have entertained and imagined out those possibilities and a few others. . .
The continuing themes: not wanting to commit to any significant ?? (such as becoming a buddhist, such as making the effort to visit the permaculture site, such as asking anyone for anything [let me crew, let me have this job], such as . . .)
Lest you think it's too idyllic out here--always seems to be at least one spry mosquito out on these hills. And I haven't sewn Ray's anti-mosquito gear, and not until tonight has it really been cool enough to stay covered with quilt.
Peace,
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Ensenada (English: ~small bay)
2008-09-29-0810
Breakdown, breakthrough
Yesterday I hit a point of disbelief in this path I don't recall reaching ever before.
All that appeared left to do, as I considered the bleakest possibility--which now seem not so bad (, but only because. . .) --to subsume identity either to [1] that of the family (head to Tennessee, be part of farm, and it is very cool to be able to say my family has a sort of group identity--as do the Bushes, Kennedys) or [2] that of the monastery.
The whole day I'd been walking in thick thick fog, visibility not more than 100m. I was mostly along shore until Puerto Salina. There I begged some water (still not at peace paying to drink water, and being fairly certain the boats have drinkable water piped to their tanks--but maybe not), probably the last time I do that. A guard made me walk along the cuota (toll hwy) instead of the housing development road, but only because that's his job and I happened to walk near him.
I tried to get back to the beach, but it was like walking moors--low visibility, and worry about trespass (which, btw, seems to be a realestate term here used by noncitizens(?). In _Baja Times_ classifieds, two uses: trespassing [a cafe, a house] offered for sale), and from what I could see, shore was rocky. Returned to cuota, but the off-shoulder path--which had been my reassuring companion ever since downtown Tijuana, my welcome mat and constant reminder that I had entered a land where people walked--petered out. Stopped finally to eat, rest. Contemplated a long foggy walk along cuota shoulder through unpopulated country, decided to head back to find the free road, thinking there would be more along it, including a better walking trail.
I ended up going way way back (I had gone further than I thought) and the free road looked not any better and probably more dangerous to walk along. So, I was stuck at Puente Misión. A very popular family beach (soccer photo is from there). Road is under construcción, no place for the little buses to stop, and I'd seen none in my long (>6km?) walk back, though someone told me 'cada media hora'--every half hour.
Went out to lay on beach. Mist had cleared by now. An ultralight was flying around. At some point saw little bus go by slowly. Ran after. Did not make it but did see surfer hitch ride for him, three buddies, two boards at least, movie camera, tripod, high fives all around in celebration, in the back of a new white pickup truck. He'd been standing on or leaning over the concrete barrier with a larger than life smile and thumb, exuding an aura of "you will pick me up," so much so that all traffic on the cuota (one lane at this point) had to slow to pass. In fact, from the side he was on, all traffic in that lane would have to stop as his party got in. It did.
I felt totally incapable of that kind of performance and was.--The odd, misfit american escapee, uncharismatic, losing faith in any mission he may have once had, nearly worth laughing at if you weren't so polite, not at all like any of the others around, mexican families, pants-wearing males, me odd enough as I was where I came from.
Well, this is learning occurring. What do I do now? I was going nowhere before, why should I try to leave? I tried hitching for a while. Then went back beachside and watched the food-sellers and makers of cocos y camarones (green coconuts cut to form bowl, filled with shrimp + ?, ~$2). One chopper had all his fingers, whole, a marvel, as I watched him whack-carve nuts into bowls, providing samples of white coconut meat to discriminating buyers, with machete. An adolescent with wheelbarrow showed a palate of snacks and candies worth photographing, but I'll not take the time here to show you why.
I eventually gave up and went to take a nap on the beach. Cool it was, and I got out my quilt and lay under it, and was out.
Rousing, sun setting, families leaving, second to last of big dome tents being struck. A guy said no buses stop here. Walked out by laguna in darkness--what would sleeping here be like? But road noise too much. Went back to beach and found a spot. Many of the little busses seemed to be passing now. This was Sunday.
I'd not bought more water or food, somewhat resolved to fast of both (feeling this experience was approaching spiritual), but was bottling urine. A bit annoyed at how much water'd been running through me, considering drinking no more till urine yellow. And I do use urine sometimes for soaking legumes & fire safety if water is low. Plus the practice had let me piss earlier among the crowds under my quilt without getting up.
Well at some point in there had the identity-subsuming thoughts. Humbling. [The arrogance of not subsuming self to culture and "time" apparent. . . in believing, hoping, one might carve out another worthwhile path, differing from those known, upon which new cultural dynasties--or at least one successfully idiosyncratic one--can be built.]
Things are different in the morning. Got up--briefly had a literal personal rain cloud, but otherwise clear & no mist. Walked back toward south to get to a place to catch a bus. Quickly got a short hitch to Puerto Salina. Walked up hill (there is a photo) to where I caught a free bus (driver drives workers from Ensenada north in AM and south in PM) all the way to Ensenada. Looking at the route, I was generally glad not to be walking--deserted land around the cuota, rocky coast for miles. Got to learn some things and attempt Spanish with Javier, the driver (and a pastor), but he'd use English when things got too bad. Told me about his schizophrenic brother who just set out walking 29(?) years ago, no trabajo, no esposa, no familia, no casa, no carro, no dinero. I got to repeat a bit of that litany, but he assured me that one look at his hermano was enough to tell you he was not well. BTW, I passed a guy(?) earlier sitting in a doorway with the oddest clothing and headgear made of twisted scraps of different colored plastic bags(?).
In Ensenada I bought water (5L, $1.72), found a way to call my credit union without using the cell phone. I have a calling card--but to even dial a toll-free number from a public phone here, it seems you need a Ladatel/Telnor(?) card. Robin at the credit union got my debit card unblocked in Mexico (said fraud occurs here). Got pesos. Bought some sardines, tortillas. Found internet cafe--got directed to one with faster connection.
And so on (among times of wondering, "now what should I do?"). Practiced racial profiling: if white, ask in English if has suggestion where to find people looking for boat crew. Found the Vendimia Restaurant this way--mariners meet there Thursdays beginning ~5. And they had copies of the free _Baja Times_ http://Bajatimes.net , which was good to read.
--
The main news though is that I went from despair about the possibility for me of this rather undefined path to a level of validation. _Baja Times_ is, naturally, pro-baja, anti-anti-baja hysteria, and, as it turns out, in one article (about dreading having to cross the border to return to the states), anti SoCal. We who live there cannot afford to complain too much about what is inhuman about that region--we or our friends have enough of a challenge trying to be content there.
[It has been] Less reading _Baja Times_ though, [than] it has been the experience of being here [that. . .]. I want to say (but won't entirely) that for my purposes, this is a mostly treeless, warmer Monterey with a bigger port, and the added benefit of being foreign (oddness and difference when not isolating and overwhelming can make activities that would be dull and routine in the home culture much more challenging and inspiring of contemplation) as well as home to people who walk and who camp out--the reading material left in the bushes on the undeveloped hill overlooking all of town is in Spanish. No white (or brown)-girl porn, so far,--but pieces of one well-written and photo'd mexican travel mag, as well as old daily papers.
Other benefits: good coastal access, great coastal public spaces (sleeping, loitering, lazing about in public is done, is ok, is encouraged), town residents (kids stand out) who know and love each other and wander around (in their sexy school uniforms), no helicopters, no airport, no smog--though MX cars smell worse than [new, non-diesel] CA cars, MX trucks (noisewise) are out of control, and indoor air pollution in several of the places I've been in, for diverse reasons, was notable or intense. [Proximity to coast and low population may be main reason for better air than inland SD. TJ reeked.]
Other things: no pedestrian barriers, but crosswalks on even a main street with two lanes each way, and no lights, but stop signs. None of this bullshit where cars get to roll up, trigger the signal, and pedestrians, chained and corralled into crossing only one side of the intersection have to walk over and press a tough little cold metal healthily germ-ridden recessed nubbin. Fuck you SoCal! Fuck you CalTrans! Fuck you San Diego Airport and Port Authority! Fuck all you car drivers everywhere and you who build roads for them and make their lives easier. Sociopathic city-, society-, life-destroyers. [Thanks go to Kunstler. Is this mindful? I really think it is the personal car {cf. "Christ as savior"}--if you accept it into your life (as driver or as cohabitant), the modern US works for you. If you cannot, for whatever reason, you are. . . given the privilege of helping realize different lifeways, different rural & urban forms. All car-drivers evil? All slave-owners evil? Is this reasonable? Retrospectively, when all/most new cities are built car-free, perhaps the languaging, attitude, and emotion here are skilfull means. Retrospectively, as long as there is no movement for change, it is unreasonable, unhelpful. 0113--time to quit.]
Having found this, the only other main mission I may still have (beyond wandering on, should I feel like it) is to visit Parque Nacional Sierra San Pedro Martír.
Since I may have found a place I can stay in and be somewhat at peace, at ease, I may take the time to mend my pack, wash my clothes & pack (never washed them since last trip), and who knows what else.
Peace (hehe!),
2008-09-30-0047
Breakdown, breakthrough
Yesterday I hit a point of disbelief in this path I don't recall reaching ever before.
All that appeared left to do, as I considered the bleakest possibility--which now seem not so bad (, but only because. . .) --to subsume identity either to [1] that of the family (head to Tennessee, be part of farm, and it is very cool to be able to say my family has a sort of group identity--as do the Bushes, Kennedys) or [2] that of the monastery.
The whole day I'd been walking in thick thick fog, visibility not more than 100m. I was mostly along shore until Puerto Salina. There I begged some water (still not at peace paying to drink water, and being fairly certain the boats have drinkable water piped to their tanks--but maybe not), probably the last time I do that. A guard made me walk along the cuota (toll hwy) instead of the housing development road, but only because that's his job and I happened to walk near him.
I tried to get back to the beach, but it was like walking moors--low visibility, and worry about trespass (which, btw, seems to be a realestate term here used by noncitizens(?). In _Baja Times_ classifieds, two uses: trespassing [a cafe, a house] offered for sale), and from what I could see, shore was rocky. Returned to cuota, but the off-shoulder path--which had been my reassuring companion ever since downtown Tijuana, my welcome mat and constant reminder that I had entered a land where people walked--petered out. Stopped finally to eat, rest. Contemplated a long foggy walk along cuota shoulder through unpopulated country, decided to head back to find the free road, thinking there would be more along it, including a better walking trail.
I ended up going way way back (I had gone further than I thought) and the free road looked not any better and probably more dangerous to walk along. So, I was stuck at Puente Misión. A very popular family beach (soccer photo is from there). Road is under construcción, no place for the little buses to stop, and I'd seen none in my long (>6km?) walk back, though someone told me 'cada media hora'--every half hour.
Went out to lay on beach. Mist had cleared by now. An ultralight was flying around. At some point saw little bus go by slowly. Ran after. Did not make it but did see surfer hitch ride for him, three buddies, two boards at least, movie camera, tripod, high fives all around in celebration, in the back of a new white pickup truck. He'd been standing on or leaning over the concrete barrier with a larger than life smile and thumb, exuding an aura of "you will pick me up," so much so that all traffic on the cuota (one lane at this point) had to slow to pass. In fact, from the side he was on, all traffic in that lane would have to stop as his party got in. It did.
I felt totally incapable of that kind of performance and was.--The odd, misfit american escapee, uncharismatic, losing faith in any mission he may have once had, nearly worth laughing at if you weren't so polite, not at all like any of the others around, mexican families, pants-wearing males, me odd enough as I was where I came from.
Well, this is learning occurring. What do I do now? I was going nowhere before, why should I try to leave? I tried hitching for a while. Then went back beachside and watched the food-sellers and makers of cocos y camarones (green coconuts cut to form bowl, filled with shrimp + ?, ~$2). One chopper had all his fingers, whole, a marvel, as I watched him whack-carve nuts into bowls, providing samples of white coconut meat to discriminating buyers, with machete. An adolescent with wheelbarrow showed a palate of snacks and candies worth photographing, but I'll not take the time here to show you why.
I eventually gave up and went to take a nap on the beach. Cool it was, and I got out my quilt and lay under it, and was out.
Rousing, sun setting, families leaving, second to last of big dome tents being struck. A guy said no buses stop here. Walked out by laguna in darkness--what would sleeping here be like? But road noise too much. Went back to beach and found a spot. Many of the little busses seemed to be passing now. This was Sunday.
I'd not bought more water or food, somewhat resolved to fast of both (feeling this experience was approaching spiritual), but was bottling urine. A bit annoyed at how much water'd been running through me, considering drinking no more till urine yellow. And I do use urine sometimes for soaking legumes & fire safety if water is low. Plus the practice had let me piss earlier among the crowds under my quilt without getting up.
Well at some point in there had the identity-subsuming thoughts. Humbling. [The arrogance of not subsuming self to culture and "time" apparent. . . in believing, hoping, one might carve out another worthwhile path, differing from those known, upon which new cultural dynasties--or at least one successfully idiosyncratic one--can be built.]
Things are different in the morning. Got up--briefly had a literal personal rain cloud, but otherwise clear & no mist. Walked back toward south to get to a place to catch a bus. Quickly got a short hitch to Puerto Salina. Walked up hill (there is a photo) to where I caught a free bus (driver drives workers from Ensenada north in AM and south in PM) all the way to Ensenada. Looking at the route, I was generally glad not to be walking--deserted land around the cuota, rocky coast for miles. Got to learn some things and attempt Spanish with Javier, the driver (and a pastor), but he'd use English when things got too bad. Told me about his schizophrenic brother who just set out walking 29(?) years ago, no trabajo, no esposa, no familia, no casa, no carro, no dinero. I got to repeat a bit of that litany, but he assured me that one look at his hermano was enough to tell you he was not well. BTW, I passed a guy(?) earlier sitting in a doorway with the oddest clothing and headgear made of twisted scraps of different colored plastic bags(?).
In Ensenada I bought water (5L, $1.72), found a way to call my credit union without using the cell phone. I have a calling card--but to even dial a toll-free number from a public phone here, it seems you need a Ladatel/Telnor(?) card. Robin at the credit union got my debit card unblocked in Mexico (said fraud occurs here). Got pesos. Bought some sardines, tortillas. Found internet cafe--got directed to one with faster connection.
And so on (among times of wondering, "now what should I do?"). Practiced racial profiling: if white, ask in English if has suggestion where to find people looking for boat crew. Found the Vendimia Restaurant this way--mariners meet there Thursdays beginning ~5. And they had copies of the free _Baja Times_ http://Bajatimes.net , which was good to read.
--
The main news though is that I went from despair about the possibility for me of this rather undefined path to a level of validation. _Baja Times_ is, naturally, pro-baja, anti-anti-baja hysteria, and, as it turns out, in one article (about dreading having to cross the border to return to the states), anti SoCal. We who live there cannot afford to complain too much about what is inhuman about that region--we or our friends have enough of a challenge trying to be content there.
[It has been] Less reading _Baja Times_ though, [than] it has been the experience of being here [that. . .]. I want to say (but won't entirely) that for my purposes, this is a mostly treeless, warmer Monterey with a bigger port, and the added benefit of being foreign (oddness and difference when not isolating and overwhelming can make activities that would be dull and routine in the home culture much more challenging and inspiring of contemplation) as well as home to people who walk and who camp out--the reading material left in the bushes on the undeveloped hill overlooking all of town is in Spanish. No white (or brown)-girl porn, so far,--but pieces of one well-written and photo'd mexican travel mag, as well as old daily papers.
Other benefits: good coastal access, great coastal public spaces (sleeping, loitering, lazing about in public is done, is ok, is encouraged), town residents (kids stand out) who know and love each other and wander around (in their sexy school uniforms), no helicopters, no airport, no smog--though MX cars smell worse than [new, non-diesel] CA cars, MX trucks (noisewise) are out of control, and indoor air pollution in several of the places I've been in, for diverse reasons, was notable or intense. [Proximity to coast and low population may be main reason for better air than inland SD. TJ reeked.]
Other things: no pedestrian barriers, but crosswalks on even a main street with two lanes each way, and no lights, but stop signs. None of this bullshit where cars get to roll up, trigger the signal, and pedestrians, chained and corralled into crossing only one side of the intersection have to walk over and press a tough little cold metal healthily germ-ridden recessed nubbin. Fuck you SoCal! Fuck you CalTrans! Fuck you San Diego Airport and Port Authority! Fuck all you car drivers everywhere and you who build roads for them and make their lives easier. Sociopathic city-, society-, life-destroyers. [Thanks go to Kunstler. Is this mindful? I really think it is the personal car {cf. "Christ as savior"}--if you accept it into your life (as driver or as cohabitant), the modern US works for you. If you cannot, for whatever reason, you are. . . given the privilege of helping realize different lifeways, different rural & urban forms. All car-drivers evil? All slave-owners evil? Is this reasonable? Retrospectively, when all/most new cities are built car-free, perhaps the languaging, attitude, and emotion here are skilfull means. Retrospectively, as long as there is no movement for change, it is unreasonable, unhelpful. 0113--time to quit.]
Having found this, the only other main mission I may still have (beyond wandering on, should I feel like it) is to visit Parque Nacional Sierra San Pedro Martír.
Since I may have found a place I can stay in and be somewhat at peace, at ease, I may take the time to mend my pack, wash my clothes & pack (never washed them since last trip), and who knows what else.
Peace (hehe!),
2008-09-30-0047
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
FW: Re: great issue #140; nowhere
[ While the following is not really intelligible, I continue to consider "how best to serve" as I walk. I tend to be thinking the best most people (among the norteños) can do is to do less. Or to have fun. And, oddly perhaps, of all the things I can think of that I'm able to do--what I'm doing now seems most fun--though varied, hard, uncertain, risky(?). Some organized way of helping people have fun while consuming less might pass as a more legit, recognizable way of helping the earth--beyond just exploring a possibility, beyond being perhaps an example.
I know I'm going nowhere, so I walk. While many others going nowhere drive there. And wider roads are built there, when one set of train tracks would serve to move as many in a more coordinated and social manner.
I walk past many nowheres being built, or already abandoned. In most nowheres down here (but those of the paisanos), no one has planted any food.
]
Hi Colin,
Thanks for your message! Very glad you enjoyed the issue.
May we have permission to reprint this as a letter to the editor? Your reward for this would be a complementary copy of the issue in which it appears (the next one, #141). If you like this idea, please let me know the address to which we should send the issue (this will be in mid-December). Also, is there anything you want to change about the message? We'll fix up any punctuation to fit our style sheet.
Thanks again and I'll wait to hear from you,
Chris Roth
Editor, Communities [ http://communities.ic.org ]
Colin Leath wrote:
The first I've read somewhat completely through perhaps ever.
I won't take the time to analyze why, though (well, I do, a bit). And unfortunately I won't be renewing as I'll now be living more nomadically, cheaply, leaving interest in formal community somewhat behind.
I guess #140 addresses my more anarchistic/network/somewhat community-apprehensive leaning. Has update from carfree hero [Evan & Kate?] Hughes. The e-list dialog summary. The impressive, beautiful europeans from Tamera (been curious). Was in Seattle when Nick Licata was running. The Morningstar story gets a bit at desire to avoid community process--. The idea of creating community where you are appeals--like Thich Nhat Hanh--"your sangha can be everything/we need the formal sangha". Often (, not living in community beyond occasional meetings with fellow activists,) all the stuff focusing on business and process, difficult members, etc, I'd just skip over. Moving from suburban-type isolation of "the middle" (a power lab/Barry Oshry concept), crossing the boundary to transformation, vision, growth--has been an ongoing question. How do I get out of my rut, create, help, serve? Together, with others? Will be wandering about, meeting whoever happens to be there, sometimes with that in mind.
Peace,
I know I'm going nowhere, so I walk. While many others going nowhere drive there. And wider roads are built there, when one set of train tracks would serve to move as many in a more coordinated and social manner.
I walk past many nowheres being built, or already abandoned. In most nowheres down here (but those of the paisanos), no one has planted any food.
]
Hi Colin,
Thanks for your message! Very glad you enjoyed the issue.
May we have permission to reprint this as a letter to the editor? Your reward for this would be a complementary copy of the issue in which it appears (the next one, #141). If you like this idea, please let me know the address to which we should send the issue (this will be in mid-December). Also, is there anything you want to change about the message? We'll fix up any punctuation to fit our style sheet.
Thanks again and I'll wait to hear from you,
Chris Roth
Editor, Communities [ http://communities.ic.org ]
Colin Leath wrote:
The first I've read somewhat completely through perhaps ever.
I won't take the time to analyze why, though (well, I do, a bit). And unfortunately I won't be renewing as I'll now be living more nomadically, cheaply, leaving interest in formal community somewhat behind.
I guess #140 addresses my more anarchistic/network/somewhat community-apprehensive leaning. Has update from carfree hero [Evan & Kate?] Hughes. The e-list dialog summary. The impressive, beautiful europeans from Tamera (been curious). Was in Seattle when Nick Licata was running. The Morningstar story gets a bit at desire to avoid community process--. The idea of creating community where you are appeals--like Thich Nhat Hanh--"your sangha can be everything/we need the formal sangha". Often (, not living in community beyond occasional meetings with fellow activists,) all the stuff focusing on business and process, difficult members, etc, I'd just skip over. Moving from suburban-type isolation of "the middle" (a power lab/Barry Oshry concept), crossing the boundary to transformation, vision, growth--has been an ongoing question. How do I get out of my rut, create, help, serve? Together, with others? Will be wandering about, meeting whoever happens to be there, sometimes with that in mind.
Peace,
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