Scout

Waking up two mornings ago, not sure what to do, bag heavy with food in case I wanted to head for Rustic Canyon. For days.

That was the day I wrote last? No. After writing I got that food, after photographing dense smog, and feeling fatigue--all the traffic.

Emerging from Rose Bowl (two morns ago), called Coast Guard re: MMD status: (it was) To be mailed out that day.

And I thought I'd have two more weeks.

Read chamber of commerce magazine about Pasadena (it was in a newpaper dispenser in front of the PO--I was thinking of mailing some stuff away so I'd not need to carry it, stuff such as the MMD paperwork): Trees have been a part of Pasadena's design from nearly the beginning. John Muir recognized city's artistic, intellectual something-or-other in 1886. Caltech is the largest employer, followed by the community college (7[?]th largest cc in the state), followed by the city. Parsons is a design/build firm (with a very large building labeled "Parsons". Perhaps they build prisons.) Caltech has more Nobel Prize-winning faculty and alumni than any other institution (?!). The first highway (er, freeway, as in non-toll road?) in the US was the Pasadena Freeway, the 110, Pasadena -> Long Beach, via downtown LA. Caltech runs JPL (Jet Propulsion Laboratory), funded by NASA, which was behind many or most US space missions, including the recent Mars robot expeditions (but a guy from U of Arizona was the mission head/PI).

No city the size of Pasadena (130-170 thousand) has as many cultural, educational, etc, resources. They also have CA Culinary Institute, and Art Center College of Design. Significant museums.

Most notably, though, to me, they have a downtown and appear to never have let it become a (weekend/after-hours/car-commuter-centric) wasteland (by/in the 80s) as did every other (larger) US city I have spent time in.

The light rail from Union Station was completed in 2003. The light rail is one reason Pasadena has become one of my LA homes. It is easy and pleasant to get to. Prefer trips by rail over bus+pavement.

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Waking, wondering what to do, each morning, is not super easy. Get up or lay here? Cook or not? Read? Stay here or walk?

Went to library to get bus schedule for trip back to SD.

Walked back to Fuller Theological Seminary to photo a life-size statue of Jesus being nailed to cross. Chatted with Jimmy(?) about his mission to Russia with iteams.org (/com?) & Jesus. Posed for photos at food distribution site until deciding to walk south (to Long Beach?).

Spent $2.18 on corn tortillas, buttermilk at Trader Joe's (exercised the store owner's something-or-other on the way out as she glanced at me, with headstrapped load). Ate these next to Fillmore light rail stop. Wanting more(?), Raided dumpsters, found pizza, bananas. Walked on, roughly following light rail south. Drive-by donation of $17--I said "no, that's ok", but driver said, no, go on. . . "thanks brother." Had been enjoying the freedom of my costume and role. That donation threw me a bit. . . I'm playing around, and not really generous or deserving (and sort of have a policy against giving money [to others]. . . I seem not to want it to be just given to me? Needing to work for it/food is one of the few [helpful?] constraints I have?). There was a black homeless guy in a doorway with cart and two dogs across the busy way (why don't I give it him? What was effect of my initial refusal on drive-by donor?), across from the Pasadena Water Department's 5Os-style (er, 'art deco' may be the term) extravagant 25' tall jet fountain in the cool mist of which I'm:

Got message about being human guinea pig. Later returned call, but haven't heard back.

Ate my treasure (not the bananas though). . . A bit much, but in the end, seems to have been good (wanted fat, I think).

Kept catching the eyes of this older woman photo'ing the fountain. I wonder about my non-interaction sometimes--should I say something friendly to not be so odd/potentially fear-contributing? Am I reproducing my own fear of interaction/standoffishness in others?

Shared some bananas with the black homeless guy. . . only because he sort of helped with a silent "what have you got there?" as I walked by, and I certainly didn't need or want to keep carrying them all. . . He had a nice missing-[some]teeth smile, belly, bit of white in hair and beard, polished shoes in hands. He said "oh these are good!" not what I was expecting, about the b's. . . Later thought of asking if he'd tried shelter/transitional living (Jimmy [iteams, Russia, missionary] used to work with homeless in downtown LA and got to talking about how to really help vs. just get a feeling of helping. . . and would have helped me find a transitional living place it sounded like), but he had walked away for a bit.



Wandered south through more interesting hoods. . . Pedestrian stairs, narrow streets, (picturesque cottage/castle/gable/tower/courtyard/wall/patio/window panes on wood-floored open, decor-ed, rooms/old large trees, shade and things growing there, fall leaves/ ways wind round hill, stairs direct/ houses fronting right on the ways) then to the Oak Lawn (architecture history plaque, grid, mansion, larger setback) suburb. By pedestrian bridge found path to secluded spot along the rail line.

Hours there, finishing _Magic Mountain_, digesting. (Homeless guy, clean, non-grungy type, hispanic, across the fenced-in tracks, put washcloth out to dry, cleaned his spot, me wondering how the litter had got there. Elsewhere, directly under the bridge, was a very littered homeless bed.). At dusk walked south again, a long ways, getting a pound of lard ($1.65?) at a great low-cost store (in low-cost hood). . . Monterey St and Ave 63. . . continuing quest for unbingeable fat. . . could not bring self to buy more nasty, salty parmesan. Know I seem to need to add a bit of fat to every eating time. Walked on just a bit further from this wonderful, newly-open, asian manager (slightly pudgy) helping bag, empty store ("Double Saver"?), to the urban camp spot from heaven (if it were not for freeway 110 noise), discovered on previous walk south along the arroyo. Slept well, long, with earplugs, dreams.

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Three banana breakfast. What now? Jesus said go back down hill, get on at nearest light rail stop (Highland Park, turns out). A woman I am happy to remember, mixed, acne scars on lower face, part hispic?, pronated (or the opposite?) shoesoles, with bike, got off there on my last ride. Might I see her? (how rare to see a fine, marked, cheap-shoed she w/ cheap bike. . . what is her mind like/the psychology there, . . . Like to think a bit of my glances do her no harm, I feel her, she me in some way, dream of the days when our phones might refer us to our online IDs [bluetooth already sort of can, but I haven't messed with it]--that would not help her interest in me--but, unlike Neutrino, and younger me, I let them all go, every one, unless hugely remarkable, until s/he, and the feeling, are there a second time. Yes. Great public space.) Why was the thought (Jesus?) pointing me this way? Did not obey exactly, may never know, but did send me by Culebra, the park [created] by that LA CityRepair-variant mentioned in earlier post, and a fine-looking homeless latina in a dirt ped alley with a makeshift shelter; alley began with knee-high chainlink, ended with ped stair. Before the fine woman (how could she be here, smiling?), I stopped to photo an aviary. Is this the Herman hood? Doubt it is spelled right. (Some day may be less bashful about asking to photo people--she might say yes, then you could see and wonder too, and I could study the still image and wonder more.)

No more wondering, anyway, returning to SD. To continue playing Boy Scout with the merchant marine.

Few of us are genius enough to do something great with a blank sheet of paper, wrote a guy on the worldchanging blog (and me, sort of).

Yeah. So give me some direction, tell me what to do, at least a little bit.

Why am I not at Caltech? Or any number of other. . .

Why do I like this bureaucratic hoop-jumping?

It has nothing to do with my personality (as long as I pass background checks; am willing to submit, as Mike M is not, to shoes, passport, driver's license).

I do/ did like the Boy Scout model (self-paced requirement fulfillment). This whole merchant mariner licensing business seems similar.

In any event, when I finish the next steps (dentist, character letters, statement of why), and if that app gets me to the next step, I get to go to Long Beach (er, Wilmington, to the SIU union hall) again and can wander around after that until they tell me it is time to go to Piney Point for training.

Never mind that the more I wander around, the less I think I'll want to hang out for long times on small ships. . . But nevermind that.

I just spent two point five hours today practicing belly focus/ meditation while waiting for the TWIC card registration system to get back up to speed after freezing/molasses, while a broken door screeched as other lambs arrived. . . And valued it, possibly others did too.

Could I start an urban camping ecotourist business? (sick, this endless business question, but how great it would be to help others not have to wonder as much? Think I may be making that kind of contrib, but not by business-starting?)

Peace,

what to do

Back in Pasadena, @Caltech.

Veteran's Day? City lib closed, if so. Fuller Theological Seminary, Pasadena City College, Caltech all open. All within 1.25 mile of each other.

Got photos off camera at City College. And uploaded to Picasa, but haven't finished labeling, rotating, deleting (connection failed).

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Paying attention to the good habits helped out by living this way:

o Lots of sleep
o Much less eating to pass the time. Very little eating at night.
o Lots of time. Very little rush.
o Doing good reading, reading literature, not just news/Internet

Got to thinking of monastery again last night. For 'cockroach effect' partly. Help eating less, doing good.

For some reason, was aware of how eating will kill--

heart, intestines, rectum, colon, sight, teeth, gums, mind

Was able to have the space and time to consider. To ask about and become familiar with non-eating pleasure, or just the simple state.

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Guess I'll write a bit. Sat before this a while. Maybe next will read. Have not sewed, but soon--don't have a lot else to do.

Not sure what's next. Air was poor, my throat and lungs affected, from fires, exhaust--thought of walk to coast, N. Or return to canyon. And monastery.

What will happen? Sort of fascinating to watch day, mood, and wonder.

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Feeling love, wonder, amazement for this place. A lot of care in the beginning and over the years is apparent--more, so far, the more I walk around.

Felt amazement yesterday at large wilderness park on the way to downtown LA: Earnest E. Debs Regional Park. Amazement.

Felt fear at cooking two nights ago . . . fear of discovery and alarm, police encounters, and so on.

I know enough now, though, that I can move around, camp and cook different places without problems. Places to shower as well, for free.

Sun heat, intense yesterday, every day. Wondering that I was thinking I needed Mexico for warmth. Of course, coldest yet to come, and rain.

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Will I stay in this area, or move more?

Since finding a kind of freedom here, not as keen on mariner school/work--and I get doses of awareness about mariner life from the blogs I read--Paul the Pirate on toilet etiquette for example.

But I'm happy to have that process in the works. And it could be good to go to a dentist and get 'all work needed,' if I could bring myself to do that--

But need to stop harming self with the manner of eating. Last night and today's space in that respect may be a good sign.

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All this, my life, sort of comes down to getting space from compulsions---mindless eating, reading, exercising, repeating of cycles. In order to be open to, to explore, newness--perhaps.

What will come into this space if it becomes more free from habit, compulsion?

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And people, what a wonder.

In my explorations I find the others, many alone, walking, under bridges, in overgrown washes, stream beds, often by the sounds of the radios, even mini-TVs, they have for company. My sign is the cellphone glow, the brief cooking fire, the LED reading light. . . I've heard of great communities--one along the SD river--of outdoor-dwellers, rough sleepers (the UK term?), only heard of them. And the Santa Cruz forest.

Last night a man on a cellphone talked for hours on the hill above me.

Don tried to call three times, my phone was off, out of money, low on charge, but not too low.

Not sure at all what to make of the solitariness of this time--seems undisturbing, but then I am close to Mike, Taylor (not sure, I may not have been a good guest for him?), relatives in SD.

It is a tentative joy to be finding this way of life perhaps possible. I don't want to remark about it, then its opposite and shortcomings come to the fore. And this is not a solution for many?

Standing outside everthing rushing by, abandoned green carfree space, abandoned time, I'm one of the few inhabitants.

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Interact. What could I do? Will I have motive--

Could I just sit here and have reading as my project?

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Thanksgiving is near. One sort of goal was to avoid SD for the holidays.

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Mike, the other Mike (SD/Portland), seems to call me out. . .

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Would I want to get other outdoor-dwelling literature readers together? Doesn't seem like it. Expired, my organizing tendencies.

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I appreciated the Unitarian minister's comments on practice. I see the value in the ministers' work. They helped me-- count blessings, give thanks, be grateful, Merton: there is no half-way. Maybe.

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_This_ is a library. Celebrated, reverenced, silence, peace. May never have experienced as fine.

A sign alerts me to the half-hour the custodian may use adjacent closet and the possibility of noise. Outside, carts are electric. AM leafblowers? Doubt it.

Windows, double-paned.

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That may be all, my friends, my few celebrated readers, who sometimes make presence known--

I've thought, there are books, they want to be read, they are my company, they support and reward and reinforce this odd path: yes, this is why I do this, this is why I stay free, this is why I have endless time--to spend time with you.

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Peeperkorn has died, and I left Hans Castorp directionless, not joyful. Behrens seemed to suggest Castorp would soon be returned to the world he left behind an uncounted number of years ago. A relative came to get him back once, but left hurridly, unannounced, after a week, afraid of getting caught there too.

Peeperkorn represented power of feeling, personality, charisma. Claims--or classic gifts--of life, good food, wine, love (of women), games, making everyone feel special with his attention, to experience his manner, presence. [All followed from his feeling, all other wills yield(ed) to this greater-feeling one.]

There is the transcendental element. . . reverence for ceremony, sublimity, fear, awe, ignorance(?), authority. . . aristocracy, secrecy, terror, suffering. Naptha.

There is the bourgeois, progressive element, pursuit of happiness, democracy, well-being of all, endless work of science. . . Settembrini.

There is the fully miserable and neurotic, self-denigrating, self-harming. Wehesal(?). [we know this]

There is Cladvia, the passive principle (? responding to the degree of the feeling one brings to her), no--the self, as she is, no apologies? The unknown? The (female/male) love interest? The earth? (the tears ever-flowing, over the earth, such that the earth is named after them?) [just a bit of free associating there, no connection?]

Who knows.

How has the work affected me? Its elaboration of stepping out of worldly time and for 'taking stock'(?)--for doing nothing until God does it? (No, for that is brought out and contrasted. . . but does seem to have the upper hand.)

Settembrini: Only keep talking, that is contact, that is life. . . not silence.

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this contact is fizzling, sense and source---

and at 1530, the sun is getting low--only an hour's good daylight left.

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Peace,

cupcakes-dead spirit-defrosting-!terorst

Debating whether to write.

From the old orchard walked to find water, sat next to stream, water very good, read _Magic Mtn_. Walked N to camp Josepho/phine, BSA, and past till impassable.

Next day, Thurs, walked up backbone trl. Walked N toward Reseda. Much walking. Feasted on foraged oranges/grapefruit. Found Metroliner near Pierce College. It is a bus with dedicated busway. Got on subway (DC-style) at north hollywood. Shopped in HOWES where they were filming a commercial for Pizza Hut(?).

In Union Station called from payphone to resolve cellphone issues. Gold Line to Memorial Park, walked to spot, cook--after indecision--not really hungry, but: what to do? is the routine, noting differences: more (reasonable) fear re: fire, more noise, light vs. being out in canyons.

Friday woke, cooked, walked down arroyo seco, found roving archers, where skill gathering should be, walked east to Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, got Neufchatel Cheese, corn tortillas. Ate, read. Walked to CalTech, sat in library, read, charged.

PM walked to huntington.org, walked on east to another cement creek--Eaton Wash. No good wild park along this one, eventually went to end of Gold Line, rode back to Memorial Park (-$1.25), eating Smart&Final flour tortillas, back to Rose Bowl spot.

Saturday walked over to Rose Bowl aquatic center, considered monthly fee to lap swim, walked up Arroyo Trails, sat, read _Magic Mtn_, sat, exercises, photos, walked to Neighborhood Church (UU), next to Pacific Oaks College, USC Architecture's Gibbon(wrong) house, near historical society, got squirrel, walked to library, got brightkite into friendfeed, did other net stuff, looked into foodstamps, laundrymat, grocers (to find cheaper ones). Called about being guinea pig in medical tests.

Walked toward food stamp place (closed). Found non-opulent part of town and the market where latinos shop, prices reasonable, even some cheaper than SD.

Walked to aquatic center. Swam (-$2 rec swim: 2-4:30, other times cost is $10 or $55/month). Ate cupcakes, frosting, yech. Defrosting. Cooked lentils, peppers, onion, garlic, cabbage. . . yam, on park grill. Ate carrots. Walked back to spot with warm pot.

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Here I am.

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News: TWIC (transportation worker ID card) approved.

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Tomorrow may go to 930 UU service before skills gathering. Also walked by Quaker meetinghouse and a buddhist place, but they're not close. Nor as grand.

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May be able to stay here a while? Once sew pants, work at Trader Joe's/get food stamps/guinea pig money? Hmm--I remember there's a challenge course just up the arroyo from the Rose Bowl too. They want Caltech sperm donors. . .

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the existential issues, and time to spend with them.

here I still lose self in not so helpful patterns but not as much as in SD.

the time to wonder "what to do?", to read, sit, wander, welcome.

[also: reading re: astronomy/astrophysics, "biology" of the entities of the universe. . . In the CalTech journal _E&C_]

_Magic Mountain_, a helpful, relevant text, man free to do nothing [but living in a social routine/supportive social structure], questioning stillness vs. engagement/activity. Addressing origins of intense[/transcendent] life, intense spirit, of experience of flow of time, of nature of mental occupation. "nothing is more abhorred than dead spirit"

realizing I offer a spirit dead to the projects/life activities of many I know--even Mike, Taylor, sd perm friends, even, maybe to the skills people I [may] meet tomorrow. . . Not entirely. And Mike, I gather, understands.

But a spirit not dead to the experience of "what now?"

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Now I can return to _MM_? Now I can sit still? How much will what I've written bounce around/be reconsidered?

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Peace,

Ballona

2008-11-11-1600

I stayed in the spot Mike told me about (near Marina del Rey) all of Sunday. Hardly moved. Monday, walked up Ballona Creek bike trail, went up by west LA College (another good camp spot), then walked quickly crosstown/north to meet Taylor, another friend from the spring origin skills gathering and previous editor of LA permaculture email newsletter. Much of that day I was still, reading _Magic Mountain_.

Spent Monday night at Taylor's, now I'm in the Santa Monica Mountains, above Will Rogers State Park, near where there once was a Nazi camp that got shut down just after Pearl Harbor, Taylor said.

Currently sitting in an old carob and olive orchard eating too spicy garbanzos, rice, celery, beet greens (scavenged), sweet potatoes, potatoes, bit of turnip, rutabega, parsnip. Some eye (/all orifice) flies are here.

Been pondering what Mike's message for me may be.

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Don't know.

Ethan Hughes (Haul of Justice, etc.) comes to mind. Also does another guy who went to live among Amazonian indians and has stayed.

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Well, I've been learning LA. Doesn't seem to be something to be afraid of. It's beginning to appear to have many advantages over San Diego.

It's creeks all appear to be culverted/cemented in. . . but they all appear to have bike trails along their length (nothing comparable in SD), along which it is a different world: water flows, people are not in cars. Even saw a family go by on bikes, somewhat professional looking, with an extra-long trailer carting four of those large Rubbermaid bins with a pushbroom laid on top.

Once one accepts the flow of cars--possible perhaps because the exhaust isn't so bad or is blowing the other way--they almost seem just another part of the world, no more obnoxious than anything else. The world of the walkers and bikers is a separate one--sparsely populated in much of LA. We outside the cars inhabit a sort of limbo/lymphatic system, as cars rush by, confined to arteries.

It does seem somewhat easy to get away from them and I tend to hang out in places where traffic is often only a distant presence.

Especially when I take whole days to stay still, to not move, to not encounter them, to read.

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Actually sat near a highway off-ramp for an hour waiting for Taylor, and found peace there, and watched an old mango and coconut seller, and wounded vets walk the rows of cars stopped at the light as the sun set over the walls of the highway. Wilshire and Sepulveda, SE corner.

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Did not get far pondering Mike. Being with his family at a mealtime, understand his verbal charisma, maybe how it got helped to develop. Non-stop high-volume verbal play.

I'm about as competent speaking as I've heard the US president to be, if that. . .

Mind slow as molasses?

Unless we're talking about something I've thought about?

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That's it. May hike north over hills to ride a 'Metroliner' into town. May just sit here and read. I like to see where the trains go. And here it costs half of in SD (sort of).

Mike says it's never oppressively smoggy.

Peace,