Quiet Graceful Power

I find the most unusual books to read. The latest book outlet find, "The Cruelest Journey" by Kira Salak, I recommend for would-be vagabonds like me and for anyone seeking reassurance either that one person can do great things or that we can rely on each other even in the most barren environments.

Not only did Kira paddle 600 miles down the Niger River to reach Timbuktu, she often relied on locals for shelter and food. She writes of many historical and current issues in the Sub Sahara with a comfortable style and an accessible readability. And! then buys the freedom of two slave girls at the end of her journey. Ms. Salak carried two gold coins the whole length of her trip to give the two girls a start on their new life.

Her trip recreated the planned journey of a little known English explorer named Mungo Park. His journey began but did not finish for the inhospitable terrain and the ferocious local people. He died on the Niger. Some rumors have him killed after reaching Timbuktu, but history just doesn't know. Kira met some of the same ferocious people almost unaffected in the 300 or so years since Park's disasterous trip. She met many people with a third world kindness and generosity that far exceeds what most of us in the first world will ever do.

Kira is an adventurer who holds a PhD in literature. She writes with a depth and ease that anyone wishing to write would do well to imitate. I was greatly inspired by Kira and her adventure. Not only for her fearless grace but for her quiet Buddhism as well.

I think some people misunderstood my epiphany last Christmas. I really haven't changed much at all. There were no signs squinted at from Milvian Bridge. I merely shifted (overtly) one fundamental leg that my personal philosophy stood on. To me it was as casual as shifting a foot I had stood on too long.

I spent 15 plus years calling myself an Objectivist; atheist by default. I was inspired at my cousin's house to look at the leg I had been leaning on. It wasn't where I thought it was.

Objectivism advocates the raw power of the individual. I don't disagree with all of this but, in many ways, I haven't been living my life that way. I have been helped by so many people; in large and small ways. I've managed to help a few, I think.

In my rediscovery of Buddhism [it creeps up at the weirdest places, see above], I found a "faithless faith" that honors a man, not a deity. While many strains of Buddhism are polluted by the gods and godheads of other faiths, at its core, Buddhism is a way of life that accepts cause and effect, and the efficacy of the human mind and senses. It is simply a path, a method, to discover the true nature of our existence. But it does it in a way that includes all of us. Rather than emphasizing a lone pursuit, it is the power in each of us because each of us is all of us. Buddhism is monistic. We are all one. If you're on Myspace, I highly recommend my friend Emily's latest blog. It reminds me of an intriguing comment by Brad Warner, the punk Zen Master, he described 'getting it' post enlightenment, when looking at a stranger, and feeling a recognition "like looking at himself in a mirror."

Imagine how our politics, and our world, would be different if more people had the realization that we are all one; the same. Imagine spending a billion dollars a day helping each other, ourselves, rather than to tear another country down. The Buddha said "If you want to get rid of your foe, you have only to realize that that foe is delusion."

Locked and Loaded

I pulled behind the building with a delivery. All the docks were full, but a trailer was one of ours. I'd have to drop mine, hook to that one, pull it out and drop it, then grab mine again and back it into the hole I created. As I walked into the Recieving Department, I noticed a sloppy gang sign scrawled on the nose of one of the other trailers. It looked for all the world like it said "Crochet Furies;" like a gang started by Martha Stewart while she was in the slammer.

The Crochet Furies would roam the streets in comfortable shoes and stretch jeans. Their hair short and spiky; equal parts Pixie, Punk and Butch. They all have black leather, but little cropped jackets with just enough ruffle to be more cute than biker. On one sleeve, a quill of knitting needles as throwing knives. They cruise in Minivans with Low Rider Hydraulics to bounce and roll and shuck their way down the avenue.

Back in Columbus, I got unloaded. Just as I was about to pull back out on the road, I decide to run into the store and grab a sandwich. Inside, I found Ham and Havarti and a drink. Almost back out to the truck, I reach for my keys. Yeah, you're way ahead of me. No keys. I know I locked the truck on the way in. Now I'm stuck. I'm supposed to be on the way to another stop and I'm locked out of my tractor.

At first, there's no panic. Often a key is hidden somewhere under the hood. This is not my truck it is a floater/loaner. I snap open the hood and root around. The engine compartment is huge with all kinds of nooks and crannies. There is no key, no key box, not even a crow bar.

The next place to check is the back of the cab. I close the hood and wander back. I'm looking near the wire harness and the air lines; checking by the load lock rack. I look inside the frame and under the sleeper. I open the battery box and poke around. I check near the fuel tank and the steps. Nothing. I switch to the passenger side and check all those spots again. I even started to look in the nose box of the trailer, but how could a key to my tractor be hidden on some random trailer.

I check every place I could think of and then rechecked them again. That's when I realize my phone is locked inside too.

At Orientation last week, the company issued all of us the "Green Book." In it are procedures, directions, ComCheks, trailer inspection forms and all the contact information for anyone I would ever want to talk to in the entire company. The Green Book is not something I carry when I run inside for a sandwich. It too is locked up tight in the tractor.

This is my first week at the company. There is no chance that I've managed to memorize any phone numbers. I don't dial numbers anymore. Nobody dials numbers anymore. In this age of speeddial, anyone in my phone can be called with two clicks; letters not numbers. There must be a phone number on the truck. I wander around again.

On the truck, there are D.O.T. permit numbers, an IFSA sticker, even the 'Last Six' of the VIN number. All the way out back, on the trailer door, there is the ubiquitous recruiting sign. "We're Looking For Quality, Experienced Drivers." These recruiting 800 numbers are always some easy to remember acronym. This is good; I have nothing to write on.

I have a bite of sandwich and a drink. My lunch has been sitting on the step to the cab. Walking back to the store and a payphone, I wonder if anyone will answer at 5:30 AM. Sure enough, the 800 number is into the recruiting department and not the main switchboard. I can leave a message for 'recruiting, press two" or "Safety, press three." Nobody is home. I tried pressing zero and a even couple random extensions but don't get through to a human.

Back out to the truck, what's left of my lunch is still sitting on the step. The truck is parked along the outer edge of the property against a curb. Past the curb is a low cinderblock wall, a chain link fence and some bushes. Some trees are evenly spaced from the road back past me and out to the property line out back. Over the fence and in the back is a nondescript apartment building. No one is stirring. Right over the fence near me is a business that goes out to the road. I can see their loading dock and random skids laying around. Not enough clues to guess what they do over there.

Then a semi pulls up into the lot across the fence. Occasionally, a fellow truck driver can get you back into your cab after you've locked your keys inside. The trucks don't have unique keys like a car. One company, one model year might only have one, or more likely, just a few key patterns. Alas, this guy is driving a Kenworth; mine is a Freightliner.

I'm back to driving a Freightliner at this new company. My first truck last year was a Freightliner, but this year, driving out of Grand Rapids, I've been driving a Kenworth up until I started the new job last week. This seems appropriate as "Freightliner Blues," by Townes Van Zandt is one of the favorite songs I play.

I finish the last bites of sandwich and just as I drain the last of my Berry Boost Bolthouse Juice, a thought seeps into my feeble brain, addled by diesel fumes. I wonder if I can jimmy the little triangle side vent window somehow. Maybe even break it to get in. I stood up from the curb, where I was sitting. My gaze drifted up the side of the truck to the little triangle of glass. In the triangle, is a little black knob. This knob is the outer part of the handle/latch that opens the vent window. The black knob is all chewed up. Someone else had locked themselves out! They must have used pliers to twist the latch from the outside. Brilliant!!

I step up the side of my tractor and grab the chewed up knob. It turns at the slightest grip. I push one corner, then grab the opposite one and twist the window open. There is just enough room to stuff my forearm in and open the door! I'm back in business!

I look at my phone and I've only lost a half hour. I'd have burned through a half hour if I had stopped somewhere else for lunch. I twist the key and the diesel growls to life. On the road again.

Sailorbum Store!!

I am just about to leave on my first trip for the new company. I've had a wonderful week and a half or so hanging out with the family and relaxing. Along the way, however, I've done some work on GIMP.

Back at MSU, a roomate of mine, a another neighbor in the dorm, and I sold t-shirts for dorm floors and teams and a design of our own. We sold about 3000 of a design of mine called "Beach Potato." I've thought about resurrecting the spud, but for now I am playing around with Sailorbum stuff on Cafe Press. There are a couple t-shirts and a couple hats available from the Sailorbum Cyberstore!!

If you get half a chance, burn some creative juices! I highly recommend it.

Career Changer

I have made another change. I switched companies and am driving for a regional carrier. The deal is that I'll be out 5 days and back for two; every week; the same two days. I won't even know how to act.

This will grant me the freedom to work on the boat many, rather than few, weekends this summer. In my previous 'Over The Road' positions, I was out 3-5 weeks and home for 2 or 3 days. I wasn't going to have much time to accomplish much this summer. That has all changed.

I am very excited! This could take several months off my potential departure date next year. Thanks for your support!

Niles Bluegrass

I surprised some friends and showed up at the Niles Bluegrass Festival. Chuck and Deb, Mike and Sally, were camping along the river. Tom and Sharon came by later; as did Lynn. I was going to come Friday but had driven the big truck since midnight and some weather blew through. I wimped out and ended up missing Jason and Hope and family. The Niles Fest is a great festival. And it is FREE!

Niles' downtown is downhill toward the river. At the bottom, on the north of the main drag is a nice park. The park has a large pavilion with the perfect grassy hill for an audience. Downriver from the Pavilion is a playground under some trees and then a large open field. Under the trees next to the playground, the Festival puts up a second stage. The open field is available for camping with the local Boy Scouts keeping it cleaned up. Between the main stage on the pavilion and the second stage was a parking lot where food vendors, trinkets and other stuff was available. There were also some tents for workshops. You could learn some bits about Guitar, Fiddle, Singing Harmony, Banjo etc.

The Niles Fest is Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It is really done very well. Check out their site. Also, on the same site is a summer schedule. Niles has free music on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sundays all summer. If you can make it, don't miss Cornmeal on June 15!

On Saturday, I got up on stage with the Open Mic. It was really an Open Jam. I wasn't expecting to be on stage with a band. Usually, an open mic is everyone getting a turn on the mic. As I walked across the grass toward the guy running the PA, the band waved me up on stage. There was another guitar, two harmonicas, a fiddle and a standup bass. They were all very good. After they got done with the song they played as I got there, they looked me and said "What's your name and you're up, what are we playing next?" Wow! I don't know many bluegrass standards, but I like to play "Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms." They all jumped in behind me, I sang, the others soloed and then we wrapped it up. It was great fun! Then we stumbled through a version of Freightliner Blues, one of favorites. The band did well hanging on behind a song they didn't really know. Our audience was 20 or so people on lawn chairs and the Boy Scouts back in there camp. The pictures look way better than the performance was, but I had so much fun. I haven't played in front of people I don't know in 20 years; especially in front of people I was reasonably sure were sober! :o)

Here are some pictures Chuck took for me. Click on the picture to see it full size.

Yeah! This guy knows how I feel!

I found another soul known for raving about the scenery . . . and doing something about too.

Gary Snyder is a great American Poet, Environmentalist and Buddhist. Check out his poem "For All." It appeared on the Writer's Almanac today. A good match for my Memorial Day Camping Post. I wish I'd heard Keillor read it this morning on the radio, but I found it on the website. Click Here.

Gary Snyder Quote:
"We are fouling our air and water and living in noise and filth that no "animal" would tolerate, while advertising and politicians try to tell us we've never had it so good."

More Links:

An article called The Wild Mind of Gary Snyder in the Shambala Sun, a Tibetan Buddhist Mag.

A page of Poems and Quotes on Kerouac Alley, a Beat Generation Site.


Have Fun!

Two of My Favorite Muppets Moments.

Everyone who grew up in the late 70's has a favorite Muppets Moment. I stumbled across Mahna Mahna today and then found Grover. Enjoy!