Damn!  Over the weekend my Droid phone was stolen.  The instrument I have used to maintain, post, photograph, update this blog.  And my life.  Emails, bank transfers, Facebook, dating sites, weather, and just random surfing.

I didn't realize how hooked I was until my connection was so abruptly and violently terminated.

In the dark of night, while I slept soundly on the futon at my office, my van window was smashed and the phone stolen.  I don't think they even opened the door.  The little blue LED flashing "message received" was an invitaiton... "Steal me!"

The thief downloaded 17 apps, charged to my "Google Wallet" - since reversed - and I called Verizon and the police as soon as I discovered the loss.  I have a "New-every-Two-Year" credit coming up on May 24, so I've decided to wait it out for an iPhone, which I've lusted over since they first came out.

Rocking the Motorola flip phone for 2 weeks.  How 4 years ago.

And learning how preoccupied that Droid was keeping me. Such a wonderful distraction.  Instant gratification.  And not so gratifying.  Just like any addiction - booze, caffiene, sugar... all promise a "hit" of pleasure, which is then followed by the big letdown.  And the compulsive attempt to get high again.

Just so with the constant network companion, the smart phone.  I'd frequently joked that the smarter the phone, to dumber the user.  User.  Just like a drug user.  Ok, beating that analogy into the ground...

So what will I do?  Carry on, as I was before.  Really before - 4 years ago maybe, before the internet took over, before Facebook and the virtual social networks grew to dominate my actual social world.

As demonstrated in this sad fact:  when I thought of who I needed to tell my new, temporary phone number to, only a handful of names came up.  Just close family.  I realized that despite hundreds of "friends" online, I am rarely receiving calls from "outside".  More connected digitally, but more isolated from that "old school" connection, the human voice - on a phone call - or better yet, in person.

Gonna meditate seriously on that.  And see more of the world around me.  And talk to people, in my REAL social networks - here in the "unplugged world". 

So if you want to connect, don't try to text message me or look for me on Facebook.  Call me at the restaurant, or email for the new number. 

Or better yet - let's get together, in the real world.  The colors are brighter.  The wind blowing on our faces.  Sunlight warming.  Bird song. Real trumps virtual every time.

Heavy laden sky, drizzle and spray, strong winds blowing as the tail end of a spring storm passes. Try as I may, I couldn't muster the resolve to take my bike out into this liquid landscape.

Instead, wandered through Beachside State Park, my favorite spot on the coast.  A flooded parking lot forced me under the shorepines to access the beach. 

I am so glad this beach is still here. This park was a central part of my youth.  Though we moved frequently, the lot of the itinerent preacher's family, we always came out and camped at Beachside.  Nestled in a thin ribbon of land between US 101 and the Pacific Ocean, the park is the closest one can get to camping directly on the beach in Oregon.

I leave the car, and immediately am struck with memories.  Somehow the scent of the ocean and sand and salal and pines stirs my soul.  A warmth fills my heart.  I remember walking on this beach, under all sorts of weather, both outside and internally.  The challenges of adolescent emotions, the quest to determine my direction, the times of heartbreak and celebration and rites of passage.  All remembered, here at Beachside.

I drove over to the coast this morning, my heart heavy with grief, my mind confused with looming decisions, questions, dilemmas.  Sanity threatened by so many voices, all demanding court.  Napping in the van, the soft lull of the surf, calm returns.  Clouds part.  A sunny weekend for certain.  
______________

The title of this post is from a song by Cloud Cult.  During my drive I was enjoying the rocking soundscape and poignant lyrics.  A reminder of the temporal nature of existence, juxtaposed with the eternal presence of love.  Link to the song follows...

"Mist in the grass and sleep with the spirits
release the pain, it won't do you any good
suck in the pollen and breathe with the raccoons
don't hide from your own secrets

"You're made of river driftwood
so pull in all your anchors
they're waiting for you downstream
we're waiting for you downstream

"Did you know God is far from perfect?
there really isn't any such thing as perfect
'cause it's the work of the ugly to highlight the beautiful
and in so doing, the ugly is beautiful too

"You're made of water vapor
you're solid as a cloud
but wind cannot be predicted
this change cannot be predicted

"Underneath your skin there are two feathered wings
but you'll never use them 'cause you're too scared
when you get used to such a limited reality
you've got no choice but to unlearn and start again

"You change like a volcano
your body is just a moment
but your love will live forever

"Your love will live forever"

- from They Live on the Sun, Cloud Cult

 

http://southtownlive.com/musicarchives/Your_Love_Will_Live_Forever.mp3

 

 

Seven thousand miles ridden since July 2010, when I began this odyssey of re-membering my life.  I am stunned as I contemplate the changes which have occurred over the last two years, the ways the entire fabric of my life was rent by major life decisions.

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self". A favorite quote from Kahlil Gibran's Prophet.

Indeed my understanding of my life has been shattered.  I am exposed, naked, shivering.  Wondering how to start again, how to rebuild connections long abandoned, how to make new friends.

A break in the storm allowed a brief ride at the coast, and a long walk wandering under the Yaquina Bay Bridge yesterday.  A ride with a friend this morning helped me ground myself in the present. The joy of pedaling across the town, riding through the campus of my youth, cycling helps heal my soul.

As do emails across the thousands of miles of the vast Pacific, attempting to bridge the distance yawning between us, figuring out how to go forward, how to heal the pain I have caused. How to continue to support the one I gave my heart to, then took back to go my own way.

Spring is in full bloom.  The long winter's clouds have parted.  New life and possibilities return.

Chainsaws and heavy machinery high on the ridge above us.  'Beep beep beep' as the dozers drag fallen giants. 

Logging the Watershed?  To benefit the client - City of Corvallis?  How can such wanton destruction be hoodwinked over the 'most sustainable city'?  Could it be the agency feels weight bearing down from the foremost deforestation organization in the Northwest - the OSU Department of Forestry, which continues to teach clearcutting as the most viable harvest?

My participation in logging as a landholder has not diminished my gut reaction to the sound of the chainsaws in my otherwise quiet forest.  Ours was a 'selective' harvest, still leaving a grotesque swath of stumps and brush and muck and erosion.

Shawn and I planted over 100 redwoods today, exhausting work.  But so good to see the baby sequoias given a new start under the remaining giant firs, amongst moss and trillium and sword fern fiddleheads and flowering dogwood.  Soft rain falling, sun breaking through to warm my face.

I am tired.  But inspired. And ready to plant more this weekend.

What an amazing Earth Day! Temps nearing 84°F, planting nearly 200 more redwoods on the land. Seth, Shawn and I planted, staked and covered each seedling with a protective 'Tiller Net', a UV degradable deer browsing prevention sleeve. As the boys chattered on to each other, yelling across the forest, I enjoyed planting high on the South ridge in solitude and contemplation. Although this ridge would get less sunlight, it also would be less parched in the late summer drought months. Other trees had done well on this slope, as evidenced by the old grand firs still standing after the logger left last fall.

I planted the Sequoia Sempervirens thick, at 10-foot spacing, among moss and trillium in full blossom. Each seedling carefully placed into a thin hole dug with a tree planting shovel, as I wondered how long they would grow, how tall and wide and strong. Would they be here in 1,000 years? Seth pondered whether humanity would be here that long, then said - Yes, our ancestors would be here still. I didn't know. No matter, I felt inspired to be planting trees whose relatives outlived my contemporaries 20-fold. And then I imagined, what would it be like to witness such long periods of life on Earth, the rapid movements of bird and animal, the slow turnings of season, sun and moon. And to witness the loss of brother and sister to chainsaw and human greed, when the Californian multi-thousand year forests were cut down in a mere moment. Do the redwoods forgive us?

Some of my planting work is penance, dues paid for logging last fall. We harvested over 130,000 board feet of timber, just to catch up and 'break even' again. Financially, I couldn't really afford to take the last year off from working in the restaurant. But emotionally, I couldn't afford not to. The stress of working the floor had taken a dangerous toll on my health and sanity.

And now, here I am, back as Floor Manager. Earth Day evening, and the restaurant is booming! I return from tree planting to a full house Sunday evening. Running like mad, trying to keep ahead of the new guests who seem to arrive every minute. With the outdoor patio seating open, we serve nearly 70 seats. I am 'in the weeds' - a restaurant phrase I learned way back from Theron, our New Orleans chef extraordinaire. In the weeds, which means there are a dozen tickets, lots of anxious, angry customers, glaring at you, even though 30 people showed up at once, and there are only 2 cooks and 1 server. Despite the weeds, we do well, working as a good team. Most customer seems to have a good time, after all.

From the forest of trees and trillium, into the weeds! All in a day's work, Earth Day 2012.