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Moon Traveler / Blog

Night Driving pt2

Heading north on highway 191, I began to enter the canyonlands and red rock regions of eastern Utah. The lines on the road were mesmerizing at 70 miles an hour, less painted lines they were to transparent phantom guidlelines on the desert floor. The road showed no unconformities, constant motion blended the road into a liquid gray canvas, created just for my journey that night to escort me flawlessly across the landscape. I gazed out my side window to view a glissening landscape covered in snow and ice. The snow shined as the moon did. The flickering texture of the rolling fields was that of an illuminous cluster of stars flowing freely in space. Mountains in the distance made a black on black silhouette against the night sky. As I neared Moab, the road hugged close against the rock walls. I could see the texture of the walls and varying colors very clearly. The rocks were no longer red, orange, and brown instead, they were cast in shades of black and deep purple. I crossed a river which immitated the stars and moon with a choppy, chaotic quality. The water was not transparent and had no qualities of it's own. It simply mimiced space and flowed on to dissappear in the dark canyon. I then gazed up into the heavenly universe; it seemed as if it was right outside my door. Nothing but the frozen glass of my window seperated me from the infinite space. My focus then changed to my immediate surroundings. My dash board projected it's mechanical green light and warm comforting air. I could feel the belts holding me down, granting me the privilege of speed. The contrast of the green light and the vast space outside was extreme, the two seemed to contradict each other but with a mutual acceptence. In my ears I heard the sounds of my life, the music which gives me unconditional emotion. The music was absolute, taking on only the meaning which I could give it and all that I gave was reciprocated back to me. Questions became answers which then became questions for other answers. The life I left during the day was but a memory no more real than the memories of dreams I recalled when awake. Nothing else mattered, only the imagination which creates our deepest fantasies. For that night, I was venturing through the twilight of a fantasy. In a celestial transport I was granted the right to escape reality and pass through space into another. Indeed an experience to remember. But, the sun has to come up some time......... July 27, 2008

Night Driving pt1

Night driving has to be one of my favorite activities. I enjoy night driving anywhere and whenever. Each time offers an escape from the world around me and takes me inside of myself for reflection and imagination. Everytime is a pleasure though one trip in particular remains fond in my memory. I had recently taken a vacation to West Texas to visit a best friend and to explore possible educational opportunites. After a week or so I decided to make a potentially permanent move to Levelland. I had driven myself there and only brought a few of my things and had to make the trip back to Ogden in order to get the rest of my possessions. I left rather late on my way back exiting Levelland in the afternoon. The entire voyage required a minimum of 15 hours as long as I didn't make stops. However, on my way back to Ogden I decided I was going to stop in Monticello, Utah to get a few hours rest. I arrived in Monticello at about 7pm. I awoke at 2am not wanting to waste anymore time, I was anxious to get back to Ogden. The early morning was frigid being no more than five or ten degrees given it was January. I immediately noticed the sky was clear, absolutely no clouds or haze. Second, the brightness of the full moon awed me with how it illuminated my surroundings. All I could do was stand in the parking lot and bath in the essence of the moment. The entire town was down, nothing more than a ghost representation of it's daytime counterpart. The crystal clear sky, the lack of any human presence other than the black dead buildings in the distance, and the piercing cold left me feeling exposed to the entire universe. Looking at my hands and arms, my skin appeared pale blue in the moonlight. I rose my seemingly alien hand to the moon and let it's glow pass through my fingers. Then, with a sudden cold chill I returned to my room, gathered my things, got into my car, and drove away from the small town. July 27, 2008

Stand Up and Walk

If everyone starts laid down, face first, and in the dirt- Some people don't move and eat the grit, Some people turn over and breath the fresh air, Some people pick themselves up to stand above it all, Some people open their eyes to see whats really around them, Some people see far out to all the great things on the horizon, Some people take steps towards their dreams, Some people stumble and fall, Some people get up again and again, And some people actually make it. January 26, 2012

The Light and the Choice

I’ve been lead to believe that light is many things. Light is goodness, light is knowing, light is illumination, light is fulfillment, light is living and dark is all but the opposite. I can’t help but feel like I want everything to do with light yet I often avoid light out of fear that standing in it I will cast an awkward shadow. So I stand in the dark feeling as though I am missing out on the positives of light but perhaps I am just wasting all the other senses by constantly trying to see. Maybe the answer is to just close my eyes and walk. Maybe I’ve been at it all wrong, maybe all I desire is just an optical illusion, a light trick if you will. Maybe it’s time to feel, not see. January 20, 2012

The Difference

I notice two kinds of people that play music. There are performers who seem to use sound, sight, attitude, and some kind of cultural association to present themselves to an audience, then there are musicians who seem to be able to just sit in a chair, play their instrument, and captivate people devoid of the sights and cultural associations. Performers and Musicians, there is a difference. February 9, 2011

First Time For Everything

The acoustic guitar was an old Silvertone that my Dad bought my Mom when my family lived in Bedford, TX. I can’t recall ever seeing the instrument being played. I remember exploring our Bedford home and wandering into my parents’ closet where the guitar was stored. I would nervously approach the case, open it, and rub the strings. There were a few picks, a tuning pipe, and a sheet with music and chords on it in the case compartment. The case released it’s own scent when opened, a distinctive smell, a combination of new product, wood, and the closest. I can still sense the contrast of these few childhood moments. The contrast being between the guitar and the knowledge I had of the world up to that point. What I knew at that point, at least what was relevant, was that the instrument was called a guitar, it was not a toy, it was my parents’ in their closet, and that it made a loud noise(relative to not ever hearing any other instrument in person). I’d start by feeling the picks in my hand, then moving on to scan the sheet with notes and chords on it. What I got from the sheet was that the notes were like writing, however not understanding what a note was or anything else for that matter, I only paid attention to the subtle differences in the characters. One had a stem, some looked like a donut, some were connected by lines, and so on. I’d stare at the sheet for a while before moving on to the tuning pipe. The pipe was small and shiny. I would very gently blow into one or two of the holes. At first, no sound would come out, probably because I was blowing so soft. I would gradually increase the strength of my breath until a sound came out, which always shocked me, I would cut off my breath immediately. Moving on to the guitar itself, I was scared of making loud noises in that setting therefore I just barely rubbed and stroked the strings before quickly muting them. After one stroke I would carefully close the case and run away. May 23, 2010

Valley of the Echo Beings

Imagine a valley that exists alone in a universe. The valley has finite dimensions; it is only so long, wide, and deep. The boundaries of the valley are impenetrable both from the outside and inside. The finite nature of the valley’s dimensions and boundaries are matched only by the infinite nature of its contents. Every imaginable terrain exists within the valley walls, from harsh to pleasant. High mountain tops contrast with low, deep swamps. Hot, dry deserts clash against cold winter landscapes and rolling plains neighbor with thick, lush forests. Like a flawless mosaic, the valley embodies every attitude of physical terrain whether real or imagined. Within the infinite terrains are an infinite amount of beings, the Echo Beings. Each Echo represents the same individual captured by a man-made increment of time; as infinite as human increments are, as infinite the amount of Echoes. Frozen by measurement, every Echo remains in the same state of mind, with the same thought, forever roaming the terrains of the valley. Knowing only their respective experiences and unknowing of the future, the Echoes never move forward; the Echoes’ stubborn existence, not an expression of free agency but rather a consequence of “being” under the authority of time. Some Echoes yell, some laugh, some cry, and some are silent. The ambient noise of the infinite masses is of the utmost hellish quality. The conglomerate sound of the Echo herds is a leading example of confusion and contradiction. The Echoes don’t even acknowledge one another, isolated within their own experiences; they instead deflect off each other as if immersed in an eternal game of bumper cars. The search for meaning within the valley is a daunting task, as individuals, we mindfully look into the valley that is ourselves. The physical essence of the valley is unknown; it is neither hot or cold, wet or dry, dark or light. As a mindful being cast in the middle, the valley seems to stretch on forever with a relentless irony. The boundaries always in sight, the patches of terrain roll on endlessly like walking against an escalator yet, the terrains never repeat. There is no general attitude to the land, no opportunity for precedent, assumption, or speculation. Such will of the mind is wishful at best. As a mindful being, you confront the Echoes, the infinite masses, searching for the meaning they reflect, the meaning of you. One by one, the Echoes cross your path in random harmony. They don’t speak to you; rather they rant their captured thoughts repeatedly and move on as if you were just another Echo. Old Echoes, young Echoes, and some only microscopically apart on the human timeline pass you by. Each Echo gives you a different interpretation of yourself that will be weighed against previous Echoes. Hindsight on the horizon, you scan the infinite masses as endlessly as the terrain reaches the boundaries of the valley. The valley and its Echoes are the complete you, all the being you will ever be. Cast within, we wishfully search for the true meaning of ourselves, the meaning of it all. It’s the needle in our infinite haystacks. February 27, 2010

A Diamond in the Rough

Meaning is held within our understanding of contrast; how one thing contrasts with another. Impact is held within our understanding of meaning; after simple definitions, how much does something mean to you. So I've been trying to find meaning all my life. Constantly looking into myself, asking questions, contrasting with the past, walking wishful paths, and never really believing anything. It's a neutral gray existence really, not bad or good, black or white. Maybe I'm just paranoid and afraid of the seemingly natural balance of things. Good feelings must come down and bad feelings must come up. Circumstances seem to make it happen without any real agency on my part. Maybe all the questions I ask and the resistance I give to complacency is an attempt to not "rock the boat", to keep things in the middle where they naturally want to balance out. Ironic it is to combat complacency with complacency. It's a wishful path indeed to not look out, an easy way out of dealing with the environment that exists outside. Circumstances that offer both heaven and hell pass by everyday. Like walking through the wilderness, the cirumstances disguise themselves as cool streams, refreshing breezes, beautiful flowers, and shady trees. So easy is it to block out the distractions, obessesed only with making it to the end of the path. I look down as I walk, obsessed with path, I only look outside from the corner of my eye. I sense the distractions only long enough to contiplate them. I define their meanings without any great impact. My mechanical attempts at security have failed recently. Like finding a diamond in the rough, I have glanced outside. Attracted by it's illustrious charm relfecting in the sun, I gazed at the diamond circumstance. I now stand on the very edge of the path trying to decide if I'm going to walk out and touch it. Into the rough? Or on the wishful path? The contrast of my current circumstance is as sharp as a Virginia dogwood flower growing on a barren Utah mountainside. How this circumstance can exist in front of me is beyond my comprehension. July 22, 2009

We are the Mountains

A mountain sits stationary in the landscape. Unmoving, it is in a constant state of bondage to the Earth. Held down by it's own weight, the mountain is compelled to weather the effects of it's environment. With time guiding it all, the seasons pass. During the coldest of times, the mountain endures the frigid snow. The blanket of ice hides the real, natural features of the mountain. The trees are dead and the streams have stopped flowing. The landscape projects with the utmost stunning contrast. There is only black and white, yes or no, do or die, and with nothing in between. No sound can be heard except for the cold air blowing by. During the hottest of times, the mountain endures the sweltering heat of the sun. A spell of dryness tests the mountain relentlessly. Pushing the boundaries, the rays of the sun pound the streams and vegetation. The water slowly evaporates, the strong wills of the creeks diminish every day, and they grow shallow finding any way they can to keep going until they can't anymore. The trees struggle to survive by bearing their roots deeper into the mountainside to find sustenance. We are the Mountains, Here we stand in our environments, compelled to be, to exist. Stationary we sit as circumstances flow past us. As constant as time moves forward, we think our thoughts, reacting to the circumstances even if we think we are not. In the hardest of times, we get buried by the circumstance. We make no sound no matter how hard we shout out. It's irrelevant really what we yell, there are only two options, two ways to act in the face of deep, cold decisions. Yes or no, do or die, black or white. After the decision, we find ourselves in endurance races. Just us and the circumstance seeing who will go farther. We fight our way through, anyway we can, pushing past and digging deeper in an attempt to find resolution, the ultimate prize for winning. The prize rests in the cool days of Spring and Autumn. In Spring, cool refreshing water flows to bring life to the mountain just as our truest efforts bring hope as we progress in dealing with our circumstances. In Autumn, the plants fade away only to grow back with new colors and patterns just as old circumstances will fade into new ones. The reward is new, ever-changing meaning and the abolishment of complacency. August 11, 2009

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