This week’s “zombie” post reminded me that writing this blog can be fun, and it occurred to me that, lately, this blog has had more emphasis on the “serious” and less on the “silly”. And the last thing I want this blog to be is something that makes people think, “Jeez, that guy’s gotten so preachy – what happened to the days when Terry was fun?”
I like to think that this blog is just a reflection of my real life, and I try to write as truthfully and transparently as possible. And the space I’m in on my journey does seem to place a lot of emphasis on the spiritual, on admitting my human frailty and flaws, on the awakening consciousness — and all that shit. But as evidenced by that last sentence, I like to laugh, I like to be offbeat, and I like to be weird. And I don’t want to lose sight of that just because I happen to be growing up mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.
So it is with this in mind that I give you — the random musings jotted down in my little pink journal that I carried with me everywhere at Burning Man this year. Similar to last year’s “P.S. Bullet Points” post, these notes are occasionally cryptic even to me, but most are linked to one-of-a-kind experiences that will never come my way again, thus making them priceless memories. Read On
It’s delightful to find something that you had forgotten you’d lost.
Growing up in rural Oregon, I remember sleeping outside under the stars on the hot summer nights. Laying in a sleeping bag on the lawn of our farmhouse, looking up at a sky full of stars, and the band of milky whiteness that cut its way across the sky – I suppose that’s why they call it the Milky Way. I remember being hypnotized by the glow of the starlight, and nearly overwhelmed by the massive amount of lights dotting the sky overhead. And every once in a while – the ecstasy of seeing a shooting star.
And then, moving to Southern California, all of that gone.
Decades of living near sprawling metropolis has made me forget how majestic a night sky can be. Periodically I have found myself in places where I am far enough away from urban areas that more stars are visible. But it had been a long time since I’d seen the Milky Way.
Last night, up at Glacier Point in Yosemite, after the sun set, I was treated to a spectacular view of various constellations that were out and flirting with the seductive power of gods and goddesses and I was transfixed, unable to look away, drawn in completely and falling in love under their spell. And amidst it all, cutting across the sky in a vast and immeasurable path, the Milky Way floated above me like a massive caterpillar crawling along the biggest leaf of God’s favorite tree.
I came down from the peak to the valley floor, feeling an afterglow, the images of the stars still dancing in my eyes, and reminded of those nights thirty years ago when I was too young to understand all the different ways that light can enter the soul.