It is real, and pure. TNT for the brain.
Sat Sep 4 21:37:50 MDT 2004
Today, I had the pleasure of introducing the one known as $mentor[0] to Food Not Bombs. Also, I think I'm going to attend tomorrow night's planning meeting at the Ranch, since today I was issued a verbal invite from one of the allies there.
For the evening, we had a relaxing time watching Dangerous Beauty, and discussing its implications regarding various subjects. We both agreed (and I remembered again) that it is an absolute masterpiece.
Right now, I'm feeling very tired, so I'm going to give into that quite soon. It's healthy to sleep sometimes. Truly. But before I do... a little more reflection, maybe?
It seems that Friday night's event completed within me a full circle. Two weeks ago (minus one day), I emerged from the ASR camp feeling overwhelmed and lost. Back amidst the skyscrapers, in the world where the word "community" is more commonly used to talk about demographics than actual connections between people, I wept through the streets where no one could hear.
Thus it was that I became jubilantly excited -- I don't remember feeling anything this strongly since childhood -- when a few of the people from Wyoming who had been at ASR and bonded with me walked with the crowds into the Circle A Ranch under the veil of night, saw me through the dark before I saw them, and called my name.
This was so unexpected that when I first tried to address them, I couldn't remember their names at all, despite having devoted many thoughts to what they had given me. (One: yoga training. Two: a big self-esteem boost, plus advise on how to deal more effectively with women.) I stumbled. This was terribly embarrassing. I couldn't remember the names. As we hugged, the yoga teacher read my mind, and whispered her name into my ear. I wanted to cry. This was too much.
I will not forget again. I will not forget again.
...
The Tuning can sometimes change people's names, can't it?
With so many new faces and conversations, as the night went on, I proceeded to learn, and then forget many more names. Circles and circles and circles.
I drank a little, spent some time near the fire, and admired everything and everyone with wonder. (I have to confess I did pay extra attention to the gorgeously lovely females. They are my weakness, and my desire.)
I spent some time sleeping on the ground, as I was feeling exhausted from lack of sleep. (Kind of like now in that regard.) We danced, we sang, we loved. Some of us committed the heretical act of casting pieces of United States paper currency (the ultimate symbol of our bondage) into the fire. Hooray.
It's especially fun to try to do name remembering excercise amidst a small sub-group of pot smokers. (And yes, I inhaled, thank you.)
As the end began to feel imminent, I felt the overwhelming urge to record a bunch of the names into a computer system I could access later. I logged into Yanthor.net, and posted a rather bizarrely abbreviated account of the evening. Midway through my writing, I heard the sounds of fights erupting near the door outside. A few silly fools who couldn't handle their donsage, or something.
Apparently, there had already been several attempts to convince these disruptive individuals to withdraw and take their violence elsewhere. I asked some of the people running down the stairs if they needed help, to which a quick reply came, "Sure!"
Fortunately, this time, I didn't get socked in the jaw. All it took was a sufficient number of us walking around and standing in solidarity to keep the nasties from taking over.
But after this series of threatening incidents, people not familiar to the house were being asked to leave. I decided that my presence was also quickly becoming obsolete, requested quick back inside to complete my post and log off. Permission granted. was granted.
I wrapped up my affairs, asked somebody to tell somebody else goodbye for me. And it was over. Again.
But now I know that this thing lives on, and I can go back. For this privilege, I would (and likely will) work harder than I ever did back when I was a lathargic wage slave. They said they could use help with the Food Not Bombs kitchen this week. I want to get involved, and help. No more ultra-traumatic severing of community ties; at least not for a while, I hope. I just want to help out a little, visit, maybe also see if I can find it in my schedule to volunteer at the co-co. You know, the stuff that makes Boulder so special.
But right at this moment, I really must sleep, or I shall pass out. I have been waiting way too long. Blessed be, krishnas of the world. :)