When I was a child, I dreamt of monks. Quiet figures who owned nothing, who went about each day doing simple things. I could never see their faces, but I understood what was real to them. Silence, solitude, a life unadorned.
I always thought as I grew older, that I would write extensibly about spirit. It has always been what is most important to me. The belief of my childhood instilled in me a curious faith in life, that everything is as it should be. As an adult, I see organized religion as a cruel fate accepted by many. It leads to the crippling disease of the mundane, of instructing people how not to take responsibility for their own lives, in the here and now. I am happiest sitting on the bench of a picnic table, writing in the cool morning air. Travel is my religion now. It is a quest to continue to map out an expanding territory of spirit.
Doug, Walt and I share about 20' x 8' feet of trailer space. We also have the whole world outside. All have chores to accomplish every day. Walt only needs to be a Black Lab. Doug shops, cooks, does programming and all automotive/trailer repair. It is my job to do laundry, dishes, and to clean the small trailer kitchen, floor and bathroom each day. The cleaning takes about 15 minutes. Then I do my programming work. Then I am free to write.
There are deer here. This is a place of protection for them. They know no predators. Their babies, with white spots on their backs, walk close to your picnic table and look curiously at you with big brown eyes. I smile at them. They look back, switching their little white tails.
Soon we will be on our way again, to New Mexico. And there will be that strange light that only the desert at dawn can provide, a definite spirit of its own.