“I’ve had a lot of jobs. One of the ones I volunteered for in my twenty-somethings was to walk amidst the tents of sleeping campers at 3 am, and strum my guitar to wake them up for meditation practice. That gentle hillside rolling down to the village, still dark under the ominous guardianship of the Worcester range, held endless potential for me. Where it merged into the tree line below seemed a place of magical portent. Perhaps it was. I may never know the actual impact of such things. I do know I never got enlightened. But I was shown a way to proceed. I was given a place to sit amidst hay bales in an ancient farmhouse refurbished for contemplation, and a wise person or two to consult with when I was troubled and at my wits end. And I was. Spilling gasoline on my clothes at the pump one horrible midnight, there were only a handful of places in my mind to run to but really, only one. It wasn’t a slam dunk the roads would be plowed back then. Pre 911, nothing in Day-Glo to mark the way, or GPS. It was a free fall, and you took responsibility for yourself and no one saved you. No government agency to turn to, no safe zone, you just went where you dared. You were the hunter, you were the hunted. And it felt good. Because this is what grows depth in a human, not coddling or fear. It was up to you to decide for yourself if a yogi in a cave had some authoritative role over your life or if you were there to challenge her. And stumbling down that path in near pitch darkness, in the middle of the night desperate for truth, I didn’t know I would have to eventually face up to my own lunacy and/or naive delusions. Back then, if somebody cool that I trusted told me I was being selfish for not following certain obedient rituals, well, I would be lying to say I was not racked with self doubt, confusion and shame. So I tied up my hopes to their wagon, and prayed into the well of my own conflicted being, saying, everything would come out right. Sure, I felt rebellious towards what they said, I even cried when they told me to dress with more modesty, but I grabbed each opportunity to feel self righteous when I was able to sit without moving for three hours in Samadhi pose. I felt elated by the rough beams of the enclave’s outdoor kitchen, dreamed of pioneer self sufficiency in my heart and devoted every waking moment to creating a portal for my own enlightenment. Who could not but bow before the staid presence of Vermont’s senior mountains, feeling chosen, as in the hills of Tibet? I knew I was put here to plumb the depths of my world without restriction, without borders, to care for my own without edicts or mandates, equally adept riding the wild air of crisis or the somber air of redemption. To test my humanity tho abandoned and alone facing cutting razors of sleet, uncomfortably out of my element, beyond simple repair, and without hope.”
