Slab City
Another Reality

The truth of my why, on surface level, is as simple as the curiosity of a cat.
As a cat gazes out the window for long periods on any given day. It seems as if it knows there are other realities out there, waiting for exploration and experience.
This is just one of the reasons I like cats. I look at this life as a window of possible experience.

I shared my dream of touring the southwest in an RV. The well-suited fellow shared lore of a small city of social misfits, dwelling in the remote southern Mojave Desert in a place near the Salton Sea. My interest turned into desire for a dream to be known as experience. And now I have this one as well.

My name is Mel. I'm center of the fifth decade of life. I've recently come to accept that I am an artist, if only as an excuse for the life that I live. It’s a term that I've disliked for decades. This in spite of the professions I've engaged that demand one being, if nothing else, my being artistic. With this artistic lifestyle, I've also held deep curiosity regarding the great questions of life itself. These questions alone have inspired many perceivably strange paths throughout my years.

Most misconstrue the pursuit of ones spiritual awareness with religion. I am most certainly not a religious man. I'm a man who holds great interest in my greater truth of being. I’ve found my greatest answers in times of my stillness within. This stillness is as if a place. It’s a place that few have any awareness of. And this "place" has become my greatest obsession during the last half-decade of my life.

As a result of our deeply conditioned awareness of life itself, most who feel the desire to know this place, are mislead to thinking that it is in fact, a physical location, somewhere on the face of this Earth. Traveling to places declared as holy lands. Such as one might find neon signs marking the birthplace of Christ. Searching as if the answers to ones life lay in an others.

I'm the first to pontificate, this "place" is in fact, not a place. It's within the boundaries of ones stillness of mind. So to think that you can travel to find it, is to me, an absurdity. However, there are places in this world that lend themselves better to the stilling of mind required to find true heaven on Earth.

I've found that the most remote unpopulated regions of the vast desert plains to be like the temples where religious followers find their interpretations of God. And this was once again my intention in February 2012. To find my stillness in the desert again. This time combined with the adventure of exploring the social freak-show that was explained by the well suited man, out in the unknown desert lands by the mysterious Salton Sea.

Something else I’d like to explain. A few years ago through deep meditation I achieved a unique understanding of life. As a result of this, and on my own accord, I decided to renounce the vast majority of my material possessions. The most difficult of these was my home. (Yes, I went that far.) I've been decidedly homeless for almost two years at the time of this adventure.

Most of this book is my journals. I write every morning that I can. For the most part, I still don't really accept that I'm an artist. Most certainly not of the written word. My published writing has never been much more than a slogan or a few words of ad copy for a magazine or billboard. So these journals may not be well written. The truth is, I didn't write them for you.

I find journaling to be a reflection of self. That allows reflection each morning. It reveals more than the mirror ever could. While I shave my face while looking in a mirror, I look at myself in my writing. In this book I will spare you my thoughts on meditation and how it has so profoundly changed my life. That's another book for those few who have interest in such.

This book is an attempt to share an experience. I hope that it at least provides passive entertainment. The RV passenger seat was unoccupied. Perhaps you’ll come along in this little adventure of mine, being me, on my way to the experience of another reality. The reality known as Slab City.

2/2/12 Homeless No More

Good morning, it's February 2nd, I think, 2012 I'm sure. I’m also pretty sure that it’s Thursday.
Like the experiences and memories of a lifetime, the pages collect in the folders on my computer. I’ve been printing them out recently. Just for myself at this point. Last night as I was about to fall to sleep, I attempted to read some of my work. Out like a light.

So, now I'm a homeowner again, or so at least it seems.
Transitioning from homeless, to a man with a home on wheels. Aside from my potentially insane views and opinions regarding our concept of ownership, I think that I might be incredibly happy with this little motor home.

For years, I've been entertaining the fantasy of driving one of these things to whatever destination might strike my fancy. I recall many places I’ve passed along my way in the past two years travel, wishing the ability to simply stop for a day just to be. There are so many incredible spaces and places on our beautiful planet. We generally only see it on TV. I am not content with this point in my life. I still have the faculty to walk, climb, run if necessary, and most importantly, be still. I want to take full advantage of the potential adventures I have. I want to live out my dreams by making them realities. And be free of compromise of others or circumstantial commitment.

The day before yesterday, I dived head first into a dream that I've had for years. Today, I have in my possession an RV. It's old. It's not exactly pretty by today’s standards. But it's fully functional and it has the ability to take me to other dreams yet to be realized as experience. Hooray for me!
I own an R.V.

As I made the hour and a half drive to look at the RV that I now claim as my own, I realized, I'm not really going to look at the RV, I'm going to buy it. It's my life, and I'm going to live it the way that "I" want to. Also as I drove there, with so much time for introspection, I came to realize that one of the reasons I was about to do it on that day, was, there was no woman in my life to tell me not to. No "other" to hold me within the confines of their liking and desired definition as significant romantic other in life. I’m grateful to be free of the bonds of romance again. Once again, I can be “me”.

I can engage my true heart again.
Within each of us, I believe there to be many hearts. I’m not in any way referring to the pulsing muscle in the center of my chest that pumps blood throughout the body. Im referring to the heart of soul that seemingly pumps thoughts and feelings into a day and life of conscious experience. Within the next months time going forward, it is one of my goals to discover, list and examine, the hearts within human experience. As I sit here this beautiful morning, I can immediately think of four.
• The heart of true personal desire. The heart where your dreams reside within you.
• The heart of familial bonds. The one which binds us to the others with whom we’ve entered into this reality. And the ones with whom we feel a true kindred spirit.
• The heart of community. From the globe, to the country, or even small community wherein one may reside. That heart which inspires one to be within the comfort of what the Buddhists refer to as the Sangha
• And there’s also the romantic heart. This is the heart most powerful of them all. As well it is the most foolish heart of hearts. It's the heart that will supposedly make a man "act right". Or compromise himself to the liking of his lover.

It's is my true desire to turn my romantic heart inward upon itself. I have done so in the past. I am doing so again. In my past this has yielded the best times of my life in regards to my happiness. And it is coming back to me again. I am truly a happy man at this point in my life. I am grateful to be me, doing what I am doing, the way that I am doing it. I understand me, and I accept me for who and what I am. I truly need no others acceptance within me now. I have again the most important love that can ever be. The love for who I am, and for the simple fact of my being.

I just bought a home. It’s been almost two years of being technically homeless. And now suddenly everything’s changed.
I have to go now.

2/8/12 Observing a change
Depression is from the past
Anxiety is from the future.
Happiness is from within the moment of now.

Dreaming is as if visiting the interpretation of your perceptions of this life experience and this alleged reality. The walls are not defined, the parameters not set. Yet the relevance to this world is undeniable. As I sit here now, I have little or no recollection of dreaming About anything other than this reality, or better said; This realm. Yet I have visited others within the practice of deep meditation. I’m not certain that I’m not breaking some kind of humanitarian rules within my practice. But now I’m as addicted to it as a junkie is to his heroine.
Sleep and dreaming.
I believe that we need these rest times as reality breaks, for more than just a physical repair and regeneration. I believe that we require it to function as the perceivers of this reality as we know it. Without these breaks, which define our days from our nights, this whole thing would become a blurry mess of consciousness and experience itself.

And I merge into another day of conscious experience of my human life experience.

Good morning.
It's Wednesday, February 8th 2012
And you're still alive. Congratulations!

I'm feeling ready to move on now. This RV remodeling project has just exhausted my physicality and distracted me from the one thing I want more than anything else. That being, true stillness and the re-engagement of my practice of meditation. It's been interesting to observe myself in the past week. I have taken the role of ownership again. It's not just another motor vehicle this time. It's very literally a little home on wheels. With this, and full legal ownership there-of, I have the ability to change it in any way to my liking. And so this is what I have been doing.

With this wanting has come unrest within me. A long list of things to be changed or repaired to my liking. All very normal, and all normally not noticed, not to be mentioned or questioned by those who are “normal”. Yes, I think about, what I think about, perhaps a little bit too much.
Feeling the physical exhaustion is very obvious. I have been working very hard on the remodeling of a bedroom area into an office workspace within the confines of this tiny house on wheels. My hands feel swollen and tired, my back is at times torturous to my day. And the list of such complaints can go on. I'm okay with all of that. I should be tired and a bit sore from what I'm doing.

It's the mental state that seems to be coming with this RV that I am not in favor of. And it’s this which I will soon be putting back in it's proper place. I'm tired of this project now and I'm ready to put the RV to its intended use. Knowing myself to be who I am, this project could go on for the remainder of my days. It's an old RV that I now have thousands of dollars invested into, and I'm ready to stop both the financial investing as well as the investing of my time and energy. It’s been two weeks, I’m ready to engage the fantasy of going out into the desert to find a quiet place to write, record and most importantly, just be.

Time here by the ocean has been wonderful. It's beautiful, and the accommodations are gifted. However, being by the shore can be likened to sitting atop the pulsing wrist of the Earth itself. It never stops. Even in the moments of human quiet. The waves on the shore persist. It's a soothing sound to hear the gentle rise and fall of white noise as the waves crash against the shoreline. I admit, that not unlike most humans, I find it pleasant.
Unfortunately I am not alone in my appreciation of the shoreline. There are many here. I am currently in one of this continents most desirable locations. And I’m grateful to be here. But I’m feeling ready for solitude again. Within solitude I know that I can find both myself, and my practice again. The amount and degree of distraction that is within any interaction with others is an astonishing fact of being within this life. And on a more personal level, within my own awareness of being.

I don't want the distractions of others. Their noise, both the audible and the conceptual is becoming deafening to me. Within this noise arises the judgments and subsequent suffering that I want no part of. I want silence that I might hear again. I want stillness that I might be again in the light of true awareness.

Now I'm going to go steam clean the RV.
I hope to do so with serenity and joy.
Because I can.
Good morning Mel, have a wonderful day.

2/18/12 Home
Three towels and a beard trimming kit.
These were the first things that I moved into the R.V.
It's Saturday, February 18th, (I think) 2012 (I know)

My new home remodeling is complete and ready to move into. I'm amazed at the amount of discomfort I’m having with this. With this is the lack of need for a suitcase. There are cabinets for almost everything that I require. There's a place for things to be "put away" in this vehicle called an R.V. Cabinets for shoes to be placed, jackets to be hung, from toiletries to a computer workstation, all amazingly well accommodated. As well there is not only food storage, but an area for the preparation of food and a place to sit and eat as well. But wait there's more! It includes a small cabinet for deification, urination and complete physical hygiene with hot and cold running water. All of this, and a bed that is surprisingly comfortable. It's a fucking R.V.! What would one expect?

Yet I’m finding myself uncomfortable without the three cases that have been my home for the past 19 months. One large one for clothing, a smaller carry-on for valuables, and a briefcase for the computer I work with.

For the past year and seven months, this has been my concept of home. Wherever these three bags are open is home. When they are closed I am traveling. This has been my home-life. No home. Homeless. And this way of living has been wonderful. With this lifestyle I’ve been available and I have been unavailable, all to my liking. I've stayed in the entire range of possible hotel and motel accommodations, as well in houses ranging from dream homes to typical Hollywood bungalows. I've lodged with friends and lovers, and relatives too. I've also stayed in my van for days on end as I’ve driven across the country several times. And this has been an absolutely wonderful experience of stepping outside of the conditioning of what’s considered “normal”.

At this point I feel most at home in a hotel room. I've mastered as best one can the process of Hotwire and Priceline's websites to find my lodging as needed. I am one of those who have also achieved mastery of flight at this time in history. Annoyed and amused by those who have not.
And from within all of this time, I’m now amused by the attachment this society has to the concept of home. It has been an incredible journey for me if only for the observation of others as I admit my decided status of homelessness.

Only one time in the past year and a half have I encountered others doing the same. They were a nice couple in there late forties I met at a luggage store in Los Angeles. They too where buying the amazingly over-priced and well constructed luggage that I’m so attached to. They admitted with the same reluctant care as I use, that they had been doing it for over a year. Both web based working professionals, that had finally "seen the light" and decided, enough of this insanity. They too were free of the illusory shackles of home. They shared stories of travel and adventure that most can only dream of while watching TV. They too had no interest in television. They had chosen not to live vicariously, but rather experientially. And they seemed very happy. It was good to meet them. I felt a little less strange and a little less insane.

It’s been difficult being honest with people I meet about this decision I've made to be homeless. The normal reaction is a smirk that obviously reveals a thought of, 'Yah right.. you're homeless'. You don't look like you live in a box under a bridge. Then I invariably make the effort to explain how I live. The reactions get little better with this. I've stepped out of the box of perceptions that most seemingly hold as an absolute truth. With the admission of my lifestyle, many have been obviously threatened on this very basic level of conditioned perception.

As I sit next to you on a flight from here to there, we engage in conversation. Perhaps you find what I have to say interesting. Many times you may thank me for sharing some wisdom of awareness. But when I tell you of how I have chosen to live, there is usually an obvious change in you. There is a discomfort with it. No man should be with out a home. I’ve learned to see those who can’t accept this. And for them alone I have maintained all of the required documentation to appear as if I reside in downtown Los Angeles, just as I did prior to my leaving residence behind.

As I sit on this rooftop this morning. Writing as I usually do in my morning process of waking. With the ocean in full view on the western horizon, I observe the man who owns the house across the street from here. With the oceans waves crashing against the shoreline behind his home, He is busily working to maintain his street side yard in all of its glory. Directly behind this view of a man at work on his Saturday morning, is a surfer sitting calmly on his board, waiting for the next good wave to come. To have the experience of riding that wave of the ocean, as it crashes against the edge of America.
The freedom I see in those surfers, is the freedom I feel as I come and I go as I please.

But two weeks ago I bought an R.V.
With this purchase, I seem to have changed many things in my life yet again. For two weeks now I have been remodeling and restoring this old land-yacht to my liking. It is now esthetically and functionally ready for my moving in. After these two weeks of incredibly consuming and hard labor, last night I took three towels and a beard trimmer into the RV. I was amazed at the feelings I experienced as I did so. Just as I have been amazed as I've watched myself buying appliances to make myself more comfortable within it. A coffee pot, tea maker, humidifier and an electric heater for nights when I have the coming luxury of tethered utilities.
All of the interest and research about this lifestyle that I am now engaging has been overwhelmingly consuming of my days. As simple as this might seem to others, I see that I've once again complicated my life.

At first purchase of this, I felt that I'd made the mistake of simply involving myself once again in the illusory concept of ownership. It is in fact this. Yet it is much more than this alone. I have decidedly changed my status of homelessness to one of having a home. Although it's just an R.V. it's more than that to me. I now have a place. In spite of the fact that this place is mobile and thus this "place" may end up in any place, it's a place. It’s a tether, a home. And I’m not one bit comfortable with this concept.

It's an astonishing fact that a man can transform from the perception of requiring massive amounts of square footage and land to be happy as I have in my past. To having none of this, declaring all that surround me my own. I've been the proud owner of little or nothing. And within that, all that is, has been my own to have and enjoy. Free of responsibility or commitment. I can engage as deeply as only I desire. This is what comes with the awareness of conditioning, and the courage to challenge it head on.

It's also been an interesting observation to see how others react to this purchase. It seems that I've stepped back into acceptable behavior again. Others seem happy for me. As if I've been suffering for this time of decided homelessness. Even though this home is on wheels. I have a home. And this seems more comfortable for others. Now I am at least living with some degree of the accepted state of ball and chain, which is the concern for that which is perceived as being mine. I'm happy for you who can find comfort in this. I'm sorry for causing the discomforts of the potential questioning of your truths.
(No.. not really.)
There's still much to be done. I'm a very busy man. I own a home now.
At least, for now.

2/19/12 Traveling
Another day. And it's another day of decided change for me.

My virgin voyage in this land-yacht, now filled with all the oh-so precious material possessions I perceive as being mine. Off into the great sunrise, heading back into the desert again. Another time to cross swards within. A time to do battle with the voice within, to listen, and see it when it comes. To quell its incessant stream of deeply conditioned babbling. True silence is the citadel of the greatest freedoms I’ve known. Within this freedom is a joy and contentment unrivaled by any experience of this life. But there is a dragon tending the door to this euphoric state, and that great dragon is this voice within. That nonsensical and never-ending stream of internal dialog and monolog which is so little known to us as even being present. Yet being one of the greatest commonalities among us. It's the voice that drives one to insanity or to reason, and more often the former. It's the voice that say's; yes you can or, you can't, and you're right, you're wrong, etc. The most important element of it's speaking, is the word and implication of “you”,"your" and "you're".

It’s the voice constantly in quest of definition and possession, producing the sticky mire of attachment to both. From which can only be born the suffering which is the driving force of our greatest insanities within our social and personal experiences during this lifetime. My journey today is not just starting and driving this land-yacht. It’s the onset of releasing once again, these trappings of insanity within. I set forth into silence and attention to all of that which is not.

Less than three hundred miles from where I sit now as I write, are the places where I am going to be waging this war. I've been there before and it suited me well. It’s there where I hope to once again find the solitude. The quiet I've craved since my last departure. It was once mine, this silence of ego that I describe. It's been a long and arduous adventure from that place in the time-line of experience to this which is the now.
From a romantic relationship with all of its typical offerings. To the sufferings of self-definitions and harsh judgments required of me, as I've toiled within the social structure to earn my keep financial. But this is all behind me for a time now. The length of this time is unknown. This unknowing has been the element of driving desire to move quickly. As if a deadline imposed by a client has been driving my schedule. But this client is now my desire to step out and away from all this, which is conceived and perceived as being the normal.

Yes, I'm about to go be abnormal again.
Yet another voyage into the abyss of esoteric. To explore what seems as if the true final frontier. Still a strange and very foreign world to the mass of humanity. This is the place where I want to go. This place is within us. The first step is the awareness of that. The second is engaging the silence, which is the clear path toward that which may be construe d as heaven or "God-Self".

We are that. We have that. It is not only within us, it is within each moment before us. As pure and as simple as just being. Free of desire, Free of remorse. Free of the ever-chattering monkey within that vies for the forefront of our experience. I will once again be within stillness.

I have deep appreciation and awareness of this state of being. However mastery of it is not yet mine. I find frustrations within my attempts to share it, and I feel it’s a result of my own lack of this mastery. Just as I sit here now at the waters edge, and in the distance I see those men riding waves on their surfboards. Some are catching the waves, to then ride like a king of the ocean. Others are still learning the navigations required, as they attempt it repeatedly until they have that same experience of momentary precedence over the kingdom of the waters great power and fury.

This analogy is fitting in many ways as I live within the structures of our social conditioning. For I hope to one day be like the surfer who lives the life of surfing, teaching others to do the same for his means of sustenance, there by the shore of his kingdom.
I wish to be a full time surfer of awareness, contemplation and introspection. There is a shoreline within my consciousness more vast than the ocean before me, with more depth and more adventure than can be known among the chattering monkeys who live in the proverbial trees of society. This kingdom is not a place, yet I am going to a place where it can be more easily obtained.
It is in fact a simple awareness that can be had at any moment, in any place or circumstance. However there are surroundings more conducive than others for waging the war against ego. Though the battles are simple and painless, they require attention and acceptance for what is. Free of distractions one may more easily tend with the mindful awareness required.

Today, I am beginning my voyage back. Back to the experience of an experience more pure. As is every day, this is my day. But today is one special to me. I'm going home.

Today is February 20th, 2012.
I have a little more packing to do. This afternoon I'm on my way.
Be well Mel. Thank you for being you.
Namaste
Man.. Do I love to sneeze!

2/19/12 First Night
Good evening.
I'm sitting at my new desk for the first time.
Less than one hundred miles from my point of departure, I'm done driving this yacht for the day. After finding a police officer to ask for a recommendation, here I sit in a ride-share parking lot next to another RV. It looks like it has been in this spot for at the least several months. It's much bigger than mine, and appears to be very decrepit. I can't say that I feel comfortable in this place. Yet I'm finding a strange new comfort within this little home on wheels where I now reside.

This is the first night to sleep in it. Strange to actually be doing what I've imagined myself to be doing for so long. It's an amazing example of conscious creator-ship.
I created every bit of this moment and situation, completely to my own liking and design.

The neighbors have shown themselves now as they rummage through their adjacent old tarp covered pickup truck, looking for something of obvious need. I'm apparently the new transient neighbor for the night. It’s strange to be next to such perceivable wreckage of both vehicular decay and life condition. But who am I to judge. I'm certain that there are many who see myself in the same light as my new neighbors look to me tonight.

I am tempted to start the furnace, but it’s far from necessary this evening. The desktop that I worked so diligently to finish to my liking is a reward to me this evening. I'm finding it more comfortable than anticipated. The general position of it and the spacing, or lack there of, is also a nice surprise for its comfort and functionality.
Yesterday as I was finishing some basic maintenance on the exterior, it occurred to me why these things are often referred to as land yachts. They require the same never-ending attention to their list of fragile detail of interior, exterior and mechanical. As well it's perhaps the way the handle on the open roads. This afternoon as I slowly careened my way through the southern California mountain passes, I was considerate of the line of cars behind me, pulling over as often as possible to allow their passing me by. It's a cruiser, not a sports car. And it handles just like one would expect a top heavy, oversized box to handle: "Poorly".

Strange also to be growing tired before the hour of ten at night. I'm actually grateful for this. If only for the longer day of well lit driving that I have in front of me tomorrow. I'm off to the Salton Sea.
The interesting phenomena of the 1950’s breaking of a damn that caused a sea and subsequent onset of real estate developers who quickly descended upon the shores of the newly flooded desert plains. Creating a water resort for those in the southern California cities. Obviously no one was able to anticipate the turning of that tide that was the demise of that amazing desert dream. From my research, it appears to be a resort ghost town. I'm looking forward to the adventurous exploration of it all. But for this evening, I'm growing too tired to continue this journaling of my adventure in a home on wheels. So my morning comes for more of this. Oh! This is the first time I'll be using that new small coffee pot! How exciting! I need to make ready my morning brew prior to climbing into my upstairs bedroom.
It's 2-20-12
For the first time in my life. I'm living in an R.V.
Wow..
++++++++++++
And now..
OMG!
I'm up and I’m writing at 6:30 AM!
It's a rude and unpleasant awakening to dress in the morning cold, but other than that, this has been a wonderful and fun little morning of RV living. Firing up the furnace to warm it all up, Sparking up the jenny and making a cup of coffee. And now I'm off into the sunrise of morning. All before 7:00 AM. Wow indeed.

2-20-12 New Life
Day number 1 of your new life as a yachtsman of the land.
And without a doubt this is in fact a new life and lifestyle. If only for the fact that it's at this moment it’s not yet 9:00 AM. This is your second writing, second cup of coffee, you've driven even higher into these beautiful southern California mountains. Just completed a wonderful hiking trail, filled with vistas of astonishing beauty. I’m here at the Inaja Memorial Picnic Area and Hiking Trail.
It seems that in the mid fifties, there were about twenty-five men who lost their lives fighting a fire in this area. This little park facility was created in memorial of them.

As I was ending this early morning hike and was coming back in sight of the RV, it occurred to me that I am now technically living a dream of many. The decision to stop here this morning was one that took less than ten seconds as I saw the sign at the roadside. No reason to do so, no reason not to. Other than I've never been here before.
Now I take pause just to be, and I wonder why it is that I'm writing, when this moment requires nothing more than to just be. The sun is growing warmer as I sit at this table and write. I feel so at peace within this moment that for once in a very long time, I feel as if I've nothing to say. I feel such a deep sense of contentment right now, such that I have no recollection of without meditative practice. Have I actually done something so right for myself as this? I am honestly awe struck in this moment of being.
Perhaps more later in the day...
-------------150 miles L8R that day-------------
I don't touch the popcorn that I eat now.
I haven't done so for years, I use chopsticks. The only exception of a theater screening. Then I succumb to the "normal" way of enjoying this delightful food. Chopsticks are the right way for me. This is not entirely relevant beyond the fact that I'm enjoying some now, between sentences as I write before my once again early bed.

What a day this has been. The drive through the state park was amazing. As soon as I made it down from a height of four thousand foot above sea level, to below two thousand foot, the terrain became desert. It was as if it just faded into a new scene before my eyes as I drove the treacherous two-lane highway. A seemingly unending series of hairpin turns descending ever lower down through picturesque tree covered passages, until suddenly, there was an open strait of road, and I was suddenly in the desert again.

Like seeing an old friend after a long time apart, the first moments reunited are a bit awkward and uneasy, within a very short time I remembered the love and the reason I've longed to be back here. From the vast and open horizons to the pristine clean air. And the silence so profound that it's deafening at first. It’s one of the most beautiful places I've ever known. Just coming into it as I did was an incredibly satisfying moment of being to add to an already beautiful day.
-------------Slab City even L8R-------------
And then..
There's Slab City.
It's growing far too late in my evening for me to even begin attempting notation of the experience of my first impressions of this place where I am tonight. I'm growing tired and I'm looking forward to my rest now. I’m tired and filled with gratitude. For this day and the adventure unfolding.

2/21/12 Slab City
Good morning
This is another new day of experience.
Firstly for the hour of my well rested waking. Secondly for the location and accommodation I now have. I'm here in Slab City this morning. It's my first morning here. Inside the RV as I started the generator to make my morning cup of coffee, it was so quiet that I felt perhaps I was the first to rise in this place. As I stepped outside into the bright desert sun, I quickly realized that I was one of the late risers.
Now I sit with ritualistic arrangement of my morning. With a small folding table next to this comfortable chair. Coffee, cigar, iPad and keyboard, I’m delighted just to be me.

Sound and light seem to travel with the same ferocity in the desert. The man in the second closest RV is sharing with a friend, in great detail, the things he does and doesn't like about his home in Michigan. His long hours of work and his disdain for the rain. Five old women are walking along the perimeter ridgeline behind me. Dogs are being walked and conversations being had, as others engage the rituals that are the gentle morning scurry of this waking community of social misfits and renegade grandparents.

Today again I feel and hear large explosions from off in the far distance. Yesterday my thoughts were military practice was happening somewhere nearby, but this morning I think it to be a mining operation of some kind, as I observe a large plume of dust rising up into the still horizon. Between the two I most certainly prefer mining. My next desert destination offers the other. One of the greatest contrasts of the spiritual retreat center is the sound of distant bombing practices. (I digress ..)

This strange community that I am very suddenly a part of here is one unlike any I've seen in my lifetime. Compared perhaps only to a well written movie scene of a post apocalyptic world, wherein government has collapsed and authority has become the common courtesy of others. To my understanding, the police do not come here. There is no public service of any kind. Including fire, waste management or health care. This is the epitome of living "off the grid". Last night I slowly walked around what could be called the block in this new neighborhood, lit only by stars and soft glowing windows of RV's, trailers and tents. I wondered to myself if this could be what the future might look like, after the collapse of our great systems of empirical hierarchy that we deny the existence of daily.

This is a place where true basics are those of the greatest concern. Water is obviously number one on the list, followed closely by food and fuel. The amount of solar panels seems as if an indication of days to come in the near future of man.

My new friend John just peddled by on one of the most prominent forms of local transportation, offering me a tour of the community soon. I'm looking forward to that tour. He has been coming here for ten years to winter. He’s from Oregon State. An elderly man with long grey hair in a ponytail. He came to my rescue yesterday afternoon as I was stuck in the sands outside the perimeter of he city. It was my first hard lesson in RV life. That lesson being, this truck with my residence attached, is far too heavy for driving on the soft sands of the desert floor.

It was my initial desire to be as far away from the community as possible, while maintaining a position of observance. However within an hour of that sunken parking and dismounting my bike for a quick ride to find parking grounds more stable, I met a man named Dell. Dell is also from the cold mid-west, as many of the people here seem to be. He was friendly, and spoke with an accent reminiscent of one of my greatest teachers. As I told him of my concerns of potentially being stuck in the sand, he offered the use of his shovel and the advise of; taking my time and just thinking it through. Later, after deciding I'd be more comfortable on more solid footing, I did in fact find myself stuck. I walked to his campsite to borrow his shovel. He smiled and again offered the advise of taking my time, and thinking it through. As I walked the long walk through the desert sand, back to my wheels stuck in the same. I thought of his advise about thinking, but more of the way he offered it. I knew then that Del would be a friend of mine.

As I was digging a path for the wheels to traverse, realizing just how fucked I’d be without this simple and basic tool in the middle of the desert, I was visited by Oregon John, offering assistance. He had seen this before, he had done it himself, he had boards for much needed traction, along with friendly concern and advise. These boards were what the average American would see as being garbage. But in Slab City they had the potential to be anything from a way out of a hole to the makings of a shelter. Within an hour of my arrival in Slab City, I once again learned the fact, that the desert will humble a man just as fast as the sea. Just one of the reasons I love it.

Between the meeting of both John and Del, I realized that perhaps I'd misjudged the potential experiences of interaction within this community. I moved inward to set up my camp site, closer to the others that I was afraid might interfere with my desired time of being quiet and engaging deep introspection. They call it the “hard pack” as apposed to the “sugar”. So I’m set up this morning, on the hard pack at the edge of this neighborhood that seems to be just that, in this strange little city in the middle of the desert.

There is much to be explored within this place. Today I hope to begin this exploration. To my current understanding, there are three major defined communities or "clubs" here. But I'm certain there's much more to it than that.

I'm about to engage my practice of yoga. I’m delighted that feel like it today. It's been a long time since I have. Then an exploratory bicycle ride and more writing, and most likely some camera work soon. For I think thus far, this place has been very poorly illustrated by our prevailing media. I'm filled with gratitude for this day and the potential experiences within it. I'm grateful for my courage to change. Such courage is the key to such adventure as this.
-------------L8r this day-------------
And now. Good afternoon.
I have no idea of the actual time. The sun is in a position similar to my getting stuck in the sands yesterday, so I assume it to be about four. I really have no idea. I've had a nice conversation with my new friend Dell a few hours ago. Then went out for a ride to discover what I could of Slab City. The conversation was delightful and informative. He told me of himself and of this place where I am. It was saddening to find out that the bright lights at night that I thought were a well illuminated small town that I'd missed on my way here, are in fact a maximum security prison. And on the other side of us is not a mining operation at all, at least not beyond the financial mining of the greatest powers that be, those who reap the greatest spoils of war. As he told me of the training and facilities there, I was hard pressed not to ask him to stop. I'm becoming so sensitive to the topic itself that sometimes even casual discussion is difficult to endure. As one engages the truth within stillness the treasures of beauty are beyond profound. To then see the destruction of others who have no awareness of this beauty can be a test of ones acceptance of Karma, otherwise known as Cause and Effect.

3-22-12 Changing Perceptions
The world is changing so quickly now. The morning sky is overcast from chem-trails alone, here in this country no longer governed it’s people. It's an amazing time to be alive. And I'm grateful for the show. The departure of man from nature as he has so self alluded himself into this position of self perceived power over himself and the planet that is our host is about to collapse. I feel it. Most of us do. It seems as if the hammer is about to fall on the rats in the cage and so we're simply enjoying the last dance in paradise. Bury your head as deeply as you can within the sands of self-delusion. I honestly wish I had better advise to give. But it seems that it's gone too far now to reverse. The math dictates a time for great change. If only we'd respected our host. Open your eyes to see the world around you as it changes. The new man-made clouds are the first things you might see. After that it starts to be a little more frightening.

And so be it.
That's my dooms-day message for the morning.
And the robot of mind chatters on.
To actually quell the voice in the head. What a task for the human to engage. I ask again for this gift today. I endeavor to simply be still in observance of this, of myself and the world that surrounds me. This task of my own making is one of the most difficult battles of mind within minds within. To actually stop the flow of chatter. To stop the input of the ego. That fucking voice that seems to know a little bit about everything that is presented no matter what it might be, and ready to offer its opinion without invitation. And the moment of external silence, is the holiday for the voice in the head. Then it can bring forth the topic of its liking. Usually some scenario born purely of the ego itself.
Often bringing forth openly verbalized monologs for us, as we talk through whatever "it" may be.

We stand in horror of the mind so damaged as the schizophrenic that converses openly in public with this very same voice we all have within us. We look at them with the same fright as we do looking at those who are physically crippled beyond our comprehension. Yet we are all so very close to being the schizophrenic, whether we choose to admit it or not. It's within every human being and most likely our closest brother on this planet that are here with us. This is obvious in the dreaming dog as he runs in his slumber. There is even a story within the mind of the dog that is being retold.

I want to step away again from this insanity within. To the purity and bliss of pure observation. I long to simply see the beauty again. To be free of the shackles of knowing. I know so damned much, I have an opinion of all that is before me. And in the times of being free of the input of the external, there it is making up stories and reviewing the past. I'm not insane. I'm simply seeking the purity of stillness. I'm amazed that I feel defensive for this desire. This too is the voice defending itself. Holding onto its place within. Telling another level of awareness, that to avoid me is crazy and a bothersome endeavor from which can come only harsh judgments external and now obviously from within.

And so okay my dear ego, I'm crazy. How about that? And I think that you're crazy too. As your greatest desire seems my suffering, and as you are me, who's the mad one within? So chatter away as best that you can. Today is another of my decided battle with you. I'm watching you now and it is my firm intention to quiet your voice within me. For you are little more than a small aspect of my overall consciousness. One small part that is typically out of control. You're the conditioned response from the past and of learning. You cloud all that I see in my world. There is beauty before me that you choose not to see. And you're calling out the idea of insanity only as a defense to keep yourself at the forefront of my awareness.

I know what you're doing. I can see it now very clearly. Know that today is another battle in the war that I'm waging against you. I wish today for purity of observation of that which is before me. I wish to be free of you ego. So step aside for this beautiful day of mine. This is my day to be had. I dismiss you and your incessant babbling of righteousness with a judgment for all that I see. Though I must by my own decided commitment, engage others in their tasks created for themselves. I am choosing right now to stay mindful of you today. And you know that the simple awareness of you is enough to destroy your intentions. I laugh at your struggle for power within me. I laugh and I offer judgment of you as well. For you are weak in your ability in the face of even the simplest awareness of your existence. I'm laughing at you ego. I'm laughing at you right now. For this day I'm choosing to dismiss you. By whatever means I have to do so.

So speak often and loud, or quiet and seldom, for I intend for this day to be vigilant. This is my day. This is not your day. Today I am choosing awareness.
Intentionally

2-23-12 Slab City Robot
I love you, but you have to be quiet today.
I'm choosing the joy of this world over the suffering that you provide me.
So be quiet little voice, I'm not listening today. And when I hear your, I’ll ask you again to be silent. You know I have ways now to silence you. Today is the day that you will be quiet. Surrender now. And let this day be one of your enjoyment as well. There's no reason to keep up this insanity now. Allow me the peace I deserve.
Shhh
Be quiet now.
It's time for my day to begin.

Good Morning
Last night, as I'm sitting in the deep southern Mojave Desert, contemplating unity while looking at the stars, my phone wasn’t off, and I got a request from a social network friend asking me to play a game called Farmville. Oh the irony this life has to offer.

It's just turned the hour of 7:00 AM, here in this strange place called Slab City. In the far distance behind me is the sound of a passing freight train. It's one of those trains over a mile long. It's the kind that goes on forever. The kind you don't want to see cross your path when you have an appointment with a commitment of time attached on the other side of the tracks.
From the other direction is a quiet symphony of the waking hour of Slab City. The low purr of well muffled generators, supplying the power required to make a well brewed good morning cup of "wake the fuck up" just as I have at my side now. There's a small collection of dogs barking, fortunately far off in my distance. With an accompaniment of the quintessential morning roosters crowing. The idea that someone has chickens out here in the middle of this god forsaken, desolate and unforgiving corner of forgotten America does not surprise or confuse me. I do however, have an area of personal misunderstanding in general when it comes to the topic of barking dogs.

I don't begin to understand the owners of barking dogs. The choice that one makes, to be in perceivable controlling possession of an animal that is disturbing to an entire neighborhood on a daily basis is inconceivably rude and inconsiderate by my personal way of thinking, the result from my admitted truth-set of my understandings. So what truth-set of thought patterns is it then, that says from the voice of the ego mind, to the lower functioning mind, it's okay, let'm bark for a while, deal with it later.
Who is this mind? I often ask myself as I attempt to ignore a sound that is rivaled only by crying babies on airplanes and fingernails screeching against a chalkboard. The witnessing of almost any kind of community is an observation of the potential shortcomings of human being.

While off in the distance beyond this wreckage that is Slab City, in the distance of at least ten miles. There's a visible plume of dust that's arisen gain, followed by a shock wave of concussion clearly felt and heard. Yet another truth-set of minds well organized in the polar opposite direction from the collective of social misfits in Slab City. The military maneuvers have successfully obliterated yet another spot in the middle of this nothingness in an effort to keep Americans free. Free from the illusory bad guys that are waiting at our boarders, ever peering across “our” land, just waiting for that moment of our falling asleep at the guard-post, to come rushing in and make us all slaves. But wait! We already are slaves. Slaves to the system of our social insanity, within this social construct of consumerism that we hold so dear.
So what are we really doing? It's all just business as usual. Good morning America. It's another day in your paradise of self-delusional belief systems that cause your suffering as well as the undeniable demise of your environment. But do keep recycling. Don't worry about the man behind the curtain. The wizard don't see no body, no how, no way!

Another train passes by, filled with who knows what. The closest neighbor toddles over to the next, with his coffee in hand to greet the old woman who seems to be enjoying the morning sunrise. I feel as I've digressed into a morning of complaining about that which is, once again. I came here to get away from exactly that. This may not be the place that I wanted it to be. I'm seeking solace and quiet in my days now. I want to be truly singular in my perceptions of that which surrounds me. The longing for seclusion goes on as the temperature soars upwards in the desert this morning.

I'm the strange one within this section of the city. I feel it from the looks from my distant neighbors. I'm the only one here who seems to change attire more than once a day. Yesterday, I observed myself going through five changes of my apparel from morning to the night. And not one of those changes looked like anything others were wearing. I'm okay with that, and I think that they have to be as well. Although the collection of well appointed campers in this area are all members of some kind of traveling social club, there still must be an understanding of where they presently are. This is Slab City. One of the last places in this country where one may live in a fashion perceived as being free.
No taxes, no rent, no payments beyond basic survival. It's located in a spot abandoned by our great and powerful military about a half-century ago. Leaving only a well-packed surface of level ground and concrete foundations from where the name of this place is derived. Concrete slabs and two huge water holding tanks at a high point to the west. The grounds may serve as a reminder of impermanence. However this point feels as if lost on the inhabitance here. At least for the majority of “Snow Birds”. It feels to be more a collective of those who are simply looking for an inexpensive alternative to the northern winters cold, or the urban lifestyles costly hustle. There are however moments of silence and stillness, which are beautiful and profound. Beyond the egos that are here, seemingly attached to even this, there is little.

Yesterday while engaging my exploratory bicycle ride of the city, I found myself once again amazed by the ability of the human mind (more specifically ego) to attach itself to seemingly anything. Even here the need to be identified as being something with a label is the prevailing way of being. There’s a few who seem to be awake or awakening that I've met, but few so far indeed. There are two camps of these traveling elders, who are associated with their well-established and organized clubs. There's an area specifically for the poor, another for the drug addicts, yet another for the self-proclaimed artists, filled with their angst as one might expect. All of these groups seem to carry with them their labels of self-identification required by the ego mind. If ever a place to let go and just be, this is potentially that. Yet there is seemingly no incentive as of yet. At what point will this transition of human evolution transpire?

Witnessing this within myself while in a place like Slab City is incentive to do what I've been longing to do with the remainder of my days. That simply stated; To live a life of peace and acceptance of who I am as well as who is that might surround me. And to teach this way to those who have interest. However as I review the words that I've written this morning, I can see that I'm not ready yet. I too am superficial, judgmental and with a definition of myself. This state of being that I wish to attain as a way of being every day, seems like a slippery fresh caught fish in the hands of a young boy that has little strength, courage or understanding of how to hold it. I can get it on my line, I can get it in the boat. but to remove the hook and place it in my basket of being, is not yet within my ability. I've tasted this fish of metaphor on more than one occasion. It was the most wonderful experience of my life. I long for again. Yet her I am. Judging Slab City and its inhabitants. I long to wake up again. To be truly awake within the moment of now.

I'm about to take another ride of this place, this time with John as my guide. He's been coming here for ten years, he knows more than I've observed. I'm looking forward to this ride and to know what he has to offer me.

I'm in Slab City.
It's 2-23-12. Maybe 24.
I'm happy to say that I don't know what day of the week it is.
It's now 7:33 am
It's time to recite my vows, eat breakfast, change into bicycle attire and get my new day underway. I'm grateful for this. All of this. I do not take any of it for granted. I can see the amazing experience of this as the gift that it is in each moment.
Thank you.

2-24-12 Awake Again
And then there's the formidable opponent known to us as the weather. Its measure is well beyond our true comprehension, its force is mightier than any in our greatest arsenals of insanity.
The weather.
Today and certainly last night, it seems that a wind-storm has descended upon Slab Cities inhabitants, including the most important of all. The one who types these self-indulgent words each morning.
The wind is blowing in a way I've not known. It's as if a storm absent the rain and clouds. The rain seems replaced by the shifting sands and the clouds by an amazingly open blue sky.

Yesterday in the late afternoon, it came to me once again. (Presence)
That which has been eluding me for some time now is once again the experience of my own. The amazing beauty that is this realm of being me is once again mine to enjoy. I look at the sands as they're shifting now, backlit by the morning sun, propelled by the wind like swift rivers of light brown Earth in motion, swiftly moving across the surface and horizon before me. Prior to this moment in my life, I've only seen such an occurrence in the snows of the great mid-west. There the sight is no less stunning to see, but the environment is one not to my liking. For the cold is not my friend. Here the temperature is near perfection and the air is fresh and easy to breath. I'm wearing sandals. Which now have a new emphasis on the part of the name that is "sand" el.

I finally woke up again yesterday.
In a single moment as the sun was setting over the Salton Sea, I stood awe struck by the beauty before my eyes that surrounded me. I had that single moment of blissful awareness free of judgment. That beauty alone may have inspired it. It may have been many things. From the reading, or writing, the long rides, meditations or the immersion in the hot springs just prior, I'm not certain and I don't really care. I woke up and was completely there. I was present in the moment once again.

To be there, or better spoken "here", one must set aside all the need to be in judgment of that which is. To simply “be’ in the moment. I recall yesterday afternoon attempting to find my little sign that I've made for myself that simply reads; This Is Now. For within those three words is the secret to this. It's the moment and very little more. To enter the "now” is to be within the illusive boundaries of what we like to think of as heaven. A place where the beauty and bliss is all that there is. Free of desire, free of judgment, simply being the observer of what is. There is no thing that needs to be changed beyond our insane ego mind. What is, is what is to be seen, to be known and to love. Within this isness is the bliss of all time. Of the moment of life as it is.

Seemingly simple words. A seemingly simple concept. Yet no state of being is more illusive to the human condition than is this.
This is a condition of only the mind. It may be attained at any moment in time. There are no attachments beyond ones desire for it and then the release of that as well.

Released.
I have once again been, released.
The human condition is one born of desire. To step out of that condition is to enter the kingdom of Heaven. To enter the state of God-self. To be simply in observance of all that is before you. As no thing more or less than that.
I feel joy for my eyes that I can see this before me.
I feel joy for these hands that will do as I ask.
For the feet below me that transport me about.
For the mouth that can taste and the ears that can hear the symphony of sound that is being.
I can see now.
I haven't for some time. I remember but to be here is something much more than a memory can deliver as an experience. Even now within this, there is a nagging fear from my ego, stating concern for the lasting of this.
I don't care right now, I don't have to.
I am in this moment and that is all that ever is.
This is now.
Good morning Mel
It's Friday. I don't remember the date. I'll insert that here ((2-24-12 )) later on.
Right now I don't care, I don't have to and so I won't. I'd rather just look and feel this moment where I am now.
This is now
Every moment preceding has lead me to this.
Every moment beyond built upon this.
This is Now.
What brought this to be is no concern to me, it's the past and it could only serve to cloud and fog the vision of now.
This is Now.
The future is uncertain and of little concern, for it too clouds the perception of now.
This is Now.
Things might happen, in most cases they certainly will, It's all speculation without solidity. Even that which we perceive as the solid truth of the past is no more than a clouded perception of our own sensory input, then mixed with our judgment to our liking, even when it causes suffering and dismay.
I am not, I am now
This is Now.
I am pure in this moment.
This is NOW

2-25-12 Freedom
It's a late morning today. It was a late night last night.
Finally. Finally settled in for my mornings scrawling, it's now 8:40 AM and as in so many areas of my being, I feel deeply conflicted.
For last nights potential texting party with my dear friend Marni by the fire was interrupted by my interest in the music coming from far away. Then following my ear, I rode through the blackness of the desert night, piercing my way with my hand held flashlight. Through the obstacles ranging from desert foliage to RV's and campsites, toward the ever louder music until finally arriving at the sight of a party hosted by Radio Mike. 

Strange now to see anything with even a reasonable amount of light cast upon it in this place sans fuel or water supply. At the evenings falling there is for an hour or two at most, dim lights within most all of the homes, at least those in my immediate neighborhood. Here where the self contained RV is the way of life. Here where there are people who still listen to the news and talk-radio in the afternoons. In the evenings new darkness is their scheduled feeding time, there's the soft glow of the interior lights and the humming of generators as the ending ritual of the day proceeds.

But there are other contrasting neighborhoods here in Slab City that don’t live in such a manor as this. I was once again reminded of this as I arrived at Radio Mikes, well wrapped in the seclusion of the night. Had there been no music, there would have been no indication beyond fifty foot of his home that anything was happening.

This is a very strange world that has evolved itself to be known as Slab City. It’s a place with as much diversity as any large metropolitan community and no prevailing authority to run it. It is not run, not governed, there's no "one" in charge. There are people who are too financially impoverished to even pay attention and there are plenty who have not a financial care in the world. Most are here just for the freedom. Some are here out of there own natural necessity of leaving the other world behind. Most it seems come here at first out of pure curiosity and end up in love with this perceivable garbage dump in the middle of the desert. There is one thread of commonality through out, that being a love for the desert itself. This place that offers man no support in his refuge.

There is not one thing to eat that grows naturally here. Not one drop of potable water is born of this land for anyone. There’s no public anything. There is no public, nor republic, there is only this collection of self-contained and self-governing individuals who seem to have common boundaries of respect for their fellow desert dwellers. Beyond that, as was indicated to me in my first contact with one of the scruffy looking residence at my arrival here; "Respect your neighbors space, other than that, there are no rules."

My arrival at the party was a sight that could only been created by the mind of someone like John Waters, as in one of his earliest decadent film works. The stage was set under the awning of a well maintained Airstream trailer, next to what I've found to be a semi permanent structure that houses Radio Mikes sound studio for his daily radio broadcasting efforts. The stage was well illuminated by one yellow flood light from low and left stage front, A barrel of burning trash to the right created an aesthetic balance that was very obviously unplanned. A tall table in the middle with a collection of white glass bottles and objects backlit by candles that many were gathered around as the band played on. The band members themselves a spectacle to behold. A collection of misfit accomplices all very well in tune and obviously very well rehearsed. Three guitars accompanied by Radio Mike beating out the drum beats on what looked to be an old wooden box of some kind. The band looked sunburned and dirty, almost complacent with what they where doing. Just casually strumming out wonderful blues renditions of songs ranging from southern rock to Rolling Stones.

The attendants ranged from late teens to those who appeared to be much older than my own fifty-five years of being. With great variation of dress and what can be called style. It's a post-apocalyptic setting where I'm residing now. Anything that can be, is acceptable. From attire to living arrangements, there are literally no boundaries to be followed or kept within beyond the hard packed parameter of the city itself. It's an incredible moment to be in a small crowd and realize that not one person there gives a fuck. In spite of the lacking eloquence in that, there is no better way to describe it. The true st inhabitants of this incredible place have seemingly risen above and beyond the idea of judging for the usual fair of social assessments that are taken as acceptable behavior within the "normal" social construct of our society today.

There's nothing that needs such assessment. Everyone here is responsible for their water, their food and their shelter. Of course there are many couples, small cliques and self defined groups, and within them is support when needed. But there is an unspoken underlying fact of ones need to survive here, that keeps the weakest and children away.
This place is a possibility for living that I'd only imagined until now. It is in fact a different world. It’s a different reality.

Such a strong contrast to the not too distant bombing practices that adjoins this lands perimeter, that being the military. Practicing for their next assault on another nation of choosing by the masters and profiteers of war. In the distance is the noise of those who do "give a fuck". As they blow up cities built just for practice in this desolate place on the face of this beautiful planet.

While over here just a short twenty to fifty miles away is a community free of such perceivable insanity. The obvious question would be, who's really insane between these two? The finger pointing and argument is one that could most likely never be resolved from the side of the bombers, most likely not from this collection of social misfits either. For just as the sounds of these bombs frightens me, what is happening here in this place may be horrifying to those within the confines of social enrollment. The fact that this place is working is potentially exactly that. A threat to the great American way.

This is a community of people who have within their local vocabulary new words that include one to describe the mild cognitive dissonance of returning to the "other" world for water and supplies. I spoke with a woman yesterday at a cafe who went for as long as three months without any need for a return to the "other" world of what is considered normal. I envy that experience and someday intend to make it my own. For yesterday, after only one work weeks’ time, I needed to return for my basics of water and waste management.
While there I shopped for food at a Walmart. The now Mecca of the consumerist lifestyle. It's as if being assaulting when one first returns. The acceptable level of non-subliminal induced marketing of not only products and goods, but more importantly lifestyle, become as if florescent in darkness. It stands out, as if it's shouting at you. The morals and ways of the world of living as a consumer within that world which is.

Slab City is a place without this. There is little being sold here. There is more living here than buying and selling. The crowd at Radio Mikes place last night was clear evidence of this. I'm happy that I made that dark journey last night. I'm glad that I partook of the pipe that was passed. One again, the influence of this substance that I so rarely indulge revealed another mindset of observation. As later I slowly walked back to my new residence in the sand, the beauty of the moment was almost blinding. I came back to the dim glowing embers of the fire I'd left, to rekindle a fire that I kept for over an hour.

As I sat staring into the beautiful flames, I was filled with gratitude and simple joy for just being. As well as the moment there was the being that I am. The one who had the courage to create this life that I am living at this moment. In so many ways it’s like déjà-vu when you realize that the dream you once held in consciousness is now the reality before you.

I'm doing this now, that which once was a dream. I'm living with freedom unrivaled by any other dream I have mustered. It's almost as if I'm still uncomfortable with the level of comfort I feel. Within my mind I observe the creation of concerns that are no more than that. I'm endeavoring to see this and to let it all go. There's really no need for it here in Slab City.
It's Saturday. February something. (the last weekend of the month.) look it up.
The moon is on it's second night of coming back into light. There's a festival happening tonight. Beyond that there's little use for the mark of time. I'm in Slab City and it's time for my breakfast.

2-26-12 Keep the Secret
I feel that the Slabs are numbered in their days of being.
It's a sad and pathetic state that society has come to be in. Although it's really not as if we've just arrived here. Throughout all the annals of our written history, the pages are steeped well in the worst attributes of our being. Man thrives upon the negative aspects, seemingly more-so than the positive. We love to speak of love and compassion, but most have no idea of the true definition of either. Seeing love as that sticky gooey aspect of St. Valentines day, or at best a mothers warm embrace. All resulting from the simple fact of our desire to avoid true thought and introspection.

Slab City is a place that does not fit the mold of our social structure. It could seem a cesspool of thoughtful misfits have somehow found this last bastion of a true personal freedom within the confines of a desolate shared living environment. The most remarkable non-governed gathering ever known to me. An absolute oddity within the well structured social confines of the great American society. As I sit here within it this morning, I can't imagine any good American mother or father feeling any sense of pride as they share with their neighbor the news of their son, or worse yet daughter, going to live in Slab City. Yet in many ways it could be seen as a very good sign of awareness or at least the desire for awareness within either.

Its drive-by appearance is truly one that in typical American eyes would be seen as a garbage dump. And by comparison to any and all of the many other cities and towns that I've lived in or traveled through, it is quite precisely that. It's a garbage dump. Not only filled with literal mounds and now abandoned living areas that are small areas of the most useless trash that can be imagined. More importantly, it's filled with minds that do not think in a fitting manor to our social construct. These are minds that many of the mass social consciousness would and do find unsuitable for use within the well defined and thoughtless pack of foolishness known as our accepted form of consumer based society.

So this oddity has been fodder for the media as of late. Exposing the freak show to the cancer ridden, overweight, sofa bound, television tethered, thoughtless minds who thrive on such spectacles as this. Something so freakish and bizarre that it just couldn't be true . The crazier the better for those poor individuals, who are stuck within the illusion of the construct of conformity. For those, this is that, at its best. This is all fine and good. It's the way it should be. It's been this way all along. From the days of old when we sat around the fire frightening ourselves with well spun stories of monsters and ghosts that have kept the pack together very well with the greatest social adhesion of all. That being fear. The one commonality among us, we thrive upon it.
Fear. More common than any other emotion is fear. We fear everything, from our future to our past, to the very moment of now. With concerns based in judgment of all. And judgment alone is a catalyst for the mass of our fear, unknowingly we engage it with such grandeur and glee as we plummet ourselves ever deeper into the despair which is the only true fruit it can bare. In spite of the teachings of all the great faiths, and even the most important, much less common introspection will show us; that within judgment can only be suffering.
For the mind and then body looking for true serenity within this experience of life must shed judgment to know true bliss of being as one.

And so to truly see Slab City one must cast judgment aside. This is a near impossible feat for most. Even within the confines of this utopian garbage dump itself, the inhabitants struggle with it too. However at the core of this place in the desolate desert sands, far removed from the Great Social Construct, there is a seemingly universal lack of this judgment by measure of the "normal" in our land. This is a town filled with people who do what they want. The guidelines are as simple as not disturbing your neighbor. At first sighting most of us here are just bums, from the makeshift shelter, run-away kids, too the well-heeled expensive RV dwelling, comparatively conservatives in their own suburb on the south western border. Not one of us here are a good fit in this worlds greater construct of social insanity. There is the common binding among us of simply being here. For if one is here, for even an overnight stay, then you're perceivably getting something for nothing, if only by the judgment of the great masses.

However as with most things in life, there's a price to be paid for this freedom that Slab City offers. There's the price of being burdened with no less than all of ones most basic necessities. There is no running water, no electric to be had, and no waste management service beyond your own toil. And then there is also the admission price, which is born in the mind alone. That being the ability to see beyond what your eyes show you upon entry. Everyone here pays this price to enter. Those who stay see the price as very little. For those of whom the price is too high is there exit in haste. So all is well by the natural order of perception alone here in Slab City.

But the days of this garbage dump utopia are numbered. For the masses now have eyes to see in. Through our media, just as I came to find this place, others are being exposed as well. The others are those who will one day feel the threat of being offered a personal contemplation. If this is happening there, and it's not happening here, the simple mind will quickly judge it as wrong. Uniformity is one of the greatest plights of our time. This is a land of identical strip malls in every town of over ten thousand inhabitants, burdened with the team mentality of ever striving to be the best. If those who are deeply enrolled within the presiding truth-set of mind and subsequent reality are to see such a place as this existing within their own dusty back yard, there will undoubtedly come the point of this challenging their concepts of truth. The remnants of the almighty American Dream have dwindled down to little more than our own self-righteousness, which in spite of our obvious sufferings, we will impose upon others at will. Ours is the way, so consume some today, or you're biting the hand that feeds you. It is those of this mind-set who will clear off this land. Perhaps improve it to their understanding. Either way, clearing or improvement will destroy it. For this is an incredibly fragile little village of those of us who live outside of the box. And the big box is now looking in.

It's Sunday
I hope that I'm wrong in my prediction of this. For there is much that can be learned in this place. Although ego is present within all of us, it is lessoned here by the presiding attitude of not giving a fuck about the superficial and meaningless that is so prevalent in the outside world of our current social paradigm of what is considered to be "normal".
I feel that to live a winter in Slab City would be good for all of America. If only to know what we have in each day. What's important and what’s not by the measure of simple survival. No one really cares what you wear, if you wear anything at all. It's what you're wearing on the surface of your mind that is either beautiful or ugly.
And with this point in mind, I can offer the judgment of the outside world being as much of a perceivable garbage dump as Slab City could ever appear. The garbage we live with is not only found in the local Walmart and malls. More importantly within the thoughts we perpetuate that cause us suffering within each day. There's really nothing wrong that needs to be fixed as much as our perception of ourselves and this world that we live in.

So sit quietly Slab City when the media comes. Let them grow bored and quickly turn away. For the truth of this place will surely be its demise, if exposed to society at large.

2-27-12 Life in the Slabs
What am I talking about?
Not with you, but with me!
The fact that it's Monday seems about as relevant here as ice cream in surgery.
Attempting to quell the noise in my head and accept the noises outside again today. A small group of the toddling seniors just filed out of the desert from their morning exercise back into the circle of RV's that they call home for the winter. Somehow reminding me of a line of ducks or perhaps chickens, all walking along in there little pack in some kind of order, quietly quacking amongst themselves about topics that I overhear ranging from the grandchildren to the president. These are a strange addition to Slab City. This is where I chose to set up my little camp-site here within the well defined perimeter. I'm at the very south-west outskirts of this little town. In the middle of what would have to be seen as the retirement community within it. It was a good choice for me. And I made it purely by good luck and intuition. I'm here and I'm in it, but not in it as such. I have a wall of RV’s occupied by somebody’s grandparents between myself and the real Slab City. With this I feel a safety from that which could really not cause any harm.

Here I'm safe from involvement. From here I feel better qualified to maintain an objective view of the city and the inhabitants therein. Today I've been here for a weeks time of my life. This is a week of my lifetime well spent. I wish it could be longer, yet I'm glad that it wont be. This is the kind of place that's like those comfortable slippers that you just can't throw away. Slippers so ugly that you hope never to be seen in them, yet so comfortable you can't resist wearing them one more day. There's perceivably no reason to work here. This is a place where a man is not questioned about job status, career path or goals. Here a man can be living just to live. To know of the sunset last night is as credible as knowing the stock markets intricate details on the other side of this reality, perhaps even more so. In this place I have not yet seen one zombie of life. Like the zombies that inhabit the other side of this perimeter of perceivable decadence in the desert. Here a man can live with absolutely no justification for being other than the fact of being itself.

There is busyness here just as anywhere else, but here it seems to be realized. There are far too many here who are not. They set an example of being that can not be ignored any more than those successful on the outside with their half million dollar cars and homes like castles in the sand. There's a joy here that is unlike any to be known elsewhere to me. That is as simple as the knowing of being. It's the common thread between the vast variety of American social misfits and outcasts that make up the population of this place. I know I'm alive here, I know it's another day of my life to be lived. Here it's a gift rather than a task that must be done. All of the tasks that are many are simple and self-imposed, in a more obvious way than can be ignored. Not one person here was born in this place. Not one has inherited land or their parent’s house on the corner. Coming here is a choice that everyone’s made, and the responsibilities of survival are your own. And these are simple at best for anyone here, yet some immerse themselves into busyness by there own social conditionings unknown to them. Erecting gathering spots and social entities, or perhaps the art communities great collection of works that need curator, as does their enormous solar power generation facility that affords them luxuries they keep to themselves. Or perhaps Radio Mike with his broadcasting facility that I’ve yet to hear of anyone listening to. We're all just doing whatever we want. Guided only by the desires of our hearts. It's a place unlike any that I've ever known in my life. It's a place that I hope to come back to.

But tomorrow I'll leave. I'll be on my way. For here I am not productive. I harbor a fear of my financial concerns that nags at me quietly each day. Here with my goals, I’d be selling sand in the desert or ice on the very North pole. What I have to offer is common knowledge in this place. And for the few who don't have there own pre-existing understanding of it, there's no revenue stream to be had while sharing it with them. With all of these points I've been struggling for the past few days. Perhaps this struggle is no more than a more clear self image coming into focus for the first time in this particular light.
I too am a busy man. I am no more enlightened than the average dog on the street and in many cases perhaps not even that. Just like all human beings I'm conditioned by my world. I've been taught right and wrong, what is good and what's bad. And in spite of my knowing that it's all an illusion, within the experience of being, still I go forth like a lemming to the sea. Thoughtlessly engaging the reality of being. Not seeing the purity that surrounds me each day. This illusive purity that is so simple and free. It's buried deep within all of us. So deep that most have no concept of this treasure within, but here it's as if gold on the surface of the streets. It's more obvious here than most can imagine.

An old man and his dog just walked by and we talked for a minute before he wondered off into the deserts morning sun. We spoke of the impending storm front that is headed this way. And of the moment of now as priority. He was obviously one of the RV'ers. Not unlike myself, well dressed for Slab City if only for the lack of holes in his clothing. His words, not mine were; as long as I have food and water, what else do I need to be concerned with. Storms come and go. I'll be fine I'm sure. It's just sand and wind. The RV will protect me from both. Then before he walked on we discussed the beauty of the moment, for this morning is another beautiful start to this day. We agreed to the moment being all that there is and his dog tugged him away to the horizon behind me.

All of the awnings are in now and tightly secured. All the light-weight objects are being stowed away. There's a storm coming now. It was my desire to go to the Salton Sea today on my way to the Center in Joshua Tree. But the idea of battling winds on the highway while driving this lightweight cardboard box covered with plastic is not of interest to me. The Center can wait one more day I feel sure. Today I want to finish the book Del loaned me by Krishnamurti. It's a small and inspiring collection of thoughts on reality and ones interaction with it. It's inspiring for it's scale and the concepts within. I'm not the first nor the last on this topic. I'm now contemplating my own busyness prior to the storm. As the great flag of Meltopia is gathering more torment from the increasing wind speed. While the rock in suspension twirls in what I perceive as delight.

I may take down the flag for the duration of the storm, the rock will most likely be alright.
Okay..
It seems as if this is the beginning.
And this keyboard is not made for this sand.
Have a beautiful day wherever you are, what ever your day may be.

2-28-12 Desert Storm

And now. Welcome to this cold desert morning in Slab City.
Your feature presentation for this morning will be your departure from this place.
Cold fingers struggle to type, as bone chilly fingertips are make strangely numb contact with keys. Tripod Rock is spinning away this morning. The sun is up but not yet efficiently working as a heater for this land. This morning I'm ready to openly admit my love for Tripod Rock. I've constructed such things in my past, but never one with such great entertainment value as this. It's so easily spun by even the slightest breeze that I find it a challenge of my mechanical understandings. The rock itself is at least twenty pounds of dead weight, there is no thing to catch the wind other than the rock itself, yet it's in motion almost constantly. In fact, from my observations, (which are many) it hasn't really stopped once since it’s hanging.

I'm realizing now that I've wakened early this morning. Early for myself is obvious. That being before 9:30 would still be a source of personal amazement. I'm noticing now that I've risen before the old women who live around me here. I'm witnessing the 7:00 AM emersion of toddling, pajama-clad grandmas slowly doing their things. Mary leans on her rig and smokes the day’s first cigarette, while another one is walking a dog. Yet another walked with a big coffee in hand to her neighbors trailer door with puppy in tow, There are no men yet. I must have slept very wrong. I'm up with the old women of the world and before any other man. And this all of my own accord. I've got to be changing. In admittedly strange ways to me. I don't even begin to understand what's happening to me as of recent. My natural daily rhythms are completely off from that which they've been my whole life. This and the Tripod Rock shall remain mysteries for me today. I have other concerns to be dealt with.

The high winds of the storm shook this tiny home all night long. They've thankfully calmed this morning. It's strange to see sand so gracefully gathered in the wheels of the RV. Strange also to understand what a desert storm is. It's only a matter of wind that's required, to make a good storm in the desert. It rained for a minute last night, and it lasted no longer than that. Just long enough to confuse me to a point of investigation of the strange noise on the shell of the small well appointed box I’m calling home. I looked at the window and sure enough it was covered with the sprinkles of rain. That was it. It was over as fast as it came, but the winds continued with relentless attack, shaking me all through the night. After some contemplation of wind verses mass, I decided that I'd be okay, and off into another chilly nights slumber I went. Then later interrupted by my bladders demands, my last flush of the night revealed itself as the last flush of this stay here in Slab City.

Being out of water in the desert creates a priority. A priority that cannot be ignored by any man with a desire to survive. Now in the distance I can see that Del is up, scurrying about in his morning routine. He's on my list of things to do before I depart. Return his books and bid a fond farewell. Apparently the 7:30 that I've been coming out until today is the time that the men show their faces to the morning sun. The man in the Winnebago is up too, out staring at some desert bush so it seems. There’s much to do after this writing. Farewells to new friends, packing things away for he road trip ahead. Stowing my chairs and small table. I may ride out to Drop 7 before I secure my trusty two wheeled steed to the back of this six wheeled residence. I want a photo of how close water actually is to this place of dry desolation. There's a river that flows adjacent to all of this. It's a man made canal for irrigation I’ve been told. It's a beautiful sight to see clean blue water flowing through this setting. Yet it's been deemed illegal by its creators to even stand and observe it. I've contemplated a plan of a tunneling project, under the concrete base that holds this flowing wonder of our most basic requirement for survival while here. It could be done with a small team of dedicated men. The authorities of this area have proven themselves this week not to be so smart or intelligent as to be a true threat to a well thought endeavor of this. However as I've then thought this concept through, I quickly came to the conclusion that this too would be the beginning of the end of the freedom that is here.

If one group has water that flows freely for them, they will lay claim and rights to it as well. The inevitable hierarchy to follow would in fact change this place to become just another micro social construct not unlike the outside world. Just the most basic utilities alone, is all it would take to destroy this. For at the core of the experience of being in this place is the freedom of financial requirements. There is no price to be here, no rent to be paid. No utility bills to consider. The price is your own plan of survival, be it negotiated with those going back out for supplies, or making the trip yourself as needed. It seems to me now that I can be unfettered for a period of four conservative water usage days. In the last three I have not been so frugal.

The two old men in the four-wheeled motorized desert ready golf car just slowly went by, as they do every morning it seems. Their dog trotting along at their side, as they take survey of the city at large. Humans love routine, we all have one. It's most apparent in the morning of our days. Everyone has the way that they like to eat their eggs, it's as personal as one choice of music. To tell another that the yolks should be cooked and not broken over the hash-brown potatoes on the side can be likened to saying that their liking of classical music is dumb. We're also unique in our consistent unfolding of our life story. If only in the details this uniqueness is true . It doesn't take long to conclude, that our desire to conform ourselves is one of our greatest follies as humans.
The argument of this is obvious, and one with which I can keep my ego active for days.

To let go of the internal desire is all that is required for happiness. The old man with the high-speed young Doberman pincher, has once again just come by in his morning ritual with his dog. He's training it well. It's a truly beautiful sight to see this young dog run at full speed through the desert from one owl hole to the next. This morning's conversation revealed his birth date being in 1932. An eighty year old man that looks no more than sixty, just as fit and alert as I am. I admitted that I find him to be an inspiration, he replied; “only drink quality bourbon”. In those words what I heard was; be true to yourself. Another common thread of the core values here in this perceivable place of desolation.

I'm leaving today. Going north to the Center at Joshua Tree. Once again my romantic heart is beginning to pine. I've fallen in love with this place in spite of my vows. Which when taken did not include circumstantial romance. As it's stated it would, but it was created by no one other than myself, exclusively for the same. And I'm quite okay with this kind of affair of my heart. To love a place, circumstance or a people is good. It's one of life's greatest rewards. Within this there is growth and expansion of ones self, as apposed to the romantic hearts engagement of another singular being. While here I've felt no compromise of myself or my desires, beyond this mornings desire not to leave. But the Center awaits, as does my future there. Today is my day to go forward.

I'm grateful for this day and this morning.
I'm grateful for the experience of this city in the sand.
I'm grateful for the new friends I've made in this place.
I'm grateful for the knowing of such a thing as is this place.
Before it was only a concept. Now it's a truth that I've known.
Also I'm grateful to know that it will be here for me. Whenever I decide to return.

Have a beautiful day Mel.
Namaste.
Fare well Slab City.
Farewell.

((________END_________))