a broken record playing a humble song.

Ever since I arrived back home this time I feel like I've been living a life of luxury while staying with my friends and family for spurts of days, weeks, sometimes months at a time.
Driving nice automobiles, eating heart-warming Canadian meals, sleeping in cozy beds with animals, smoking in expensive hot-tubs, and on and on and on.... as if all these things were mine.
But even if I did own these many fine things, they would still not be mine alone because I would share them with the people I know and love, just as they share them with me.

I really hope more than most things that my family & friends know how grateful I am to have them, to know them. To have you, to know you. I am not I without you.
We all share our lives with certain people for certain reasons, and you are all at the heart of the greatest reasons. You are my home.

Let the levee break

Dear friends,

It's been nearly a year. 

Today I remembered the password to this thing. 

Tonight I will go through some of my notes from the past year. 

Tomorrow I'll share. 

Hope you're all well. 

Jeff D's shorts

Shortly after Jeff Darling left this world his family gave me his favorite pair of shorts. They were navy blue corduroy with a secret pocket for secret stuff. I only used it for weed and money. I wore them well that summer and when I moved to Thailand I took them with me. That was 5 years ago.

Today I finished painting the house of my adopted Thai family. A big, ice-cold beer was waiting for me. As I drank it I looked down at the state of these shorts that had been with me through the heavy heat of Thailand, the ruff n' tumble of India, the mountains of Nepal, the arid lands of northern Australia, the endless sandy beaches of Bali, the cold concrete of Montreal and the moist mornings of British Columbia, and I knew it was time to hang 'em up for good.
My half-ass sewing efforts kept them going strong for a healthy duration of travel and received quite a lot of compliments over time and place.  The chords are completely flat, the color is grey like E.T. when he got really sick and there is a huge hole in the left knee. But the main reason is that it's just time. The pattern I've noticed with the dawning of every new chapter of my life is that something of nostalgic importance always seems to wear out or simply disappear. And this is sad, but it allows room for more in my already minimalistic lifestyle. It leads me to new things- new nostalgia.

In 2 days I fly to Singapore. Then New Zealand. My backpack will be slightly lighter, but having written this tonight I feel content and ready for a new pair of hand-me-downs.
Respect.

Thailand khidt̄hụng ṭhex (I missed you)

October 18, 2013 
Bangkok

 The plane landed last night at midnight- almost 2 years exactly to the day I left for Australia.
I took a taxi to Rambutree road and recalled my vocabulary of Thai language with the driver on the way. Unfortunately it was too late to go to P'Toom's- the humble 5 foot king of Couchsurfing. Plus I had forgotten his address and was too tired to risk tracking it down. My dry mouth began to salivate in disappointment knowing that I wouldn't get to taste the spicy breakfast I had been longing for at the kitchen down the street from his house. But Rambutree road was a sure thing and all I wanted to do was take my backpack off and stand under an ice cold shower. It took almost an hour to get there. The driver told me it had been raining all day in Bangkok and the roads were nearly flooded. I didn't mind. The later and less cluttered Rambutree was when I arrived, the better. It was low season for tourists- that was good too. When I showed up the majority of the guest houses were closed but I kept walking, looking for the small green sign that read "My Guest House". It had one room available for 180 baht- approximately $7.00. I was back. Surrounded by it all again; the sights, the smells, the sounds, the food, the cold-faced warmness, the warm-faced coldness, the heat, the culture. My second home.

Now, after a day of drinking and playing ukulele on the street with a Swedish dude named Osmo, then a sleepy seven hour night bus ride south to Chumphon, I find myself back in my old bedroom at my adopted family's house. It's gotta be almost 5 in the morning but I don't wanna sleep. Feels like I'm eight years old and it's Christmas.

I'm not afraid of who I am.

Not afraid of being physically alone because I know I'm never spiritually alone.

1 is All & All is 1.

" I've been wondering all about me
ever since I seen you there,
on the cliffs of your wild cat charms I'm riding
I know I'm 'round you but I don't know where.

You have slayed me, you have made me
I got to laugh half ways off my heels.
I got to know babe
Ah, will you surround me
So I can know if I am really real? "

-Bob Dylan
(Spanish Harlem Incident)

Ten years to the day

   It was around 7:30 in the morning when the phone rang. It woke me up out of a light, un-easy sleep. I heard my Dad answer it upstairs. I already knew what the call was about. I got out of bed, walked over to the closet and picked out a nice button shirt and tie to put on. A natural numbness was already beginning to set in. I don't even remember eating breakfast. We were in the car, driving silently to the hospital- a man preparing to say goodbye to his wife and a boy preparing to say goodbye to his Mother. My Dad made a comment about my attire. “Couldn't think of anything else to wear.” I responded.

The two of us were trying so hard to be strong for each other's sake but it was evident we were both on the verge of breaking down. The road had no distance. The people had no faces. The day had no time. It was just us in a room. Dad by the window, Aunt La in the chair, Mom in the bed, me at her side, holding her hand. Absolute silence except for her breathing. I whispered “go.” And she did.
Then it began to rain in that room. It poured down in a variety of different tears; Despair and joy. Grief and peace. We took on a new pain as she was relieved of hers.

It was then that I noticed the sun shining through the window. And then we were there, outside in the warmth, walking through the concrete acres of the hospital parking lot. I couldn't stop gazing up. That warmth held me as if I was a newborn baby again in her arms. And at that moment I knew she was there. I knew she would always be there. So I smiled and put my arm around my Aunt, told her it was going to be okay, and we drove home.
Two days later I wept for the entirety of a night until I had no voice and nothing more to cry out.

I never shed a tear for my Mom again after that. And I never realized that fact until this year.

The memory of Valerie Wicks lives on in the heartfelt stories of my family and friends. She was a magnificent person who did a lot of good for a lot of people while she was here on earth. Over the last 10 years she has shown me signs, pulled strings, pointed me in certain directions, and saved me from bad situations. Some nights I even hear her voice answering my heaviest questions. She has become my Obi-Wan Kenobi, guiding me through the epic journey of life. This, I believe is proof that Love is truly the most powerful force in the universe. If you let it be.