BootsnAll Travel Network



Upaya Day 2: still in heaven

July 27th, 2007

Woke at dawn to a spectacular sunrise that went on, shifting through every shade of red on the spectrum, for about twenty-five minutes. I can lie in bed, covered in a fluffy white comforter, and watch a great stretch of sky. After the sunrise I drifted out to the kitchen to find my “buddy” Rose (who tells me she is 64) peeling potatoes alone. I joined her till time for meditation. After meditation, temple cleaning (I got to dust mop and then damp mop the floor of the meditation room). Humaya worked along with me, silent and powerful, her Nepalese cheek bones shining in the morning light. Then breakfast. Rose’s Swiss treat: shredded potatoes rolled with a little buckwheat flour and oven-baked on big cookie sheets and then topped with fried eggs, and then the most glorious concoction: oat flakes, walnuts, strawberries, blueberries, white grapes, and fresh cream, all rolled together. We’re cooking for 45, because there’s also a retreat going on (non-residents rent the space). Read the rest of this entry »

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Arriving at Upaya: Day One of Seven

July 26th, 2007

I’m here, and my first impression is that this place is fragments of pure heaven. Fragments because of me, not it: I am dazzled by the surfaces of things. First of all, it’s adobe, and that is the most sensual architecture in the world. Everything invites the hands to touch. A window sill becomes a thigh; a window opening is curled into a bend like an elbow or a knee. Exterior colors range from purple to rust, interiors orange to white, exteriors streaked by the rain or dimpled and full of shadows. More rain this year than anyone remembers, so the desert is green, sage green, soft green, undulant green, FRAGRANT green, flowering green. Scents of wild sage, wet sunflower, wild lavender, and many plants I don’t know. And the people: smiling, bowing, laughing, speaking softly. It’s a United Nations kind of place, and every one of the people I have met has a story. Read the rest of this entry »

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New Mexico and the Selling of Georgia O’Keeffe

July 26th, 2007

It’s 8:30 a.m. and I’m in Albuquerque at the Howard Johnson’s, waiting for Diane to arrive. We’ll go to breakfast, and then she’ll drive me to Upaya. So far my trip has been airports, expressways, and this generic motel, though I had good talk with Diane in the motel room last night, and this morning when I woke at 5:30 a.m. local time, I stood at the motel window and saw to my right a smear of mauve sunrise and a hill, black against a pale sky; to my left, the expressway. The hotel “guide” (info on room service, pool hours, etc.) has an O’Keeffe painting on the cover. Lying on the table next to the TV is a copy of New Mexico Magazine for July 2007, with a black and white cover shot of Georgia O’Keeffe at about 35. Inside there’s an article about the 10th Anniversary of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe. In the lobby of the motel there’s a Georgia O’Keeffe poster. A big flower. There’s another one in the elevator. Read the rest of this entry »

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Travel Magic

July 24th, 2007

I’m still at home, rocking back and forth and biting my thumbs in anticipation, leaving tomorrow if tomorrow will ever come. Basho has decided to nest in my open carryon bag, perhaps imagining that by anchoring the bag with his body, he can keep me from going anywhere. Cats hate change. And he doesn’t even know what it means to spend nearly three weeks in a cattery–but he’ll start finding out tomorrow. Manko spent the day with me today, and I delivered her to several places where she applied for a job. And there was a last-minute change in one piece of my travel plan as a result of a stunning bit of timing. Travel magic has already started. Read the rest of this entry »

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Packing up, moving out

July 22nd, 2007

I’m humming “leavin’ on a jet plane.” Some of you may recognize the allusion. (The remaining lyrics to that song have never held any meaning for me, but I’ve hummed that refrain to myself for so many years it’s almost a theme song; that, Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on the Wire,” and Bob Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me, Babe.” I love these leaving-town, heading-into-the-sunset songs.) So here’s the deal: I’m packing my sleeping bag and my carry-on, putting my toiletries in a clear plastic baggie for Michael Chertoff’s benefit, and heading west on Southwest Airlines. Read the rest of this entry »

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Homage to great readers!

July 20th, 2007

I just finished reading, with much delight, Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s La Sombra del Viento, in its English translation as The Shadow of the Wind. It’s a novel about a novelist, rival book sellers, crooked publishers, a mysterious place called The Cemetery of Forgotten Books (which is where all the books I wrote must have ended up), and a vile hospice run by a some shady nuns called The Ladies of the Final Ordeal. Yes, it’s funny. It’s also Gothic, frightening, bawdy, heart-breaking, politically astute, and generous. Read the rest of this entry »

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The causes of terror

July 19th, 2007

On Tuesday this week, U.S. Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff said that he had a “gut feeling” that the U.S. is in danger of another terrorist attack soon. Not practical evidence. Not “intelligence.” A “gut feeling.” That’s America. We trust our gut; we only need “intelligence” when we have to prove something; and if we don’t have the “intelligence” we need, we fabricate it or go back to our gut feelings. The one thing that has helped the Bush administration most is September 11. Read the rest of this entry »

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This miracle!

July 17th, 2007

Each day I see a little more clearly what a miracle it is to be single, responsible to no one but myself, still relatively healthy and as sane as I’ve ever been, and about to live in some beautiful new place where the necessity to earn a living and provide for other people no longer dominates my life. Scales fall from my eyes. I want to move into a new landscape and touch it, smell it, roll in it, squish it between my fingers, chew on it, drench myself in it, know all its seasons and moods and colors, know it well enough to adore it: I want to move in and grow roots in it and make something, maybe something with my hands, that doesn’t have to be successful, doesn’t have to please anyone, or sell, or meet anyone’s standards but mine. If that is possible, life is about to become true in a way I haven’t experienced since I was four. For the first time, I see how dishonest the necessity to earn money has made me, how habitual that dishonesty has become. But I also see that it is possible to drop dishonest habits and come home to a home that is not a place but a way of being. Read the rest of this entry »

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Letting go of all those photographs…

July 15th, 2007

I’ve spent the last couple of days sorting through my life in photographs, from birth to the present moment, preparing to let go of yet another big box of artifacts. An online photo processing center called Snapfish is offering 30% off what they call “memory books.” That spurred me into a new phase of my continuing effort to lighten the weight of what I haul through life with me. Read the rest of this entry »

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Friday the 13th, Boogie on down

July 13th, 2007

Ah, beautiful. I have now been in my new home for a whole week, and it is feeling less “new.” It is only 82 degrees F in Houston at 9:30 in the morning, so I have not yet turned on the air conditioner. The windows are open, and I hear the rustle of oak leaves and the whish of pine needles. Another good friend has said she, too, is hoping to retire in Portland. For the moment I am not reporting for work, not grading papers, enjoying myself in a “constant state of enquiry and mild excitement,” as Stephen says to describe his state of mind when he’s painting. Literally and metaphorically, I’m dancing a kind of boogie of joy to be alive and still actively creating my life. Oh yes! Read the rest of this entry »

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