Gay Marriage

Thimble Rock and Driggs Mansion, Unaweep Canyon, CO - Memorial Day, 2010.

I would like to draw analogy to the word "Indian" as an accepted social identity for Native Americans. They use this word. They presently identify with this word. The current usage of "Indian," however, is an unfortunate conflation of misinterpreted geolocation (India is a lot farther away than Columbus and Spanish explorers conceptualized, whence "Indian") and colloquial repetition. Native Americans ARE Indians--a Baudrillardian simulacrum of Native American identity--because these are the words we use to describe living descendants of the original American people. 

Similarly, "marriage" is an unfortunate conflation of our primarily-Christian religious historical past (with concomitant desire for divine union under god, perhaps) and the pure desire to show commitment to a partner you love (while incidentally reaping the legal benefits through official union in the USA). Non-Christians are constantly getting MARRIED legally in the United States--a Baudrillardian simulacrum of showing true devotion and love to the person you care most about--because "marriage" is the word we use to describe the legally recognized state of ecstatic devotion to your soul mate. Shit, I'd want that, regardless of the word for it. I will probably get married some day because that's part of my American dream. And everyone deserves the freedom for that to be part of their American dream. EVERYONE. That's what the word "equality" implies.

Now, whereas Columbus' expedition resulted in unspeakable, irreparable, ruthless, "divinely-ordained" genocide, this current "expedition" into the sanctity of commitment need only result in increased love, not some sub-genocidal mock-divine recurrent repression of difference. Want to discuss sanctity? LOVE is sacred. COMMITMENT is sacred. LIFE is sacred. Marriage is a human construction, and a relatively unsuccessful one at that. If you want god involved, bring him in with open arms, as he would you. Do that in a church, and conduct your union in a church too, if that best befits you. The sanctity of your union with another will never be undermined if it is real in your heart. Real in your soul. Real in the finest tendrils of your being. Christians, in particular, often purport to deeply comprehend this sort of union--especially in concert with the divine. And yet, it is somehow socially "reasonable" to subjugate and litigate gay people's "right" to marry based on their sexual identity, as if sexual identity has some bearing on the sacred quality of union.

Finally, a syllogism of sorts: if you noticed my failure to capitalize "god" throughout, recognize also that god is no less transcendental a concept for my punctuation; likewise, de-capitalizing "marriage" (that is, deconvoluting marriage from God) makes the union no less divine, it just makes it "not under God." So, smile unto others' unions as you would have them smile unto yours. The sanctity of love prevails.

Groovy. What else is there to discuss? Sequestration? The Miami Heat? Global warming?

Light Bulbs

Striated cliff walls and a distant Matterhorn as seen from Zermatt, Switzerland. 9 May 2009.

Fractal globule (as opposed to an

equilibrium globule). Obtained here.

Culturomics. For a long while, I've known about this cool little online database called the Ngrams Viewer, developed by (you guessed it) Google. Somehow, they've managed to created a digital, searchable corpus of published text that contains ~4% of all books ever published beginning in about 1800 or so. They also concomitantly coined the term "culturomics" to describe the quantification of cultural trends. If you're more interested, go see the paper in Science they wrote about it (a great read). One of the pioneers of this effort was Erez Lieberman Aiden. Among other achievements, he proposed that the fractal globule is a reasonable 3D structure for DNA packing inside living cells. (Such a structure is reasonable because the DNA organizes bits of related information near each other, rather than tying itself in a ridiculous macromolecular knot. Plus it looks pretty cool.) Erez is a guy you could probably write a whole blog post about. Don't waste your time, though: I'm sure it's already been done, and he doesn't need more attention.

So, enough about that though. Get back to the Ngrams Viewer. This engine has some gusto. You can search anything you want--any word (1-gram) or phrase (i.e. n-gram, or a string of n words) you can think of. Try it! At first, you might not see the power behind this action, but the more you tinker, the more you'll discover interesting patterns. In fact, I bet that you will come up with some n-gram searches or combinations of multiple n-grams that NO ONE else has come up with. You just created some knowledge there. Sweet.

Try typing in a year: "1941." What do you see? I see a sudden spike in written attention to "1941" for the few years leading up to and through 1941, and then a seemingly exponential decay in written instances of "1941." It makes sense: there's a lot more to talk about in regard to "1941" in the immediate lead up to the date, and then relevance has a sort of exponential decay after the year has passed and new years become successively interesting. Try typing in "light bulb." Whaddaya know? No one really wrote a damn thing about it until after Thomas Edison made it an industrially practical item in 1879. Since then, it's been all the (written) rave:

Plot of the frequency of the 2-gram "light bulb" vs. time since 1879.

There are infinite search terms, but I see an interesting pattern: with the development of an idea or item comes a concomitant development of language to express it. Actually, it's really hard (perhaps impossible) to separate the invention from the language about the invention. There was no need to use the 2-gram "light bulb" in any sort of cultural context until light bulbs became a cultural item. The concept of a light bulb didn't exist until the light bulb existed. "1941" as a date didn't exist until we invented the Gregorian calendar, and furthermore, it wasn't interesting to talk about "1941" until 1941. In social constructionist terms, the social construct of "light bulbs" as a consumable item and the 2-gram "light bulb" are an artifact of the light bulb's invention. It essentially appears that the invention cannot exist without the words to describe it. More broadly, it seems that the existence of a cultural item/idea implies the existence of an n-gram to express it, and vise versa (a dual implication):

Existence of Cultural Item <==> Existence of n-gram to describe Cultural Item

Michael Jordan, dunking from the free throw line.

"People ask me if I could fly.
I said 'Yeah ... for a little while.'" - MJ

Obtained here.

Extrapolations. I'm a social constructionist, I think. I like to believe that a person cannot know something that they have not experienced. Never hand Michael Jordan a basketball, and he never becomes the greatest basketball player ever. Never show a citizen of North Korea that there is a better way to live than totalitarian Stalinist dictatorship, and they will unknowingly accept propagandized human rights violations all of their lives (ignorance is bliss). Never speak to a person, and they will never learn to communicate. The more new experiences you have, the more you discern your personal preferences, develop skills and passions, figure out how to actualize your potential, and truly have the capacity to create items of redeeming value. Each experience is a brick that builds your house stronger, or maybe a steppingstone into the future.

The scary part, I suppose, is that there is a little bit of luck involved in having all of these experiences, which makes it seem like you have less control. That's life. Some call it fate, but I often find fate to be a bit of a cop out in taking responsibility for you own existence. At best, I think we can only anticipate that unknown experiences will occur and react as best we can in the moment. It's a bit like driving a car on a curvy road; the road will change direction often, but we don't steer the car until the road actually starts to curve. If you (not fate) stop driving the curves, or turn off that road, or change to a new road, the experiences stop or change. Perhaps, the most unfortunate implication of all is that a person may never experience the thing he or she is best at. There is probably another Michael Jordan out there that has never even dreamed of basketball. I'm reminded of Anthony Robbins' advice: "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten." Simply put, trying new things helps you self-actualize. (Aside: read the book Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell if you have not.) 

I'm also a scientist, and I think it is exactly this stepping forth into unknown new experiences that drives me. It's all about experimentation, and every action is an experiment. Each new experiment yields new insights, and these insights are usually small, such as, "Oh, I should wash this dish like this." Sometimes, though, they're broader, and that's exciting. The most important part is to take the step! Run the experiment! See what happens! Then there is something to talk about; a little culture and knowledge has been created. 

* * *

Real Life. First off, semantics. I believe the dual implication in the last section to be true, so I also believe the contrapositive to be true:

NO Cultural Item <==> NO n-gram to describe Cultural Item

That is, I argue that that the lack of an n-gram to describe an item/concept (such as a light bulb) implies that the item does not exist. Otherwise, I argue, there would be an n-gram to describe it. This is what I mean when I write that a person cannot know something they have not experienced. You cannot know or experience what does not exist, and that which you cannot know does not exist!

Because we can track the written records of a huge number of n-grams, we can fairly-accurately pinpoint (in time) the introduction and propagation of, e.g., socioeconomic trends, social shifts, and cultural identities, even if their specific n-grams have varying frequencies of use. People have come up with some clever strategies to do just this. With the right search terms, you can track your groovy underground concepts (as long as someone wrote about them) backwards in time to see when they started (just like the plot of "light bulb" above).

For me, this is where Constructionism and Culturomics really get powerful, so let's get controversial. Take a look at a couple of modern, not-so-underground cultural identities: Heterosexual and Homosexual. I argue that these identities cannot exist without the 1-grams "Heterosexual" and "Homosexual," respectively. These terms were coined in 1868 by Karl Maria Kertbeny (see the plot), so, by my logic, a person cannot be heterosexual or homosexual before 1868. It's anachronistic.

Plot of the frequencies of 1-grams "Heterosexual" and "Homosexual" vs. Time, post-1860 (before they were created).

Homosexual.

Obtained here.

That is, a person cannot behave under the hegemonic script of "Heterosexual" or "Homosexual" in pre-1868 society where these 1-grams (and thus identities) do not exist. Before 1868, it is flat-out wrong to call someone heterosexual or homosexual. It doesn't make sense. (See this quick read for more information, as well as Jonathan Ned Katz' bio regarding the invention of Heterosexuality).

Not Homosexual.

(Socrates and Alcibiades).

Obtained here.

"Wait a second!" you might find yourself saying. "There have always been Heterosexuals and Homosexuals walking around, even if the words didn't exist. Heterosexuals represent the societal norm, and Homosexuals are a subgroup of society that is attracted to the same sex."

Well, actually, that's not true. There have always been man-woman couples and same-sex couples (albeit relatively fewer perhaps), but these couples didn't associate with the Heterosexual and Homosexual identities until the identities existed. Simply, some other hegemonic identities dictated their behavior, most likely motivated by procreation prior to 1868. 

Here's an older, well-known example: the man-boy couples from Socrates' time (~400 BC). They also didn't associate with the "homosexual" identity, nor were those relationships considered "pederasty" because neither concept existed in society. You can read more about that for yourself. Still not convinced? Here's a perfect anaolgy: a person cannot use a light bulb in a society where light bulbs do not exist (i.e. prior to 1879); it is flat-out wrong to call someone a "light bulb user" before 1879. It doesn't make sense, just as using "heterosexual" or "homosexual" before 1868 doesn't make sense. Socrates was just as gay as he was using light bulbs.

* * *

What to take away from all this. Heterosexual and homosexual identites are mere examples of the larger point: all behavior is the expression of an identity into which we are born. You don't have a choice about the identity into which you are born, and this is true for everything from race, religion, and sexuality to the food you eat for breakfast. It dictates much of your behavior. Some people don't like that idea very much. Please understand, however, that I am NOT arguing that people lack free will. Rather, I'm saying your library of behaviors to choose from is constrained by your social identity, and your social identity is further constrained to a specific geographical location and time period and community in which certain social identities exist. That's not a bad thing at all. In fact, it's a pretty interesting lens through which to examine your life. The exciting part is that new experiences allow you to transform and transcend your social identity as you come to know new bits of culture and regurgitate them as your own. That is why traveling rocks!

Uncertainty Part II: On Intent

El Volcán Arenal de Costa Rica. Junio 2008.

I believe that the very first seeds of this post nestled in my mind in August 2010, while I was traveling in Australia. Those first seedlings sounded more like, "never expect anyone else to be your trail guide," so what you read here has evolved from that. Also, Part I is definitely worth a read first--particularly a scan of the Life Actualization Hierarchy.

* * *

First off, I'd like to convey a concept that's been crystallizing for some time: Field of Intent. To understand it, break it down component-wise.

What is Intent? To me, it's a a mixture of two concepts: Focus (deliberate attention) and motivation (reasons for doing), which both affect the outcome of your actions. Intent, then, is focused motivation, or maybe motivated focus.

Looking East at the gathering marine layer, near West Camino
Cielo and The Playground. Santa Barbara, June 18, 2011.

Think about this. Let's say you are focused on saving a baby from a burning building, with a motivation to achieve recognition and hero-dom from your deed. You save the baby, but in this case, your hedonistic motivation undermines your strong focus, morally marring your intent. Now, instead, let's say you focus on saving the same baby because it will save a life, or reunite a family, or simply because it's the right thing to do. You've now saved the baby out of love, or hope perhaps, and your intent is powerful and positive.

What do I mean by Field? It's a triple entendre. In one sense, a "field" is a physically partitioned space (such as a soccer field), but it is also a subject matter (such as the field of Chemistry, or another field of study), and it is further a way of storing and projecting energy (as in a magnetic field). This triple threat is the construct that conveys your intent to other people.

On the trail to Cathedral Peak,
Santa Barbara, April 23, 2011.

So, then, Field of Intent (FI) is the physical space, emotional energy, and subject matter of your focused motivation. It's how you project yourself into and onto the world. It's what you say, but it's also how you say it, and when you say it, and who you say it to. Through your inflection, body language, timing, and audience, other people directly perceive your FI. They can tell whether you're being hedonistic, or loving, or whatever. They can tell when you're lying, and so can your parents. Other people can tell that you saved the baby for recognition or for love.

Now, after realizing that every single action you take projects you onto the world, you may ponder some questions. "Who am I affecting with this action?" or, "What subject am I presently putting energy into?" or, "Am I approaching this positively or negatively?" or even "Am I sitting with good posture?"  Do you like what you're projecting? Do you like that other people can perceive it? Every moment--every NOW--counts. Revel in it.

My claim. Your FI attracts other compatible fields of intent. By this, I DO NOT MEAN to echo the proverbial "what you project into the world comes back to you." In fact, I disagree with that. Rather, I'm saying that your FI draws in other intent (foci and motivations) that are compatible with yours. But Beware! "Compatible" does not imply "positive." This could be an antagonistic compatibility, and it could also be an augmentative compatibility. (Aside: in my opinion, it also doesn't have to be a human-human intermeshing of intent ... but I'll let you decide if you also believe there are other entities floating around with intent. See my previous post if you want some dark-demon antagonism). Regardless, you have the power to control the composition of your FI. That is, you have the power to control what aspect of yourself brings other people to you. If you don't like what you're surrounded with, change yourself (by changing your Field of Intent).

My Mindset: Yes, do what you love, but to get there, first you have to love what you do, all the time. Focus on this; be motivated by this. Then, as with all paths you are here on earth to walk, only you can make the effort.

* * *

I direct your attention to the top two tiers (Hope, Enlightenment) of the Life Actualization Hierarchy. I duly neglected these tiers in Part I of this post, partly for space, and partly because I just didn't know what to say. These are some big topics. Gotta let things ferment sometimes.

In these top tiers, I attempt to convey (by flow chart) that experiencing and sharing Love is what ultimately propels you from Hope (confident wishfulness) into Enlightenment (which seems to be one of the highest purposes of life). But what is Love? Where does it come from? Where do we find it? I think Field of Intent can help elaborate, so I'll speak from my experience.

Sunset beach bonfire below the Ellwood bluffs. May 14, 2011.

A while back now, I fell in love with a girl. I mean really hard, really fast, for real, for the first time. Whoosh! Exhilarating. Blinding. Surprising. Wonderful. Unrequited. (She didn't want me back.) So, instead of that, a whole slew of reaffirmations fell into my lap. Here are some:

You might have some conception of what you find attractive, but you cannot know right now what you will fall in love with. Attraction is not a choice, but it is one early step towards love. Because of this, it is better to focus your intent away from "finding attraction" or "finding love" and focus it towards another goal, such as working smart, or creating passion, or making friends, or maybe getting really good at the guitar. Such a goal can be as simple as going for a run (I recommend without headphones), or as complex as defining your life's work, or saying "How's your day going?" to a stranger for no reason other than friendliness. For good results, these require strong positive intent (focus and motivation). What do you care about? What do you make time for on a daily basis? What are you building passion for? Figure it out. If you are building a passion for napping, and you don't like it, then stop. Then, when your focus and motivation are strong enough in such pursuits, you will achieve something that surprises you. There is no replacement for hard work. Then, at the same time you're working hard (lo-and-behold!) the universe will conspire in your favor, and your field of intent will bring compatible people to you--collaborators, muses, lovers, mentors, whatever. As far as love goes, you will meet someone you're compatible with on a deep, intent level. That is, they will be compatible with your field of intent. My advice? Rather than ask "Where do we find Love?" perhaps realize that Love will change your ideals when IT finds YOU.

Sunset over Goleta, CA. July 31, 2011.

I believe this is how enlightenment works, too. It's experiential, but your experiences are guided by your Field of Intent in a divine feedback loop. If you put powerful, positive intent into what you do, you will enjoy what you will do. Make sense? Here's an idea I really enjoy thinking about: When you experience Love, it gets stored in your subconscious mind, which is your body. Your body recalls all the pains and textures and flavors and wounds and emotions and infinite things you have experienced. Each of these is stored in a tiny pocket of your self, whence you may retrieve them from time to time. The body recalls, too, all of the Faith, Gratitude, Pleasure, Luck, Fear, and other driving forces of transformation that you have experienced. Each of these is driven by your Field of Intent, and each contributes to your ultimate actualization.

Often, for me, more questions arise with the realizations, so I'll leave you with a final item to ponder: What is the source of your intent? Where does it come from?

Apostrophe

Northward blender view of Red Peak from below Red Buffalo Pass (Gore Range outside Silverthorne, CO).  Spring 2007.

Today is Independence Day. Perhaps it is fitting this found it's way to the page.

* * *

Sunset over the Collegiate Peaks, near Buena Vista, CO.

I love being outside. I love jagged snowy mountains, a fresh pine-filtered breeze, and cloudless blue skies that wax indigo at the zenith. I love the way the landscape pops into existence just over the edge of a summit's peak, and the way cold rock feels under my fingertips, and the lava that courses through my veins from the roar of crashing waves. I love the red and purple fire that ignites the sky at dusk every single day, and the way the ocean rolls and washes my soul back into the right shape, and sharing the epiphanical endorphins of it all with good people.

Moonrise over Telluride, CO. Summer Solstice 2010.

Independence Monument, Colorado National Monument, CO

And yet, I have a nagging doubt. A nagging hunch that it's not mutual. A deep feeling in my gut that Nature doesn't care, nor reciprocate my love. Nature, why do you shrug that I rope up and climb your steep rock faces? Why not just prevent me from falling? Nature, why do you yawn that I lace up my shoes and run up your wooded trails? Why not carry me back down? Nature, must you plug your ears to my hoots of joy on top of a mountain? Why not sing along? Nature, must you trip me when I stand to ride your waves? Why not hoist me to my feet?

Unaweep Canyon, CO. The pensive climber is Casey.

You are stunning in your beauty, but you are the ultimate tease--the sublime lady I can never have. No matter how clever, or smart, or funny, or charming, or self-actualized I may be, I won't catch your attention. You don't even want to be my friend. It breaks my heart, as any one-way love must. But this strengthens my resolve. I will come back later, and I will do it for me. I WILL come back later, to simply see you, if that is all I get. I will come back later, on my terms. In the interim, I do not expect that you will have changed, though I definitely will. Lord Byron said it pretty well one time:

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
   There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
   There is society where none intrudes,
   By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
   I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
   From these our interviews, in which I steal
   From all I may be, or have been before,
   To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

(First Stanza of "Apostrophe to the Ocean"
from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage)

Uluru, Northern Territory, Australia. August 2010. The shadow on the rock face is cast by the impressive Kata Tjutu.

Nature, my lady, there is a lesson in your cold-heartedness, I know. By your intensity, you teach me Humility, so that Pride does not cloud my Love, and Faith, and Generosity. In your remoteness, you teach me self-sufficiency, so that I may focus on the solution and not the problem, however small it may be. You teach me of Beauty, which is a grand, transcendent paradox: were I not here to see it and say it, would you still be beautiful? Through your intricacy, you teach me of Infinity, so that I may appreciate Nothing, and thus have Gratitude for the universal web of existence, of which--against all odds--I am somehow a part. By your Rejection, you teach me to be a Man, so that I may make my own path and find true companionship along the way. Much obliged.

Perigean Tides and Mashing Fresh

Blender of the CA side of Heavenly at Tahoe - March 22, 2011

"Fffffffffffffffffff ..." Hear that? It's just big snowflakes falling through the air. 

Look around: Covered in powder-snow, steep mountains seem less steep from the top. 

I just had a skiing dream, and in it I jumped farther 

and spun slower and landed softer and schralped 

more continuous blower gnarr than ever before. 

And then I went to sleep and had the same dream. 

* * *

SUNRISE on January 15, 2010.
Bangui, Central African Republic.
Image online here.

Preface. Sometimes, coincidences happen. Sometimes they're shocking, sometimes they're mundane. Perhaps they happen for a reason. Perhaps not. It's pretty easy to get caught up ascribing meaning to coincidental events. Maybe that's superstition. It's also pretty easy to walk around oblivious to the world turning beneath your feet. That's naivete. Simply put, it's easy to over-analyze what you experience, and it's also easy to under-analyze it. I'm looking for a harmonious middle ground, so let's just say that coincidences are interesting. Coincidences are sort of like rolling Yahtzee.

In fact, here's one coincidence I just discovered a few weeks ago, in retrospect: the experimental wormwood beer that Casey and I brewed back on January 16, 2010 coincided almost exactly to the hour with the longest annular solar eclipse of the milennium (which was also about one day off apogee), and it was very nearly directly opposite us on the earth. Hmmm. Interesting. What's with that? Why did that fermenting ale affect me so strongly and yet NOT affect anyone else, including Casey, or my roommate Andy? I'll let you decide that in a bit, at the end of a more recent tale ...

* * *

16 Hours. Winter quarter ended, and a couple lonely Tahoe season passes needed riders, so we loaded up the car Friday afternoon (March 18, 2011) with the ski/snowboard equipment, stopped at Whole Foods for supplies (turns out they have the best beer selection in greater Santa Barbara), and blasted off towards ski country. Three excellent dudes, and lots of snow in the forecast. It was bound to be epic.

Old Chub, from Oskar Blues

Brewery, Lyons, CO. Smoky, malty, 

roasty, 8% ABV, especially 

great for skiing, AND they 

carry it at Whole Foods. Sweet.

Image online here.

Well, likely to be epic, at least. We didn't know that each other person was excellent at the get-go, but when you spend continuous time with a person, you get to know them, for better or worse. You get to know what they think. You get to know what their middle name is. You get to know what they smell like. That's how you make good friends (or enemies), and whaddaya know: we're all fast friends.

Ryan took the first driving shift out of town. We were fired up, ready to ride, and ready for the adventure ahead. We talked about the ocean, and owl omens, and girls. Heavy snow forecast up North on I-5 pushed us East onto Hwy 395, which added a couple hours to the ETA. No big deal! It's more scenic, anyway, to drive past Mt. Whitney, through the jaw-dropping Owens Valley, through Bishop, CA (a warm-month climbing mecca), to Lake Tahoe. I took over driving as the sun began to set. Wind started to kick up. Lots of wind. Enough wind that cruising 65 mph on a two lane highway felt precarious. Enough to provoke a wildfire to jump the highway near Independence, CA and HALT northbound traffic on the 395. We flipped a U-dogger and grabbed some pizza 20 miles back at the Pizza Factory in Lone Pine. I recommend stopping there. It has the nostalgic air of a cafeteria--cheap wood paneling, vinyl-cushioned metal chairs, soda fountain, good toppings, reasonable prices, and no pretense. While we were housing some 'za, we heard that the highway was closed indefinitely and it might not open until the next evening. Five hours had elapsed. We were halfway there. "What are we gonna do, guys?" asked Ryan. "You wanna grab a room in Lone Pine and wait out the fire?"

It was definitely an option, but there was no guarantee that the highway would open, and "No Vacancy" signs were beginning to light up. It felt better to be moving, driving, chasing the powder. "No, let's drive. Let's take the 136 to the 90 and loop out through Nevada. It'll take twice as long, but we'll get there," Iggy and I replied. Instead of four hours more road time, we were looking at eight or nine, which is the standard total trip time. "It's all part of the adventure," we echoed.

Owens Valley as I took over driving.

So we gassed up the Tacoma and jumped in. Ryan was at the helm again, so he abruptly chugged a 5-hour Energy, and we hit the pavement. The road out was intense. It had sudden dips and quick crests, and turned downward, darkly, steeply, into Death Valley--an appropriate name for the place. The headlights were a candle flicker in a huge chasm, every now and again illuminating a stark feature in the landscape. Or was that an animal? Or something else? We tossed in The Eagles Greatest Hits. As midnight passed, the perigean full moon (or "Supermoon") made its appearance over the mountains, igniting the desolate valley in its silvery light. This full moon was exceedingly bright, and big, because it coincided with the moon's perigee (closest orbital point to earth), a coincidence that happens every couple decades or so. Perigee is also interesting (even if it's not the full moon) because there are always stronger tides. Such "Perigean Tides" are the result of measurably larger gravitational forces that accompany the moon's closeness to earth at such a time. The result: at perigee, the earth's entire ocean rises a couple centimeters higher than usual at high tide. Maybe it was these "moon rays," but Ryan was clearly getting more and more agitated, and he suddenly half-laughed/half-shouted, "Guys, all of my faculties are in a hypersensitized state! Hahaha!" as he gave the truck a little too much gas around a bumpy curve. 

"That must be the five hour energy," Iggy replied. "Just take 'er easy dude!" Still we descended. 


Meanwhile, running on 3 hours of sleep, and sleepy on pizza, I was finally beginning to doze off as Witchy Woman came on. My dreams were wild, full of swirling mist and dark running figures and strobe lights, all choreographed to Don Henley's 400-grain voice. We were all on edge from the intense winds, recent earthquake in Japan, and eerie moonlight. It felt like something big was about to rend the earth or explode the sky. The road was getting steeper, and bumpier.

Supermoon from the car.

"WHOA!" yelled Ryan, tapping the brakes. "I just hallucinated a dark figure crossing the road!" 

I sprung awake in a tense, confused anxiety and quickly described the dark figures and swirling mist in my dream. "What did it look like, Ryan?" I asked. 

"I couldn't really tell, but it ran right in front of the car!" replied Ryan. I was suddenly extremely awake, and trembling. Iggy, compelled to roll some cigarettes, helped calm the energy by reminding us of the light within. Ryan continued to exhale pressurized breaths of energy through his teeth. The thermometer on the car read 70, but I was freezing--shivering cold at the base of my spine--like I had jumped in a frozen lake and couldn't get warm. It felt like a dementor had jumped in the car with us. It felt like a Native American burial ground. Still we drove on.

We felt exposed, so it felt like a good time to expose some deeper stories among new good friends. I told the story of the wormwood beer, and how all the while it has evoked myriad vivid visuals as well as alien emotions within me, and the slow mellowing (but not disappearance) of these effects for over a year. We're all agreed that wormwood is a strong psychoactive and potentially poisonous substance, and I recently learned that, in some circles, it is used to summon and banish the dead. A little pre-research would have been in order. We talked about our birthdays, and how Iggy and Ryan have the same spiritual teacher in India. As we dropped below sea level, we talked about the meaning of our names. Ryan's full name, Narayana: "God in Man." Iggy's middle name, Sathya: "Truth." My name, Nathan: "God has Given." Iggy later observed that "all [of our names] were referencing that energy we longed to be protected by at that moment." It's also interesting that our names echoed our roles in the situation: Narayana was driving, Iggy was calming us, and I was suddenly the one with the burden. It was a veritable spiritual quorum, and we had a demon to exorcise. 

Swirling mist, for dramatic effect. Image online here.

We resurfaced above sea level and glimpsed the ascent out of Death Valley in the distance. Part way up, we pulled off the highway to get some fresh air, stretch our legs, and empty the tanks. Very few other cars were out, but a few hundred meters up, another (abandoned?) solitary car was visible on the side of the road. Iggy crossed the highway, gazing into the moonlight and the vast valley floor below. Narayana walked a few meters into the brush on the dark side of the car, facing the screaming wind, and meditated. I stood in the center of the highway, frigid, stuck in limbo, flanked by my companions, and connected to reality and society in a literally concrete way. There are entities that hide there, shadows darker than the moon-shadows cast by the shrubs, and I could see them, squirming on the side of the highway, in Death Valley. The road was safe, but this was a turning point. I was crawling out of my own skin, clawing out the base of my spine, shivering violently. As Iggy later wrote, "The energy was so intense that it felt like it was shattering old inner constructs, allowing for transformation.  There was nothing one could do except surrender and allow the transformation to occur." After some time, we got back in the truck, and began to drive. Strangely, the solitary car parked up the road was an identical copy of my truck, right down to the model year (I could tell by the paint design). That was truly the icing on the cake.

By now it was about 2:00 AM, and as we truly climbed out of Death Valley, the coldness and anxious wakefulness and squirming darkness quickly dissipated. I left that burden on the side of the road. In a very significant way, I felt like myself again--more myself than I had felt in the 426 days since January 16, 2010 (though it is only in retrospect, now, that I say this). The way Iggy put it, "[Our] descent into the dark valley and drive through and the ascent out was an exterior analogy to the inner landscape." True dat. This experience began under a solar eclipse new moon (near apogee, making it annular), and ended under a full moon at perigee in death valley. Perhaps I was meant to be there, to be diverted by fire, to be ushered through the valley of the shadow of death bearing a burden, to unload that burden, and to emerge cleansed of darkness, revitalized and grounded by Iggy and Narayana's strong spiritual purpose, feeling like myself once again. Or was it just a coincidence? Certainly.

We drove a bit farther, and caught some much-needed rest somewhere in Nevada. The moon fell behind the mountains to the west, arbiter of transformation. 

Waking again, it was my turn to drive. We caught a breathtaking sunrise over Walker Lake and saw just about every various lovely shade of brown cruising through the Nevada hills and mountains. Sixteen hours after we had started, we rolled into South Lake Tahoe at 8 AM.

* * *

Sharing a maté.

Snow. When we arrived that first morning, Sofi and Debi (the Argentinian gals at Priefer's house where we stayed) made us a breakfast of jam and cream cheese on toast while we shared a maté. A foot of fresh powder sat, poised, waiting for our turns, yet another (great) coincidence. In fact, the barometric pressure was so low, and so much snow was forecast over the following week that they were calling this storm "Snowicane 2011."

Off to Sierra at Tahoe. Excellent terrain, excellent turns, and it snowed all day. We rode with Priefer and Edrick, and mainly stuck to the steep, powdery, tree-filled slopes of Jack's Bowl. It was an epic start to the weekend. I got a chance to play around with a GoPro that day, so I took one of the videos, edited it up a little bit on my computer, and set it to some music. The song is Spare Me by Other Nature (Iggy is on vocals). Check it out:

After a day's hard riding, but mostly from lack of sleep and the crazy drive, we were beat. One delicious salmon-burrito-dinner later (at Sprouts), we went back to the house and practiced our Spanish with Sofi and Debi, and then passed the hell out. While we slept, the snow kept falling.

Benny boy.
(Edrick looking the other way).

Sunday dawned too soon, but temps stayed cold, so we rode the best, most blower powder of the whole trip this day at Heavenly. Grand View lift had some killer terrain. Sierra was closed all day. It was Sofi and Debi's last weekend in South Lake Tahoe, so that night, we made sure to check out Cabo Wabo beneath Harrah's Casino on the Nevada side of the state line. They wouldn't let Iggy in with his temporary ID, so instead, he went upstairs, won some money, and met a guy who was up $2000 (he bought us a few drinks). Thanks to social networking, I realized that my good buddy Ben Hambright had driven 18 hours from Colorado chasing the Snowicane. We met up at Cabo Wabo, and then rode together the rest of the time.

Monday. Sierra opened back up. 2 feet. Other than mentioning that we tried black bear sausage at lunch (awesome) and had amazing elk burgers to go with it, I'll let the pictures tell the story. They get bigger when you click on them:

Wow. I think Ben had something like 7 Gigs of footage on his GoPro this day. Rinse and repeat.

Lake View from Heavenly.

Tuesday, our final day of skiing, was sunny, and we skied Heavenly once again. That made for some great views of the lake, but heavier snow. Each day just seemed like it got better, and this was no exception. We all had a nearly-religious experience watching them take down the "Closed" sign at 10 AM at Killebrew Canyon. That's the first time I've ever had truly fresh turns in-bounds. Words don't do it justice. You had to be there. Oh, wait, Edrick took a video:

To finish off this fourth and final day of this epic skiing adventure, Narayana and Ben took some out-of-bounds terrain to the base, ending up 10 miles out of town by accident. Iggy and I were totally exhausted and kept it mellow, in-bounds, to the base. When we got there, an amiable, suprisingly-good, toothless guitar player named Hop gave us some beers and advice while we sat and listened to his tunes on the street. "Don't do anything that isn't fun for you," he said, moving straight into a great version of Big Rock Candy Mountain. "A little respect from both parties and everyone wins," he followed. No doubt, Hop, no doubt.

That's me.

We all reconvened at Priefer's house, ate Mexican food for dinner, and went gambling. That was my first time ever putting chips down on a table in a casino. I started with twenty bucks in my pocket, and went up $200 at one point, but lost it all in the end. I just wanted to gamble, and $20 is a cheap fare for a night of fun! I quickly learned that the worst bet in Blackjack is $21. Never bet $21. I did it three separate times with three separate dealers, and the house pulled blackjack all three times. That's not superstition, that's statistically significant.

Weatherworn, moneyless, snow-stoked, and smiling, we strolled home, packed up, and had a cream cheese fight over who got to sleep with the pillow. Next morning, it was still snowing, but we had to go. The drive home was an easy nine hours by the I-5 route--a welcomed difference from the trip there. When we arrived, this skiing dream continued at Hollister Brewing with dinner and beers. I'm still waiting to wake up.

Yahtzee!