What a fantastic weekend. (Or ten days) Telluride! Beautiful people, incredible music and absolutely stunning landscapes. Sitting once again beside an ice cold waterfall in Town Park, cleansed by it’s earthly delight. Elephant Revival blew it out of the park. Trampled by Turtles night-grass was a life changing experience. I am happy, refreshed and inspired. I am in love with people. It hit me again the other night just how completely bat-shit crazy my life is. I am a peripatetic vagabond and I fucking love that. What a world to explore. What a time to be alive. What an amazing journey to continue diving headlong into. I find bliss in living each day to perfection. I am so grateful to my muse, my wanderlust and my infinite supply of friends and family that support me on my path. I ride the wave that is the open road and thank the universe for divine serendipity in all I do. Thank you thank you thank you! Right place, right time, even when an hour late.
I am but a player on a stage and that knowledge has the power to set me free in this life. Life is a game, play hard. As the sun and the moon dance in turn across the sky, so I rise. As the dust eventually finds a place to lay, so I too may settle someday.
I am endlessly amazed by the people I find myself surrounded by. Going down in elevation from family oriented Telluride to wompy rager in the woods Electric Forest was a true eye-opener. Through the dark of the night and the less than human side of this festival party scene there is still a radiant light of consciousness shining through. Rainbow creatures dancing up a storm of dust. The bright and inspiring few who know how to pick up their own garbage. Exploration. The excitement and wonder of what you’ll find around the next bend. Music that can transform the way you view yourself and the world. I am forever grateful for the life I have created. I take full responsibility for its ups and downs. We are all-powerful. Let’s keep it good and make it gooder.
It has been an incredible journey, the last month since I left Oregon. I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset. I watched an old friend play music in Los Angeles and blow the crowd away. I acquainted myself with Las Vegas, thank you, once was enough. I had a picnic in the snow at the Grand Canyon. I passed by the Hoover Dam (missed the exit, Damn!). I moseyed up Canyon Road in Santa Fe in a faux fur coat and chatted up more than one gallery curator that seemed to think I could afford to buy something. I drove straight through the worst snow storm I’ve ever seen, on closed highways and icy frontage roads to get to Austin by Christmas Eve. I sat patiently in the hospital waiting room as my beautiful nephew, Henry David, came into the world and greeted him warmly with tears in my eyes and a stuffed monkey named Bongo. I danced down Bourbon Street in New Orleans with a sugary cocktail in my hand. And at last, I rang in the New Year with some of my very favorite people in St. Louis, to the masterful sounds of Umphrey’s McGee.
5,000 miles in two and a half weeks. I reconnected with old friends and new family and am only mildly sick of my music collection. Thank you Kathleen Mannis, Sam Daggett, Sat-Kaur Khalsa, Nick and Sarah Mandelberg, Caroline Strickland and Roger Linehan, Peggy Walton-Walker, Tim Maggio and The Schers for taking me in and making this whole silly shebang not only possible but damn fun too.
Now I find myself back at altitude in the outskirts of Boulder, Colorado. For the first time in four years I am experiencing an actual winter without running away to the tropics. (Not yet at least.) Next week I will be paying rent for the first time since 2008! I don’t know how the hell I get away with it but outlaw, vagabond, nomadic, gypsy wayfaring has somehow come naturally to me.
“What next?” is the question I always come back to. I truly have no idea. One foot in front of the other usually leads to something interesting, so I’ll start there. Taking time to write. Maybe picking up some banjo lessons. Building Bowrain a colorful little sister. Dreaming of beaches and palm trees. Snuggling with Grizzly, my favorite four-legged roommate. Enjoying having a kitchen and my own room while it lasts, and tentatively planning the next great adventure. I’ll keep you all posted from the edge.
“I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can’t see from the center.” -Vonnegut
a little more…
The Native American spirit is spilling out of every adobe doorway. Even the gravel on the sidewalk is calling to my ancient wolf mother psyche. The red clay earth and the woven afghans remind me of Kingsolver’s imagery and the homesick nostalgia therein. Home as the Earth. The source that we are so far removed from and so yearning to return to.
Stone walls and houses made with hands. Hands of your family. Hands of your neighbors. Villages, or Pueblos, pieced together, wall by wall. Room by room. To accommodate a community.
Once again I am overwhelmed by a hotspot of creative inspiration; an entire city, capital city no-less, totally devoted to making and sharing art.
Utterly inspired. Honestly I came to LA expecting superficiality, skinny jeans, indie rock and egocentric superiority complexes and somehow I found something beautiful. Maybe I’m high on vitamin D. Maybe I am uncharacteristically over-emotional at the moment. Or maybe this bring-me-to-tears feeling of absolute creative inspiration is a legitimate reality. Maybe So-Cal is actually onto something… at least in a few select locations.
I am constantly in awe of how often I find myself in the right place/right time. Tonight has been no exception. I’ve found myself a private guest to a private and very special gathering honoring a truly incredible musician and featuring a few of his equally talented peers. An acoustic set in a living room overlooking the entirety of downtown Los Angeles.
California makes me high. It holds a place in my past, before a loss of innocence, before a confusing and stressful adolescence, before I ever experienced an actual winter. A golden state. Sunshine daydream, beaches, bicycles and poolside barbeques. I get so giddy when the temp stops climbing at a sublime 70 degrees and the palm trees sway at each overpass. The promise land. California. Where dreams come true. California. If not for the traffic, earthquakes and droughts I’d surely still be a California girl.
Sometimes the long and weary road seems daunting and sometimes it looks you right in the face and says, “You are on the right path, journey on. Now is the time, the time is now.”