I’m sitting in my house/room, dim light coming in through two windows — one faces out towards the street, framing a cedar tree bent into an arch and the white-washed outer wall of my garage, all contained within a small courtyard surrounded by a weathered wooden fence; the other window looks into a bamboo “forest” growing out of a steeply inclined patch of earth, where the base of the bamboo sits eye-level from where I write. I’m listening to Drone Zone, a radio station I get through iTunes which plays ambient noise, usually to counteract my neighbors music, which can be just about anything awful. I’m on my second cup of coffee. It’s been raining all day, leaving me trapped inside my 300 square foot box. I don’t feel like doing anything. If I weren’t slightly ill I might go for a ride on my bike — I might still.

When I was about twenty-one years old I was working at Rockin’ R on the Guadalupe River as a sometimes river guide (when the water was high), tube corral-er, and shuttle driver. Rockin’ R had several locations and I worked every one of them. It was a slow part of the year, just before the beginning of the season, and I was working at the Comal River location. As my day there would end, I would drive whatever vehicle I happened to have to the main location at the Gruene Road crossing. On one of these days I happened to have a bus, one of the short buses sometimes referred to derogatorily. I decided to make a run by a small park where rafters and tubers exit the river and await shuttle rides back to the main location. We had several new employees who were just learning the ropes so I figured they might need some extra help. I arrived at the park where utter chaos awaited; there where two vehicles — a brown four-door pickup with a flatbed trailer attached, and another four-door pickup attached to a tube trailer — with people hanging from the sides, tubes and rafts everywhere, and two newly employed guys who were completely overwhelmed. I began immediately gathering the equipment — tubes and rafts, paddles and life vests — and loading them onto the appropriate vehicles. In the course of doing this, some “kid” sitting in the rear seat of one of the trucks started mouthing off to me, I guess to look cool to the little girls he was with. The guy wasn’t much to worry about and I had my hands full getting things organized, so I didn’t pay him much attention. Having worked on the river for a few years I had grown used to confrontations, mostly from drunk, sun-baked idiots who should’ve known better; sometimes it involved the apprehension of stolen equipment: tubes, rafts, life jackets, paddles — all wore the Rockin’ R brand, and all were aggressively retrieved; other times it was a simple matter of too many dudes, employees and customers alike, around too few scantily clad women. As a senior employee I had a two-way radio that kept me connected, and periodically a call would come through requesting “back up”, which of course was responded too en masse, and sheer numbers and enthusiasm would dispel any conflict. Rockin’ R was also known to employee most of the Texas State football team, so muscle was never a problem. As luck would have it, on the day of my altercation, my posse was nowhere near, and the two new guys were of no use.

So here’s what happened: As I’m getting the pick-up area organized and under control, I finally decide to give some attention to this trash-talker. So I walk up to the rear window of the truck and asked if there was a problem. The guy wouldn’t look me in the eye and muttered under his breath that if he could “open the door I’d be all over you”. I tried to open the door of the truck, but it was stuck, not uncommon amongst our fleet. The “kid” muttered something else and I decided that nothing was going to happen so I turn to continue the task of putting the gear away when I feel a jolt, then I see “stars”, then my ears start to ring. I can feel teeth in my mouth and I’m trying to figure out what is happening. I spit something out of my mouth, shake my head, and realize I’ve been sucker-punched in the mouth. I open my eyes and see blood pouring down my chest. Girls are screaming, people are in a general state of panic. I look up and see three guys — a fairly muscular man in the middle who has a severe cut on his right hand, blood streaming down the tips of his fingers, and a guy on each side of him, including the “trash-talker”. I was in shock I suppose, and the only thing I could think to do was antagonize the group, so I started calling them pussies. “You motherfuckin’ pussies”. “Fuck you! I just knocked out your tooth!” “Fuck you, you fuckin’ pussies! Fight me like a man, you fuckin’ pussies!” The last thing I wanted was to fight. If you’ve ever been hunting, when you shoot an animal — you wait. Even with a gun, you wait. A wounded animal is a dangerous, unpredictable force. These guys waited. Had I cowered or shown defeat, who’s to say they wouldn’t have “finished the job”? After all, this person decided it was alright to hit me blind, in the mouth, with little provocation, and none directed towards him. The three guys decide to leave, walking across the park, aware that police might have been called. I frustratingly ask to no one in particular, “will somebody find my tooth?!”, and continue putting up equipment. The new guys are staring in disbelief. “Where were you guys?” “We’re so sorry…” A girl comes up to me with my incisor, root and all, in the palm of her hand. “I found your tooth” “Thanks”. I take the tooth to the river and wash away the dirt, blood, and debris. I try to stick it back into its socket, but the nerves are too sensitive.

Police and an ambulance arrive shortly, and the three men have been apprehended. The guy who hit me is the son of a cop in San Antonio. The local police are unsympathetic and ask what I want to do. I think if I had decided to punch this guy they would’ve looked the other way. Instead, I decided to do nothing. The way I saw it, I had it coming — maybe not in this particular incident, but as karmic retribution for overly-aggressive behaviour up to this point. I also thought I had control — over this situation, over life, people, myself. That irritated me the most — that I didn’t see it coming. When my mouth was filling with blood and I could feel my tooth swimming around freely inside my mouth like some intensely foreign object that didn’t belong, when I realized what had happened, my immediate mental reaction was, “You idiot! I can’t believe I’ve been hit?! I can’t believe my tooth has been knocked out!”. I was angry at the situation I had allowed myself to get into, at my lack of awareness, at my lack of control. I imagine this is a common experience in traumatic situations, like a car accident, or being arrested.

I witnessed an accident on central expressway in Dallas several days ago where a car was speeding through traffic, in the HOV lane, and made a last second maneuver to exit the lane and then lost control of the car, spinning across five lanes of traffic, clipping one car and then crashing into the barrier of the far right shoulder. His immediate reaction was placing both hands to his forehead in a “You idiot!” sort of way. He was very lucky. As was I. What if I’d been punched in the jaw, breaking it in the process? Or in one of my eyes, breaking a socket or causing me to lose vision (I’m already legally blind in one eye)? Losing a tooth sucks, but it hasn’t hampered my ability to sing or see. I ended up at the emergency room where the attending physician called an orthodontist who said to get the tooth back in ASAP. So the doctor hangs up the phone and says, “Hold on to something”, and takes the tooth and literally shoves it back into the socket. Ouch. The tooth took hold and lasted for several years, but eventually weakened and died. The plan was to get an implant, but I never got around to it. I’ve been using a partial denture for way beyond its intended purpose, which has made eating, and general care of my teeth a bit more complicated. The other day I was eating some trail mix and I felt a “snap”. I pull my “tooth” out and find a crack going up the middle of the bridge. Of course I had to fiddle with it and ended up breaking it in two. So now I’ve got a partial partial and plans to see a dentist. I guess it’s time to take care of this (credit card get ready).

of course, there have always been books. and there are enough i haven’t read to consume the rest of my life. now, for once, finally, we have someone of intellect, morality, composure, who is speaking to us, for us. “us” being quite defining, as there are many opponents to reason, it seems. of course, the future will decide if my newfound patriotism is misguided, but damn, for now i’ll take some intelligent words, some humility, some statesmanship.

i’ve never liked politics, and truthfully, i still don’t. when the standard seems to be deception and misinformation, how could one stand behind such a system? one might as well waste his time watching soap operas, or professional sports. i would argue that most people debating health care reform, “Czarism”, or the validity of Obama’s citizenship, know more about sitcom plots and NASCAR polls than than they do about anything happening within the political arena. not to say that i’m so well-informed, but i do read, i listen, i consider, i change my opinion, often. i argue. there is a conversation. a debate, which i may often lose. more thought goes into the purchase of a new riding lawnmower or fantasy football roster than in the consideration of topical debates. i would argue the same for certain people’s ideologies, religious or otherwise; typically herd or knee-jerk mentalities. choosing a leader — political, spiritual, or communal — should not be an easy decision, or a hasty one, unless circumstances dictate speed. when i read Obama had won the Nobel this morning, it made me happy, not because i thought he deserved it (debate still open), but because it was a rare moment of light amongst so much dark rhetoric. his speech inspired me because i could relate to it; the anecdote about his daughter informing him of the prize, the dog’s birthday, and upcoming three-day weekend, and the way he took advantage of the global spotlight (not that he is ever without it) to reinforce the goals and stance of this presidency. the World is listening again, not out of fear or intimidation, but out of curiosity, anticipation, and maybe, respect. we finally have a spokesman for all of us who didn’t immediately want to “kick Saddam in the ass” or hunt the Taliban.

i lived in New York during 9/11 and i was not alone in a mix of disbelief and awe, that (a) such a thing could happen in the US, and (b) that a group was organized and efficient enough to pull it off. in the crowded restaurants and bars after the tragedy, much was discussed about the inevitability of such an attack, and a weird sense of respect for it having succeeded. there was also hysteria, of course, and panic, and conspiracy, and fear, but it didn’t last. New Yorkers went quickly about their business, though not without the weight of loss and the possibility of another attack. outside of NY, however, people were reacting with typical overreaction, as if a plane were about to crash into the town square savings and loan. a quick call to arms, and America’s fat-asses rolled off their couches, hung their flags, and pounded their chests in neo-patriotism, then went on the biggest spending spree this country has ever seen, at the behest of our leader, G.W. Bush. ironic that almost anything one can buy is made overseas, and still people must die to protect our “right” to foreign-made goods and “freedom”. hmm…

it has rained the last few days, so Mahshad and i have retreated to the van and its dry interior; there is also an air mattress in the back, so it has been somewhat luxurious. the rains are over, and tonight we will be back in the tent, which has performed quite well. the nomadic life, one i have participated in on and off for twenty years, is best experienced outdoors. maybe i could convince my band of this logic, and they will embrace camping instead of hotel rooms, which always look the same and give nothing to the experience. the few times we have stayed in hotels on this trip, we end up watching TV (neither of us has one at home), and our night’s plans disappear into high def digital images and stereo cacophony.

i could spend the rest of my life wandering the wilderness, exploring every trail, climbing every peak, floating the rivers and lakes, walking the beaches. i love sitting in an evergreen forest, where the needles and leaves join in a wave of sound, swoosh-swishing, wind winding through the treetops like a stadium erupting in waves of applause. at the ocean bluffs on the northwest coast, i was sandwiched between these aural gusts above and the crashing waves below; the dense fog rolling in, creating a kingdom of clouds, covering everything in a fine, dewy mist; the ground soft and forgiving. i’ve enjoyed waking before dawn, before the birds, with the stars in full light and the moon, when present, casting a cold monochrome glow. with the moon seems to come a light wind which, at night, sends one scurrying to the warmth of their sleeping bag, and in the morning, fills one with the desire to start the day, begin motion, heat.

we had a day off yesterday due to the rains, and decided to take a drive to Jemez, about 40 miles northwest of Bernalillo. most of the land in this part of the country, meaning the southwest, is interlaced with reservations. i noticed the reservations tend to occupy very beautiful, though very arid pieces of land. while the oases–gardens of grasslands, river valleys and thick forests–are either US-owned or private. needless to say, the history of the US and its “dealings” with Natives is, at the very least, despicable and embarrassing (not to mention our dealings with any ethnic minority group). i’m not a bleeding heart anything, and one could argue that Native Americans have done plenty to exacerbate their situation (though one might also call this a modern problem applicable to the human race). but, give one GOOD effect of extermination/uprooting/relocation of the Native peoples? industrialization? we’ve seen where that has gotten us. as stewards of these lands, we have far from delivered. it makes me sad and angry: common emotions for modern environmentalists. when i was younger, i used to cling to a cloudy family history about possible Native heritage. supposedly Choctaw from my father’s side, and Cherokee from my mother’s. it gave me something to associate with, other than my European roots, and it filled a spiritual vacancy, since i despised Christianity and most other forms of organized religion. i don’t need to identify myself with Natives anymore, because i really can’t identify. not anymore than i could with any other ethnicity. i can only empathize and be inspired (positively and negatively) by the peoples and the history of the world.

if the sun was out i would watch as it sank below the horizon, i would lie on my back floating, drifting with calm water, watching the sky. i might see the moon begin its climb. i would see the light of the first planet. then, slowly, the constellations would emerge. i bought a compass and practiced orienting myself with North, South, East and West. i became inwardly embarrassed at my ignorance, my lack of sense. i realized i had not contemplated, observed the sky, the stars, my position within their frame. i knew that this should be innate within all of us. how can one navigate one’s place in life if he has no sense of his physical place in this world? such basic knowledge has escaped me, or has never entered my consciousness. we are doomed by this ignorance. GPS, Internet, cell phone, television. our focus has been diverted from the space around us to a virtual reality. yet it is the physical world, the climate, seasons, natural “disasters”, the concrete landscapes, pollution, air quality, disease, water, that will dictate our future. the purpose of outdoor recreation is to re-commune with nature. to reinsert oneself into the conversation. be aware. notice the impact humans have on our natural world. at the campgrounds, i watched people in their cars resuming a sense of pace, speed. why is everyone in such a hurry? the first step is to slow down, and consider. good riddance to oil and all the disaster it has wrought. *hypocrisy noted as i travel the country in my V8 van.