Bragging Rites (or Rights…)

or, you live lone enough…

On Mevlana’s (Rumi’s) 747th birthday I entered this world, probably rather surprised.

As a child I traversed my country by caravan over desert and mountain, with family and friends, bongos and jokes around the fire.

I entered the valley of death before I could walk, my three brothers guarding me just outside the castle walls.

A wise mule carried me for hours into the depths of The Canyon, led by the wildly spun yarns of an old grizzled cowboy.

On a cold Hallows Eve, after knocking on doors and  asking for alms for the poor, we strayed away from the village lights. We looked up and saw an enormous undulating diaphanous curtain of light vibrating in myriad colors in every direction.

 We saw the full starry sky beneath our boat, set aquiver by the wooden paddle dipping into  water.

The young monk and my much younger self sat together on the couch watching, on the evening news, the bombing of his home city far away.

I rode the slow train to the coast, past trumpeting elephants with ears spread wide, and returned from that Arab city a woman.

I held the severed baby elephant’s tail in my hand in the dark jungle, but another wanted it more.

On the shores of the Indian Ocean I noticed an odd shape and reaching down scooped up a staring glass eye. Who had lost it?

We bribed one guide to show us the way out of the great pyramid, and another to reveal to us the great penises of Pompeii.

I thumbed my way to Cape Enrage with Beth and banjo. We could not taste our food there for smell of goat. Clothes were later burned.

I lived in a house shaken by cannon fire daily, and flooded with rocks and mud every good rain. My mind and heart were blown open there among friends, second birth.

I paddled past totem pole, lodge and giant cedars, between orca, raven and eagle.

I summitted a peak below the level of the sea, its rocks drilled by wind and grit.

After she so considerately lowered her summit, I stood upon the lip of Saint Helen’s caldera, watching her smoke.

I was fed flaming strawberries underneath the comet (Hale Bop) as it fell through the cold stone Rainbow.  Succulent salmon and fine spirits were offered to our hungry crew by the man who appeared out of nowhere, cocktail in hand.

I felt the stars alive in my body as I  lay on the smoothed undulating shore of the man-made Desert Lake.  For a moment I  felt the glories of infinite space and felt it watching back.

I melted down on the playa, and with 15,000 others passed a wild call around the flaming temple.

I have felt the storm of strong sandy wind against my face in the Cosmic Ashtray, hid from it in the pink mouth of Peek -A boo and again in the towering Valley of the Gods.
Later I searched through the storm for lost children under the shadow of the Burning Man.

I painted in every direction at once standing in crusty white salt in the valley of Death.

I have touched the rocks that move when no one is looking.

I saw the Inca coax the sun from the clouds with his outstretched hands. Cosmic stage direction.

I saw the bright milky way stretched across the icy southern sky above the fires of solstice dotted around the high torus lake, which is no more.

My paintings were celebrated in the National Museum of a country few can spell, and fewer can find on a map.

I danced with the spinning iridescent women of Samarkand among ancient mosaic covered madrasas.

I have watched the Ikat weavers weave, heard hundreds of poets read, and thousands of singers sing and watched millions of dancer’s dance.

I have painted the portraits of deities in paint and clay. Others I have danced, and they with me.

At the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors Serpentessa, her snake Artemis and I, were entwined happily as we undulated to the sweetly soaring music.

I have held the hands of those near death and one long after the end of breath.

I have seen daylight darkened by the moon, and moonlight dimmed by the earth.

I have witnessed genius many times - idiocy too many times. 

I crave astonishment, and find it often.

I have climbed up to the windiest place on our continent in winter snows, and  hiked to the lowest and hottest place in the world in early summer’s  heat.

On Christmas Eve in Paradise we dined -  gasping for breath at the beauty of the bottom of the world --  glacial blues, black rock, white ice.

On that fateful day I stood upon my roof and watched the singed papers from the twin towers fall from the beautiful blue sky.

In the wee hours I drank tea and watched the lights of the mosques and palaces and of the ships sailing the Bosporus. 

I have been scrubbed in hammams in Oujda and Istanbul, Calistoga and New Jersey.

I’ve had hedgehogs in my hedge, and groundhogs underneath my house, chameleons in my bedroom and biting ants up my pants.

I have painted by moonlight, sunlight and storm - in rain, snow, wind and dust.

I was awoken in the hills of the sand desert by the sound of chickens talking to our camels.

I have been hugged by the Hugging Saint, receiving love and a cold.

I have ridden high winds in a basket -  below me the hoodoos of Sex and the inhabited Fairy Towers of the Anatolian plains.

I have flown over the glaciers and peaks in a magic flying machine.

I painted the sunlight pouring through the stone eye (oculus) of the ancient rock church - the warm light arching across the floor toward my feet.

I have entertained with dance at weddings, feasts and one funeral. I have made a fool of myself often. I would recommend it.

I have been Rolfed, massaged, gestalted, smudged, reikied, vortexed, soaked, steamed, immersed in hot mud. I have had my horoscope, tarot cards, akashic record, palms and face read, aura photographed and fortune told. And I am still here, I think.

In my family you will find resisters of war, musicians, teachers, missionaries, scientists, self-made millionaires, painters and poets. In my family all religions are represented, and many countries.

There is only one continent I have not touched.

Many efforts have resulted in nothing, others in surprises and delight.  Many surprises and delights have come with no effort at all. Is there a lesson in that?

I have been a servant to the poets, a comforter to the dying and a teacher to many.

I have loved and been loved with great energy and care. I am grateful.

For one third of a century my life has been happily entwined with an extraordinary artist and alpinist.

Friends are the greatest gift in my life, and I am well paid in adventure and good company.