Perceptions of Time

Weather Report for 31 May – 6 June

High Temperature: 79.2

Low: 41.7

Humidity: High, 92%. Low, 35 %

Rainfall: .08

Wind gust: unknown. Gauge not set up yet.

 

Rich's New from Camp Webegone

Each time I drive to Prospect, there is a transition that happens when I start driving on Hwy 62. When entering the highway, I must get up to speed with the traffic - which is at least 60 miles an hour. As I speed up, nearing 40 I start to notice it feels really fast. 

That feeling reminds me of coming back from Haiti, which I describe as getting on an on-ramp to a freeway where everyone is going 70 and I am going 25. So it happens here too.

 

Bigfoot Rich

The ability to adapt comes in rapidly. And after a few minutes of driving at 60, it feels normal. And I realize that I have once again entered a new perception of normal. I had though 40 was fast, but now I am traveling 60, and it's normal (and it's still too slow for some of the other travelers on the road).

In Clinic I often would talk about the dance that massage therapists need to do with time. New students often have difficulty adapting to doing a massage in an hour. But doing so is necessary in our culture built around Industrial timeframes.  

The massage therapist must live in Industrial time yet be able to move into what I call organic time in order to do good therapy. Allowing the muscle to let go is an organic process, and the good therapist can monitor the session time and also go into the zone that is organic time. It is all perception.

Meditation takes you into organic time. Those moments in meditation when you are absolutely in the moment. Those beautiful, wonderful moments. It too is a perception.  

But because it is all perception, the moment you notice it, you are not doing it any more. You can intend it to happen, but you cannot make it happen. That too is perception.

So last night, sitting at the fire lost in the moment of making fire and the process of keeping it flaming, Cheryl asks what I am thinking. I was not thinking that I was in a Fire moment. But I was. It is a relaxing place. 

Perception of time changes often here in camp. Our morning routine is a structure that we embrace. And in the structured routine, we enter into a kind of trance. A trance we create that helps us get things done. And the time here seems to evaporate, and we suddenly find ourselves at the end of the day, and just how did that happen without us noticing, and what day is it anyway?

I think living in Industrial time is very stressful. Part of that stress is about preparing for the future, a preparation often driven by fear. Will I have enough resources (money fuel food etc.) to survive? What will happen to my family?

That is one end of the spectrum. The other end is thinking about time from the perspective of aging. Listening to someone on radio talk about being in his 70s and noting that for someone in their 20s, their perception of their life is ahead. They have 60 years ahead (they hope) and just 20 behind. The 70 year old has 20 ahead (they really hope) and 70 behind. So naturally the focus shifts. 

And how did I get here so fast? And it was fast and now 20 years seems like it is rushing forward....Time keeps on slippin slippin into the future...

But that is all it is...a perception....

Moving Out, Moving On

RICH'S NEWS FROM CAMP WEBEBACK: The process of preparing for our next camp-hosting adventure continues.

 
So, now I am in the final stages of getting ready to sell my house. Which involves letting go of 36 years of living here. (Well, it's actually more like 30 years of occupying the space, what with extended stays away.)

 
Leaving brings up a mixed feeling. Primarily it is one of relief at the excising of all of the costs and responsibilities. I have thought of my home as my retirement system, and earlier this year I realized that is just what I am doing – retiring. Except for some short one-day classes now and then, I will be finished with my classes at OSM. That is another 30-year connection I am letting go of.

 
Looking back, home ownership has been a wonderful, stable element in my life that has provided me with many opportunities that I would otherwise have found hard to do. This home has been good to me, and it has been a haven for many ex-residents. But now the house is becoming more and more expensive as it ages. (Actually, it has always required work, just a lot moreso now.)

 
The downside of letting go of the house is the loss of stability from knowing that even if everything falls apart, I have a home. Even if it was only an illusion of stability, it was still a comforting illusion. But now that comforting stability of owning a house will for the time being be replaced by a trailer. Still a home, just more mobile is all.

 
So far, what has eased my mind is that I will be able to establish a home base with Nisa, Julianna and Frazier. A place for the trailer to come to. A traveling mother-in-law (father-in law) (grandpa-in law) cottage.

 
The process of selling the house is, at the moment, quite stressful – figuring out all the things to move or sell or trash or give away. An accumulation of such wondrous things as hundreds of screws, nails, and odds and ends of wires and other stuff I have saved (horded?) over the years. As well as tons of wires, cables, electronic gadgets transformers connecting to ...??? Since you never know when you might need an extra float for the toilet. Right?

Problem is, I forget I have it or can't find it when I need it.

 
The biggest realization I have had is that the attachment to much of the stuff is memories. Every time I look at a certain plate or afghan, I think of my mother or Aunt Norma or ….. But, that memory fades as I let go of those things the memory triggers. Pictures can alleviate that a bit, but I am a kinestetic (hmm, that word is not in my spell check!) person. I need that touch.

Interesting bit of information from my realtor: When getting rid of things, have someone else pick them up, because when we touch it, it increases our likelihood we will not let it go. I understand that feeling.

In the end, it will be sad to let the house go, but a relief and a joy that someone else will create a space here that will sustain them, just as it has me. Though one fear I have is that a developer decides to demolish it. I would hate to see my home replaced by one of the many characterless modern houses being built in this neighborhood. Such things do happen around here a lot. Usually on double lots, but there are no guarantees for my single lot.

 
Still, letting go. I must let go of my attachment to the house and what happens to it. There is the Buddhist realization that the source of human suffering is attachment. I must let go.

When I went to Haiti I knew that part of the reason for my going was to get out of the trance that was my current life. Going there certainly did just that. And this move feels very similar to me. I will be moving into a new way of life, once again leaving the trance of this one.

And then there is age. As I near 70 it becomes abundantly clear I do not have the luxury of time. Like my brother said when my dad – who was 78 at the time – asked him about getting remarried. My brother told me his first thought was: "Don't rush into it." And then he thought, "Hell, he is 78. Why not rush into it?"

 
Yes, so why not rush into it?

Last summer being a camp host took me out of the sedentary life that I had fallen into here in this house. The experience was so good for me in physical, emotional and spiritual ways. From that experience, I can sense that it is time to move on. Perhaps it is not the style of retired life that we all have in our minds when we are younger. But that traditional vision always seemed too not me anyway.

I may not have had the vision of retiring into the life a of a camp host, but looking out upon the path now, as I prepare to embark upon it, it is but another a step along the path of service that has always been imprinted in my bones. 

I look forward to closing this chapter of my life and embracing the next. The road beckons in May.