Sun Buddah, Moon Buddah

Tristan's mom, Deb, here. Tristan asked me to post this to his blog, Letters Home. He'll be unable log on or read any comments for about 17 weeks, but has asked me to transcribe any letters he sends. Once he finds out what his address is, I'll post that, and then ( he has asked), please write to him. Letters will be like water on a parched ground. Thank you all for the love you poured out onto him over the last couple of weeks. We just left him at the hotel, and he flies out, I'm told, on Wed. So here's his last post;

This is how it is. The sun is up, but falling. The hotel room is a little humid, the elevator quiet. Not waiting, not tense or nervous any more.

Tomorrow I take an oath, swear to have this new breath as mine. No fear any more. Simply being. Nothing is out of place as I step to the ledge.

'Don't be afraid,' I keep being told. 'Have faith,' I tell myself. Wait, wait, wait and see, be patient like a redwood tree.

Be where you are unreservedly, completely.

Build a wind as solid as a fortified city.

Then confront the Tempter with the weapon of insight.

And (proceeding without attachment)

Guard what you have already conquered.

The Dhammapada, ch3 vs8

Spectacles, Testicles, Wallet, Watch

Here we go. Hours, minutes, seconds and then, I'm on an airplane, hurling over the mountains and down to a new life.

Check the bank, grab the phone charger, remember what book i'm reading on the flight, double check wallet for ID and SS card, sweep the floor, breathe breathe breathe. Everything is moving like it's immersed in honey, but my heart races anyway. It's almost there, just within my grasp, and I'm expecting the floor to fall out from underneath me somehow.

So I leave, frantic and thrilled and not entirely sure what's ahead, but I'm going anyway. I leave you with something that will be on my heart a lot these next few weeks.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Ends as Beginnings and Stuff

This week saw the official end to my regular musical performances in Portland, at least for a few years. Two-plus hours of tunes with Steph Infection and the Heebie Geebies, with so many good friends around that even the dull roar of diners didn't dampen our spirits one bit. Some shots and a couple Jack and Cokes later, we all wound up at Lady McNab's place, sitting around the porch talking about anything and everything we could think of. Each face I saw was significant, special to me and vital to my happiness. I love those people and will carry the tastes and smells of that night with me for a long time.

To each one of my ladies, I love you, I miss you already, and I can't wait to do it all again.

Ten...Nine...Eight...

So this is it. Ten days and I’ll be lying down in a hotel bed in portland, jitters and nerves and a thunderous 'what have i got myself in to' rumbling in my gut. For now, there is enough distance from ‘zero hour’ that I can still act casual.

This is the end to an era; gone is little boy blue, the kid with the swords and capes, dreamlands and emotions all akimbo. An electric stillness is settling over my bones, and more often than not these days I find myself just breathing, looking out the window or down the trail with something almost resembling serenity. Like a boulder rolling down a hill, and bouncing mightily one last time before crashing in to the trees below, everything is silent, nothing more than potential energy. Closer and more tangible now that it is at the bottom of the hill, distinctly un-boulder like, suspended in the air for a moment.

Ten days comes the crash, the thunder that carves a new road.

I’ve been asked why by so many people. Why go, why not do m

usic, why not do art, why risk injury or death, why not Navy or Air Force, why not this why not that... I’ve had so many things to say to each person, crafting my answer to each person so that their understanding of me, the person they know me to be, would have some peace in their mind. I have assumed that to be my responsibility, and have mostly avoided really answering the question for myself.

Ten days out, and I’ve got my own answer, clarified in a book bought from a roadside fruit stand:

“I wanted to see who I was when everything was taken away, when all the insulation between the world and me was removed.”

That is my motivation, in it’s real depth. I am sure there is more to my life than just taking what is handed freely, more to me than singing and dreaming. My heart was made for more than pumping blood. What that is, or may be, is what I go looking for now. Ten days nigh, I may just start to find it.

So here we are, rolling down the highway towards Portland and Newberg, beyond. A warm summer sun pouring through the windows, AC blasting, Five O’Clock People on the headphones, flip-flops and shorts and sunburn all orchestrated to create my perfect sense of summer freedom. Breathe in, shoulders back, belly full, spine straight and eyes open, watching the mountains inch closer as the seconds snicker past.

I know I will be ok, as things go. It’s not an issue of statistics: being 25 miles from home, air-travel vs. highway travel, or any other one of the ratios for success or failure that we seem to live by these days. It’s simpler, really. Two eyes, two ears, hands and feet, lungs and heart and muscle, and red human blood pumping through my veins, and a human mind in my head. I will be ok. I can handle it. I am excited, chomping at the bit and ready to go.

The man I am, at the core, is thanks to the people who have loved me. Every iota of strength, character or integrity I will dig up was taught, bred in, shown to me by my friends and family. What I do with those qualities is my responsibility. Always has been. I am proud to have been where I've been, proud to stand by the people who stood by me: now I hold my head high and take the next steps giddy with excitement, counting down the days.

I will be writing more, though only when I have the time and the resources.

TJ