Saturday, September 25, 2010

Thomas, Dance, and the Semi-Circle Paradox

Nov. 12, ’98 – All I did was go to a candle party. This means an upper scale Tupperware party where the sales-lady is selling quality candles and candle props. Thomas arrived with his girlfriend at the candle party. What a surprise. Oh, Hi, Thomas.

Hi! He’s as surprised as I am; we had no idea we had a mutual acquaintance. That’s Victoria for you. Sooner or later . . .

So, let me tell you about how I met Thomas, so I may convey the significance of this moment. I wrote about it because it pertained to some key moral issues I intended to address with someone else, related to the whole Dancing question, and it’s high time that model got put on record somewhere as well.

Thomas is a charismatic rather suave looking vamp, and he’d be happy I described him thus. I seem to have inclinations for tall lank men with dark to black hair who dress and carry themselves well. How they walk is important. I’m not sure the eyes matter too much, but Thomas’s, indeed, are a gray-blue.

This happened approximately a two years ago, on a night when I had the singular privilege of dancing on the speaker by myself because the other dancer ditched. The crowd that night was sparse. I still hadn’t resolved the moral questions I had with dancing but this evening probably contributed.

I had observed Thomas and his girlfriend in the club before, and I had decided he was the best man in there, aside from the one I considered aesthetically ideal, who from an appearance standpoint was nigh impossible to beat. His partner, too, was a very attractive auburn brunette, of the most perfect proportions I have ever had the privilege of observing. They were the toast couple, as far as I was concerned, the best looking couple to ever go there, and this too was attributed to their sense of style.

Anyway, on this night Thomas came out onto the dance floor on his own and he was dancing facing me five feet above him on the speaker, for two or three songs multiple times, which I found intriguing. I had this sense from him that this was personal not coincidental, and that he was unifying with me, which did not concern me at first; I entered without qualm. Later I sensed a threshold where I would not go, for I would not enter the girlfriend’s territory, nor would I go there anyway, and in my head I responded very strongly, mentally, No, I will not go there with you. Not, at the very least, unless it’s OK with your girlfriend. I know it can be said this was all in my head but I don’t think so, especially not now. I believe in the sense beyond the physical plane where the same actions or thoughts may be entered upon or performed. What Thomas was toying with, to me, was the difference between creative dance and the mate dance, and while this was in no way visible in his mien or overt body language, or our respective positions apart, I felt he had drawn me in; I had unified with him. But there is a limit to where I will go. The only reason I was drawn in by Thomas in the first place was because I found him very attractive.

I will assert that what Thomas was exuding was sensed by more than just me, though not necessarily in the conscious mind. Gradually he was surrounded by a ring of about six to eight different women, simultaneously dancing around him on the dance floor. Think about it. (Actually this happened to me once in Dublin in 2000; I ended up dancing surrounded by eight men who were all dancing with me, and if you can believe it, this didn't get awkward. Quite a balance.)

From the vantage of my speaker this was plainly obvious. I could sense the crowd beginning to get edgy. Thomas was committing 'polygamy' on the dance floor and that made some people uncomfortable. Then he was joined by his girlfriend, and the two of them cut loose.

On my dance break I went down and danced with the two of them at once. I normally never joined people. So I committed the act of joining myself with them both, (on the dance floor, anyway), and I was pleased with this because it had been fine by all and I had in no way entered something that was excluding or threatening to his girlfriend; we were all together. I also met Thomas and we introduced ourselves. When the break was over I went back up on the speaker and that was when things got dicey.

Thomas and his girlfriend started the mate dance. No other way to describe it, thought it was no way nearly as overtly lewd as it could have been. I guess it’s in the attitude. As I said Thomas exuded it with little apparent in his mien. This circumstance was extremely uncomfortable for me, because as I said, I had joined with them, and I had very definitive ideas about the mate dance. Then Thomas went back to dancing on his own, facing me, and there was a definite repeat in his address. It was at this point I responded by telling him no. I actually said it aloud.

When I finally resolved my questions around dancing it was in uniting two completely conflicting paradigms into one model. I visualized them each as paths that opened, like a funnel, from a single point. I thought of each of these patterns separately in debate and saw no relation. Eventually I realized that what I thought about it sometimes, and what I thought of it other times, was in complete conflict and that neither concept could exist with the other, so what was going on? Then over the first Christmas holidays between terms (1996), when I was bedridden for ten days with a feverish cold, I saw them graft together in my head and I went Oh, that’s how it works! The whole mess was neatly resolved and I knew that the reason it had confused me so much was because I fluttered around the nexus of potential most of the time, which explained why I was subject to both opposing trains of thought.

These were the two patterns: creative dance and the mate dance. What I see the majority of people imitating, rather lamely, is some watered down derivative of the mate dance. They’re using it to get together. This can mean that the whole point is to dance ineptly, so that no one feels self-conscious and you are not deterring or embarrassing anyone by being too “good” for them to consider. It’s a form of protectionism that everyone’s involved in without realizing it. The reason I used to stick out like a sore thumb was because I was involving myself in creative dance. Creative dance is the attempt to create beauty in motion, attuned to rhythm, so males tend to get their wires crossed on you anyway. I think that because dance is based in rhythm it tends to be inherently sexual no matter what, and this is going to be amplified if you’re actually any good at it. So my quandary was whether it was ethical for me to perform in a way that was inherently going to be sensed as sexual, how much I was obliged to sanitize it, and how I was affecting other people. At the same time I saw merit in the mate dance as a social vector that does not have to be used unhealthily, though as far as I’m concerned that's not what is going on most of the time, it’s being used as a quick fix for sex.

Because of the inherent sexuality in dancing I thought it was nearly impossible to avoid the mate dance, though I did not want to go there. The scene before me tends to revolt me. However I could also see, in terms of the mate dance, that what I, or Phil, who was my phenomenal gay dance partner, (we danced on separate speakers but were paired in shifts more often than not) -maybe what we were performing was actually an evolutionary dead end, because we were dancing without purpose. We were dispensing with an incredible amount of energy that wasn’t being channeled into anything valuable in terms of any form of production. (In a sense four plus hours of a being a dervish dispensing with enough joules that could have spent say, harvesting a field for a day, in other words, -energy as conspicuous consumption -? A mere by-product of our times that would have otherwise been unaffordable?) Outside of being 'conspicuous', the upshot was we were not using it to get hitched, which was the existing background intention of the majority, which felt like background static. We would never end up going home with anyone at the end of the night because of what we did. We were on those speakers to be on those speakers; we were there to dance. In a sense maybe we were going no where, and seeing it this way used to give me the creeps, like being socially dysfunctional and thinking that was somehow cool.

Conversely the only way I thought the mate dance was cool, was if the people involved in it were serious about each other, either each other, or, the dance.

From the alternate perspective, that of the creative dance, the mate dance is a joke, it’s a pathetic terminus for something that could be beautiful. The tango et al, these are among the most beautiful coordinated expressions of unity. Being in a club is sometimes like watching the unconscious expression of the lowest common denominator, where everything is watered down in its race to the bottom; it wants to be inept to equalize 'the field'. There is no interest in expression of beauty when people are just there 'grinding' their way to what they view as 'success'; get to the point. The means to an end becomes its own means. Bald expression.

This was my quandary; how sexuality in creative dance was tenable, and what was I actually involved in. Experiencing Thomas proved to me that my boundaries were solidly in place, and that while I would unify with someone there were limits to what I would condone, and I refused to touch the mate-dance.

[I was fully conscious of being an anachronism then and far more conscious of it now, inevitable.]

The other issue Thomas plays with is what forms of conscious unity should be interpreted or rendered sexually and public display, which was a big issue for entirely different reasons. Thomas’ behavior was playing with the borders, if he was not concerned about doing the mate dance with his girlfriend and/or drawing me into it. That's one level, swingers, but that's on the level of consenting adults. The second level, that of of sex utilized as art form or public display, is perhaps even bigger; the combination is opening a Pandorean box. I know he is diametrically the opposite of me; this is sensory intuitive, felt. That he was consciously at play in these sorts of combined concepts and applying them in a personal experiment with me to find out my boundaries may have seemed like reading way too much into it at the time. Well, read on.

That night with Thomas and Ivy put me on the hot seat. The whole “audience” in the club was drawing their collective breath, and I was the only other person dancing because that was my job. I had never had a stronger desire to get down off the speaker. I was awed to feel a palpable sense that this was on a fast track to hell. I thought that the only way Thomas and Ivy could be right in what they were doing was if they were serious about each other to the point that they intended to get married, which gives you an indication of the severity of the moral strictures in which I operate, not to mention their intensity, which wasn't just sensed by me. The irony was hearing two beer-drinking males behind me declare, within moments, that these people were going to hell. No Shit.

It did reach a point of tension that I could no longer tolerate and I looked up at the ceiling and asked what I should do, because I really couldn’t stand it any more. At that moment Thomas stopped and took his girlfriend Ivy off the floor. Whenever I came close to this state of tension, which was three times, Thomas stopped and took Ivy off the floor.

When I was sick over the winter, I saw both paradigms merge into a singular pattern, which was easily visualized as two semi-circles that touched at one point. Where they went from there was not too much of a concern, the interest was in that one nexus point, and in the idea that while at first there was a minute area between the semi-circles where there was space, that space opened in a near exponential fashion so that at the edge of their respective arcs, all there was, was space. The two openings from the nexus were how I conceptualized the potentials that lay in the mate dance and creative dance, respectively. The left side was the mate dance, and the right side was creative dance. There is a small rectangle around the nexus where I believed most of the derivative behaviors involving these two dance patterns was located. I saw the area within the two semi-circles as the region where a mish-mash, or behavioral dead ends, were continually spinning off and end up no where. Not to say that it's supposed to, it's more a matter of distilling patterns. All that useless, watered down, and otherwise terminal behavior, where the dance forms are abused by the users. Conversely it used to be that one could waltz and engage in these patterns and the purpose was an enjoyable evening. There was not near so prominent a pressure for an 'outcome' as there is now, and if you look at it that way, the semi-circle areas are blessed not to care; it's where you want to be. Naturally in that small rectangle around the nexus, the vast majority of the space is consumed in the void areas of the two semi-circles.

The point of contact was the nexus point, the point of potential where one could go either direction, entering into the mate, or the creative dance. This point is unique because it is only at this point that you can see both full potentials, and have the option of participating in either one, but the moment you enter into either one you are no longer at the nexus. So while the nexus is the only space where you have the capacity of totally realizing both potentials, in being in that space you are not actually realizing either of them, you are frozen in total potential, but really going no where. I realized that this was why I was in such an extreme conflict when it came to dancing, I operated around the nexus, and I felt precisely this way, that I was somehow frozen, not going anywhere. (This was a very handy concept to discover because I realized awareness of this difficulty could be applied in my spiritual existence as well.) One, you could think about getting out of it, and two, you could realize that the space was in a way, blessed rather than wondering if it was cursed.

With this model I saw that sexuality was safely and fully integrated within creative dance, because creative dance can be interpretive of everything real in the same way that theater or painting is. Therefore, you can render sexuality within interpretive creative dance without entering into the mate dance at all. You’re not messing with anything, it’s artistic rendering. The vector that is creative dance opens to infinite creativity, because in dance, especially innovative, even if you have a formula of motions that you keep as a basis, you will never repeat exactly the same motion in the same space twice. Infinite creativity with an infinite range of interpretive expression. This is what creative dance opens, and this is the vast space at the right side of the semi-circles.

The mate-dance opens into something in the same way, but this requires a little more background, starting with the nature of Christian marriage. Marriage in the Christian context reflects on something much deeper, the final unification typified as that of the Lamb and the Church. Christ called himself the Bridegroom in reflecting on this union which is to come in the Last Days. Marriage has also typified the relation of God with his chosen people since the inception of the Covenant on Mt. Sinai. In most of the prophets they berate the Israeli nation as an adulterous wife to her husband, God the Father. This was the failed version, but it hearkens to what shall be accomplished in the fullest sense, in the future. Marriage between two individuals, in this context, is a form of training ground, a dip into the commitment that must be learned in accomplishing a final, perfect union of love with God, in the body of the Holy Church, which is what the church attempts to emulate now.

So with this context in mind, consider that what is being approached upon, in the context of a perfectly accomplished mate dance, is a perfect union, which in turn reflects on the perfect union we must yet accomplish altogether, which is that of perfect and eternal Love. So in this sense, this narrow path or potentiality accesses the wide-open and infinite potential of perfect Love. That is the left side of the semi-circles. Again viewing it this way is like viewing the narrowest sense or possibility of what the potential outcome might be, as in its probability is microcosmic. It's simply an existing potentiality, but the potentiality is in a sense accessible just by existing, like an infinitesimally remote access that nonetheless exists. The dance is a form of unity to express unity, implying or expressing sexual unity. So is anything emulating the mate dance heading anywhere in that direction? Is it compelled to be expressed by people who are engaged in unity, where everything without intention is a form of falsity?

This was why I took the advent of Thomas so seriously. That is why I practically invoked their engagement on the spot. The expression has to be pretty strong if it's leading to remarks by male bar patrons that the pair are going to hell, as opposed to taking it all in.

About two months later Thomas and Ivy entered the club again while I was getting down from the speaker on my break. As I was walking past them Ivy accosted me with great familiarity and introduced herself. Oh it’s you! It’s so nice to meet you. What’s your name? We started talking quite intimately and then she turned and reached for Thomas, who was well aware of me from the start. Here, I want you to meet Thomas. We’ve met. Really? She situates him in front of me so that they have enclosed me on either side and they’re holding hands across my bare stomach. (I had dressed harem style). Thomas and I are engaged, we’re going to get married. We are going to spawn and we are going to have a daughter. We will name her Saffron, because that is more precious than gold. Then they tongue kissed each other inches in front of my nose.

Some nights at the club were pretty d***ed interesting. To me it was curiously fulfilling to have felt that strongly about them and see them arrive there themselves. From my perspective it was simply the truth of their state, they were being true to it, and that was a good feeling. And Ivy was conscious yet unconscious; how could she be so unconscious of Thomas and I first speaking to each other on an evening like that where we'd all danced, or miss how thorough a meeting it was, where he'd basically modulated a whole night of dance, not to mention the environment, in sussing me out? Maybe it was just forms. "We've Met" - what an understatement that. She was eager to meet me so obviously she remembered a good deal.

So with all that behind us, let me mention that it didn’t pan out that way, and while I have no first hand knowledge I know that Ivy ended up bailing on the commitment when she became a hostess in Japan and then a stripper and acquired a lesbian lover. I heard that Thomas was devastated, went on a total cocaine binge and blew all their savings. I also heard that it was Thomas who had persuaded her to go be a hostess in the first place.

I saw Ivy after all this had transpired while she was having a fling with one of my best friends.

I passed Thomas once this summer at a bus stop and while we recognized each other we did not speak.

So, now you know why it was a big deal to run into Thomas at the Candle Party. Back to the Candle Party, or what happened after.

Conversation at the candle party, and the party party after, was not too large. Mainly involved casually getting familiar and it was a long time before “Tom” was involved at all. But we did arrange for him to try out for a dancing job where I work. Talked about theory, talked Envr Techy with Dean, a former classmate. We are at Dean and Denise’s apartment; Denise is a Tech grad. It’s down to them, Tom and his girlfriend Laura, and me, and we’re going out. Dean’s driving. Because both of the prospective nightclubs we considered attending were running at 6.00 a head, the notion was dropped. So we went to Tom’s apartment downtown in London Flats, which turned out to be not such a bad idea.

I knew Tom had a mirror-ball if I had ruminated about it, he had told me about his light show the first time we talked, with Ivy. So yes, he has a mirror-ball, and a black light theme show and glow in the dark stars, so I am in my cultural milieu. Incidentally Dean and Denise had the same stars, and these were a large variety, double the size or more of the old ones. Dean and Denise had done constellations. Last night I was a Jewels’ for her 26th Birthday and Jewels had the same stars, and had done a fantastic job.

This takes more tying in than you might think. It’s very funny to walk into Tom’s having been drinking because for me it is a heavy dose of nostalgia.

When the family did its first trip together in 1990 it was in our living room which Dad had prepared for nearly a year. It had a Christmas light theme that had four major design factors: A sun/moon decal at the centre of the ceiling that shot out to all corners with red and yellow rays (when the sun was on); it became a yellow moon with two blue bands depending on the random blinkers; six designer strands on different blinkers. There was a tie and a cross and a circuit around the ceiling and one around the walls. That was the first light show. There was also the black light theme with neon mandalas in the windows and neon string art on the ceiling and the walls (the sun was at the centre of a giant spider’s web) with various neon knick-knacks, including a green tree, plus the black light charged up a whole glow in the dark theme. Then there was a flashing red and blue theme and the oak outside was included in this theme, with red and blue spotlights. You could see our light from Mt. Tolmie. So nothing beats my Dad’s, and you see all these derivative like spin-off’s. Me I just get nostalgic, I actually mentioned it. I always knew that nothing was going to beat my Dad’s when it came to “setting”, that was one of my problems, knowing that it was only downhill from there.

Thomas is a painter with work currently up in two places, including Urge, which is the short name of a tattoo parlour. So his work in on most of the walls. I already knew he was a painter so I am interested in checking this out. His pictures all sort have a modernistic dark side. I don't mean that it's modern art; it’s conceptual fantasy scant on identifiers, nothing to do with abstraction-ism. His view is modern in that it has a modernist dark side. His major theme is sort of a unique among the masses of happy cookie cuts but his creature has a twist. He shows a field of daisies, where a beautiful flower that bears almost no relation to the smiling daisies (except colour) has risen from the field and is flying with a purpose and identity but the flower looks like a predator with many tiny long teeth. His main theme is a female in a modern bent with fashionable platform boots, a fantastic body, blank eyes and interlocking metallic teeth that would be 4 cm long in real life.

I noticed that the smaller parchment paintings of the girl had excerpts of the creation from Genesis painstakingly painted as script above her figure. The largest paintings in the room were of this creature and one showed her taking a bath with cuts on her body and gave a call number. The number of course had 666 in the middle. There was large blue neon writing above that and I asked Thomas what it was. He responded that it was Japanese, Ivy had showed him it, and turned to me and said that he thought it meant “Hello There”. (Oh Hi to you too.) On one of the scripted Bible verse depictions, the girl is put beside the number 777. I had to laugh at that point. I did not want to make any sense of this creature; having a strong belief in the opposite I am opposed to the opposite existing, or the implication of her existence being false, and could not integrate it with my own perception in a way that satisfied me until I recalled a dream I had when I got home, which I will include as a postscript to the evening as it belongs, perhaps, as my own personal counterpoint. I laughed when I saw the next painting and knew that what Thomas was asserting was her existing duality as both the sacred and the profane, for that is another Pandorean box argument. I question why the portrayal of something evolving has a predatory/post-industrial connotation, that the evolution is feminine, I take for granted.The odd one out was a painting of a sun with a sad face and a tear coming out of its eyes. It was being consumed by an intergalactic demon.

Thomas and his girlfriend had just won a costume contest at The Limit last Hallowe’en, which is the club across their street, the one I hung at when Rumors moved there three nights a week. Thomas designed his own costume; he went as his demon. Denise and Dean asked him what the mask was, it was over three feet long and it was red with many teeth. Thomas responded that he didn’t know exactly, that it was a consuming demon of some sort. I already knew that. Oh, you made the costume? I already knew that too. His girlfriend dresses as Lalu (Lāloo). In case you don’t know the thematic implications of this, let me mention the Lalu is the central character in the movie Fifth Element, she is the fifth integrating element, a perfect being. Fifth Element is an amusing action glam comic book of a movie starring Bruce Willis, but it was written by a sixteen year old and it has a rather pure and simple fundamental plot attuned to that age , which heightens its impact beyond its surface values of an action/comedy/comic. The club knew and they were all chanting her name.

Lalu is the protagonist who must save that known universe from an all-consuming dark entity that is the inverse to existence but has consciousness, and has re-arisen. It leaves in its wake nothing. Lalu has been specifically designed to destroy it, but she must arrive at a specific conjunction at a specific site on earth. Before she does, and after various misadventures, she absorbs earth history and undergoes a profound crisis as to whether it is justifiable to save “life”, seeing has the history of life has included a long string of horrible suffering. So at the last minute Lalu is prepared to pull the plug, until the action hero comes out of the blue, because she is questioning, why do it when there is no love, there is no love, I cannot love, and he tells her he loves her. And so the universe is saved. You may not know enough to understand it, but I went through precisely this crisis; in a sense I feel is it somewhat universal to our generation or any to follow. We are the first forced to examine the sum of humanity and be forced to question its sum of brutality and whether it is best identified as no more than a cancerous growth upon the face of the earth that serves no other overriding purpose other than to pollute its own existence and exterminate its own life source. In our time this is omnipresent-ly literal.

For me the implications are ready made in my head as I go along. I do not have to process them like this.

Thomas is integrated in his expression; it is coherent in every aspect of his art; I know what he is expressing from my own arch-typical experience, not the broader arch-types themselves, accessing a greater mystery...and it is contestable whether he is identifying it in a deformed way, or whether it is the way that has been deformed, or whether he will argue the rightness in it all. His intent behind the work was something I could not have addressed then; it was not far enough in the rear view for me to feel safe, and he was precisely where I should have felt unsafe. (Not uncommon.)

Other facets of the night included a computerized trivia game that was highly amusing which I got to win. I had $9000 (of course) and Dean and Denise were in debt. I even gave two answers away. That and getting frightened by The Jerry Springer Show, which Tom and Laura watch regularly for amusement.

Car ride home: I find out Thomas is a year older than I am, whereas Laura is eighteen I also learn that his last art show included him and Laura having sex on stage as the climax for the evening. With that postscript everything I had ever sensed in what he was trying to form as art via the dance, and attempted to involve me in, was borne out. It really was where he was and what he was trying to do.

There’s a reason why when I encounter him he’s always hitched, and he is honorable about it, contrary to what one might expect. He turned down the dance job when we found out the only way he'd get one was if he danced with me.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

it's like being caught in a net.

"Mercy" (Zurich premiere)

"It's Sunday night, what are you going to do? Experiment on yourself."

I was drinking some wine
And it turned to blood
What’s the use of religion
If you’re only good

I know I’m weed killer, honey
And you’re sugar
If you’re the prosecution
I get away with murder

You’re gravity searching for the ground
I’m [You're - Paris] silence searching for a sound

Your heart is aching
Your heart is my home
It’s fascinating
I know I’ll never be alone

You’re gonna [wanna] kill me and I wanna die
We were meant for each other, you and I
Souls allowed to love
And there’s nowhere else to turn
[there's no where left to go
and no one left to trust - Paris -all 3]

You’re not sorry, you’re not gonna cry
You put the blue back in my eye
It’s just us
Because, because, because we can
We must

If you’re hunger, baby let me feed it
If your heart is full, baby let me bleed it
And happiness is for those who don’t really need it
You love me too much

You wanna kill me and I wanna die
We’re a perfect match, you and I
Slaves without the drug
And there’s no one else to trust

I’m not sorry, you’re not gonna cry
You put the blue back in my eye
It’s just us
Because, because, because we can
We must

I’m gonna kill me and I wanna die
We were meant for each other, you and I
Souls allowed to trust
And there’s no one left to trust

I’m not sorry, you’re not gonna cry
You put the blue back in my eye
It’s just us
Because, because, because we can
We must
Because, because, because we can
We must
Because, because, because we can
We must

This
is the counterpoint; you know what it means. Hell-O...
'
it takes a crime to cry'


"North Star" (Turin premiere)

Forty-five light years from home
Is where you are and where I wanna be
Beside you

Looking for directions
Stars are your reflection
To the space between you and me

I, I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait, I can’t wait
I can’t wait any longer for it
I can’t wait any longer for your love

Birds still singing for their rent
They fly above the government
It’s not a song of discontent
I’ve money now
It’s me that’s spent

Here I am, a space cowboy
Looking out for love and logic
In the universe, yeah, yeah

I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait, I can’t wait
I can’t wait any longer for it
I can’t wait any longer for your love

And the day packs it in
And you watch as the sun goes down
Pray that the night will come quickly
You hope, you pray
That those clouds leave the sky alone
‘Cause there’s only one light that can guide you
Guide you home, home

Say it, say it, say it, say it

I can’t wait any longer
I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait, I can’t wait
I can’t wait for your love
For your love
It’s like the circles in the song
Well, the lights have been shining
You want it, you got it
You take a lot of loving inside

"A love song to the universe"


Every Breaking Wave (Helsinki premiere)

Every breaking wave
On the shore
Tells the next one there’ll be one more

Every gambler knows
That to lose
Is what you’re really there for

Somewhere else there's fearlessness
Now I’m speaking to an answer phone
And every sighing leaf
On the breeze
Winter wouldn’t leave her alone

Hey hey now
Hey hey now

I don’t know if I’m that strong
I don’t know if I’m that strong
Don’t know if I’m that strong
To be somebody
To need someone

Every sailor knows that the sea
Is a friend made enemy
Every shipwrecked soul
Knows what it is
To live without intimacy
I thought I heard the master’s voice
It’s hard to listen while you preach

Like every broken wave
On the shore
This is as far as I can reach

Hey hey now
Hey hey now

I don’t know if I’m that strong
I don’t know if I’m that strong
Don’t know if I’m that strong
Enough to be somebody
To need someone

The waves know
We’re on the rocks
And drowning is no sin

And you know
My heart is
The same place yours has been

And we know
The fear of winning
So we end, before we begin


Oh oh oh oh 3xs

The waves know
We’re on the rocks
And drowning is no sin

You know
My heart is
The same place yours has been

And we know
The fear of winning
So we end, before we begin


"Glastonbury" (Turin Premiere)

Take me to the mountain green
You know it but I’ve never been
I was packing since the 10th of May
A few distractions along the way

Pale as snow
The flowering rose
For a flowering rose I would bend my knee
Came to find
The flowering rose
The flowering rose of Glastonbury

You are a pocketful of sunshine
You are the miracle I came here to find
Some things you just can’t control
Sometimes you just let it go

Morning, it was heaven-sent
And music is a sacrament
You pilgrims on a mountain green
You knew it but I’d never been

Pale as snow
The flowering rose
For a flowering rose I would bend my knee
Came to find
The flowering rose
The flowering rose of Glastonbury

You are a pocketful of sunshine
You are the miracle I came here to find

Alright, friend of Jimmy’s club

Down by the river where the village is sleeping
Under the flower of American dreams
Send in saints and a thought worth keeping
Even in the dreams you can't seem to sleep in

You are a pocketful of sunshine
You go, come over to Dublin all the time
You are a pocketful of sunshine
You are the miracle I came here to find
The miracle I came here to find
Miracle I came here to find 2xs

First discovery of "Mercy" was the Paris performance. Bang, Bang.

"you can walk it, or wade it
you know that you can stay inside your heart" - closing "North Star", Paris

Lyrics were referenced from here and here, with a slight bit of tweaking/correction.

Now that's the way to spend a Full Moon/Fall Equinox. (I had a sense it was really the 22nd. Hells yes!)

These are the original lyrics to "Mercy":

I was drinking some wine... and it turned to blood
What's the use of religion... if you're any good
I know I'm weedkiller honey... and you're sugar
If you're the prosecution... I get away with murder
If you were ice... I'm water
And with your telescope... I can see further
We're binary code... a one and a zero
You wanted violins... and you got nero
You're gravity... searching for the ground
You're silence... searching for a sound

Your heart is aching... your heart is my home
It's fascinating... I know I'll never be alone
I'm ripping the stitches

We've got two hands to rub
I'm digging the ditches
Of someone else's love

Love hears when I lie
Love puts the blue back in my eye
Love will come again
I'll be gone again... again

If you're hunger... baby let me feed it
If your heart is full... baby let me bleed it
And happiness is for... those who don't really need it
You love me... too much
You always loved me... too much

When I'm ripping the stitches
We've got two hands to rub
I'm digging the ditches
Of someone else's luck

Love hears me when I lie
Love puts the blue back in my eye
Love has come again
I am gone again
Love's got to be with the weak
Only then love gets a chance to speak
Love will come again
I'll be gone again... again

I... I can't escape myself

I hear you talk
Fear nothing
I fear nothing
Feel....
I hear so much
Fear nothing
I hear so much
Fear... nothing

Love has come again
I am gone again

Love is the end of history
The enemy of misery
Love has come again
I am gone again
Love is justice, not charity
Love brings with it a clarity
Love has come again
I'm alive again
Alive...

I am alive,
baby I'm born again and again

And again, and again and again and again
Again


These are the original lyrics to "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me" (Batman Soundtrack):

You don’t know how you took it,

you just know what you got

Oh lordy you’ve been stealing

from the thieves and you got caught

(repeat reference from The Fly

"Every artist is cannibal, every poet is a thief,

All kill their inspiration and speak about their grief")

In the headlights, of a stretch car, you’re a star

Dressing like your sister, living like a tart

("sister the Moon" in "Mysterious Ways", i.e., The Holy Spirit)

They don’t know what you’re doing, Babe it must be art (This is the Big Secret.)

You’re a headache, in a suitcase, in the star

I know that we’ve shined, you don’t have to go blind,

HM, TM, KM, KM

You don’t know how you got here,

you just know you want out

Believing in yourself almost as much as you doubt

You’re a big smash, you’re very like hash, Star

I know that we’ve shined, It takes a crime to cry,

HM, TM, KM, KM

They want you to play Jesus, they’ll go down on one knee

But they’ll want their money back if you’re alive,

Honey plea

And you turn them tricks, with your crucifix,

oh Star, ah child

Of course you’re not tired, you don’t have to deny, love,

HM, TM, KM, KM

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

April 2010

it’s been a week for dreams

notably vivid a couple times this week. (like the night before the PI hearing on the 24th)

Even if I had transcribed the moment I got up I would have lost a lot of that saga and saga it was. But in the vague-aries of reminisces of being sung to by some artfully created singing animated cow that could empathically reveal the same awareness in all the surrounding people (and there were a lot of them), I remember what was sung was recognition that transmitted to ‘everyone’ surrounding and it verged all of them to tears. And no I can’t remember what the cow as the oracle storyteller was saying exactly anymore, nor hardly begin to describe it, but it had to do with that singular event of spiritual resurrection and rebirth via love, and the acknowledgment of the hurt that had caused all this, and looking into my eyes and seeing, and being willing to say what it saw. And I remember that when the cow shared this with ‘everyone’ milling about in the background as I stood on a path overlooking a barrier of some sort at its pastoral enclosure interspersed with small trees and a gathering of many milling people, what the cow transmitted to them all as the sum of my experience brought recognition in everyone of a singular love and goodness that caused tears to well in all their eyes but not spring.

And my feeling of this emotion of gratitude and recognition in them all caused the same upwelling in myself, except that tears did not well in my eyes.

The rest -other chapters were the stuff of true nightmares where I was on amicable terms with one of my two antagonists and deeply discussing the present battle; he recognized the demonic propensities of the other, who of course -in the dream battling this one is analogous to what is really happening, but naturally in the dream the proportions of the confrontation were greatly magnified.

Two nights ago I dreamed of someone I never have which was PJ Harvey in a true glamour style beyond anything she has ever adopted, in a silver dress and silver blue eyeshadow and drawn, exaggerated brows; and she looked great in it. And I was actually lined up in a chance to address her. And this was in conjunction with her paramour of the time (prior circa 1998), and what his place had been in wheel of concurrent inspiration in conjunction with her own. He was in the dream too, but in this instance I intended to present the circumstance of him, to present her with…what was important. It was the first time in a dream where I tried to propose directly to anyone I consider ‘involved’ that there is a way, here, of proving there’s a God through concurrent inspiration, and that I must do so by presenting myself. It was interiorly hesitating, there was a shyness that wasn’t overt, but smoothly articulated as forthright and definitive as I can be.

That seems as good a place to start as any.

Friday, July 30, 2010

The Walbran - CHAPTER 7 - Part 8

As Autumn came in the family hosted one last gathering, inviting every protester who wished to come for Thanksgiving. Randy’s development was full to capacity with 32 people for three days, a combination of protester and family friends, including the Johnsons. He had a full sound system and his black light theme in operation, plus a chain of Christmas lights on a blinker that ran the span of the rope that suspended the tarps on the center, as well as on both sides. There was a cross on the end with blinking red lights hanging from the same rope, not quite life size. Birthdays were celebrated, Jon’s included. Breakfast was an operation involving the cracking of over 60 eggs that were spiced with sautéed veggies and scrambled. Randy recruited the entire group to bring an inch thick steel cable over 100 feet in length down to the bottom of the valley where the South Walbran joined with the East using a new trail the family had built. He planned to erect a cable car there high above the river, so that the two camps would be joined by a trail. They even envisioned cliff jumping out of the cable car into the pool, at least 25 feet. It was more than sufficient depth. The pay off for the descent was the opportunity to swim in one of the most beautiful swimming holes in the world, if you could take the cold. Or you could just come there to look at it. Your option.













The last project for the weekend was a swing of bungee jump proportions. The camp on Glad Lake 9 at this time was also next to a steep roadside ridge, much like Rolly’s ridge but a little less steep and without any trees. Off in the distance at the top of the camp there was a tall tree that had fallen so it was wedged tightly between two others. It ran directly parallel to the ridge. It was perhaps 15 feet above the roadside and maybe about 25 feet away. Randy had decided that from this limb reaching into space they were going to build a swing. He even made a platform at the roadside so that when you got on the swing you jumped off at the edge and, after grazing the ground on the descent, you cleared a stump and at the top of the swing’s trajectory you were staring off into the woods with a gradual descent below you, a vista of an over 100 feet drop. If you fell at the top of the swing’s trajectory, you were looking at possibly lifelong injury or even death, for the drop into the jagged rocks and ruined trees below could easily be 40 feet depending on how you fell. Obviously it was going to be terrible. To build the swing Randy and a young man named Colin had to climb to the very end of the suspended log to hang it.



Jon put some of his personal carving on the base. (The swing still exists as an art piece.) Many of the protesters tried the swing and so did family members. Rahab’s foot caught underneath the swing on the way down between the swing and the ground, probably tearing a muscle internally. She was in unspeakable pain and by the following day blood had visibly pooled in her ankle, not a bruise but red.

People kept using the swing after she was injured. Randy tried it for a third time after that, and one of the ropes snapped on him at the top of the trajectory, when the swing was out at its highest point. He was sailing into space. The rope that snapped whipped past him and he had the wherewithall to grab it under his armpit, which enabled him to grab it with his other hand. He to managed to swing back to the ridge like Tarzan. Though he hit a rock face first in the process, he was relatively unhurt apart from the fact that he nearly passed out. Rahab’s injury in comparison was permanent. Jon was angry because he knew Colin had done the knots wrong for friction and abrasion; he had questioned Colin on whether he knew the proper technique going in. Colin had assured him he knew what he was doing. Undeterred Randy repaired the swing doing the knots correctly and as winter came in both Judah and Zeb had the moxy to try the swing on their own in the snow and made a point of filming what it was like to be on it.

After that weekend Randy, Sylvia, Rahab and Jon went into town for more supplies. Rahab could not walk. In town she had a dream that the camp was flooded under three feet of water and that the tarps were all gone. A windstorm came the next night. In the Walbran it was of such ferocity, in the range of 120 kilometer winds, that the entire camp was blown away. It was a dreadfully traumatizing experience for those who were still there, who were Jim W., the Johnson family, and the five younger Cummins children, a situation so overwhelming that they were helpless and nothing could be done. The tarps blew so wildly that night that Talitha was lifted off the ground trying to hold one of the lines. Children were sitting in the tents to keep them from blowing off the edge and they were still moving, edging closer. The next day they were going down the ridge to fish for things like cutlery, not to mention tarps and tents. They hadn’t had any sleep and were soaked through. When the storm hit the family in town got ready to go back as fast as they could, only to find devastation.

Randy was still determined to winter there that year and had agreed on Jon’s bender design. Boughs were being gathered for the purpose but it was getting cold enough coming into the start of November that Rahab and Sylvia took all the younger children into town. When the first traces of snow fell four RCMP officers appeared up the road and evicted the family for the last time.

The RCMP and Fletcher-Challenge had not kept true to their word, even though they went on the record. Even though the family were now in a clearcut where no logging activity could possibly take place. They evicted them on the pretext that they were going to put the road to bed, taking out culverts and replacing them with open ditches. This was a new ‘environmental’ measure that wasn’t done consistently (had more to do with recycling culverts), and it certainly wasn’t done by digging a 16-foot deep trench at the mouth of a spur line with 8-foot sides piled high. They made a particular point of digging up the entire length of road where the camp had been located for the 110 foot span so it could never be used as a camp site again. It was also done on the line of the ‘bridge to no where’, which insured many intrepid vehicles coming to the Walbran for the sake of recreation would pay a heavy price.

Only Judah, Randy and Zebedee remained in the camp when the RCMP came down the road. Judah filmed the exchange while they were given a deadline that forced many of the family to pull over 36 hours without sleep in order to pack the camp, as anything left after the deadline imposed was going to be destroyed. Randy bartered for time. The deadline was in three days at 6:00 am. At the close of the conversation the RCMP Corporal noticed the swing suspended at the side of the road, hooked for the next run. He did not know what to make of it and had to ask, "What is that?"

"Why, it’s a swing. Want to try, go for a ride?"

The RCMP officers stared at it in visible shock.

"What’s the matter? The protesters did it. We did it. Don’t have the____?" That is blank because Randy did not actually say "balls"; he said it through body language with a light chuckle. Even on cold blue pale film caught on a wintry day it was readily apparent that the Corporal turned a nice tinge of green.


Postscript: In 1998 a passive blockade in the Walbran was violently attacked.

The foreign multi-national Fletcher-Challenge divested its name by creating the Canadian subsidiary ‘TimberWest’ that intrinsically wrapped itself in the lives of local communities by such incentives as creating share packages for all of their workers. They set records for raw log export in 2005, and in 2006 the share dividends from this amounted to $76.3 million cash, which is how you buy community cooperation while simultaneously shutting down local saw mills and a thriving economy.

Incidentally the Canada-US softwood lumber agreement, which was arrived at because stumpage fees are so punitive in BC that it amounts to a massive public timber subsidy, just happens to exclude raw logs from the agreement, meaning the export taxes of %15 that apply to all products once quotas are reached do not apply to raw logs exported to the US. In effect the treaty is designed to depress value added manufacturing in Canada and creates a hefty incentive to export raw logs to the US, generating work for saw mills and pulp mills in the United States rather than Canada.

The decades long battle to make Canada’s economy a base function of ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water’ dependent on raw resource export has met with great success.

There are more photos of the Walbran Valley here.

The Walbran - CHAPTER 7 - Part 7

Haddon was a very different place. The tree stands were mixed; even around Anderson Lake there were clear boundaries made by fire and much younger stands of trees. Around Haddon the trees were much younger, a natural second growth, and the river was a quiet creek, a trickling melody that tinkled rather than the rippling symphonic rush that lulled them by the bridge at night. The water was not the deepest emerald but had a pale aqua quality. The place felt like rest. Jon was finishing a raised floor made out of cedar shake for a large donated canvas tent that would make the main camp at Haddon, well into the woods. The structure had already been somewhat in place before he arrived; he was just finishing it. They worked on it together, much the same as working with Randy to make camp. There was also some equipment, and Jon had been supplied with a video camera for the new camp. At night they trekked out to where the spur line was being plunged into the valley. It was more than a year later before Rahab had the opportunity to make the hike from Y-Camp to Haddon on her own with Zeb, her sister Talitha and Doron. It was then she saw what treasure they were pursuing, for the valley between Anderson Lake and Haddon possessed grove upon grove of immense Sitka Spruce. That night they had a simple goal. Jon needed her to figure out how to operate the camera; they had to get footage. MacMillan Bloedel were so desperate to stop a park from being created they were punching that road in 24 hours a day, working at night with floodlights on one machine. John had scouted the night before and he said that the trees they felled to make the road, they weren’t even bothering to take them out. They were burying them under the road, which meant that via their decomposition it wouldn’t take long for the road to become useless. That was not their concern. So she filmed the giant machine working at night with its floodlights, to show that this was happening. She had scarcely felt a more ominous sense of industry’s soul-less foreboding in her life.

In the mornings they were woken by squirrels deliberately dropping pinecones on their rain tarp from high above in the tree-tops, which was loud and more effective than any alarm clock. Their rhythms were guided by the sun. The squirrel vocabulary easily sounded irate, got very expressive and came across like swearing. When she sat on a log over the stream alone one afternoon, a squirrel cursed her out volubly for blocking his bridge, skittering from side to side looking for a way to pass until she proceeded to move and let him. It was clear he felt it was his. They spent a tranquil seven days, joined shortly by Marianne so they were three sleeping in the same tent. Marianne took her on a hike alone where they crested the watershed and entered the Carmanah. The speed at which she could hike the slope left Rahab gasping and hard pressed to keep up, especially since she hadn’t eaten. (It was many years before she learned she had exercise-induced asthma.) Marianne was the only woman who had wintered in the Walbran alone in a camper trailer. She was familiar there, bisexual and independent, a Wiccan; she had traits Rahab admired though she’d been taught to avoid witchery at all costs. Marianne gave her a bee pollen elixir to drink when she tired and advised her to use a sponge for her period, giving her one. When they smoked on the side that was Carmanah Rahab had to lie on a log for all around her strobed green and orange; she felt like she was going to faint but lost her vision slowly to the green and orange instead. As she began to close her eyes the sun through her lashes looked like descending formations of angels coming through the treetops that were descending on the slope below them, so she kept her eyelids that way, half-closed. On the seventh day they did mushrooms together and Jon went running, whooping through the hills. They could hear his calls while they sat together over the stream naked, watching the bottom shadows that betrayed the turbulence in the still appearing water, which looked like the underside of the surf undulating ever so slowly. Marianne said the water bugs were fairies. Rahab never would. But she kept a story of one in her mind like an unspoken treasure. And in a way that acknowledged a triangle existed Marianne said she was actually more interested in getting together with her, which Rahab declined as delicately and kindly as she could, declaring she wasn’t bisexual. Marianne’s joking rejoinder was that was fine, she was a lousy lay. So in actual truth it existed in a circle where each loved the other more, and lasted not much beyond those seven tranquil days. For when Marianne crossed the bridge, Jon had fallen for Marianne, who would inevitably break his heart; all was sensed from the beginning.

Their intimacy and quiet was broken by Steve who appeared out of the bush with a look of excitement that could hardly be matched. “Come”, he said, barely able to contain himself, “Go get dressed, I have something I have to show you!” He would not of course reveal his surprise until they were upon it, taking them back into the woods where the new main camp was to be, to present them…Rolly, back, alive, escaped, and well and in the flesh. Rolly wanted more than anything to see Jon. Well, he’s up on the hill some where on mushrooms. You can hear him from time to time. We’ll have to go and see if we can call him. To call him we should get out into the open so let’s go to the stream by the dry streambed. Rolly was carrying a towering pack. When they got to the dry streambed there were several logs they had to duck under on the way, some by crouching, so Rahab took Rolly by the hand to help him with his heavy pack. Rolly’s trial had been such that he said he felt she was like an angel leading him back to the light; that was the moment he finally felt freed of his ordeal. Marianne could yodel exactly like the Arab and Palestinian women, a very loud cry. She alternated between that and her circular clay flute until she got Jon’s attention and they began calling back and forth tracking each other by sound until he came crashing onto the river pebbles and ran straight across the stream at the sight of Rolly resurrected. Rolly escaped! By getting out by Haddon, he would miss the RCMP at the security gate. A ride had been coordinated to come get him and take him to what would be his home for quite some time, Victoria. With Rolly and Steve they caught up on events and learned that the confrontation had become so serious that CSIS had been brought in by helicopter in order to dispatch with the fearsome former Green Beret. A squadron of RCMP had raided Y-Camp itself, and it so happened that Bea had managed to save the canoe from them. They had tried to grab it but she paddled out of reach, forcing the entire squad to walk the water up to their knees, stumbling through the little rapids on the slick stones to perform their little raid. They turned the camp upside down and searched everything. Rolly had not managed to escape until Day 5 of his confrontation. And he’d done so in the face of three squads of RCMP who had roved the woods searching for him. Heads must have rolled.

Eventually there was a raid on the house he was living, which was on Speed Avenue and somewhat notorious. Knowing the heat was on, the family coordinated for him to live in the basement across the street at one of their neighbours and lifelong friends, Michael, who had travelled with them to Israel. Rolly was there for a few months, their second harbouring of a fugitive. And while he was there they settled in conversation one night and he orally told him of his five-day confrontation from the beginning to the end, from when he and Rahab had said good-bye to when they greeted one another again. With his permission the family recorded it on audio-tape as they listened in rapt silence. As this is remembrance from that night 19 years ago, it is not expected to be perfect.

For their support and friendship Rolly bequeathed them with something very precious, seeds from the largest Sequoia in the world. You are not permitted to approach the largest Sequoia. It is fenced. It is surrounded by pavement and parking so humans can drive right up to it without even having to get out of their cars. It has been named ‘General Sherman’. Rolly was so roiled by the ludicrousness of all this, the lawn, and the fact that it couldn’t reproduce, that he broached the restrictions by leaping the barrier fence, grabbed a pine-cone and fled. From the cone he was able to get the seeds. Of these four germinated, and presumably there are existing survivors living in the Walbran Valley on Glad Lake 9 where the family came to live from 1992 to 1997.

Rolly’s platform sit began in earnest with Dana and the Saltspring family’s arrest so there were no witnesses, and an order went out to go get the ‘cherry picker’. When he resisted, grappling with the officer on the picker, they graduated to a second utility crane that was longer. When he excrement-ed himself, they initiated a new strategy. In the meantime there were three squads of RCMP including an attractive female blond officer. They started putting her forward to negotiate and speak with him, an unspoken sex-appeal ploy. Rolly repudiated that one by taking it all the way. He masturbated to her publicly and let out a massive whooping howl when he was done. At night they graduated from not just a continual spotlight but sirens (or was it loud music?) blaring continuously to insure he was constantly sleep deprived.

The new strategy was to attach new lines to the existing lines that were suspending the platform. They sent up their loggers in the customary way, customarily chain sawing every limb as they went, leaving a heap of boughs on the roadside. They brought in two large utility trucks and suspended a net in between them attached to the trucks. They used the trucks then to manoeuvre the net as needed. The loggers who had gone up all the trees the platform was suspended from were responsible for attaching new cables to the lines. (It was all quite experimental stuff. Would they hold?) Then they cut the existing lines the platform was suspended on and gradually began lowering the platform into the net. On first approach when he got close enough, Rolly took out his knife and ripped the net, well enough that they had to suspend operations and replace or repair it, and start again. The next time they began lowering him, they were swinging him more towards the side of the road. The roadside was the edge in every sense. It went not quite straight down. It was one of those very hazardous slopes formed by the road stones and gravel that slides with you and starts to cascade if you dare go down it. It would have jagged large rocks jutting and jumbled throughout from the original blasts. Very hazardous. It was almost an 80 degree slope, and it went straight down to the Walbran riverbed itself, a distance of at least 50 meters.

No one’s ever been over the edge, the edge that Rolly is swinging to. Rolly has weighed in his mind the question of escape, he has weighed and weighed. He has decided upon rolling the dice. He had five. And when he posed the question he roll the dice. He rolled complete sixes. He rolled sixes with such consistency he deemed the fates were with him on the matter of escape, and that was his fate. As they are swinging him lower and lower, Rolly is eyeing the pile of boughs heaped on the edge and decides he could land there. In a swift motion he grabs one of the suspended lines, slices it with his knife, and literally swings over the heads of the astonished loggers and officers below him, well over twenty. He lands in the pile of boughs and rips down the slope as if his life carried no risk at all. By the time he reaches the bottom, he is pursued only by Teddy, one of the company supervisors. It is there he registers he has lost the Bible in the dash down the slope. He plunges headlong into the Walbran river, which is so cold Teddy just stands on the bank and lets him go. He wouldn’t swim it in the interest of catching Rolly, whereas the protest campers did so for recreation. Rolly does two days hiding naked in the woods without food. He has to, as the entire camp has been raided. He does not know whether it might still be watched and there have been constant patrols. More forces were brought in for the search. When this dies down somewhat, (they could have won this contest if they had put a squad at Y-camp 24/7), Steve encounters him while going out to look for wood at night, standing stock still next to a tree in the rain and the dark, barely visible like a stock-still ghost. Rolly did not speak. They gently bring him in by the fire, finish getting him clean, and give him a haircut and complete shave, taking off his long hair and beard. They get ready for the hike to Haddon the following morning, and send someone into town to make arrangements to come back via Haddon to pick him up and get him out.

That was Rolly’s last stand.

As for Dana and the Saltspring family, it was the one time the RCMP went slack. While they took their names, they didn’t run checks on them. Dana gave them a fictional name, Kahlil Gupta, very common for where he was from. They were all released that afternoon without charge. From that day forward, Dana was Kahlil.

One of the more priceless things Rahab ever witnessed was how local television newscasters were forced to describe something they could hardly believe was happening and could hardly manage say with the gravity required, that was an utter affront to their reality. They were forced to trumpet to suburbanites that a man was sitting on a platform in the Walbran smeared in excrement. Not long after someone appeared in the Walbran named Chad. His rejoinder about hearing that news-story was that news from the Walbran normally made it as far as Ontario, but the e-man made it as far as Quebec.

Life in Haddon continued when Rolly was gone. They had to get ready for a major gathering over the weekend; a bicyclist rally that pedalled all the way up to the Walbran in support of saving it. They were coming out to camp and this brought a lot of people. Early to arrive were a Wiccan couple who were friends of Marianne. They came from Saltspring and had been travelling in a VW camper bus. Syd came too. In terms of supply efforts he was a perennial presence. Preparations began, and there was another tree platform to erect. Jon was responsible for setting up another canvas tent for people to stay in and Rahab accompanied him. It was at this moment there was a pause and she saw him in that aspect where he was beautiful, an angelic selfhood. Syd came through and stopped as if encountering a force field, gave an odd look and continued on. Later in the weekend a group of them went to set up the tree platform where the clearcut was marked to go in. Rahab maintained her family’s policy of not being civilly disobedient and so decided the thing she should do is pray for the platform over the time it was set up; she faced the sun over the hours as it crested and set. She prayed for every contingency she could think of, including miraculous protection in case of an accident, returning to the themes over and over again. The Wiccans came along for the platform set up. One was probably transgender, so androgynous that Rahab wouldn’t even consider asking her what she was; it took her two days to decide. She was Albino, and after the platform was finished told Rahab she was powerful and should consider becoming a witch.

She got labelled the ‘Twin Peaks’ girl for her all black, and for being able to pacify Stella Blue, Marianne’s blue heeler cross, by talking to her. The dog was pregnant and went on a tear against another female dog that was brought to camp. For hours she barked and chased the invader out; no one could bring her to heel and no admonishment from Marianne made a difference. Stella Blue was a dog who growled and barked savagely at men wearing hardhats or even baseball caps. If she saw a logging truck, she gave chase and tore after it. People would gasp in fear she’d be run over. Rahab knelt in front of the savage Stella and managed to project with her words (the words themselves were meaningless). She felt herself projecting the emotion of the words to the dog, who sat head uplifted and still, and she filled the space with the empathic emotion of why it was needless for Stella to attack and gave her the feeling she emanated of peace and tranquillity. After she finished speaking to Stella, the dog was mercifully silent for the rest of the night and never maintained the territory again.

After a weekend celebration and setting up of camp with a huge delivery of supplies that accompanied the biker caravan Rahab was back on her way to the Lower Walbran to rejoin her family, who had returned to Glad Lake 9, the spur that they had been told by the logging company and the RCMP they could use indefinitely. She drove with Marianne and Jon (on one ride out of the valley she doubled Marianne on her motorcycle) and after a long ride passed the ‘V’ in the road where the precipice blockade occurred and rounded the corner to find the new camp her father had erected. It came into view on the spur below, a vast long span of green tarps and blue. His new operation was under 110 feet of suspended tarps that were hung over a long suspended rope and grommet-ed together at each seam and roped with anchors to the ground. Many pallets were brought in as flooring for the sake of additional tents and many areas of ground were raked out so that many more people could be housed in the Walbran Hotel. A generator was running incessantly. He’d even been so audacious as to bring up one or two of his black lights and was running the generator to try them. Stella Blue saw him in his baseball cap and turned utterly savage. It was the worst first meeting (between Randy and Marianne) that anyone could have pictured. Rahab herself had a sinking feeling about the camp. She didn’t want to leave the woods. Who would want to live in a clearcut? The generator represented everything about development; the hammering of its engine was incessant aural invasion after hearing only the trickle in Haddon and the Walbran for two weeks. Not as loud but more unceasing than a chainsaw, and loud enough to be heard as soon as they turned the bend, when it felt like a horrific noise. Even Mordor had sprung to mind, just something devilish. Arriving at what was to be ‘home’ was aural assault. There was something in her father’s purpose that seemed to mirror the rest of the world, how driven he was about making this bigger, bigger, better, but he was oblivious that he couldn’t really provide the answer for what. In the personality clash between Randy and Marianne it was already apparent how not many would have an interest in coming to the Hotel, at least not for long. As it was the distance from the centres of activity made them inaccessible for the most part. Though Randy had a mind to change that. Jon and Marianne departed for town.

After they had left Haddon tragedy struck with the next tree sit blockade. A woman named Kathy from Toronto became trapped on her descent from the platform. She had not been supplied with food well enough during the sit and was weakened, probably due to how much more difficult the RCMP made that to do. Erecting a barrier anyone would be arrested for passing meant a tree-sitter would be availed no food supplies. Kathy had also felt pressure to volunteer for the sake of the trees and the movement because there simply was hardly anyone eligible left who had been trained to sit. The arrests had culled too many of the experienced. People who were tired had gone into the city to recharge.

Kathy had very little training. There is a rope method, had she had known it, where when she lost her carabineer hook-up and couldn’t re-latch it, the rope method could have gotten her down. As it was she fell 70 feet after she could no longer hold the rope because she’d lost too much skin on her palms and simply didn’t have the strength anymore. The people there tried their best to break her fall with a sleeping bag, which must have helped. Paul W. says what saved her was that she fell directly in an upright enough position onto a piece of flat ground. She broke her left leg and one of her vertebrae shattered, but her spine was completely intact. She was in traction for 8 months, followed by two different braces for nearly two years. The doctors considered it a miracle her spine was not severed and were too scared to operate, not even to get the bone fragments out. Both Jon and Paul W. felt enormous guilt for not being present at Haddon to help and guide Kathy, to keep her from falling.

MacMillan-Bloedel made good press out of the tragedy; the local news treated it as a heroic charitable act that she was saved by the logging company flying her out to the hospital in their helicopter. MacMillan-Bloedel sent her parents in Toronto a bill of nearly $1000.00 for the transport. At the same time they made a second tree-spiking allegation that was utterly false. They found two large 10-inch spikes extruding 7 inches from a pine that had been used to help pulley a platform up. When tree spiking is done for the sake of sabotage, there would be far more than just two spikes involved. Also they are driven into the wood fully to conceal them and in actual serious efforts concealed with a patch of bark. It’s really a pointless operation if the logger can see the spikes in plain sight and easily remove them before taking a chainsaw to a tree. Malicious spiking conceals the spikes. A sabotage spiking can even be announced, and the spikes must be buried in such a quantity that while the loggers may discover them, they may be stopped by the perpetual nagging fear that they might not find them all, plus the extra labour of getting them all out. With a metal detector they will identify them so in effect you are dealing with a method of serious delay unless such sabotage is totally unexpected. It is a question of whether they are more likely to give up than risk the tedium of saving timber that presents a risk to both loggers and the sawmill, where the labour costs of redeeming it are simply not worth it. At any rate the fabrication on MacMillan Bloedel’s part made good press.

postscript: there are more pictures of the Walbran Valley here.