He said late one night, “Eric, I’m bored. Let’s have a deep convo.” I said really. He said yeah. I got excited and I asked exactly what he wanted to talk about. I could almost see him smile and shake his head through facebook as he typed “I don’t know. I’m just bored.” I said okay and said I would start off by quoting something I had just read. And he said okay. Here is what I wrote.
“The black sky was underpinned with long silver streaks that looked like scaffolding and depth on depth behind it were thousands of stars that all seemed to be moving very slowly as if they were about some vast construction work that involved the whole order of the universe and would take all time to complete. No one was paying any attention to the sky. The stores in Taulkinham stayed open on Thursday nights so that people could have an extra opportunity to see what was for sale.” (Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood).
He said, “Wow, that’s really descriptive and good.”
I said that I agreed and I told him a little about Flannery O’Connor and then asked him about why he thought the people weren’t paying any attention to the sky. Why didn’t they look up? Why was Wal-Mart more important?
He smiled through the screen again and said, “Oh, this is the deep conversation, isn’t it?”
I smiled and said, “Sure.”
He said something like, most of us are leading far too busy lives to stop and smell the roses. I told him he was exactly right.
We talked a little longer and then went to bed.
--
Jeremiah, let me shift gears here and tell you about an adventure I had the other night. For a while now I have had the urge to spend the night outside in the Great North Woods. My time in Portland is quickly coming to an end so I hopped the train and made my way up into Washington Park…the wilderness…the iconic northwest. I wanted to spend the evening on an adventure…on a search. I was looking for something but I did not know exactly what. I guess I was bored like you were the other night and I wanted something deeper . . . something real.
I passed the zoo and came to a wide open area. A sign read; The Garden of Solace (It was a Vietnam memorial). I paused in the serenity of it all and whispered something like, “O Oregon I love you.”
I am going to miss this place. It is gorgeous. As I was walking in the open space these two shadows on the hill began yelping expletives at me about homosexual activities that I can’t repeat here. I ignored them and kept marching. I was on a search. And those morons hadn’t found what I was looking for. I was looking for something else.
Up a hill…through the woods… to grandmother’s house I went.
Pine needles scratched my arms and broke ‘neath my feet. I finally came to a park bench that was tucked into a hill overlooking the Garden of Solace. The soft moon paled down a comfortable glow. Towering pines ridged and walled around this grand picture before me. Sitting there I imagined a Bob Ross painting (Google search Bob Ross if you don’t know who I’m talking about – happy trees).
The moon was ducking in and behind the clouds. The stars were trying not to be shy. But this is Oregon and the clouds are like Michael Jordan up here…they never lose. They are clutch. I watched as an airplane disappeared into the swollen bosom of one of those clouds. Watching this plane made me think of another Flannery O’Connor quote, she says, “I wouldn’t give you nothing for no airplane. A buzzard can fly.” I like Flannery O’Connor a lot. I muse that she’s my southern sweat-heart. Jeremiah, always read Flannery O’Connor, but remember . . . she’s mine . . .before she’s yours.
I had two jackets with me. One for warmth and one for a pillow. All alone, gazing into the night sky, my eyes drooped, my body sagged and sank into the hard bench. Under the stars, well clouds, I fell asleep.
It was nice while it lasted. I was awakened by a young couple arguing. While I was sleeping the clouds must have rolled away. I rubbed my eyes in the moonshine and calculated that the young man arguing had been wronged by his girlfriend, or former girlfriend. He was broken, and he was pissed. He said things like, ”I love you…I was so nice to you…You f’ed with me . . . I hate these stupid f’ing human emotions…I hate them…I wish we never met . . . I was so good to you. . .I told you that you were pretty . . . I told you that I loved you . . . I hate human emotions.” The girl was crying a bit but not really sorry for what she had done. I gleaned that she was set on whatever decision she had made. He went on for a while. Not violent or anything (I would have tried to intervene if that were the case), he was just confused and hurt. And they had no idea that I was there. They were ten feet away from my head. There was a tree between us. She walked away. She went up the hill behind me. He stayed pondering with heavy breathing, ripping grass, throwing sticks and rocks mindlessly down the hill. I was invisible. I felt like a hobo in the dark listening to it all. I wonder if this is what God feels like sometimes when we forget that he’s around. I felt bad for the guy. I’ve been in his shoes. And it hurts. Wishing you never met someone so you wouldn’t be tangled to them when they decided to leave. It pulls and tugs at your insides. Dazed and delirious he eventually left. Lying in the best of environments I was looking at this majestic backdrop pondering a Walker Percy question, “Why do people often feel bad in good environments and good in bad environments?” I thought about a young couple finding love in the slums of New Delhi, India, the worst of all possible environments. I gathered my things and figured it was time to keep searching.
I went on the bridge in the middle of the Garden of Solace to give it one last look. Enamored by it’s sheer beauty I stared into the abyss as I heard the low rumble of a man’s voice slowly declare, “Who’s. On. My. Bridge?”
Panicking a bit. A bulge clenched at the back of my throat. I didn’t answer. I convinced myself that he would go away. But he didn’t. He persisted, “Who’s. On. My. Bridge?” Hearing footsteps I puffed air in my lungs which lifted my neck and raised my shoulders to make me more intimidating. I think I’m superman sometimes, I really do. I stopped and turned with the gait of a soldier and that’s when I saw the black shadow shifting closer and closer. My mind flashed horror movies. I clutched the ballpoint pen in my pocket. I was prepared to stab to owner of this bridge. Shadows, footsteps, brain pounding, wind howling. In my manliest voice I mustered, “What? What do you want?” Nothing happened. The shadow froze. Was I imagining this?
“Oh, your not Reggie or Candy? I thought you were…” His voice turned into a midgets voice all of a sudden. He didn’t scare me.
“No man. I’m not.” I said relieved.
“Sorry, I thought you were … Sorry I freaked you out.”
I didn’t say anything. He was just a punk kid after all. He shifted back to where he came from. Imagine it, two people afraid of each other in the dark. We are both stupid. I put the pen back in my pocket. I sighed, I didn’t have to kill anybody after all.
I walked out of the park and went back to where the trains station was. The security guard pulled up in his freshly washed shiny and brand new sparkling Jeep Liberty and said, “The trains aren’t in service. It’s too late.” I acted like I was shocked. Of course the trains weren’t running it was 2 in the morning. I asked how to get back to the city. He told me that I had two options: you can either go that way to the highway, or, you can go that way wind down through the park. I said thanks out loud and under my breath I thanked him for not giving me a ride. He drove off and left me all alone in the looming darkness. But I had a journey ahead of me.
I chose the long way down through the park. I say park, but it’s not a city park, don’t think that. It’s all wilderness and pine out here. I made my way around a few bends and came to a decision. A huge white barricade stretched across the dark, cold pavement. It was latched together with the park ranger’s seal. A Warning sign posted that the park was closed. I couldn’t help but think of “NON SHALL PASS!” And I won’t lie, the hair on my neck shot up to the thought of the park ranger guiding me in this forbidden direction. Goosebumps, R.L. Stine style, jarred my insides. What should I do?
I took a deep breath and stepped into the forbidden doom. In a mysterious wood: stood a frightened but fearless boy. I was on a search. I delved into the dark forlorn abyss. Fearing life, fearing death. Wishing I could just be bored at home in front of a computer, or, a T.V. Anything but this Undertaker of a journey. I stared at it and it stared at me. We were both blank and motionless. I winked into the cold night and pulled air deep into my chest and took a step and another.
My shoes are old. The moistness of the earth had seeped between the cracks and with every step of my left foot I heard a squeak. “erh . . . . erh.” In the pitch of the night I was turned into natures chew toy. I was a walking rubber ducky. The bears wouldn’t have to look for me and neither would the crazy psycho park ranger. And God was laughing. “erh . . . . erh.” If God wasn’t laughing, the frogs and buzzards sure were. Frogs sure like to talk out here. They croak all night. They don’t care if you know where they are. Frogs and women are a lot alike. They both talk all the time. But somehow they’re cute when they talk (now I’m talking about women, not frogs, I’m not attracted to frogs).
I’ll be honest, the scariest thing about all of this was the black patches of asphalt where they had filled in potholes. They were either black holes, giant leeches, brooding and hovering sting rays or something much worse. “erh . . . . erh” I squeaked on. Things come alive at night.
Finally, I found some rock and dust that I managed to choke out the chew toy with. I silenced the rubber ducky.
It wasn’t all scary out here. I stopped a few times and marveled at the stillness of it all. I became amazed by the thought that this just sits out here under the diamond sky. The moonlight dappled through trees and draped the leaves leaving them suspended in time. They were floating and I was watching.
But I was getting tired. I had walked along ways and it was getting late. I didn’t quite realize that the train went this far into the park. I had been to this park before but not this far in.
I eventually found my way to the touristy part of the park that I was more familiar with. And I went straight for the Rose Garden. Portland is nicknamed the City of Roses. There are a lot of roses up here.
It was tranquil and serene. Have you ever smelt the roses when they’re being watered in the moonlight. I heard water but I didn’t see it until the moon prismed off the glassy sheet. There were a thousand tiny water spicket doing the same thing around me. I now understand why a Garden is a metaphor for paradise and redemption. Being weary and lonesome, I stumbled in, and found solace in the calming aroma. In the middle of the night when they are being watered the roses open up let off an angelic smell. I sank my weary bones on a concrete bench and fell asleep amongst ten thousand roses. Jesus
was right the son of man has no place to lay his head. The birds and swallows nest. The badgers burro. The bears cave. But what does man do? Man wakes up shivering a bit with a pain throbbing in his lower back and decides it’s time to find home.
I don’t know where I’m going most of the time but when it’s dark I am really lost. So I weaved my way down through more park and came upon some houses. I took a few trails. Apparently just below Washington Park is where all the doctors and lawyers in Portland decided to live. The houses and cars weren’t cheap.
I found myself climbing a steep incline to a city bridge. Standing there overlooking the city. I didn’t recognize anything. What the hell? I saw buildings but I didn’t recognize them. Do you know how disappointing it is to see buildings jutting from the ground that you’ve lived next to for six months and not recognize one of them. I live right downtown in the middle of all this. I should recognize something. Shouldn’t I? Did I just wake up in New Jersey? But I kept walking. I passed a stumbling hobo and waved. He waved back. That’s solidarity a four in the morning.
I unzipped my bag and took a swig from the water I packed. I had to put it in a coffee thermos because we didn’t have a water bottle in the house. I about gagged and spewed the water everywhere because after five hours of being in a coffee stained thermos the coffee takes over and seeps it’s way into the water. Hungry, thirsty, tired and confused I kept walking.
And then I saw her. Clay Street. I was about 12 blocks south of my house. How the hell I got that far away baffles me but I was regenerated by knowing where I was. I was going home.
At an intersection some cops stared me down. They eyed my thermos. I gave ‘em a cold shoulder and kept walking. I mean, I was on a search and these petulant predators didn’t have anything for me. They didn’t know what I was looking for.
I found a Thai restaurant on 13th and Jefferson called Thai Chili Jam . Pad Thai sounded good. But it wasn’t open. So, I vowed to return the next day with my writing friend Fred. And to make it sweeter I staved off my hunger until lunch the next day. It was really hard to do but the curry tastes better that way. I staggered on home, took my shoes off at the door and sat down at my computer. And wrote Fred an email telling her I had a story to tell but that I would do it over Thai food.
And then I started in on my friend Krista Winchester’s support letter that she will be sending out soon. We had talked earlier on the phone about it. She wanted some help and I was honored and glad to help her. Weary and exhausted in the boring 4AM glow of the computer I jumped in to letter writing. She is leaving this October for a survey trip with her teammates (James and Katie Waddell) in the country of Niger located in Northwest Africa. She’ll be learning French for a few months before she joins the team for the long haul. She would love your prayers and your money. Coming from me, I couldn’t imagine spending either in any better way. Neither will be wasted on her. If you want to help Krista, I’ll be glad to help you.
Jeremiah, that was my search. But here we are again. “The black sky was underpinned with long silver streaks that looked like scaffolding and depth on depth behind it were thousands of stars that all seemed to be moving very slowly as if they were about some vast construction work that involved the whole order of the universe and would take all time to complete. No one was paying any attention to the sky. The stores in Taulkinham stayed open on Thursday nights so that people could have an extra opportunity to see what was for sale.” (Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood).
But remember Flannery's mine.
