Invisibility

The dingy, brown, tile steps he sat on were still warm from the day’s sun. But that probably didn’t matter much. He was staring at his feet and swaying almost imperceptibly as if the ground itself were moving underneath him. The equally dingy white shorts he was wearing defiantly blended into his surroundings as we walked past him on our way to dine at the 5 star restaurant upstairs. No one looked or even broke stride as we stepped around him. He was invisible.

What don’t we see on a daily, moment by moment basis? What is in our field of view by choice or by design? For those that “have” the less fortunate are often invisible. What don’t we want to see? I have noticed that I have become invisible to a certain age group. I am not sure when this happened or even what the qualification is for being noticed. It just happened. I was noticing this morning that I was not noticed by a young person on my walk to the office. I then noticed quite by surprise that an elderly woman next to me at the same intersection was nearly completely hidden from my view. I guess I don’t want to acknowledge the inevitable.

What about the deformed or disabled? I find that they are often equally invisible. It’s not that the wheel chair or the affectation is easy to miss. We just choose to miss it. It’s as if the acknowledgment of a human being in that predicament would somehow make it contagious or make us responsible in some way.

And in time, all of us that have lost nearly everything the recent fires will become as invisible as the folks that lost nearly everything in the Four Mile Canyon fire. What fire? Exactly. We close off our field of view with statements like, “Well at least you…(fill in the blank)”, or “Well your insurance will cover that, right?” God forbid we actually get in touch with anything that might make us feel something other than video game excitement or the protected numbness that we have come to loath and cherish simultaneously.

What would we have to deal with in ourselves to be willing to bring everything into view? Would I have to speak the young man on the steps? Would I have to show kindness to someone I would rather ignore? Does it take away from me to make that effort? Does it really take that much effort? Is it fear or simply disdain and resignation?

On our way down the steps the young man was sprawled out in a positional dare for us to take notice. His non-verbal challenge was palpable as we threaded our steps past his hands and feet. But he was invisible.

Shitter

“First things first. Where’s your shitter?...” –Fat Bastard. 

Indeed. Where is my shitter? As I sit on my flight to Seattle, I contemplate the weekend, and my morning. I notice the people sitting around me. It is likely they know where their shitter is. The woman in front of me has what I will call a “poodle over”. This fine doo consists of all straight hair combed up toward the top of the head culminating in a frisky yet frozen wad of curly poodlized coif. This is punctuated with a part down the back of the head in what can only be described as the poodle’s ass. I bet even she knows where her shitter is.

We took Flame the Airstream trailer to John Martin Reservoir State Park for Father’s Day weekend. Before we left, we once again dealt with the stench of outhouse permeating our shiny silver dwelling. So, I went about emptying the shit tank, which is a process that rivals a root canal in its inevitable joviality. It inspires things like giggles and smiles and words like “wow, shucks and golly.” Everyone, meaning me and Kristen, was instructed not to use it. Instead, we would use the portable outhouse we had delivered for just such an occasion. Alas, this was not to be. Kristen, not wanting to suffer the embarrassment of adjourning to the comfort of said port-o-shitter in front of the crew of workers milling about our scorched yet greening property, decided that one little poo couldn’t hurt (who could blame her?) That is until we arrived at John Martin with a pack of overeager flies trailing behind us following what must have been a very promising stench. So, we emptied the tank once again and were not allowed to use it at all for the remainder of our time in the park. We had a pretty relaxing weekend boating and fishing with Chris, Dusty and the girls then turned much too soon to return “home”.

I guess we hadn’t relaxed quite enough because Kristen and I had a scorching brawl in the “car” in the final leg of the ride “home”. It is truly amazing how small a Ford Excursion can become when the occupants are not speaking. Golly. I seem to have a case of periodic temporary amnesia or some such thing. It is amazing how quickly I can forget that I am responsible for my own experience, opinions and how the world looks to me, especially when Kristen is just plain WRONG! Such is relationship. Suffice it to say, we made it “home.”

Any time I use the term “home” now I must quote it. That is because, “home” is this trailer, which can be taken with us, which is nice, but is that a home? And, “home” is this land that remains after all else was torched and destroyed. And, ultimately, doesn’t a home have a shitter? So, when we returned, “home” to our property, we set the trailer back up on her little spot and lit a candle, some incense, an essential oil diffuser and danced a jig around the trailer praying all the while to the gods of stink to relieve us of our burden. 

Then, I wanted to see how bad the little crack was in the drain line from the sink. I had noticed it about a week ago but thought that if I ignored it that the vintage ’67 PVC would simply heal itself. Not so much, really. Well, it’s bad. I had Kristen run the water in the sink while I observed through a port in the outside of Flame. The sudden gush of tea colored water and coffee grinds spewing from the crack in the line caught me by surprise. I couldn’t contain my glee and began exclaiming, “wow, shucks and golly” once again. This is so much fun. So, we are washing dishes in the “bath tub”/bird bath. Shucks! Washing dishes and breathing in the faint aroma of evening outhouse while sun sets behind the pastels caused by more fiery destruction in Fort Collins. Golly! More hapless unfortunates who have lost their shitters.

We finally settled down to watch our new addiction, The United States of Tara. Tara, in response to some unknown trauma in her childhood, has a “fragmented” set of personalities that tend to show up at the most inopportune times in an attempt to protect her from herself. Sounds reasonable… and enviable. Gangaji, our current source of spiritual teachings, would say, “welcome the experience and go deeply into it. It is there that you will discover that nothing but pure awareness is true. Everything else is a story.” Awesome. But all I really want to know is, where’s the fucking shitter?

Seattle

Seattle has been an interesting journey. Today was much like every other day I have spent there. It was cold and rained as I walked the 7 tenths of a mile to the office. I huddled under the protection of my umbrella and could feel the weight of my pants as my pant legs darkened with moisture. Pandora is the vehicle I choose to get me there. It provides me with my own theme music as I move along in the cocoon of my jacket. An occasional smell passes by that seems familiar in some way and leaves me grasping for a feeling that seems just out of reach as I stare at my shoes and watch the small rivers of rain water pass under my feet.

Ladros coffee shop is at the end of my walk just before the PSE office. The best espresso I have found in Seattle. I always look forward to this stop. This morning I bought a bag of coffee so I can make my own espresso with my little stove top Bialetti espresso “machine”. Coffee is life. The last bastion of addiction and I have no intention of giving it up. I sat in the PSE office and dreamed of making myself a latte this weekend as the fragrance of the freshly ground coffee gently reminded me of its presence.

But the fun just never ends. Looks like the shitter in our trailer is still leaking even after fixing the toilet seal. Shirley Septic delivered a Porto-o-Potty so we have a place to go. Squatting over a hole in the ground is highly over rated and the romance of the camping life style is fast wearing off. Then last night we had a torrential downpour. Much of the scorched hillside washed away. It’s a good thing the fire wasn’t “bad enough” to warrant any assistance from the Jefferson Conservation Board. I guess as long as the Denver Water Board is taken care of, we can suck-it. By the way, they funded the “controlled” burn that started this whole debacle. So, this is what I am coming home to. I have no energy to be angry any more. And I don’t have the energy to deal with this crap either. I feel like I would like to just disappear somewhere and never come back. I don’t see the end of this and I need to. It’s like a dark hallway that is full of low hanging obstacles that I keep hitting my head on. Then, just when I think I have made it out, I crack my shin on the ACME anvil.

So, I sit on the plane now returning home while the man next to me spews vile clouds of gas into the tight confines of the cabin. In disgust I reach for the air vent and notice everyone around me making faces and doing the same. But it doesn’t really help. It’s like trying to clean up a spill with a cloth that has zero absorbent qualities – it just pushes the stink around. Two hours of this. Really? But descending into Denver is simply amazing. We live in a beautiful place. The magically suspended clouds are bright white, unlike the clouds emanating from asshole next me. Will I be welcomed home? What awaits? I am, as the phrase I have adopted says, “cautiously optimistic.”

Gratitude Part II

Ah, Seattle. The bane and source of my existence these days. I have to say I was looking forward to arriving on Wednesday. I woke up at 5:30 AM and started to take a "shower". To be clear, taking a shower in Flame amounts to squatting in an over sized sink, wetting yourself while trying not to soak the rest of the room, then rinsing off. It's cold and awkward.... and on this particular morning, I ran out of water. Awesome! So, I dressed and went about the task that I should have completed the day before. I went out and dragged the "new" used 5000 Watt generator down to the well head. I grabbed all the gear I had purchased to wire the 240 V ("220. 221. Whatever it takes" -Michael Keaton) well head so I could run it off of this generator, plugged it in and fired it up for the first time. She fired on the first pull just as the previous owner had promised. I threw the switch, the pump engaged and water began to mercifully flow from the connected hose. I filled the tank on flame. It is one thing for me to be without water, but it is entirely another for my wife to deal with it.

I grabbed my bags and left for the airport feeling dirty and half-in-the-bag. I kept looking at my watch and trying to deal with the fact that the time was just not adding up. I finally realized that I had intended to leave the house 3 hrs before the flight, not wake up 3 hrs before the flight. Jesus, I was just not firing on all 8. Then I couldn't find a fucking parking place. I arrived at the gate just as my boarding group was getting on. Suffice it say, I made it and got my isle seat, which is mandatory for me as much as I am traveling these days. I took a deep breath and sat there staring into the blackness of my own mind.

When I arrived at my little hotel in Bellevue, Andrea greeted me with a smile. She is a fixture at this place and without her I am certain no reservation would ever be successfully made. She asked how things were going and I responded with something about being excited to take a standup shower. She smiled but it was more of a grimace. I suppose she was putting herself in Kristen's shoes with the prospect of squatting in a large sink and taking a "bird bath", as we call it. I can hardly blame her.

The shower was exquisite! I ironed my clothes and headed off into the irony of my life; traveling to Seattle and living in a hotel is the most normal thing I've got going. And I have to say, this project has been the most challenging and demanding bit of work I have ever done. You can set your fucking watch by Murphy's Law on this project. We were supposed to have all development finished by COB Friday and I was leaving at 1:00 to catch my flight. Everything was going well and it looked like we were actually going to make it. Right on schedule, Murphy showed up. At 12:30 the goddam wheels came off and literally everything fell apart. I simply had to laugh. What else was I going to do? I sat and observed my physical reaction to it without engaging in the inevitable panic that was to follow. This is the gift of choice at work. I just smiled and sent a text to Kristen. I got up at 1:00, grabbed my shit and trusted that the incredible team I have around me would sort things out.

When I arrived back in Denver and caught the Wally Park shuttle back to my car, I had a chance to unwind, as I always do upon arriving. It becomes difficult to keep my eyes open on that short ride. On this trip, it was still light outside and the sweet smell of Colorado summer hung thick in the air. The familiar blackness started to settle in. WTF!? This is the human condition, "why, it's all fucked, it always has been fucked, it's fucked right now and it will always be fucked." At least that's my brand of it. A line from a Jane's addiction tune played in my head, "there ain't no wrong, there ain't no right.... there's only pleasure and pain..." Really? Do I really believe that?

I started to inquire into the blackness. I heard the quote, "There is no wrong or right, only thinking makes it so..." or some variation of that. But still it persisted. Up until now, this had been all the automatic stuff, the wiring we are born with, the survival code that is programmed into our brains. It is the "us" that most of us refer to when we say things like, "I don't feel like it," or "you really pissed me off when you..." It requires nothing from the actual US and does not even require that WE be present in the conversation. The real WE arises when we observe that reaction and begin to ponder a different one. It takes work and everything in us will scream at us to accept the status quo. It's what we know.

So, I chose to start making a mental list of all the things I was grateful for. I have to tell you, this really took some effort. I was calling bullshit on everything I came up with. "Well, I am alive and living in Colorado, I've got that going for me." And I would retort, "Horse shit. Get real. Quit trying to put lipstick on a pig." But I kept going. I listed my wife, who loves me, my dogs, my friends, our awesome little trailer on our lot, my 10 fingers and toes, my ability to listen to and enjoy music, to speak and feel connected through language... on and on. Pretty soon, the world was a sweeter place. Just taking, as Kristen would say, a simple action led to extraordinary results.

And when I arrived home, Kristen had cleaned the trailer, there was space to breathe. We had my new "man cave" placed on the pad of my burned up shed (a 20 x 8 steel shipping container). We lost nearly everything and I have the experience of having it all. I happily settled into Flames comfortable, albeit small, interior and waited for my wife to come home. We talked and snacked on the abundance of food we have packed into our small fridge. I slept until 9:00 am on this rainy Saturday and sit here drinking our fantastic coffee and sharing this process with all of you. Who could ask for more?

Cautious Optimism

It seems that all the hard work and keeping this in front of the media has paid off. If not for the tireless efforts of the media and some legislators that took up our cause, we might not be here today. But, we are and I am optimistic. We had a meeting with Governor Hickenlooper last week. He has rallied the troops around a new bill that would remove the cap and immunity from instances of wildfires that were caused by the State during controlled burns. This benefits everyone that lives in Colorado, not just us. And it is a completely bipartisan bill that is supported all the way up to the Governors office and greatly reduces the bar for proving negligence. We are cautiously optimistic.

I must say that I don't care how this came about, be it political pressure, media or whatever. The Governor seems to have stepped up to do the right thing. Time will tell how this plays out, but for now my hat is off to the Governor. This is not the time to be cynical. It is time to rebuild, and that means different things to different people affected by this tragedy.

For us, rebuilding has started with total destruction. There is nary a trace of the place we used to call home. The foundation has been removed, several trees cut down and the landscape has a foreign look to it. The green grass that is juxtaposed against the charred tree trunks has a certain beauty to it, and I have started to get a bit excited about the prospect of rebuilding.

Yesterday we put our Airstream trailer, "Flame" on the lot. The schizophrenic weather cleared just long enough to accomplish the task and we were totally psyched to stay there for the first time last night. That was not to be, however. After attending the semi-sometimes-annual-or-sometime belly dancing show at the local high school, we stepped out into pouring rain. The prospect of dealing with muddy dogs that had not yet been trained to navigate the single step into the unknown was overwhelming (yes, they are pussys). So, back to Jessica's we went.

As grateful as we are to have a place to crash, it is still not our place. We had gotten somewhat used to staying at Lynn's log palace. It had taken the edge off of reality. With two big dogs to deal with, living out of our car and once again on the move, I have to say, reality has returned with a vengeance. Back to the insomnia-esc sleeping pattern... up at 3:30 am; lying in bed feeling breathless while my heart pounds out of my chest, out of bed at 4:00 am. This can stop any time. Really, I am done.

The current studies on brain science tell us that our brain is up before we are making decisions for us before we are ever aware it is happening. And we think we are self deterministic creatures. That's funny. Mostly we are like a thick fart on the wind. The best chance we have is to alter the way the world occurs for us, which is an interesting process. We have to replace the brain's current focus of survival with something else. Give it something else to work on, kind of like a dog with a bone. Our dog Tigger is a great example. We will see him with something in his mouth that his intent on destroying. Our work is to be vigilant and quickly substitute the slimy mess with something we would rather see slobbered on and destroyed.... much like our thinking.

For now, we are focusing on the two bundles of joy that are Jessica's little girls. I read Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs to Cassidy this morning. Her joy with this fairy tale was tangible. It will be the foundation for her disappointment with the reality of relationships and she won't even know why she has the expectation that some metro-sexual prince will swoop to "make her happy". Steve made us breakfast, which was such a treat. He is one of the best, most patient fathers I have ever seen and a very generous host. We could not ask for more. But we will and we are. I just want a place to call my own. I am seriously exhausted and tired of being a gypsy.

It's not all bad though, because one of the remaining possessions we have is our sailboat in the Bahamas. And we will be spending the month of August learning how to relax again in Pixies comfortable quarters. So, in a world where the most normal thing I have going is to travel to Seattle and work 12 hour days, I am ready for a nice extended time on our boat and to learn how to relax again. I am cautiously optimistic.

Context

Last Saturday was about the best day I had had since the fire. We did not sift and we did not lament. We had a little bit of fun. We started out by going back to Rocky Top to meet with the Fire Marshall and some county officials. We had expected to hear that due to required road improvements, we would need to spend some insane amount of money to improve our jeep trail and make it into a super highway. Instead, we heard, "You folks have been through enough. We are not requiring anything but we will make recommendations." They are also going to try and simplify the permitting process, etc. Talk about relief... I don't know if it was political or media pressure and I don't really care. Someone finally stepped up and did the right thing.

In the process, Kristen got to take a ride in a fire truck. On the way down to our "house" (I will call it a lot from now on) she spotted smoke. And the fireman got out, located an underground fire, dug it up, and let Kristen hose it down. Folks, this is a MONTH later and there are still spot fires burning up there. I am not sure what anyone was thinking doing a controlled burn that was consuming 6" logs (masticated fuel) and expecting to be able to control that. But I digress...

So, today, I do not have a pit in my stomach and the world is not that dark a place. If that is just today, I will take that and I will be right here in this place today. When tragedy strikes, there is something physical that happens to us. I don't mean tragedy like, our favorite frozen yogurt flavor was discontinued. I mean tragedy like your neighborhood burns down and 3 people are killed. The physical stuff has to be dealt with. It gets into the wiring and needs to be dislodged. The rest is what WE bring to it, which brings me to the point of this post.

I have heard it said that "context is decisive." And that we create the context for our lives whether we are aware of, or responsible for that or not. It is a choice. So, what the hell am I going on about? Well, let me give you a little context.

There are many things that we hold dear and many things that simply hold us. Now that our "things" are in very short supply I have discovered something interesting. It was in the pursuit of the things that I mostly found the excitement. The pursuit of stuff and the pursuit of the life we built. When that is gone it is interesting to notice what is left. I did not cease to exist. I am not less of a person. I am not a lesser version of me. But what I thought was important and what matters has fundamentally altered.

I feel like I am staring at a puzzle. And the background picture is still there. But when I try to put the pieces together they no longer fit. In other words, the context in which my life has occurred up until now, has been shattered and what I am left with is this...

I no longer find all of the things important that I used to. And I no longer wish to waste time on things that I say are not important. I am also not interested in "pussy-footing" around with people that act with disregard to the community that surrounds them. I am creating for myself a new life framework or model for how the world works. Instead of throwing out data that does not fit my model of the world, it is time to create a new model to explain the data I have received.

Now, this implies that the data I receive is in some way "pure" and objective, which is impossible because I am a human being and EVERYTHING is already being filtered to some extent by an existing model, context or belief system. So, let's look at that first.

Belief Systems

 

I was talking with someone the other day and I mentioned that I felt compelled to be angry. It was like an emotional magnet that kept drawing me back to that. I was aware that I was doing it and that it was taking a toll on me physically but I kept going back to it. Here is what I discovered.

First of all, I was looping like a tape recorder (for those of us old enough to get that analogy). Every time I told the story again, I replayed the tape, got all worked up and had all the same physical reactions that I did when all this went down - adrenaline, tightness in my chest and throat and feeling like I was going be sick. And every time I did that, it made the mental path back to that stuff a little easier to get to.

Now, I am not advocating for denial, but it does not do any good for me to continually relive the experience. It actually makes it a lot harder to move past it. "But I don't want to move past it and I don't want to stop being angry." Therein lies the betrayal of the belief system. The context was one of victimization.

I discovered that I really believe that if I am not angry then the people who did this will have won and that I will be letting them off the hook. And if I let them off the hook it will minimize what has happened to all of my community and dishonor the people who died. Just that simple. I even have some rational attachment to that idea but now that I see IT I have to decide what I am going to do with IT. For me, it is unhealthy and is eating me alive. I am eating the poison hoping the rats will die. Not very productive.

So, my mission is to let go of that belief and create a new "context" for how I am going to move forward. I am not going to tell the story over and over again. I was talking with someone yesterday who I had not spoken with since the fire. He asked me how I was doing and what had happened. I said I was doing well and that I was not interested in telling the story one more time because it was causing a lot of unneeded distress every time I did. He shared with me something positive that has come out of this and what a great job Hickenlooper was doing.

This was my queue! I was on and it was time to lay waste to the Governor, the State and everyone attached to this event. But I didn't. I took a couple of deep breaths. In that couple of seconds I became aware of profound disappointment, sadness and some disgust. However, I did not need to become angry and go on a rant.

I said to him how glad I was that something positive had arisen and, in so many words, respectfully disagreed with his point on the Governor. 

Loss

Today is one of those Colorado days that simply defies description. The sun will cook your skin without remorse but the shade will make you shiver in winters final attempt to assert itself. Yesterday was the same and we had yet another crew out to the "site" to sift through the burnt bones of our home in hopes of finding any remaining treasure. But the main objective was to shake loose more of the hidden memories of "stuff" so it could be recorded as an entry in the growing inventory of casualties. We have mercifully declared the sifting done. The process is one of reliving the loss over and over again and I have frankly had enough.

I was headed up the road yesterday and encountered someone coming down the other way. I did not recognize the white Bronco and did not recognize the driver until he re-introduced himself. "Hi Dave, Scott Appel," he said. I shuddered and I could feel the blood rapidly leaving my face. The sudden recognition of this man and the equally sudden comprehension of the reality of recent events left me stunned. Scott's wife died in that fire. I reached through my open drivers side window to meet Scott's hand and heard some words leave my lips that said, "Scott.... SO sorry for your loss." I instantly felt inadequate in my greeting because the words clearly did not communicate my feelings nor could they come close to summarizing the magnitude of what this man must be dealing with. We lost all our stuff but.....

I got out and talked with Scott. We spent no more than 5 minutes together but the impact was such that I will never forget it. It was like being cut with a razor sharp knife. The site of the blood indicates that something has happened but the odd numb feeling does not betray the depth of the cut. I reached for something to quell the bleeding and braced myself for the immanent pain that was to follow. An acrid cocktail of anger, sadness and general impotence in the face of what Scott must certainly be dealing with washed over me. And all that has happened finally became real.