The Abyss

 “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.”  

-Nietzsche, Beyond Good & Evil

I’ve never read much Nietzsche, and likely never will. I tried getting thru Thus Spake Zarathustra and couldn’t. However, these two sentences have helped articulate something that I’ve struggled with for nearly two years: The idea that when you dare to confront and examine the darker, less flattering parts of life, the Abyss, your own darker, less flattering traits are inadvertently revealed to you. I believe one of the most difficult and important choices one can make is whether we choose to see what inhabits our own depths. It’s the stuff of mythology, and nearly derailed me.

Nietzsche’s Abyss was introduced to me by Henry Rollins via my favorite podcast, WTF with Marc Maron. Despite being a comedian, Maron’s conversations typically pivot toward insightful, introspective examinations of our shared, needy, frail egos and how they influence our choices and relationships. In other words, how we’re all more alike in our fucked-upitude than we care to admit!

10/11/09: Pondering Camels

"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24)

In June, Chris and I had a conversation about evil, and I offered that greed and powerlust are its fundamental root. Money is inanimate and cannot be "evil." However, greed is wealth's (Mammon's) engine, and power it's club. The club's damage is NOT limited to its victims; those who swing it, regardless of the rationale and justification, are damaged even if the ego believes otherwise! The Camel Quote has become a personal  favorite.

To his credit, Andre was by far the most "aware" of the affluent people I have associated, which isn't saying much. But, with a little reflection I began to see why the above quotation, attributed to Jesus, is so powerful in its hostility toward wealth. I firmly believe that, on both a micro and macro level, wealth and enlightenment are diametrically opposed and usually mutually exclusive. The wealthy will argue and rationalize 'til Rapture, but I believe this to be a fact that will not change.

After I returned home from house-sitting, spurred on by the conversations with Chris in Port Townsend and the writing I had done at Katie's, I decided to actually open my unused Bible to see what the "presented version" of Jesus himself had to say about it. Using the familiar quote above as a starting point in Matthew, I expected a whole lot of ambiguity and interpretable "parable"; typically "Christian" rhetoric. What I found  astounded me. As I've said before, I'm (intentionally) no Biblical scholar, but I CAN read! Just a few of innumerable examples; Jesus was far from "ambiguous" when it came to wealth. He was outright hostile:

-"Go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor... and come and follow me." Matthew19:21

-"No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon." Matthew 6:24

-"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" Matthew 16:26

-"But woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full." Luke 6:24

And, He seemed to despise hypocrites:

-"Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your Father who is in heaven." Matthew 6:1

-"So when you give to the poor, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be honored by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:2

Like Dennis, Andre was inadvertently providing something priceless in his own way: a naked, unsolicitied glimpse at the struggle wealth creates for a man who's on a spiritual quest. At some level, he deserves a twisted degree pity for his financial triumphs. In this culture, it's unheard of to describe wealth as an "anchor," but that's the spiritual sacrifice of a life of comfort, security, and power. It usually comes standard with a closed, sheltered existence barren of the true experience/struggle needed for genuine empathy, compassion, and concern for others, as demonstrated perfectly by Andre's "debt is a state of mind" comment.

I believe I just answered my own earlier question regarding why it requires a sudden sense of self-mortality for many, particularly the affluent, to begin to take an interest in something beyond materialism. It's simple: Why would they? When a man has few "real" friends, is surrounded by those motivated by self-interest, and an ego addicted to Mammon's power, why would the typical tycoon reflect inward?

Without critical thought or conversation, and surrounded by "yes men," it's easy to convince ourselves of whatever narrative we choose to write! It's a self-delusion that reminds me of Huxley's "soma" from Brave New World; an opiate that numbs the spirit and intellect.

We've been programmed to function on a consumerist, egoistic plane. While the rich have succeeded on that plane, perhaps they've done so at the cost of sacrificing the intellectual and emotional tools needed to authentically empathize.

And, for those who have internalized these notions due to an inkling that "something's wrong," there's another foreboding quote found in Matthew: "Many are called. Few are chosen." As in classical mythology and with Joseph Campbell's "Call to Adventure", I don't believe these words are meant to be taken literally, but it doesn't take much talent for abstraction to see the implication.

When you arrive at this point, I believe, "The Fates" are an egoistic/escapist mirage. Free will, ego, and intellect come into play long after you're "called." I believe that your own capacity for and, more importantly, your decision to look internally, with uncomfortably clear-eyes, and then your actions determine whether or not you're "chosen," however you choose to define it.

I have a very different concepts of "called" and "chosen" than Christians of course, but I've come to suspect that the language is irrelevant. When you think about the barriers, for the wealthy, the path to self-actualization seems impassible and perhaps cruelly unfair. The have their reward in full.

Obviously, I believe Andre is handicapped by his wealth, ego, and the bubble in which he lives. From the beginning of my stay, I was keenly aware of the lair in which I dwelt, despite the fact I was greatly enjoying its benefits!

Periodically, I would find myself observing how Andre interacted with people, and more importantly vice versa, looking for patterns. Several times, I witnessed people seemingly afraid to deal with him honestly, afraid to upset him. Toward the end of our stay, there was even adolescent talk claiming someone close was "just using him." And, of course, Andre's protective of what he has because, of course, everyone wants it! This could lead a person to believe they are in a position to judge another's "worthiness" or to believe they know what's "best" for another. I can understand that, however, wealth alone does not grant one the moral superiority or lofty personal status required to judge by generalizations. And, when judgment and power turn to control...as they ultimately do...that person is likely doomed.

I also believe Andre, even with his noble and (I believe) genuine ideas, still has an epic battle ahead of him. In the end, he's inadvertently stacked powerful cards against himself and, although it's sacrilege in the "Age of Hope", I'm sadly pessimistic. If he's committed to succeeding, and I believe he is, he has in my opinion failed to see the obvious: That despite his best rhetoric and intentions, his identity is still completely anchored to his ego & assets. His ability to "work magic" is, literally, his ability to write a check. His ability to "be of maximum benefit" is tethered to his ability to write a check AND wrapped tightly within his ego.

I find it ironic that rather than envy him, I pity Andre. Not because of the spider bite or his uncertain future, but because I ask myself this: "If all of Andre's money were to vaporize tomorrow, who would he be? How would he see himself if he were unable to work Monetary Magic? How many "friends" would still be there?" Of course, this is a single perspective, and I'm sure that this last question will result in some other folks I met in Portland wondering, "Is that asshole talking about ME?!?!?" Please relax, and realize I am not interested in rendering judgment. But, I would counter that it may be useful to ask yourself, "Am I one of the circling vultures?"

In the event you've assumed this is arm-chair psychological conjecture, I know a bit about a ravaged "external identity." When the radio show ended in 2002, and I was no longer Todd Thompson, most of my "friends" vanished like farts in the wind leaving me sitting emotionally naked asking why. The answer was clear: the relationships I had built were based on the shallow radio "persona" I had developed, and I was forced to ask, "Now that I'm not Todd Thompson, who the fuck am I?" If you need to ask, then have trouble coming up with answers, you have a problem!

The ones who remained unchanged remain treasured friends. I can literally count them on one hand. These are not easy questions to ask, are even harder to answer, and impossible to investigate without a commitment to truth; that inner dialogue Andre admitted having trouble with. Despite his wonderful complexities, Andre is struggling as a confused personification of his wealth, with little clue of how to escape it. How to cut free from a spiritual anchor.

The very first quote above also speaks nicely to the Chris McCandless question and what I believe was his Poverty Field Trip. Friar Chris has often taken exception to my McCandless critique because he closely identifies with McCandless's background. He has struggled with my indictment, often replying, "What's a rich kid supposed to do? Just give up?"

My reply had always been that I honestly don't know. Do what you can, and hope for the best. Subconsciously, however, there's always been a faint smell of hypocrisy to even asking that question, as though wealth is somehow entwined into your DNA and fused to your existence. I've suspected that the philosophical answer is simplistic, and as stated above, would sound something like "Get rid of it and legitimize your fraudulent Pauper Papers."

Of course that IS simplistic, and very few of us are prepared to sell all of our worldly possessions and sacrifice the security they provide! (Foreshadowing alert!) Frankly, I see nothing wrong with openly half-assing it, or openly doing nothing! To my knowledge, none of us are Saints nor aspiring to be. However, my blood pressure tends to rise when people are portrayed, or prop themselves as something they're not. Someone please tell Mr. Penn, Mr. Krakour, and the rest of the McCandless Cultists that McCandless burned his money knowing he was a phone call away from a family "line of credit" whenever he ever decided to bless his parents with his "forgiveness". Rather he used it is immaterial; he knew it was there. It would be much more impressive for someone raised poor to do the same, without a golden parachute just waiting to be deployed by phone.

To me, the shallow image of renouncing wealth, while never intending to do so, is condescending and nicely articulated by:

"Whenever you fast, do not put on a gloomy face as the hypocrites do, for they neglect their appearance so that they will be noticed by men when they are fasting. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:16

Again, it takes a little abstract thought to comprehend that "gloomy face" can mean many different things, from countenance to clothing and hygiene. Cleverly clinging the literal interpretation and employing rationalization? That could indicate something!

More often than not, I don't believe people rationalize on a conscious level; I don't think they sit in their chairs creating clever, conscious, fictitious narratives. I believe it's subconscious because, as The Sage pointed out later, it's challenging to confront the dark things residing within ourselves.

That observation cut to the heart of my internal, "I feel like a dick" discomfort. I know full well how difficult it is to confront ourselves. I reject the role of  Encouraging Sympathetic Voice because, from my experience, I find to be it a counterproductive haven.

This simple train-of-thought demanded an overdue investigation as to my evolving purpose. The answer was simple and (again) reinforced surprisingly from the Bible in quite an arrogant way!


Reading thru Matthew, it became clear that Jesus was sort of...a dick! His tone was that of a man annoyed with metaphorical blindness and willful ignorance, intolerant of rationalizations and hypocrisies. I could identify with the man who entered the temple and violently overthrew the moneychangers table! Contrary to characterizations as the "Price of Peace", tact and non-confrontational politeness seemed of little concern to Him, even saying, "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword." Perhaps that "sword" is to slice off the fat of doctrine, dogma, and self-deception. And, if blunt honesty is good enough for your Jeebus, it's good enough for me!

Overall, the impression that I got from my tiny foray into a miniscule portion of the Bible was that, if true, most Christians are in a lotta trouble when their Messiah returns! I repeatedly (and to Laina's chagrin) asked, "Do Christians even read this fucking thing? Or, do they simply rely on someone else to interpret what's inside AND believe whatever they're told it means?" 

Ambiguity toward wealth? MY ASS! I found little resemblance between what I managed to read, and the acts of Jesus, Inc. I have more scripture examples I could share, but I'll close by simply saying that I've come to believe that the greatest blasphemy on Earth is perpetrated by organized religion and what it has done to the concept of God. I would stand tall and say that to Yahweh's face, quite certain that he's agree.

How about you?

9/22-10/9/09: Santa Fe- "Unpacking"

After a quiet day at home on Tuesday, the house-sitting gig started Wednesday amid wild anticipation of spending the entire week on the computer or buried in my notebooks writing for hours on end. I knew that I had much to process and, as always upon returning home, felt highly motivated to get it done immediately in supposed marathon sessions. But, as usual, it didn't happen that way. Rather than a narrative, the writing promptly displayed a tendency to create more questions; deeper layers than I originally assumed were there. That's always a good sign for me personally, but not always pleasant. Especially when many of the hardest new questions revolve around...me.

As I started to get near the heart of Andre's story, I noticed an intense feeling of personal wariness, especially about that Sunday, 9/13. The apprehension's intensity was quite rare, but I understood that his was no ordinary story and I was forced by its content to take a microscopic look at both my own insights and, more painfully, who I have become over the last year and where I was going. I had expected the simple moral question about how much detail to share, but the demand for self-analysis was something that was surprisingly bitch-slapping me at the same time! If I was going to offer acute criticism of others, I was going to be providing it to myself. Like it or not. A handy, oft-inconvenient & unpredictable tool I've acquired somewhere.

As I started to verbally spew into the computer, making connections to both past events and those in Port Townsend, an interesting contrast developed; something that would ultimately lay the very foundation for the immediate future. Despite the persistent questions, the words flowed; again a good sign. Nothing was forced or contrived and, after questioning, challenging, and examining my insights, it was obvious that they were solid-if not pleasant. They themselves then began spawning other multilayer ideas. Yet, the potentially toxic, uncomfortable nature of these observations set off warning signals throughout my psyche. Was this just my ego going nuts?

I began seeking out other opinions and through conversations with Laina, Chris and The Sage, my impressive, redneck vocabulary again went on display as I described these intense, nagging emotions as "feeling like a dick," even though I felt like I was dead-on, even after psychologically beating the hell out of myself and beginning the process of asking "who the hell I thought I was" in writing these things. It was then that I came to realize that I'd had the sense that "I" wasn't writing these things. It was Stream of Consciousness-despite of myself! More than once, I (again) thought back to Randleman, and Pastor Snake...which REALLY set off ego-alarms! Seeing this was encouraging of course, but created more turmoil than it relieved.

The Sage suggested something that I had considered a few times: keeping two journals. One: the run-of-the-mill, fluffy "travel journal" variety. Something easier to comprehend, accept, and escape within (my description). The Second: one presumably written with my actual thoughts... therefore not causing any immediate discomfort to the protagonists. I seriously considered it, but not for long, as I slowly came to realize that the self-doubt wasn't internally based. It was the "critic's" voice; the self- censor voicing the imagined criticism of others. Furthermore, as Laina astutely and repeatedly pointed out, "editing for comfort" would be selling out; doing the very thing that I swore not to do. Reading these passages is voluntary after all, and the notion of producing shallow "bathroom fodder," as Chris puts it, is repugnant. No, this is by its nature occasionally unpleasant and very difficult. It's the "hard" that makes it worthwhile, even though it's sometimes unflattering, even to myself.

I knew coming in that it would periodically be difficult, but I HAVE made myself accountable by having the courage to present it for consumption. It seems cowardly (and suspicious) to consider yourself a man-of-purpose then hide in your journal; the foundation of critical thought is to test ideas by allowing them to stand up to scrutiny! To cower, or worse: put on an "act", would be something I wouldn't be able to stomach, and that I even considered it made me question my own motives and presented the entrance to yet another powerful investigation: the difference between being "clever" and being right, which can lead to the egoistic practice of selfishly protecting a possible flawed point-of-view through linguistic voodoo & rationalization. Later in October, this directly led to my humble, uncomfortable Don Quixote revelation (stay tuned...if you dare!). Good, organic stuff!

With the end of the house-sitting gig came the end of September. As October began and I returned home, my "internal motives" question persisted, but I decided to push forward and allow people to react however they chose. Thinking back over the summer, I reflected on how I had likely severed the pathetic "relationship" with my own father and two of my sisters through simple uncomforatable honesty. Considering that The Hens had chosen to "de-friend" me on Facebook, choosing their traditional method of conflict resolution, avoidance, it suddenly seemed absurd to offer this blatantly self-interest-driven courtesy to Andre; something I had denied much more significant people!

There was much more to come as I contemplated my time with Andre in Portland. As I finally wrote up The Vanity Plate, Now What?, and Navigating the Rubicon, more agitation and an accompanying flood of ideas that was the byproduct. Surprisingly, much if centered around, of all things, The Bible...

9/15/09: Portand to Mukilteo, WA

Andre had Cody and I up and running early on Tuesday morning, determined to get out of Portland at a decent time. The tone of the day was again set immediately by an impatient Andre. It had long become quite evident that two Andres inhabited his body, and the thoughtful, patient Andre from the night before was again replaced by the agitated, terse, driven Andre. The two of us loaded the Range Rover while Andre tied up loose ends, and by 9:30 or 10:00 we were saying so long to the floating home and on the way downtown to the Mac store so Andre could purchase an apparent necessity for Cody's new I-Touch.

I had decided to take Andre up on his offer of the previous night and ask him to drop me off in Port Townsend, WA. Port Townsend is a bit of a difficult destination from Seattle and I-5 being, as Chris describes it, across Puget Sound from Seattle and on a sub-peninsula of the Olympic Peninsula. Somewhere along the way to the downtown Mac Store, Andre curtly asked me what I "had decided," and when I responded with Port Townsend, he was visibly irritated that I would have the nerve to take him up on a seemingly easy offer the night before. Oh, the humanity! He made it clear that, today, the three extra hours were of vast importance, and that if I wasn't going to Vancouver he'd be dropping me in Mukilteo. The loaded question on the tip of my tongue: "So, Astoria's out of the question, then? Why even bother to fucking ask?!?"

I had had just about enough of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. Sitting in the back seat, I began to reminisce on the weekend and particularly at the Gale Force of Talk that had produced little wind in the sails. I was still in Portland, however, and free to disembark the U.S.S. Andre whenever I chose. At least I now knew where I would be resuming my travels: either downtown Portland, which would mean that my boat hitch with Andre and Cody the previous Thursday would have in fact netted a NEGATIVE 15-miles. Or, it would be the mythical Mukilteo north of Seattle, and presumably within range of Chris and his sister that night. As we approached downtown, I was weighing the pros and cons of each. The choice was far from obvious, and there was a significant problem: hitching in Washington state is expressly verboten, and Port Townsend is not exactly in a geographic location flush with truck stops.

At the Mac Store, I learned that we were in the same building as the Portland Transit headquarters, meaning from here I could easily navigate the prolific public transit system and at least return to the bus stop where my return east from Portland had resumed from Dave's in 2008. This would put me back on US-30, and on course to Astoria once again. Yet, this would mean missing Washington State, unless I crossed at Astoria. To be honest, I'd never had much of a draw to Washington and had mentally crossed the state off as I progressed through the Dakotas, Montana, and Idaho the weeks before. I had connected with Chris in Boise, and there were no indications as to why I should go now. In fact, he had indicated that things there were "tense." So, why bother? Good question, and I have a pathetic answers.

Believe it or not, I heard my nephew Brad's voice in my head urging to to go to Washington, since I would be "right there." I had to confess, he was in a sense right. Excluding Washington, I had now visited every state not in New England, and having this single stray state out west would bother me! The mental ping-pong continued as Cody collected his dire essentials. I exited the store to examine the bus routes posted outside, then to pace the parking lot knowing I had to decide NOW. Had his shopping taken just two more minutes, I likely would have acted differently, but in Andre's push to get moving I resigned to go with the established flow and try my luck in Washington. The deciding factor was that it would be terra incognita, and if I went toward Astoria I was sure to be retracing 2008's steps...again...this time down highway 101. Washington it would be. A fateful, rushed decision to be sure.

When Cody emerged with another item or two beyond the advertised life saving accessory, I found it amusing that Andre was no longer concealing his irritation with the Mac Store charade. When we stopped for cigarettes and coffee before departing Portland, Cody's credit card came to light and Andre tellingly (and snidely) asked, "I thought you didn't have any money?" My impression was that he was growing weary of being milked. At least THIS Andre was!

Once on I-5 and heading north, I completely disconnected. I was watching Oregon fade into the rear view mirror, not paying particular attention to anything going on in the front seat. I was quite happy to be moving on...somewhere...and fondly remembering, again, 2008's Two Day Rule! Crossing the Columbia River into Washington was not as much a sense of accomplishment as a checking something off the to-do list. I wished I were more excited about finally getting here.

Andre had not had time for breakfast, so we stopped at a Denny's about an hour past the border for lunch. I called Laina asking her to play the role of research navigator because Andre had specifically said that he was going to dump me at the Mukilteo exit ramp. I needed to know how far Mukilteo was from I-5, among other things, and she outdid herself. She called back telling me that once I took the ferry from Mukilteo to Whidbey Island, there was a free bus all the way, 40-miles or so, from Clinton to Coupeville. In Coupeville there was another connection that would literally drop me at Keystone Harbor and the Port Townsend ferry. I was becoming quite impressed with Washington's transit/ferry system, and I had yet to even see it!

After lunch, Andre began to feel the lack of sleep, and since Cody had no license and was Canadian, he chose the lesser of two evils and asked me to drive. Before I knew it, we were through Olympia and Tacoma, and I was zipping along in Seattle. Not only have I not had a particular interest in visiting Seattle, it could be said that I've had a peculiar and acute aversion to it. I've listened to innumerable hippies proclaim its "progressiveness," and after Santa Fe, took that as a sign that, despite the legendary WTO riots, I would hate it. Finally driving through it did nothing to change my mind, even though The Sage lived in Seattle for a long time and loved it. Was I being a bit unfair? See what hippies do to me?!?

Chris had mentioned Mukilteo in an email the night before detailing specifics of how I could get from I-5 to Port Townsend. "Mukilteo?" I wondered. What the hell is a Mukilteo?" Andre explained that it was a little town north of Seattle, and he too assured me that I'd be able to utilize the ferry system to get to Port Townsend. This quaint little tourist trap is less than a half-hour from Seattle, and in fact could be considered part of the outer fringes of the Seattle sprawl. Andre was in better spirits after his nap, and thankfully decided to look for a place to Internet here, meaning I wouldn't have to walk the busy, 5-mile divided highway into town. We stopped at a grocery store where I used an ATM and learned that there was in fact a bus stop across the road. The bus ran into town and would drop me, literally, at my first destination: the Clinton Ferry. Life was good, and this was it for Andre and Cody.

It was an odd goodbye. Much had happened over the past 4+ days, but now each of us were focused on our immediate futures. Not exactly present! Cody was going home to Canada, Andre had treatments to concentrate on, and I had no idea what the hell I was doing in Mukilteo, Washington. We shook hands, hugged, and made the obligatory promises to stay in touch. I finally offered Cody a card to the website, knowing full well that it would likely throw him into an eventual tizzy! He and I also pledged to meet on Facebook, etc. I remember having a distinct feeling that this particular Bullshit Exchange was palpable, but we would have to wait and see.

With that, I was off to catch my series of buses and ferries to cross Puget Sound, and feeling good to be moving again despite a recurring, nagging pinch in my left Achilles...

9/14/09: Portland Finale-Now What

From its beginning, Monday held a distinctly different feel; as if I were back in Santa Fe on that weekend before I pointed myself towards Devils Tower, trying to figure out how this next phase was going to look. However, the difference was also glaring: I had relinquished control and left things in Andre's hands. Cody was growing increasingly restless, despite Andre's constant demands to "stay present." He apparently didn't take into account that it is much more difficult when the "present" is constantly changing and the control of another, even if you are their dinghy! Andre had apparently underestimated the extent of what needed to be completed before departing for Vancouver. However, keep in mind that he wasn't preparing for a simple sailing trip. Included were the treatments in Vancouver, and a trip to England to undergo further, experimental procedures to deal with the brown recluse bite. As morning became afternoon, it was obvious that the possibility of an early evening departure had faded away. The details were never-ending, and he seemed to surrender late in the afternoon. After taking the boat out one last time to clean it's hull, followed by another short sight-seeing seeing tour, Andre set midnight as the new target.

And so it went. Cody had learned that, due to Andre's chat with her boss, Cody's mother had decided to accept his offer to fly her from Ontario to British Columbia, and join them on the sailboat. I thought this was beyond cool, and remember thinking that he had somehow married different aspects of his nature by giving Cody's mom the opportunity to eliminate excuses, AND taking further control of the situation by proactively taking her boss out of the equation himself. That was ballsy AND effective: Andre at his best. There were problems, however. The uncertainty surrounding our own departure made setting a time for hers difficult; coordination was needed in order to meet her. In addition, there were complications in purchasing an Air Canada ticket from the US. Andre curiously seemed mostly oblivious to all of this.

As for me, I was feeling like a ping pong ball. The idea of sailing in Vancouver was, surprisingly, not a big deal. I wanted to see Vancouver, definitely wanted to learn to sail, and loved the random nature of the trip. However, it seemed more and more to be checking something off of a list, rather than something I was supposed to do. Plus, considering Cody's situation with his mom, this seemed like it may be a good time to bow out gracefully, and let them have their time. I could take it or leave it, and considering the potential complications at the border? Well, I had a decision to make. My options were relatively simple. I could just continue on the path I was walking 4-short days ago: reuniting with US-30 toward Astoria. Or, I could take my chances getting into Canada. If that failed? Then, I'd be sitting in northwest Washington state somewhere near Bellingham, but this wasn't bad either. Chris had since arrived at his sister's place in Port Townsend, across Puget Sound from Seattle, so reaching Wendie's little haven would be relatively easy provided I could figure out the ferry system. I ran the idea past Chris via email, and they all seemed fine with it despite an appreciated warning from Chris that we would be sleeping in the yard, and a mysterious, tense "weirdness" on the ground in Port Townsend. Monday evening, I leaned toward going for the gusto. I really liked the idea of "going international," knew Vancouver was gorgeous, and perhaps a different setting, however unlikely, would allow Andre and I to further discuss things. If I was denied entry? Well then...fuck Canada, eh! It would be a good story...eh!

Shortly After midnight, Andre surprised me and decided to sit down for a chat that began with a surprising, brief analysis of ME for once! How ironic! Andre had many nice things to say about me, reiterating how he had been impressed with my compassion and adding descriptions like honesty, forthrightness, and one that stunned me because, to my recollection, I had never heard it applied to me before: noble. I was flattered, but a bit taken aback. It was not lost on me that the terms "honest" and "forthright" are double edged; easy to appreciate when their blades are not facing you! Yet, I also took his choice of adjectives as an indication of things he respected and appreciated. We would, obviously, see!

We then briefly revisited both of my proposals from Sunday, and discussed some of the logistical details and problems of the assistant position we had superficially discussed late Saturday. I was a bit surprised, but he seemed to be moving in a positive, yet pragmatic direction with it. Andre moved on to make a point to observe how he had liked an earlier comment of mine, "Portland seems to like me," saying it sounded genuine, and had a tone that resonated with him. It was genuine, I explained. I had always gotten a great vibe from Portland, and Oregon in general. If anyone would have told me that this visit would increase it ten-fold, I would have gone into hysterics. Yet, wonderful things happen here. I've meet tremendous people like Andre, Dave, Karen, Stacie, Bree, and others in Portland; there is an energy here that powerfully agrees with me. I laughed out loud as I realized, for the first time, that I had made more friends in Portland over the last 4-days than I have made in Santa Fe over 2 1/2 YEARS! When I expanded that to the previous month and hitching from Wyoming thru the Dakotas to Oregon? Well, it became a comical, yet fierce personal indictment of Santa Fe! I began to ask myself, again, "what the hell am I still doing in Santa Fe?" I'm a recluse whenever I'm there, having no further interest in "tuning in" to its special breed of pretension. There is most definitely "something about Santa Fe," as they like to say, but it's not what they would like you to believe! I've said it before numerous times, Portland and its inhabitants,on the other hand, seems to be much more genuine. Don't ever let them tell you that "everyplace is the same" or that "people are the same wherever you go." There are most certainly different personalities everywhere.

I tried as best I could to explain this to Andre, and he got it. Then, he began to suggest other possibilities for me--IN Portland-- naturally latching on to my radio background. When I emphatically explained that I had NO interest in re-entering the corporate-media cesspool, he added that he knew the owner of KBOO, one of the most renowned, public, progressive, radio stations in the country. And, one I had been introduced to at Dave's in 2008. I conceded that this may be something I'd be interested in, but not now. Andre was trying his best, but still could not completely understand this compelling need to continue what I'm doing...right now. "All who wander are not lost!" I repeated that I knew I was where I was supposed to be, and that any sort of "vocational opportunities" would need to be explored in that context; in conjunction- not as a replacement. I elaborated that I would, however, likely be very interested in a part time position at KBOO, if I were also working with him, and possibly learning more about his land development concept at the same time.

With that, the conversation returned to Vancouver. He wisely admitted that it was too late for him to make the drive all the way there this late; it would just have to wait until morning. He asked where I wanted to go, and I countered by asking what was on the table. Andre stunningly offered to drive me to Astoria if I liked, and when I mentioned Chris being in Port Townsend, he offered to drive me there as well! It would be a longer drive, but he would enjoy the route, being more scenic than I-5. Of course, he added, I was welcome to come along and try my luck at the border. I asked him if I could let him know in the morning, he said sure, and we were off to bed to get rested for what shaped up to be a pivotal Tuesday.

9/12/09: Portland-Aborting My Inner Redneck

For context sake, it may be important to elaborate on the progression of my friendships with Andre and Cody. Saturday afternoon, Andre expressed something I found quite remarkable; I had made an indelible impression by simply offering an arm to help him of the boat! I had never consciously thought about it; that's what (I thought) people...just do. Apparently not. He shared that there are people who after realizing he is sick, refuse to touch him. This immediately reminded me of Dennis and the damage done to him by thoughtless, mindless cruelty. Andre is attune to the little things in people and, in his words, this showed him much. He was also, again in his words, impressed by the fact that I had shown a degree of genuine empathy & concern; asking questions and showing compassion in what he was going through. Again, this is something that an extraordinary percentage of people apparently avoid, presumably out of discomfort with the topic of mortality. I took this a step further, solely inferring that he was likely aware of the vultures circling overhead, hoping to profit from his demise. A bit of authenticity was probably a breath of fresh air.

The two of us had lightly tinkered with both the metaphysical and spirituality topics, and I had commented each time that we seemed to be nearly on the exact same page. Andre was HUGE on the now-familiar idea of "presence." Remaining focused on where you are, in the moment, rather than where you once were or may be going. The regular, emphatic reminders to "stay present!" were appreciated. They took me back to The Dalles, and showed in real-time how remaining present that particular morning was still paying huge dividends. Andre and I happen to share the same birthday, 9/19, and since he has a strong interest in astrology, loved to point out that we're both Virgos; meaning we're intellectual pricks who are difficult to argue with. Fair enough! Also, Andre was very concerned about the proper use of language, repeating, "words are important!" often and reminding me that this was a concept I held dear. Saying precisely what you mean is key to truthfully conveying thoughts, feelings, and ideas. "Call each thing by its proper name." And, it can be difficult. English has its limitations! As the weekend went into full swing, these commonalities began to break through a thin shell, and this early Sunday morning would see it's eruption. But, not without some tension. Can we say, drama?

Shortly after we returned, my mood had poignantly drifted off to an odd, peculiar, and unpleasant place. I had been pondering Andre's idea of replacing the teeth, and there was something about it that bothered me. And, the fact that it bothered me...bothered me! I was also getting a bit antsy to see where this little sub-adventure was going, and while struggling to stay present, I was not in the mood to be reminded of it! With another of these reminders, Andre added the footnote that I was putting off an "agitated energy," and asked why as we settled in to the living room. I admitted that I was a bit perturbed, but assured him that it had nothing to do with him. I was rather argumentative, combative even, as Andre perceptively warned Cody away from a verbal spar with me, explaining that "as a Virgo," I would systematically dismantle him, and not be gentle about it! From there, Andre did me a favor and began himself to challenge my verbal and mental limits, getting me out of my own head and onto my treasured playing field. At the same time, he was studying as I accurately parsed phrases, and if I identified his clever little argumentative fallacies. When I realized this, I rudely pointed out that I was NOT Cody, warning Andre, "I'm a bit more formidable than him!" He laughed, agreed, then continued on taking joy in our little exchange, as did I. My mental state thankfully went from agitation to focus, and I got the impression that he was starved for a little competition.

Lauren herself seemed to enjoy watching Andre and I playfully go back and forth. She resonated on a frequency close to Chris, Steve, Andre, and I, but didn't realize it. That frequency is something Chris and I have become sensitive to receiving; I like to say I can "smell" it. Lauren seemed, to me, to be slightly lost and conflicted; cut off from herself and even remarking that no one sees the "real" her. But when she tuned in, that resonance just flowed! There had been a slight connection between us from the beginning, but she acted astounded...again...when I displayed some degree of a developed intellect! My healthy ego got a boost out when she declared, "Todd, you're really fucking smart!" Uneducated Todd's ego likes it when college grads proclaim his genius. Cody? He...did not seem so thrilled!

Our playful banter was the prelude to serious discussions, but as the chat developed, Cody degenerated into what resembled a sensitive child feeling left alone in his crib, metaphorically jumping up and down while screaming, "HEY Lookee MEEE!" Since I had known him, Cody had intermittently displayed the maddening habit of lobbing infantile non sequiturs into serious conversations. For example, when Andre would mention presence, Cody would respond with how he "loved getting high." Or "chasing tail." How Andre's neighbor was hot. Hey, when was the trip to Vancouver beginning? Or, how Andre needed to buy him an accessory for his new I-Touch. It was interesting to glance at Lauren after these little verbal twitches. The two had developed a bond, but there appeared to be an unspoken, subtle conflict as to how to deal with this periodic Cody Dichotomy. For me, however, patience is not yet a strength. Especially this night! His intellectual farts drove me to, then beyond the border of Batshitsylvania! My tolerance for Romper Room evaporated when we finally broached the topics that I had hoped to explore with Andre, and even Lauren. I dropped a few direct hints as that "line" quickly came in to sight, trying to keep it light, but at Cody's final attempt to nuke this talk, my passport was stamped. I snapped.

I was suddenly infuriated, and don't remember exactly what he or I said, but my contribution was likely loud, and something to the effect of, "Why don't you just shut the fuck up if you have nothing to say?" I had challenged Tarzan's manhood in front of Jane. Sitting next to him on the couch and in an adrenaline filled/alpha male state, I then acutely eyed how Cody, who had been so full of bravado to that point, reacted. He was more than a decade younger, had 50 pounds on me, and had the woman he was wooing watching from across the coffee table! This...was not the smartest thing I have ever done! But, from the start I had sniffed out and identified an insecurity in him, and instinctively knew that I had an advantage. He would probably snarl, growl, timidly show his teeth...then whimper and put his tail between his legs. After a few exploratory, pride-driven barks that I returned each time with an increasingly and authentically enraged Shut the fuck up!, that's exactly what happened. And, thank God!

Inner Redneck conceived........ Inner Redneck aborted!

For now, and with a little help anyhow.

Andre watched this brief exchange with what resembled an odd, annoyed amusement. He didn't bother to intervene, nor did Lauren, who was stunned by the sudden intensity in the room. They quickly resumed chatting, while we sat quietly on the couch and I tried to deal with a sudden overdose of adrenaline. My heart was pounding, I couldn't catch my breath, and was actually shaking a bit; never good signs for me. I didn't realize how angry I had actually become! As I calmed, I could finally see the reality of the situation, and felt like an ass. Maybe on some rationalized level I was technically justified, but this was a perfect, undeniable example of one of my greatest, lingering shortcomings: intolerance. Cody after all is just 21, and actually light years ahead of where I was at his age. I all too often lose sight that people are at different points in their own lives, and fighting their own battles. Center of the Universe, anyone? Amazing how versatile that simple little idea has become! I quickly apologized to Cody, and meant it. He returned it, and we moved on.

To be fair, Cody has a ton going for him. I like Cody, but then again so does everyone, and that's engineered. He's a good looking, charismatic, smart kid who seems to face the familiar battles, but on the surface seems to spend little time on the plane of introspection. In retrospect, my intensifying frustration was actually a backhanded compliment, stemming from rare, but remarkably insightful comments that were borne from his experience. It seemed a pity that most of the time he prefers a place at Puberty's Brothel, and uses his looks and personality to manipulate and snake-charm folks into making him the center of attention. My radio days exposed me to innumerable attention-addicts; I can smell them out in a minute. It took about 10 seconds to see this interactive dynamic with Cody & Andre, one Andre enjoyed. As a rule, those who are the most "charming" usually have the greatest need for your approval; perfected charm is poorly concealed insecurity. However, and to Andre's credit, I had overheard comments on the boat earlier that implied Andre not only understood this perfectly, but enjoyed encouraging Cody's role as court jester.

Not long after, Cody and Lauren were off to bed, leaving Andre and I alone in the living room. It was probably 2am, but I was primed. With one simple question, we were off and running a marathon. It was time for us to get to know each other, and for me to figure out why I was here. Andre could not for the life of him comprehend what I was doing. He assumed that I was looking for something specific "out here" and for the 50th time asked me, "What do you want?"...

9/12/09: Portland-The Meeting

Three of Andre's good friends joined us Saturday evening for the hour-long boat ride to Marks on the Channel for this combination business meeting/ anniversary party. Cody was excited, knowing Lauren would be attending and that he was sure to eat and drink well! As usual, my focus was that of observer- but with a wrinkle. My disdain for predatory capitalism has been documented, so I myself found it odd that I held such an interest in the techniques of assembling such huge development deals. I expected to see Andre in action, pitching his idea to such a powerful, wealthy, connected group. It was one thing to dictate specifics to lowly vagabonds sitting on his own deck; how he handled this group should add some meat to the bone.

The skeleton remained bare; the meeting was a complete disappointment. The vibe seemed to me like an odd, confused gathering who had no idea why they were here together. Two separate tables of people sat chatting away and enjoying some terrific food and drinks, and a few conversations in private, but the lightning rod presentation I expected never materialized. The anniversary aspect of the gathering was, on the other hand, quite a success with Karen's parents celebrating their 41st in style. They were quite pleased. After a few quick hours, the group began to disperse and I was a bit dumbfounded. At first, I naturally assumed I had missed something obvious, but I hadn't. As the evening trudged on, Cody and I recognized the situation and happily fell into the roles we are accustomed to: drinking, mingling, and enjoying the atmosphere.

Karen's boyfriend is one of the more interesting characters I've met, simply due to the fact that he's actually royalty: The Prince of Ghana. I had been quite interested in making his acquaintance from the moment I first heard of him due to my intensifying interest in the African continent and, specifically the role "charities" play. Ramses was surprisingly unassuming, considering the media-fed, flamboyant image one expects to see from an African Prince. He was an imposing figure; tall and muscular, but dressed modestly and had a soft, quiet, demeanor about him. Yet, he was direct; almost clinical. Ramses spoke to the point, and in thoughtful, unemotional tones. After Karen introduced us, we spent a surprisingly long time chatting about the dynamics of aid, politics, and what a person can do to circumvent the prevalent corruption and bureaucracy: the Business of Aid. He offered some compelling, detailed advice on how one can actually get on the ground and do the most good (for people rather than the "charities") in Africa, while offering an interesting perspective on our own country. His insights quietly struck my exposed, nagging New Orleans Nerve; still sensitive from witnessing the ineptitude of FEMA and The Red Cross first-hand following Katrina. He obliquely confirmed that the best way for a person to be of "maximum assistance" is to BE there; getting your hands dirty, learning and dealing with the actual complexities rather than taking the "American Way Out" (my term) by writing a check, then pounding your chest and touting yourself a true "humanitarian." Ramses and I, on the surface, appeared to have many of the same interests and philosophies, although we failed to expand on them. Although I would later learn there were tensions between he and Andre, I liked Prince Ramses and wish I had more time to get to know him.

The gathering ended before 10 and being early, and sick of boat patrols, Cody and Lauren invited me to join them at a bar in downtown Portland. Interested neither in being the third wheel nor the sure testosterone display, I quickly declined in favor of the boat ride back down the Willamette. The ride itself was quite eventful, as the electrical system in the Master Craft began to fail! The motor was functioning, but we were five rather intoxicated boaters meandering into major shipping lanes- without lights! This...was not a Coast Guard friendly situation! Jim quickly went to work troubleshooting, and after an hour or so we had lights- as long as the speed was kept relatively low. What should have been an hour took closer to three!

Cody and Lauren had long since returned to the floating home by the time we drifted in from our own "Three Hour Tour." They had taken advantage of the empty house to spend some quiet time in front of the television. Our return obliterated that. Drinks were made, and soon we were engaged in an slowly intensifying, four-way conversation. Exactly the conversation I had hoped for earlier in the day, when Andre had explained the nature and severity of his potentially fatal condition. I had been relatively quiet for most of my stay, preferring instead (per the norm) to observe, listen, and offer insight or an exchange of ideas when appropriate, but not feeling the need to entertain the masses. In retrospect, this may be the Lesson of Dennis: Knowing when to speak and, more importantly, when to listen. This is an underrated, under appreciated, under utilized skill. One I've recently become acutely aware of. Tonight would be a time to exercise both. As the chat heated up, the night got interesting, and in the process the texture of my stay with Andre would finally become abundantly clear. The persistent Sit Down & Shut Up/ Center of the Universe ideas would once again claim their place on center stage, hitting their marks as if on cue...

9/12/09: Portland- Andre's Magic

Like life, I've discovered that occasionally a period of time can have a life-cycle of its own. A beginning, the pinnacle, then a processing and release period. Saturday September 12, 2009 was the Pinnacle of Portland and proved to be a pivotal day. One that was not only compelling to experience in the moment, but would also trigger thoughts & ideas while planting that special variety of seed that sprouts both immediately, and again unexpectedly down the road.

Saturday was highly anticipated from the outset, but began with the sobering, first-hand sight of what was Andre's daily morning ritual of pain, drugs, and alcohol... just to get himself off the couch on which he now slept to avoid navigating stairs. I continued to help out how I could, but beyond acts of seemingly trivial labor, it was a battle he had to fight virtually on his own. His expressions and comments told that this ordeal had taken a mental toll just as heavy as the physical. Once he was medicated and moving, I was helping him fuel, arrange, and clean the boat and feeling comfortable enough with him to ask him about the spider bite he repeatedly referred to. With his response, things then immediately began to make sense, and snap into focus.

Between his restaurants and land development projects, Andre has spent most of his life traveling between Portland and Mexico. On one particular trip in 2002, he was bitten in the lower right leg by a Brown Recluse. Brown Recluse bites are notorious and always very serious, but Andre's was greatly compounded by the venom going directly into a vein, and his blood stream. The swelling and tortuous pain Cody and I witnessed was the direct result of having Brown Recluse venom pumping through his veins for 7-years raising hell with his system. It was now at the point where the infection was attacking the bone in both his leg and hip. Andre was quick to point out that 83% of Brown Recluse victims either die or lose a limb and, beyond the swelling and pain, all his other physical problems we were witnessing were a direct result of the bite.

Not so long ago, Andre was quite robust. He proudly bragged that he had climbed mountains, and had several impressive pictures of his team climbing, if memory serves, Mt. McKinley displayed on his wall to prove it. Being a bit of a gear head, one of the first things I noticed upon arriving was the prominence of outdoor-gear around his home. Jackets, base layers, pants, etc., in addition to exercise equipment and bikes. I thought these were odd things for a man his size to have, but things clarified when he explained that his weight gain was a direct side-effect of the medications he took to treat the infection and pain. It had caused him to "blow up like a balloon," and he "fucking hated it." Finally, Andre confessed that the trip to Canada was not just fun and games. He was undergoing a very "invasive" procedure in Vancouver to treat the infection, then flying off to England to undergo experimental treatments; to be a "guinea pig" and hope for a miracle. Until hearing this, I didn't realize the gravity of the situation. This was NOT going away. Unless there was the aforementioned medical miracle, this was going to continue ravaging his system until it killed him. This was the reality that he saw in the mirror everyday, and one that was getting frighteningly close. I learned later that the doctors were speaking in terms of three or four years. With that in mind, it's remarkable how upbeat and positive he was. He seemed to be attacking fate the best he could, by keeping faith and hoping for the best. I was impressed with his attitude, and for a brief moment he began to show a tiny bit of the foundation of what some consider eccentric behavior for a man in his position. He was determined to enjoy the time he had left. Don't like it? Well then, you could just go fuck yourself. Twice.

Suddenly, everything fell in line. The liquidation of his stateside businesses and properties in Mexico, his carefree attitude toward life and money, and the at-first-seemingly frivolous philanthropic attitude of "Making Magic Happen" and the "How can I be of maximum assistance to you?" question. Andre had experienced an epiphany. One apparently similar to mine in its end, but quite remarkable in its nexus. After all, it's easy to be philosophical about money when you have none to lose! But, here was a man who was well past wealthy coming to the realization, and verbalizing it, that "stuff" is overrated! He would know better than most, and wanted to put what he had to good use. I wondered to myself, "Why does it so often take the face of Death to trigger such the intense, raw introspection that eventually leads to this realization?" And, I was quietly thankful that it hadn't taken this for me; somehow I have always had it. Eckart Tolle had written on this very phenomena in A New Earth, and now here was a shining, staggering example standing in front of me. Admittedly, this was a selfishly significant partial validation of the ideas I had spent countless hours exploring and writing about and I desperately wanted to have this conversation with him! But, it would have to wait. There was business to attend to today starting with, of all things, my teeth.

Andre had asked me the "maximum assistance" question a time or ten but, to be honest, I had no idea how he could be of any service to me, despite his affluence. It was a line of thought I was neither used to nor comfortable with, so I had left the question open. Andre took the initiative, and dropped the bombshell that he intended to fully replace my damaged teeth with full Titanium sockets. He was strongly of the opinion that they severely hindered my confidence and that once I had a "brand new smile," my life would radically change for the better; doors would fly open and I believe he even thought magic dental-doves would fly from my rectum! He really thought this was of supreme importance! Our conversation earlier had disclosed what I believed was the nature of Andre's interest in my dental health the previous day. Because of his medication-induced weight gain, he knew about feeling self-conscious about your appearance, and believed he had sensed that it in me almost immediately.

He was probably right. I spent nearly 4-years of my early 20's with no top-front teeth at all, and being a naturally vain person, this created a poignant awareness of its effect on my appearance. An effect that, even 15-years after the replacement bridge was inserted, has remained. During that time in the early 90's, I instinctively developed the habit of covering my mouth when I laugh, and often still find myself doing it without even realizing.

Some have noticed that I rarely smile in photographs, and this is another symptom of this now-subconscious wariness of my teeth. The bridge has never fit properly, and now the two teeth on either side are still in need of root canals. Together, one terrible, anger-induced decision, neglect and a lack of insurance, have conspired to cause me much orthodontic grief!

When Andre offered this, I was of course speechless. I had been dealing with this for nearly 20-years, and now he wanted to fix them at a cost I estimated to be nearly $10,000. Initially, I thought that I would be a goddamn fool not to accept his offer, and watched in stunned silence as he immediately called his dentist to set an appointment for my evaluation. When Andre finally reached the dentist, he learned that the following Wednesday was the soonest he could possibly see me, but even that would be uncertain until he returned to work Monday. With Andre and Cody planning on departing for Vancouver Sunday, it seemed from the very outset that this procedure would be complicated logistically. Details would have to wait.

Then, Andre suddenly instructed us to stop what we were doing (which wasn't much!), and to pay close attention; he was about to show us "how to make a million dollars." He cleared the patio table, grabbed a piece of construction paper, and over the next 90-minutes detailed what he had done to break several developmental-stalemates with the Mexican government, leading to the massive sale of his properties to Cargill, Inc. His formula was not complex but had been overlooked by other developers, who owned properties adjacent to his. Once his plan was devised, he managed to bring the other seven land-owners on board, and 10-years later they collectively sold to Cargill for something close to $2.5 Billion.

When he had finished, my mind was ablaze with ideas, and Andre made sure to let Cody and I know in quite a serious tone that this was a $100,000 lesson! His formula told much about how Andre thought and, in my opinion, succeeded. It seemed to my inexperienced, simplistic mind that this was simply a matter of understanding how the game is played, being in-tune with the game's changing rules, and finally understanding these things and then bringing them all together while aggressively exploring outside the "accepted norm' for solutions. These are blanket concepts that I seek out and understand well, albeit on other planes, and greatly respect in others. This conversation also brought front & center a clear, developing indication that the last week had shown the possibility of remarkable, alternate personal trajectories through simple, chance interaction and the exchange of ideas.

From my conversation with Lynette and Dave regarding scuba diving, to Zeno's insights on how to find alternative employment, it appeared that there was now a metaphysical movement afoot to encourage me to begin seeking these "abnormal, aggressive solutions!"

Evening was fast approaching, and it was soon time to get to Mark's on the Channel for Andre's meeting. It seemed that the idea had sprung from the fact that Karen's parent's anniversary was that week, and she wanted to hold a celebration for them at Mark's. Andre simply incorporated his gathering into this party, taking care of the details himself. I offered to play the part of photographer if he liked, and soon both Cody and I were being outfitted by Andre from his old wardrobe. Vagabonds as a rule don't generally carry acceptable casual dinner attire!

9/11/09: Portland

Considering we were awake into the wee hours, Friday morning began early and I felt a bit unsure about my situation. There had been no discussion about how long I was staying, or whether Andre intended to get me back up the Willamette to continue on my way to Astoria. He had made an oblique comment the night before about possibly boating me all the way there, but that could have been drunken bravado for all I knew; nothing was certain.

Cody did seem eager to have me move on, however! He not-so-subtly asked when I was leaving, what my plans were, and how I was getting out of Portland this morning! I found his keen interest and initiative into my immediate future quite amusing and considered reminding him whose home we were in, but packed my things just in case. Thursday night had been a blast, but the last thing I wanted to do was give the impression that I expected to move in! I took my pack up front to Andre's main house, and hoped that at least I would get back to Dave's place, 15-miles west of Portland in Linnton where Andre had picked me up. Secretly, I was quite tired and hoped it could be postponed for at least a day!

The first thing I noticed upon seeing Andre Friday morning was his excruciating pain. Upon waking Friday, he was nearly unable to move due to his right hip and leg. His entire right calf was extremely swollen and dark purple in color. I saw that he was on a plethora of medications, and that he needed alcohol, on top of his meds, to help ease the pain. I empathized both with the pain and alcohol relief. Beer had worked wonders for my lower back pains in the past, and I felt badly for him. About all I could do was try to be of assistance whenever I could. I had been hearing things about a spider bite since the night before, but was unsure to what extent this was connected, or its severity.

The weather had warmed significantly since The Dalles, and the three of us soon found ourselves parked on Andre's deck beneath a hot 90-degree sun. Contrary to Cody's implications, Andre showed himself to be hospitable and clearly in no rush to have me move on, telling me to "Get that fucking backpack off my deck and in the back tinder!"

Soon, Andre engaged into business mode arranging a huge meeting for Saturday back at Mark's on the Channel. Through well-placed comments, it was indicated that both Cody and I were expected to come along. It seemed obvious that I was welcome (at least by Andre!) for the weekend and until they set off for a seemingly spontaneous sailing trip he had concocted after agreeing to drive Cody to Vancouver. Nothing specific was "said" however, so I was left guessing, inferring, and grasping at disjointed details for the rest of the afternoon. This set the tone for my entire stay!

I was a bit disconnected due to fatigue, but the rest of the afternoon was filled with an unreal sense of inner-calm and quiet. Cody fawned over his new I-Touch that Andre had bought him, while I periodically fed the duck that has adopted Andre before we set out for another ride aboard the boat.

I learned quite a bit about Andre that afternoon, as well as night before. He had been the owner of a very popular Mexican restaurant chain, Pablo's, in Portland, and made great deal of money selling them. However, there was much more to him. If Andre made a killing in the restaurant business, he committed monetary mass-murder in land development. He began to share bits and pieces about how he had bought, conceptualized, developed, and then sold 26-miles of prime Mexican coastline. Saturday's business meeting was intended to bring influential business owners and investors together in an effort to lay the foundation to replicate the successes of Mexico in Portland. There were to be friends, developers, elite officers from financial institutions like Bank of the Northwest & Wells Fargo, and even the Prince of Ghana in attendance.

"A fucking Prince? Didn't I just wake up in the weeds the day before?"

I was beginning to understand just how connected Andre was, and why people were treating him like a Rockefeller. To many he was. And, he acted like one; enjoying the role!

He seemed to fancy himself a philanthropist as well, with his favorite question being, "How can I be of maximum assistance to you?" At first glance, one could think that this was an egoistic, wealthy man who got a kick out of flaunting money & influence; a charge out of changing lives with the stroke of a pen or a wave of his hand. Being human, there may be aspects of truth to these assumptions but, as you'll eventually see, they would, predictably, be strikingly shortsighted and unfair.

Once business & the afternoon boat ride was finished and the sun was setting, Andre invited his friend Jim over for dinner and a chat about renovating the floating home. He then reassembled the previous night's cast, plus one: Stacie. Stacie was that rare breed: A woman who makes me laugh! Stacie was a whole lot of fun to talk to, and we got along famously!

Karen was only around briefly, bowing out gracefully, preferring a quiet night at home while Young Cody was not exactly pleased about heading off to prowl the Willamette again, probably because he wanted some time on-the-town with Lauren. He suggested to me that we abandon ship to experience Portland's nightlife, but the notion of carousing amongst hundreds of barely post-adolescent children, with more testosterone than common sense, didn't appeal to me.  

"My, how times have changed!"

 It also struck me how presumptuous he had become; now complaining about the manner of the extravagant hospitality he was receiving! Young Cody would indeed be fun to watch, although it would be key for me to remain patient and remember that he was only 21!

Seeing this performance reminded me that no matter how affluent you become or the toys at your disposal, you eventually adjust to your "stuff" and are re-introduced to the same person you were before. A closely guarded secret in the age of consumerism.

The night was calm compared to Thursday, but interesting nonetheless. We were joined on the Willamette Patrol by Cesar, an attractive, young Peruvian that as it turned out was a romantic interest of Andre's. Andre had been understandably quiet about proclaiming his sexuality, but I knew immediately. I honestly don't care about "orientation"; who a person chooses to have a relationship or sleep with is a non-issue. It doesn't effect our relationship in the least. However, it is interesting to see the process of disclosure and sobering to see how people's reactions to sexual preference are still a concern.

Andre recruited me to drive the boat for an hour or two while he and Cesar chatted privately, so I played DJ and guided the Master Craft beneath all of Portland's bridges--enjoying myself immensely! Portland, it would seem LIKES ME!

Friday was September 11th. This is always a day of reflection, as it is for many people. I was amused that I had watched no television and thus had not been subjected to the obligatory, melodramatic jingoism. While my political teeth instinctively tried, and failed, to bare themselves, I realized that it was pointless. When you accept that politics and politicians are pointless, just whom do you bite? Everyone?

From that vantage point, I saw that while 2008's musings had often been rants at the state of Nation, World, and Society, while this year has been largely absent of that flavor of venom. I've issued not one single "Rant Alert!" Pondering 9/11's past, particularly in radio, I again snickered when I saw that this particular 9/11 was the happiest. The irony of this, is that it was also the 9/11  that I "had", by far, the very "least". And, was keeping company with the most affluent man I have ever met!

Irony abound!

After a few hours spent drinking and floating, we were back at Andre's. I glimpsed things to come when Andre played a VHS recording from 1985 showing him as an ambitious young man, on the cusp of of getting married, and contemplating a run for Congress. It also showed his mother, who since has passed away. I was struck by how intensely nostalgic Andre was; often on the verge of tears and repeatedly saying, "I've had a GREAT life." Once the video ended and Stacie had passed out, Lauren, Cody, Andre, and I had a brief but interesting conversation about life. It was here for the first time that I began to sniff an intense philosophical familiarity that I found fascinating considering our drastically different backgrounds. I hoped I'd get a chance to hear a bit more from his unique perspective, and get an opportunity to explore the growing sense that, again, I was there for a reason. Indeed I would...

9/10/09: Portland-King Andre of The Willamette

With the confirmation that I was traveling, the captain of the boat invited me aboard saying he could get me 20-miles up the Willamette River. As I was lifting my pack to climb on, Dave looked at me and said emphatically, "Todd, GO!" This was something Chris and I had talked about, and I was not about to lose to chance to hitch a boat, especially one going that far. This little jaunt to Astoria, or so I thought, was getting interesting!

Once settled aboard, the Captain introduced himself as Andre. He was from the start a dynamic, forceful personality. The dreadlocked kid was Cody, and was from near Kingston, Ontario. The two had met earlier in the week at the end of Burning Man when Cody was looking for a ride to Vancouver, and Andre answered the random yell. 14-year old Javawn was also on board, wearing formal attire including a tie, that I later learned was his school uniform.

As we sped west down the Willamette, Cody quietly yet emphatically impressed upon me how he had hit the Vagabond Motherlode; eating $90 steaks, having an I-Touch purchased for him after cleaning Andre's camper, living for the week on a yacht. Andre was obviously the richest, most generous man Cody had met, and he was openly riding the A-Wave as far as it would take him. I was unsure how that affected me, but he seemed to think that I was about to be swept up in it. I highly doubted that, and was happy to enjoy my ride up the river... to wherever.

Wherever turned out to be in Scapoose, at Mark's on the Channel; a restaurant catering to the plethora of boaters and floating homes along the river. Andre pulled in, music blaring and to much fanfare, moored the Master Craft, then ordered me to leave my pack on the boat and follow along. Andre had announced that the trip out here was so that his nephew, Javawn, could take his first plane ride: in a WWII German Messerschmidt. Really? Really.

Andre was meeting up with Howard, who owned a construction company and was also a pilot. Javawn and Howard almost immediately disappeared, while Andre introduced me to Mark, the owner. It became apparent that Andre was a valued customer when alcohol and quiche- snacks began appearing seemingly out of thin air. There was no mention of money, and when I tried to verify rather I was expected to pay, Cody just winked and indicated to me to drink up. OK... I'm capable of that!

Pretty soon, we all heard the distinct buzz of the Messerschmidt, and were peering into the sky at what must have been an incredible ride for a 14- year old, or anyone. I continued to notice how Andre was treated; as though he were a captain of industry. I also noticed that he was hobbled, as though by acute arthritis. But, the more he drank the better it seemed to be. The alcohol continued to flow and, as the buzz intensified, I had no idea what the hell was going on! Cody and I had struck up a conversation with "Mandela," a South African ex-pat who now lived nearby and works in finance. The three of us dubbed Andre "Dos Equis Guy." The most interesting man in the world.

Drinks continued to magically appear, and the night took the form of an obvious, extravagant party. Andre, never shy about dictating, ordered us all back aboard the Master Craft; it was getting late and past time to get Javawn home to his mother! Mandela joined us this time, and without so much as a discussion, I was again speeding down the Willamette, this time back to Portland as (hopefully!) Andre's guest! If not, this would be a difficult, drunken stealth camp!

It was past dark as we coasted down this river that divides Portland down the middle. With downtown immediately to the west, I marveled at this life. Waking in the weeds in The Dalles 12-hours ago, and now I was randomly partying aboard an $85,000 boat with Dos Equis Guy on a river in downtown Portland! And, the night was obviously only beginning.

Soon, Cody, who at 21 has no shortage of testosterone, requested women. Andre obliged. After a quick phone call, Lauren and Karen were boarding the boat from a dock downtown. Karen was in her 30's and works for Wells Fargo Bank. Lauren was a very beautiful (exquisite?) 23-year old from Boston, and Karen's cousin. She was in Portland working for a video company that happens to be involved, to some degree, in the porn industry. Cody took to Lauren immediately, while Mandela and I laughed realizing that we felt 19 again!

We all felt the need for more booze, so Andre docked the boat at a bar on Portland's southwest side. We were told they were closed, but Andre "worked hi magic" and they actually opened the place back up for him. Quite impressive, this Dos Equis Guy! However, the staff was openly annoyed by having to remain, so with an aire of indignation, we took Andre's money elsewhere: To Karen's boat to pick up gallons of rum and tequila!

By now, it was well into Friday morning, and after a couple more stiff drinks, fatigue began to catch up to me. Andre continued zipping up and down the Willamette while I reclined and caught a few quick winks. Somewhere around 3 or 4am, we found ourselves at the Oregon Yacht Club and Andre's floating home. I caught a brief second wind, and had an interesting conversation with Lauren about her chosen field of study: Marketing and PR. Before long, I was inflating mattress in the "back tinder"; one of two spare apartments Andre kept behind his two-story floating home. As I drifted off to sleep feeling the slight rocking of the floating complex, I laughed out loud as I again thought about the progression of this incredible day. Weeds to multi-million houseboat. I love this life!


However, Friday (9/11), then especially Saturday would add texture and the slowly appearing back story of what I had been swept in to, and then the manifestation of what had caused the "Sit Down & Shut Up" feelings of the past few days. These are usually dramatic, though not quite to this level, and Andre's was a remarkable story indeed. His story went far beyond that of a rich tycoon who used Portland as his personal playground. His story, when disclosed, would make apparent that this was no random "chance-meeting" with a foundation of fun and frolic. Meeting Andre dovetailed perfectly with everything on this journey. I had a purpose here, and so did he.