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vagabondpainter-blog · 5 years

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Catching up

It all is so far away now, counted as well in days as in weeks, in kilometers, in miles or in impressions, in encounters and insights, or measured by fruitless attempts to write this blog.

To catch up while still keeping this Text readable, I will shorten things, I will have to be unjust.

The people I met, friends I visited, friends I found, even strangers who gave advice or help before quickly disappearing again along the ever winding road, they all deserved more words of gratitude, the landscapes I've seen, the early morning mists, birdsong, rough hills and gentle streams, they are all worthy of poems, paintings, and some day hopefully I will find the rest to praise them rightly.

And about people, about friends: I will not talk in depth about them here, maybe some of the closest not even talk about at all or just mention briefly. That is because trust and friendship are sacred, I don't want anyone to have to worry about being displayed and evaluated here, or conversations being put on public display. That's why my tale will sound probably egocentric at times. Besides some points I take out of conversations I'm determined to keep this a blog only about the experiences and lessons I came across, to share and hopefully inspire, but leave people their privacy.

So informations about others I'll keep vague and brief except for some relevant points now and then if they are required as context.

For now it's these fragments, learned lessons and impressions:

1] The Kindness Of Strangers

The boat leaves in the late afternoon, yet I'm here already. It wasn't easy to say goodbye to friends. Its the moment when you painfully realize what you leave behind before you find the courage to let things go and to jump into an uncertain future. I'm grateful that there have been friends to be missed, friends waving when I left and many people, places and memories to cherish, so rather say 'Thank you' than 'Good bye'.

Now I'm here, not sure how to store a bicycle on the ferry, what to do and where to go. A fellow cyclist reassures me that everything will be ok and shows how to secure the bicycle before we part and enter the huts.

It is a smooth sailing on calm waters. I take position on the south side and watch, watch how Ijmuiden floats away, see Zandvoort passing in the distance, let memories rise out of the parting waves until much later the last dim reflection of the sun is swallowed by the darkness of the water.

Next morning I watch the sunrise from the front-deck before later slowly the shore of Britain appears on the horizon.

Back in the belly of the ship, bicycle is packed and we wait for permission to get on land. My fellow cyclist is here again and we find out that we worked in the same field, be it in different positions, until lately when I quit my job. Healthcare in general, and psychiatry in particular seems to struggle with the same problems on both sides of the water- lack of resources combined with an abundance of expectations and many self-declared specialists eagerly waiting on the sidelines to tell you how exactly you should do your job. I don't regret my step.

Soon we change the subject, talk about more uplifting things, like freedom, travels, cycling and living life.

I'm glad he offers to accompany me for the first few miles, show me the way and help me get accustomed to cycling on the left side of the road.

While traveling the shore, he realizes that my journey later would take me along the A1, the most dangerous and deadly road of Britain. Plans change and a bit later I find myself in a nice cozy house, greeted by a friendly dog. The family is gathered now, they brought dutch scones and there I am, arrived in Britain, eating dutch bread and being made welcome.. and grateful.

Later they even offer me a lift along the A1 so I can continue my journey quite a few miles north on a safe bicycle path.

Actually- actually I made a promise to myself when I gave up my home- to leave every place I visit a little bit nicer, tidier or kinder then I found it, be it a small bit within my powers only.

Yet here I am, receiving all this kindness and struggling to find a way to give a tiny thing at least.

A small contribution I might be able to make after all- the lady of the house is an artist and I hope to come back and spend some time, exchanging tips and knowledge about painting.

It won't really be able to repay the welcome, they didn't know how much it meant- this first encounter on the new path, a sense of home in the world out there.

2] Of Hunters, Vegans, Spiders, Flies, and Shamans too

For my first working assignment I arrive one or two days late.

The bicycle paths in Britain are made for leisure, not for means of transportation, to get from A to B, you sometimes get sent along the beautiful yet rough and rocky road uphill through E to G.

In the morning my host comes to town to give me a lift uphill so I don't need to climb up to the cottage. We soon find out a difference in lifestyle, that either might lead to conflict or to very interesting talks-

While I myself took up a vow years ago to restrain from eating or even using animal products, he is an outspoken and passionate hunter and skillful hunting guide.

Greeted by a friendly dog and a flock of even friendlier chickens I put up my hammock next to a cottage that has seen many years, some of them hard, now regaining its beauty under its tenants committed work.

Not only the growing vegetables outside provide some common ground to get along, we soon find out, as the Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh once said: “If you wish to be understood, you should listen very carefully”

I put aside any prejudice and get a chance to actually learn- a hunter may just as much care about nature and all life in it as the convinced vegan.. not every hunter of course, some are in it for profit just as some vegans are in it for pride.

Those others, those on both sides who actually do care, more and more appear to me as devoted parents arguing about the best cure for their sick child. Later I will briefly encounter a native American shaman and will have to realize that those revered ancient cultures are hunters too.

And when I rescue a little spider after that the other day, it strikes me, how many other insects I might have sent to certain death by saving this one predator...

In the end it seems that our technological power has by far outgrown our human wisdom and it's estrangement from nature what deceives us to take extreme positions- on one side some are abusing sensible, breathing, childbearing live as if it where an industrial product, which makes us a parasite in the organs of life, while on the other side we might not interfere when necessary and so get complicit in catastrophes out of fear of causing individual harm, which is neglect of our responsibilities as intelligent life form.

Life is sustained by devouring itself in any form. In the complex web of interdependence I will continue to avoid harm, but I also learned to judge less those who are willing to intervene, it's the caring about nature, the respecting of life and the willingness to learn about them, what defines whether our actions are righteous and wise, there is not one answer that fits all circumstances.

3] Anam Cara

The path up north led me through the green hills of a land where all the places sound like echoes of long forgotten songs and ancient tales.

Shelters where ready, arranged by friends of a friend, all without expecting anything in return, just out of kindness, setup in beautiful places, the shore of a river, a comfortable trailer in a wide meadow with view on the distant chain of snowy hills, hosts welcoming the traveler, helping and showing me around, and I had to learn that sometimes all one has to offer in return is humble gratitude.

What a strange and beautiful paradise waits in the hills behind Inverness. Anam Cara is the retreat center I work and paint for here.

Lodges and huts are made of timber, stone, from large barrels and from caravans..

I sometimes get lost on the terrain, nothing here is put in a straight line, everything has grown naturally accordingly to the apparent conditions at the time.

It's a place just like its founders and inhabitants, a marriage of Buddhist Dharma and shamanic teachings, enforcing and helping each other by aiming at the same goal from different angles in perfect eclectic harmony.

4] Of Tunnels and Light

At Scottish Borders it is. We follow the shore along the stream, up in the hills, where a long abandoned railroad left its trail, and a tunnel between the trees.

Here, our kind host and guide tells us, many found an experience of transformation.

On a dark day in his life he decided for the first time to go inside.

With the courage of despair he had entered and faced inside this darkness that other darkness which at the time needed to be released. On the other side of the tunnel the light that welcomed him brought the beginning of the change to the better.

We are glad he 's willing to share the experience and I opt for walking first.

Beforehand it all sounded quite easy, just going inside the darkness alone without light and walking through, blindly, until the eyes capture a dim light from the other side.

Now in front of the big black hole amongst the green I doubt for a moment whether I really want to go in.

Threads of fog, hovering at the entrance, weave a mystical web. A chilly breeze greets me as if it where the breath of the earth.

One of the dogs accompanied me on my first steps towards the huge mouth that will swallow me in a moment, and for some time I have the impression the dog is still with me in the dark. I hear my own footsteps and feel this other presence right behind me. Later I learn the dog left me at the entrance already...

Once the darkness surrounds me completely and I should probably feel lost in the void, a deep calm sense of serene silence comes over me, a trust that whatever happens here, is supposed to be and is just perfect as it is. I wander in the timeless spaciousness, listening to my ever slower footsteps.

There is no hurry, no need anymore to get anywhere. While the feet calmly keep going I suddenly loose all intention to either stay or leave. Everything is just about now and now is exactly, perfectly well as it has to be.

Maybe due to a lack of external input, the sense of self dissolves into the black empty space and only a floating undefined feeling of wideness and joy vibrates on.

The first glimpse of light some time later doesn't seduce me to rush, I could just as well stay here, in this very moment for eternity, yet I keep moving.

Never thought the greens of the trees and the grasses, the gentle mos could look as vibrant and intense as they appear while I leave the tunnel. It rather seems, I'm watching the surroundings steadily passing by, then moving myself.

I enjoy the forest with a joy I haven't known so far- like a child looking at trees and clouds and pebbles for the first time ever. I keep walking and keep looking, perceiving without judgment, without naming, without wanting, only looking, smelling, listening, just sensing the stream of impressions calmly arising and taking course.

And I know that nothing ever will be the same, also know now that nothing ever has been the same before. It's freedom to ride on the stream of ever changing appearances without grasping or rejecting, I heard of that, I knew it, could have said these words any time, yet now the tunnel showed that truth in a way, so that I actually could see it too .

5] What is Home?

Back in the Netherlands, coming home from being home, not sure how and why I would deserve this. It must be a natural human kindness I didn't notice before that strongly. Now when I need it, there are friends to let me stay in their place, people offering shelter without expecting anything. I visit friends, I'm humbled and touched by all generosity, and I suspect I might know now, why in some lineages Buddhist monks are obliged to beg for their food- it's only when you depend on others in a way, that you get a chance to realize that, contrary to what the news might tell, human is in essence a very kind and giving being.

I have, for now, just to practice in gratitude to hopefully some day be able to give back.

6] Cow-dung is not Bullshit

Cycling in Germany is a challenge, most roads are forbidden for cyclists, they send you along long winding tracks and don't care to close a path without alternative.

After days of sweating under threatening thunderclouds, in heat, having my navigation gone with the broken phone, getting lost in unknown places, climbing hills without knowing where I am and how to get on, I arrive, days late again.

Now I work at the Schwäbische Alb, there's a small Village on top of a hill and I live here, take care of the garden and paint the portals, just paint, nothing artsy :) but besides being invited to feel at home and greatly being cared for, its my first real encounter with alternative building and painting materials what makes it extra special to be here.

The paint is the etching, burning, kind of chalk that was used for centuries here, but the main lesson is a little building project inside the large shed, a storage room made from clay and dry cow-dung.

I learn from mistakes and from what went well, getting an idea to – one day, some day, after the journeys – maybe build my own alternative home based on experiences and learning ahead.

7] The naked Truth

One more fragment, one I doubted if it was ok to tell, but decided that it should not matter if people think I'm weird, I'm a fifty years old guy giving up a comfortable stable life to cycle around and work without predictable income, not even a pension-plan. I AM weird probably and as long as no one gets hurt I'm free to be as strange as I choose to be.

It's the evening of a hard and hot day, the sun burned my skin dark red and any sweat from cycling uphill dried quickly without cooling me off. I finally find a great spot to spend the night, near a small town or village, but out in the green, well hidden and comfortable.

Before I rest I need to refill my water-supplies and rehydrate myself, also the new used phone I was lucky to receive, does act up, the batteries run quickly, didn't recharge anymore and I want to give it one more try.

It's good as well, to check the vibes of the area, to know the territory and get familiar with the place.

So instead of getting ready for the night I enter the place for a drink and general recharging in the local pizzeria. I'm the only customer inside. The friendly owner refills the bottles and tries to help me with the phone. After a tough day through the hills in merciless heat I enjoy talking to someone before I get back out into the fields. Yet when I tell about the travels and my new life, he offers me to seek shelter at the small terrace next to the house where the guests sit in daytime. It's right at the fairly busy street, surrounded by houses and I'd like my first shelter more, but there are two good reasons to gratefully except the offer- one, it is an act of kindness and that counts more then comfort, two, I slept in fields and woods, in trailers, tents and under bridges, but never in the open air in the middle of a town.

So I set up my shelter, sleeping bag as isolation and the raintarp as cover on one side tied to the fence, the other attached to the bicycle.

A thin tarp provides the illusion of privacy and I lay down in the noise of passing cars and voices on the street.

Now the overheated body starts boiling and burning, however I move or turn, a layer of inescapable

fire keeps me awake. Everything I wear sticks to the skin. Half asleep and half in fever I guess, I remove it all.

A gentle nightly breeze cools me off and sings me to sleep. While I see the stars through the fence it occurs to me, that whoever would find me here, would think I was drunk or crazy. Laying there amongst all cozy houses, bare and naked, not showered for days, hair and beard growing wildly I have finally become a drifter.

And then the image comes before my minds eye, of me laying there, bare of any sign of social status or role, looking like an abandoned corpse, but there is no shame, no fear, only deep calm peace and freedom.

That takes me back into the tunnel. It's the same sense of serenity, nothing to achieve, nothing to loose, nothing to be done, only being.

I will loose this peace of mind again on several occasions, when the wind stands against me, when I loose direction, when I set up goals, but there are more and more times of this deep relaxing equanimity, the acceptance of whatever might be.

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