When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must first find in himself a good and sufficient reason for going. This to the practical bum is not difficult. He has a built-in garden of reasons to choose from. Next he must plan his trip in time and space, choose a direction and a destination. And last he must implement the journey. How to go, what to take, how long to stay. This part of the process is invariable and immortal. I set it down only so that newcomers to bumdom, like teen-agers in a new-hatches sin, will not think they invented in.

Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has a personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip. Only when this is recognized can the blown-in-the-glass bum relax and go along with it. Only then do the frustrations fall away. In this a journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it. I feel better now, having said this, although only those who have experienced it will understand it.

-Steinbeck, Travels with Charley

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact’ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

- J. Keats (1817)

my feet have finally found there way to african soil! arrived yesterday in marrakech safely. a shared taxi ride with 6 large men. a visit to a mosque and djemna al fin. snake charmers; tea a la menthe; music and dance. evening found me in a circle smoking real shisha and playing cards with ten moroccan brothers. the days have lost count: living is simple. tomorrow begins an 8 day journey through the sahara desert… it is difficult to type on an arabic keyboard. i am safe. a short message to wish you all a joyous new year and eve of celebration!

with great love, joy and sunshine

rae

this holiday season called me to a small village in france. an ecumenical community. the days simple, quiet; meditative, and numbingly beautiful. i have met people of all nations, have crossed languge barriers and celebrated simply, genuinely the birth of Christ Jesus. i am reminded of how good it is to be in community. to be in prayer, silence and song. to feast on the words of the lord, the promises of our maker.

during this season and all seasons; may you hold dear to loved ones and may you rejoice! for He is good.

this song (below) was sung over me as a babe. it is one that has carried me through all times and all seasons. i feel compelled in this season to share. where there is birth there is death there is life.

we aint got long to stay here.

ps- the white dudes pete seeger.

JOYEUX NOEL!

Sometimes I wonder if I am cut out for this blogging phenomenon. The desire to post comes in waves…I have traveled more since my return from the motherland in Septemner. Here is a sterile recap: (photos included to make up for my current lack of words).

HAMBURG: to celebrate Germany’s day of reunification.October 3rd. Franny and I made the 6 hours drive, finally arriving in Northern Germany at 2:30 am. Stayed with Philipp and new flat mates. Visit to the Reeperbahn aka the sinful mile, the port of Hamburg (2nd largest in europe) and our traditional night out on a soul/funk dance floor! Dancing with these 2 is something I am one day going to really miss. The days were of course packed with Family Guy hysteria and musical oddities. The seaside city reminded me much of Seattle, the smell of fish, the endless skyline -only no mountains…

MUNICH: Ingrid opened for Jason Mraz and invited me to celebrate her last day of her first European tour. I had the pleasure of hosting she and lovely side-kick Allie twice  at the Q and in my home last year. It has been wonderful to see Ingrid’s growth as an artist and her recent successes: sharing the stage with DMB, opening for Ray Lamontagne, a third album and much more. This too made me nostalgic for Seattle and the dozens of artists that I have witnessed flourish and am blessed to call friends….Oktoberfest was ending, the madness fading away. We didn’t drink beers, but after a long search a traditional dirndl was finally found- and jack and cokes were drank oder drunk….

DRESDEN: German Wings offers a 19 Euro flight special. ‘Blind Booking’ they call it. You pay and pick the days of travel then they tell you where your ticket shall take you. I ended up in Dresden for 2 nights. The city that was nearly completely destroyed in the final weeks of WWII. Stayed with a lovely french/german couple.  Zwinger Palace. Elbe River. Slaughterhouse 5. The picture below is from Kunsthof Passage, an artsy little square in the new city. A Dr. Seuss-esqe way of rain catching.

TUBINGEN: a University village 40 km from Stuttgart. Classic german town. Mmm. delightful. 

PARIS: deserves a proper entry… Sigur Ros live. Père-Lachaise. Joey and Mallory. Obama victory party. Am I a qualified European if I enjoyed the hell out of the city and not once laid eyes on Miss Eiffel?

BUDAPEST: A second attempt at the German Wings great offer took me to Budapest. “The Paris of the East/ The Pearl of the Danube”.  Met an old Seattle acquaintance and toured the great city. Vörösmarty Square. Christmas Market. St. Stephens Basilica. Buda castle. Jazz on the Danube. Turkish baths, oh the turkish baths!

NURNBERG: Lauf an der Pegnitz. Return to the holy land, indeed. Drew’s team defeated the #1 ranked in a crazy upset. Carolyn and I cheered from the “stands”  nearly dieing with laughter. The much anticipated Weinnachtmarkt, Ein hundert und dreißig Glas Weine mit Jurgen.

P.S.  I must say that Drew’s rumored man-bag aka purse is admittedly much better in person…

—

There IS much more to say for each of these places traveled, sites seen and people met. I don’t know how to do this. I want to take each of you there too. With me. I think of you all often. Very often.  

Until the next wave, perhaps from the next city-

and with great Love,

Rae.

once i was a princess. typical eh?  the year i was a hippie (when it was cool to be a hippie), my best friend was a jack-in-the-box. great idea, only her box kept knocking me over. then there came the ladybug, the angel, audrey hepburn, a 20’s flapper, the sexy french maid…

ok, so maybe i’ve mastered only the cliché-ist of ideas. never the perfect costume. if europe was down with halloween i know this would be my year.

sorry folks, this is all i got:

*are you dressing up? what as? tell me your ideas are better than mine.

student? …i am a lifelong learner who struggles with others demands to fill my brain with blah blah blah. but folks, there has come the day for rachel to stop protesting institutional education and to find structure/”significance” in her learning. thanks to the university of washington i have now enrolled in distance learning courses, perhaps until i am no longer distant.

In the past months I have been searching the city and asking nearly everyone i have come in contact with: where might i find an artist studio space to rent? i emailed dozens of people, with only a few replies and little help. i asked neighbors and art students and came to the conclusion that what i am looking for may be near impossible to find. seattle really is artist friendly. i miss this.

but finally, dear friends a space has been found…

(only a little preview) ok so, it’s nothing too fancy. at the height of my frustration with an endless search, my host family encouraged me to take any of the rooms in the basement to claim as mine and make into a studio. i chose the smallest, separated from the others by a small corridor and staircase. it has lighting, heating, and its rent free! for now i have a makeshift easel (made from a ladder and an old scrap of wood). in the months coming i think i shall makeover a larger room, the old bomb shelter. it too has lighting and heating. PLUS: 3 electrical plug-in’s, stylish curved ceilings, a half door to outside, a stage and promises safety. 

it feels good to have space. good space. soon i will post under “things she makes”. stay tuned!

liebe grüße,

rae

August 18: London, United Kingdom

Bexleyheath, Trafleger Square, National Gallery, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, London Eye, Picadilly, Soho, Camden, Kings Cross :all in one days work. R in London has felt great joy to be nothing but herself these past days, and with great urgency she is encouraged to be.

August 26: Manson, Washington US

I am in a carpet-less room. I count 4 outlets, 2 windows, 1 gigantic made-for-me closet, 1 door. Lock pushed. There is a light outlet with an ‘R’ sticker not intended to be removed. My ballet slippers (circa 7th grade), which I have been wearing for the last week as moving shoes, lay under my open double window. A purple tank top is laying in front of the mirror next to the pine closet with a freshly fallen glow-in-the-dark ceiling star. Backpack and books (all that I entered the country with) are near the door, and me on my twin sized bed lay in the middle of the room. My bedroom, my blessed sanctuary, has been stripped of everything else. No photos of best friends and warm memories or corsages from highschool dances. Just me..feet dangling inches over edge.

I look outside at neighbor Dalton’s lit up place. Dogs are chasing and pouncing. Crickets chirping. Downstairs I can hear faint voices sharing. My room doesnt block out all noises, you get used to this is in old houses. Mine is one of the first to be built in this village. It has homed over 6 families in the near 100 years of its standing. Do I dare mention that it once ran as a brothel? No coincidence for its seven bedrooms…I can hear the dryer and washing machine on their last loads a floor down and five rooms over. And near me, lights are buzzing, my breath is steady. We have been packing since eight am. Still I am not tired. Running on adrenaline and nostalgia, the house that homed me for 21 years. 274 Quatas Street. Fawlty Towers. In the week that I have been here I have experienced the aches of moving box after box. I have strengthened muscles unbeknownst to me, forged the sea of the untouched attic, bathed in cobwebs, discovered treasure upon treasure upon treasure, and found peace in chaos.

People move all the time. Home to home. Shelter to shelter. Sometimes it is out of necessity. Sometimes it is a change from a previous way of living. Sometimes with heartache. Sometimes with joy. Always with new beginning.

I’ve lived in a few other places: in a car on Broadway, in a tepee in the Methow Valley, on a 3ft. love-seat in a moldy basement,- at all of these I laugh hysterically, oh how the lord has taken care of me! (And yes, a few nice houses with lovely housemates in Seattle) But this, though long ago, this was once a home. My home. Tonight, I began my parting. I said goodbye to the backyard vineyard, the apple and apricot trees, the lilac bushes bearing dark purple, light purple and white flowers, the 3 large fir trees that always oozed upon me leaving their sticky mark. I’ve said goodbe to the cellar where beer brewed and sauerkraut fermented, the piano that gave music and lesson, the dining room where 30+ people gathered each thanksgiving for fine dining and entertainment provided by the sidekick/surrogate sister and I. To the view of the beautiful lake, the winter snow-capped mountains and the stillness of the ‘village on the bay’- all to you I grant a gracious goodbye.

I found myself looking in the mirror tonight, begging for tears-evidence of emotion, I would think it sanity. They didn’t come when I thought of Africa. When I waited on poverty, broken homes, disease and death. I cannot help in this very moment but be freed for me. To be saturated in joy in this new beginning. I know my heart, how I know my heart, it beats for others. It will cry again for Africa, for India, for the diseased and dying… and soon enough I shall use these tales and these child-like hands to help free others.

The poets have scattered you.
A storm ripped through the stammering.
I want to gather you up again
in a vessel that makes you glad.

I wander in the thousand winds
that you are churning,
and bring back everything I find.

The blind man needed you as a cup.
The servant concealed you.
The beggar held you out as I passed.

You see, I am one who likes to look for things.

I am one who, barely noticed,
like a shepherd
comes up from behind…
One who dreams of making you complete,
and in that way completes himself.

-Rilke, The Book of a Monastic Life