On the Road Home

I am here again in Los Angeles.  I made it -- thanks be to God.

Sorry for not posting in a while.  Before coming here I was living in a monastery on the central coast of California, south of Monterrey.  My time there was filled with silence, fraternity, prayer, writing, reading, work, and hiking: all things good.  Despite the place's resonating beauty and feel of home, it also felt temporary.  Here, too, at the Catholic Worker in Los Angeles a sense of beauty, appreciation, and love pervades in impermanence.  So many homes have welcomed me in over the past six months and I feel so blessed by this; yet, I am left asking: where is my home; where do I belong; where should I be?  These are difficult questions to answer.  Home seems to imply a kind of permanence and so an answer to the previous questions feels impossible to provide.  Yes, my transitory life arises impart from my youth and personality, but it also runs deeper than this.  We are all strangers and wanderers on this earth.  We are migrants, sojourners, tramps, beats, and bums.  We are all waiting for our heavenly home, which (paradoxically) is this home, but redeemed.  So, I am not home here.  I will never be home here.  I will never feel at home at any place.  My home in this life is the road.  Yet, I will travel to Lancaster in a few days because it seems like home, the place I should be.  How mysterious and paradoxical is this life: the road not taken will actually lead us home!

This is my last post for this blog.  Thank you for all your love and support, especially those who met me on the road and provided for my need.  You are a good neighbor and I look forward to our next meeting, to return the generosity you have shown me! Much peace to all, safe travels in this life, and may we all be home soon!

Elliot 

Life in Poems

I am currently in Oakland, California, right across the bay from San Francisco, living with a community called Canticle Farm.  I've been peacefully starting my days early with some readings and a walk to morning mass in the ever steady perfect weather:

In the mornings here
there is a florescent haze,
a quieted calm, leaving me
mysteriously wonder-struck.  Everything
is new, resurrected.  Promise
pervades, the predawn birdsong
is worship, the first sound of thanks.
The sweeping cool, soon to be gone,
breathes its final breaths, giving
its last to the young warmth of sun.
I too breathe thanks, walking
into the peace of this new day.

I'm getting to meditate often too with the folks from the community.

What if I sat in silence
most of the day, would it
be good; what if I did nothing
but prayed, would I accomplish
a thing; what if I noticed
what was all around me
but never thought
about anything else, would I be
a parasite; what if I worked
without stopping, never
taking a nap or a lunch break,
would I finally be happy?

I've been able to explore other parts of the Bay Are which has been nice.  The other day I visited the San Jose Catholic Worker and wandered a bit around town.

Of course it is okay
for the delusional and drunk
to yell in the park,
it is their home.

The Bay Area is super diverse and I'm learning much from all sorts of people.  Much of my time is spent in the community's garden, tending to its needs.  In addition, I've been cooking for myself from mostly the local produce and doing some food preservation, like canning.

No one is happier
than he who has found
his vocation.  Even
in suffering, pain
is but a means to
purpose, growth.  Life
is bearable, colorful,
a joy and sorrow all
at once.  Meaning keeps
him moving, smiling,
not with a smile of
deceit or lies, hiding
suffering deep inside,
but comes from a place
of sincerity, hope,
for it all happens
for a reason unknown.
One step then another,
life always continues
like this, but the one
who has found
their vocation has found
why.  

I'll be staying here until November 16th then I'll be heading to a hermitage on the central coast of California for three weeks.  Following that, I'll finally arrive in Los Angeles.

In other news, I have a plane ticket home for December 21st.  Turns out I'll only be staying in L.A. for a short time.  I've decided Lancaster seems like the right place to be and will return in hopes of pursuing Catholic Worker type work and life there.  Peace!

Following Jesus into the Desert (and the Mountains)

This past week I've been staying at a monastery in the Rocky Mountains.  It is in the south-central part of Colorado, on the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range where the southern New Mexican desert converges with the rising Rockies.  Cattle ranchers must have inhabited the plains below decades ago but now only a couple eclectic residents who take advantage of the liberal housing codes populate the area, the plains are reserved for state game land.  The desert historically was a residence for Christians desiring to escape the busyness and noise of civilization so to enable a more contemplative, quiet life, one filled with prayer and mediation.  I came to the desert hoping to find this life.

Many retreatents, like myself, come to the desert to rejuvenate one's spiritual life.  Daily work can sometimes become suffocating and the soul needs open space and freedom from responsibilities to regain perspective and strength.  Thus, new life and energy are encountered in the desert.  But the desert historically is a place of other encounters too, namely with our demons.  As the previous desert dwellers knew well, both encounters are essential to our spiritual growth.

In the gospels, Jesus often retreats into lonely places.  Here, he prays and regains perspective and strength for his journey ahead.  Yet the most narrated accounts of these "desert" experiences are when Jesus is tempted by the devil himself to forfeit his ministry, specifically in the desert after his baptism and in the Garden of Gethsemane before his death.  The Desert Fathers, the early Christians who followed this tradition or retreat, also are surrounded by myths of intimate encounters with the Lord and with demonic, anti-life giving forces.  I too have encountered these things.

The mountain air, big sky, quiet mornings, and colorful sunsets quickly inspired a sense of awe within me upon my arrival to the monastery.  How can one not believe in God when they see the sun set?  But as the week went on, when the initial exhale from the city life in Denver concluded, I found myself immersed in thought, in the conscious silence of my own soul, and so encountered the wounds of my fallen nature.  If we are silent enough, if we examine ourselves deeply, we inevitably find the seeds of destruction present within us and their removal is a painful process.  Cuts must be opened, infection must be released, and then the healing can begin, but as alcohol is applied and cleanses the sore so much burning occurs: War is hell and suffering is hard but we must endure the pain.

We are all sculptures, being carved into masterpieces.  We are all clay, being made into beautiful pottery.  We are all getting tattoos: a piece of art is being etched into our skin and sometimes it hurts really bad.  Sometimes our friends, though, bring us cookies or we get inspired by other tattoos in the artist's collection and are encouraged to sit in the chair a little while longer.  Sometimes, too, we need a break for a few minutes and the artist knows this is okay.

Life is not all pain.  It is also sunsets, long hikes, and a warm cup of tea.  Spiritual progress requires both of these things and so they are good.  The desert continues to offer rejuvenation and challenge and I too have benefited from encountering both.  Hopefully others will continue following Jesus even into the desert.  

The Wealth of Poverty

Poverty, Dorothy Day said, is an elusive thing.  We are always deploring it while advocating it at the same time.  Dorothy's words here ring true to my own experience as encountered recently through my stay on two farms. 

While reading one day at the picnic table outside, close to the outdoor kitchen where Karan was preparing lunch, I asked my host who was mindfully maneuvering between tasks, "So, would you say you live in voluntary poverty?"  I asked this question because Karan and her family live without many of the things typically found in a modern household.  Also, being familiar with the Catholic Worker and therefore likely the term's general definition, choosing to live with less in order to gain some moral or spiritual benefits, I thought she might understand my language.

She paused, and responded, "Actually, I feel like we are really wealthy so I probably would not use that term."  

Her comment struck me because it was true.  This family was so wealthy though they barely could pay the few bills they owed each month.  Their wealth was displayed in the everyday beauty of their lives: meaningful work; a deep connection to nature; time for family and friends; time for shared meals and daily prayer; time for music and worship; a creek to wash off in; good food; no commute; rest on the Sabbath: so many good things!  How much do people pay for these things today?  Money, and more money, can help bring these things about, perhaps, but money too can prevent their acquisition.  Many are, as Wendell Berry once wrote, "helplessly well employed" (emphasis added).  The seemingly good benefits of career and other pursuits, which attempt to bring us the good things of life, may actually take them further away.  The broad road our culture presents, like that of "progress," may actually lead to destruction.  Thus, Karan and her family, in choosing to limit their technology use and do subsistence farming, are attempting to get to the roots of things, ignoring the lies of our culture so to obtain the good things of heaven and earth, and their success is demonstrated in the beauty of their lives.  

My understanding of wealth has been put into question and now I am understanding more the old adage, "the best things in life are free."  Yes, what is wealth when it cannot buy the good things in life, what is poverty when it can provide all we truly desire? 

For the record, I still find the language of "voluntary poverty" helpful because it articulates a way of life based on the everyday understanding of "poverty," namely that not owning many things is disadvantaged.  Saying, then, that one lives in voluntary poverty communicates a choice to live without some of life's goods in order to gain some other benefits.  So, I continue using the term, though now I'll have Karan's comment in my head whenever I use it.  

Oh poverty, you continue to elude us.  

Hitchhiking and the Unexpected

How do you identify a good person?  Is it, "the cut of their clothes or the length of their hair," the car they drive, their wealth, their smile, their fruit?  Alexander Solzhenitsyn once said that the line dividing good from evil runs not through governments or social institutions but right through the heart of every human being.  Good and evil are in each of us.  Sometimes one is more apparent than the other, but they are both there, waiting to come out.

My travels, especially through hitchhiking, have challenged my assumptions of what makes a person good, especially the outward signs.  Many persons who showed me much kindness and hospitality were folks who on first appearance seemed the least likely to do this.  I think of a guy who picked Jack and I up in North Carolina.  He was an atheist and was dressed like Hugh Hefner, the founder of Playboy, from a party the night before.  He had recently been to a Grateful Dead reunion concert where the band told the audience, "Do good," so he thought he should pick us up.  I think of Richard, who wore a Nirvana T-shirt and recited memories from his days as an aspiring musician.  He took us through Indianapolis then left us parting gifts, jewelry he had been wearing because this was a tradition of his music counter-culture.  I think of Brendan and Sheila, who saw on Facebook that two hippies were hitchhiking in Springfield and needed a ride so they came and drove two hours out of their way to take us a bit farther down the road.  They bought us dinner too.  Brendan talked of friends hopping trains and Sheila smoked in the passenger seat.  They too saw themselves as deviants in the town we left together.  I think of Jim Beanblossom, an arborist who wore long hair, a scruffy beard, and a pink birth mark over his right eye.  His first words to us in his thick southern accent were, "Get in the truck boys, I can take you fifteen miles then I'm giving you twenty bucks."  He did, and also bought us smoothies.  I think of the anonymous man who pulled over on the side of the road to see if we needed a ride.  He drove a truck and looked like a construction worker on his lunch break.  We didn't and so declined his offer but he handed us a lottery ticket worth $200 and drove away. 

The list goes on.  So much kindness and hospitality have been shown to me so far, it is overwhelming.  Many of these folks appeared lower class based on their vehicles, many were hippies or former hippies, Dead-Heads or some other ragamuffins who defied the stereotypes I consciously or subconsciously put them in.  Despite the apparent evil which seems to plague our culture, much good is out there too.  I suppose trust, hope, and vulnerability have allowed me to see this more now than in other seasons.  This is not a bad life.  

1. Johnny Cash, "What is Truth," Johnny Cash's America.
2. Alexander Solzhenitsyn, "The Ascent," The Gulag Archipelago. 

I will travel to Cincinnati tomorrow, there I will part with Emma, a friend who has traveled with Jack and I on and off for the past month, then in a week I'll part with Jack, surely this will be sad.  Afterwards, I will begin heading more directly west, living on a farm in Iowa for a bit then arriving in Denver towards the middle of September.  Keep Jack, Emma, and I in your prayers.  Peace!  

A Precarious Beauty

God says he provides for the lilies and the sparrows, how much more for us?

I am currently living with a community in Atlanta Georgia, and like many of the communities I visit, it is completely run by donations. They give much away, they do the Works of Mercy, the work Jesus told us to do, and trust that if the Lord wills the work to be done he will provide the way for it to be so. They live precariously, on the goodness and providence of others, and they are provided for.

Like the life of these communities, my life in this season is intentionally precarious. I want to trust in the goodness of God and others. I read Jesus’ instructions to his early disciples, to go from town to town with nothing but the bare essentials, announcing the kingdom of God through word and deed, trusting others for provision, and believe that this call is still relevant to us today. The heroes of the faith, like St. Francis of Assisi and Dorothy Day, seemed to do the same. God calls us to great things and his promise to provide remains true in every season.

I have seen his provision much on my trip. The other day I hitchhiked from Greensboro, North Carolina to the Appalachian Mountains on the western side of the state, and due to speedy rides and waits, managed to get to my campground, eat dinner, and set up camp before nightfall. A journey that potentially could have been stressful and pain stricken turned out peaceful and mild. I even had time in the night to walk into the small Appalachian town of one stoplight located beside my campground to enjoy some cider and journal-reflection. The bar played Bob Dylan and bluegrass, the folks upfront talked with thick, nearly unintelligible southern accents, the cider left a savory taste on my tongue, and my soul was overflowing with gratitude for the beauty of life.

A really great and unexpected provision God has brought into my life is a great friend and travel partner, Jack Leason. I met Jack at the Catholic Worker in New York City, shocked to find that he looked like my doppleganger and equally surprised to find that he had come to the States from New Zealand to do basically the same thing as me: tour the country and visit a bunch of intentional communities and friends. We quickly connected and have coordinated our schedules to travel together. A week ago, when I was in the Appalachians, we were attending a music festival and had temporarily escaped the crowds to rest in the shallow yet powerful river which flowed between the surrounding mountains and bordered our campground. We sat with our backs to the current and enjoyed the water’s natural massage. I thought aloud to Jack as a new realization crossed my mind, “God said he would provide for his disciples when he sent them out, and this was an important idea for my trip, but I didn’t pay as much attention to another detail of the story, God also sent the disciples out two by two.” I knew companionship was essential for the journey and knew I would need to seek it out, but Jack’s presence in that moment seemed a confirmation of sorts: that God still provides for his children, that they are still called to great things, and he will still make a way if we let him.

I will be leaving Atlanta tomorrow, to meet up with Jack and some other friends in Asheville, North Carolina. In a few days we will begin the Mid-West leg of our journey, visiting a number of communities and friends in a relatively short period of time. Keep us in your prayers. We are praying for you.

Links:
- The Open Door: http://opendoorcommunity.org/

It's Been a Minute

What Happened to Elliot?!

Hey everybody, sorry for not updating in a while.  Inspiration to write (not that life is uninspiring), time, and computer access have been lacking.

Anyways, I am currently in North Carolina visiting some friends.  In the past few weeks I have been to a Catholic Worker farm in eastern New York, visiting friends in Philadelphia, and, most recently, protesting the death penalty in Washington D.C.  Soon I'll be heading to western NC for a music festival then to a Catholic Worker called the Open Door in Atlanta.

What I am Learning

An important characteristic of my journey on the road is voluntary poverty.  I carry little in order to gain much.   St. Francis of Assisi once said that marrying Lady Poverty was like marrying the most beautiful girl in the world and I think I'm beginning to understand what he meant.

Recently, poverty is teaching me that everything is a gift.  In theory, especially as Christians, we can know that everything we have was given to us.  All is undeservedly received from the Lord, a gift.  Yet often when much is owned the experienced value of each possession is diminished in the dilution of abundance.  A house is worth less when there are several, a dollar when there are hundreds, or a pair of shoes when there are many.

Last week I left my one pair of streets shoes in a friend's car who was driving to Canada.  Realizing my loss, I suddenly understood how valuable my shoes were to me.  My only other footwear on the trip are flip-flops and hiking boots so every other occasion where these are not in use I wear my sneakers.  Fortunately, I have great friends who will mail my shoes to me, who wear my same size and will lend me their own in time of need.  In poverty, I see how my wealth, my few possessions owned, are of much value and are ultimately gifts, things given to me by the goodness of others, God and people.

Poverty has placed me in a position to see a new perspective and thus she is my teacher.  She has much wisdom to share.  Like Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor."

If You are Interested (Further References):

The death penalty protest in D.C.
- Pictures from the event (I'm not in too many!):
https: //www.facebook.com/fastandvigil/timeline
- Information about the event and its organizers: http://www.abolition.org/fastandvigil/index.html
- A good introduction to why the death penalty should be abolished (Made by Catholic bishops but relevant to all Christians!): http://www.usccb.org/issues-and-action/human-life-and-dignity/death-penalty-capital-punishment/upload/5-723DEATHBI.pdf
The festival I'll go to: http://wildgoosefestival.org
The Open Door:http://opendoorcommunity.org