Thoughts on Vegans

Three days of mostly driving are over.

It's amazing and slightly sad for me to realize that only three days ago I was in Portland, OR, where the mountains and volcanoes intertwine in the landscape and citiscape.

These long driving days are days and nights I spend thinking, writing, and listening to audio books. I spent much of the country heading Westward listening to a book on the art of rhetoric (debate, and how to win people to your point of view). But the way back, I started with some John Muir, which inspired me to no end.

If you have ever stood in a forest, on a mountain, at the tongue of the ocean, you know what it is to have words so utterly fail you. While there are half a million words (the smaller of estimates I have seen) in the English language,  none of them can truly describe such a scene. It takes full paragraphs, full books even to try to present how it feels to stand in nature.

John Muir has an ability to describe the scene of mountain hikes in such wonderful ways as to bring up every memory I have had of being in the woods and mountains.

Somewhere in Nebraska I switched over to a book called Some We Love, Some We Hate, and Some We Eat. A book about our relationship to animals. I had not researched it much before putting it on (I found it at the library). I can't say I agreed with with author on some of his points, though I could at least appreciate his point of view. Mostly it was a book about logic.

He looked at our society's bizarre attitudes towards animals. How we can have a pet and still eat meat. How we can be animal-lovers, and kill mice or bugs, or other "pests." There were a number of interesting statistics and personal stories shared.

Several studies were presented showing that a majority of people who identify or claim to be vegetarian, actually eat meat, and some quite often. These folks are not vegetarian, obviously, but they think of themselves as animal-lovers enough to say they are. We are complex creatures that can label ourselves something that we are not. But these sorts of contradictions are all around us. And within us.

I do not present this statement to judge. We all have some level of hypocrisy and confusion in us.

One statistic though has been disturbing me ever since hearing it.

There are more ex-vegetarians, than vegetarians.

This is a difficult idea for me for grasp. The idea of compassion is such a deep thread that once pulled upon slightly, unravels many other things. This can be an overwhelming time, indeed! Yet, how, once one has seen a wondrous light, can one turn back and reside in a darkness? When one is freed from a cage, to give up the open field, once again for that cage?

Yes, the cage is easier. It is familiar.

But to know and experience the open field, how can a cage ever be satisfying?

Even the Bible warned the spirit may be willing but the body is weak.

I suppose many folks turning to vegetarianism can return to omnivorism because they have not looked beyond the shallowest waters of the act of not eating meat.

This is a journey. And it is easier to change course early on.

My journey is different, as is my personality, I suppose.

I came to veganism after watching my father battle pancreatic cancer.

Once I decided upon living my life as a vegan, I could never go back. To me, I have watched that other possible future play out, watching my father sit in the chemodrip, and be doubled over in pain, and finally drifting into a wraith-like shell.

I don't think any taste is worth that fate.

I also don't think that saving fifty cents more for food is worth that fate.

Ever.

People talk about diets and food and use the term "cheating" when saying they have a candy bar, or a hamburger, or some cheese, etc. I feel perhaps this is the muddy swamp that can lead the weak of heart back astray. However, the damage even one hamburger does to a body is frightening. And I would like to give heart disease and cancer as little fuels as I can in my body. There was no way I could ever cheat or "indulge." I had no desire to sip strychnine once in while because it tastes good or is convenient.

For a while, this is what veganism meant to me.

Me.

All about me.

My health.

There is nothing wrong with this. However, the thread of compassion will, if tugged enough, start unraveling much deeper and bigger spaces.

As the words and life of Gandhi and Tolstoy began to be a part of my life, I had another large realization.

We must be the change we want to see.

I wanted to see a peaceful world.

That peaceful world starts with me. Sure, we are not perfect, any of us. Yes, I am not some haloed saint. I try my best to live by compassion and peace. Sometimes what I have been taught by society is hard to unlearn. Sometimes I dont realize I learned things in the first place.

But if I don't make a serious and all-encompassing effort, how can I ever expect anyone else to do so?

If I would ever have a hamburger, or a cheese pizza, then that would mean I personally believe it is ok for people to murder other beings. For I can't say murder is bad if I myself am participating.

If I believe life is Divine, and that God is truly in all beings and in all of Nature, do I have any choice but to love all beings fully? Can I really say one life is more sanctified than another? I feel this is the basic root of injustice in our world - that man says one life is more sanctified than another.  

Gandhi's brilliance was in his notions that to create a better system, you have stop participating in the old one, and at the same time build a new one. A better one.

This is what, at it's very best, veganism is. And can be.

Now, this is all about compassion, justice and nothing less than the very end of man-made suffering.

I have no choice but to continue along. Forever.

With each step, attempting to purify and cultivate ahimsa in all I am.

These are my personal experiences and revelations. I can only judge myself by them.  

Adventures in the Tetons

Adventures in the Tetons

I am beginning to learn the importance of carrying a journal.

And using it.

The last few years have been whispering this idea to me, so much so that friends have bought me journals, which I keep in pride on my bookshelf, completely empty of course. As one who travels often, I mean to write out thoughts and stories that I come across, however, even the best intentions haven’t kept me regular at such an undertaking.

This current inspiration sings to me from reading John Muir’s journaling and works. Amidst the great Sierra peaks, he would take nothing more than his journal and bread ration for the day on his person as he hiked and climbed and explored.

Driving for endless hours over Nebraska allows one time to think. And finds thoughts to put in your head.

So the hope of journaling has been revived.

----

Some people are called to a city. Some to a neighborhood. Others to the sea. My callings come from the ragged and majestic spires of the Tetons. Western Wyoming’s sublime vibrant mountain wonderland. Sometimes, I wonder if our pullings and inspirations are thought out years before our knowing. I would know nothing of this wilderness if my aunt hadn’t moved there 30-some years ago. It is doubtful that my travels would have sent me to an out-of-the-way small town in Wyoming. Sure, I would have stopped briefly in Yellowstone and drove through the Tetons en route to some other western city.

But would I have had the time to explore? The ability to return? One never knows. Whatever the intension, I am quite happy with the end results.

The last few winters I have adventured to this rough and wild spot, originally to see if I could find the beauty in a winter that had up to then, only depressed me.

After hours in snow fields, among great pines ornamented in their Christmas best, it was hard not to see the beauty in such truly awesome surroundings. My whole view of winter has been altered since.

This year I looked upon my voyage with particular interest. Being the winter solstice of 2012, I was interested in feeling the energies of such a magical place, on such a magical date. A place full of granite would sing in marvelous ways on such spiritually intense events.

My road-weary van crossed the snowy pass, pulling into Jackson in the afternoon of the 18^th, one day delayed due to a white-out snowstorm that suddenly happened upon me crossing from Utah into Wyoming. The clouds remained low in the sky, but the snow had permitted me a free day to drive through the vast pastures, farm roads, alongside the growing mountains, and finally into their arms.

Jackson is a joyful town in the winter. Lights adorn much of the town. Snow clings to all the buildings in thick layers. The roads are sheets of snow and ice. If one cannot find the Christmas spirit here, one has no capacity for such spirit.

It is also home to the National Elk Refuge, a vast mostly low-lying area traditionally a wintering ground for elk, bison, wolves, bighorn sheep, and many other peoples of the surrounding mountains. Tens of thousands of elk can, depending on the severity of the winter, seek this land and stay the worst of the winter.  

Frequently the large bulls with their enormous racks will forage and sit near the road. I do not know if it’s the salt, some enjoyment of the celebrity, or some other reason that they are drawn to the area most populated by humans.

When I arrived, there were few elk down. The previous days snowstorm was one of the first of the season. A select few hundred peppered the vast landscape and were so overwhelmed by it, these 500 pound creatures seemed as though tiny housecats in its midst.

The clouds and mist continued throughout the next few days. The great Tetons were not visible until nearly the third day, though they abruptly soar 6,000 feet above the valley floor.

Snow cover was light in many of the sage fields, making snow shoeing a difficult prospect. However, one can waltz along the inner park road which is closed to vehicles during the winter. This option is frequented by cross-country skiers and snow shoers.

This wilderness calls deeply to me. It hums a lullabye at night; its messages of love are forwarded by the magpies and jays. And I cannot wait to be in it. Temperatures are slow to rise and had no intentions of topping 10 degrees much of my stay. This makes the early morning rise so easy during the summertime unwise. But no feat of cold or chill would keep me inside.

My first hike was along the road, sort of.  A gentle trail breaches away from the road along Cottonwood Creek. It was well tracked by skiers, but that day, I was alone , a near-miracle, as it was right at the head of the road where a parking area and the trail to Taggart Lake collect dozens upon dozens of hikers, skiers, tourists, and outdoorsfolk. Leaving the road, the trail lightly follows the mostly frozen creek, bordered on the other side by a large meadow of sage that reaches to the foothills of the Tetons, which rise high overhead.  Three large moose sat in the brush and fragrant bushes just off the trail. Two were large bulls; their brilliant antlers of no use to them now that the rut had passed, though it would still be more than a month before they were to be shed. All three watched me. Pausing, not wanting to surprise them and cause them to stir (and waste mortally important energy), we enjoyed each other’s company for a few moments. I altered my course, leaving them in peace.

Another two moose were foraging on the open hillside a distance away. These solitary creatures frequently gang together in sometimes large communities during the winter months. Perhaps their numbers allow better protection from wolves. Perhaps they just like some company when it’s cold and the loneliness is most pronounced.   

After a half hour or so, I made it to a set of cabins in use by the park service, where I turned slightly and made a trail perpendicular that re-connected with the road a ways from where I started. From there, I continued along until I reached one of my favorite summertime places, Lupine Meadow. In warmer months, the wide meadow is filled with the purple splash of lupine. Enormous boulders dot the meadow, reminders of the ever-changing mountains. This trail is frequently not well tracked in the winter, and as I had tracked it in previous outings, with a watchful eye to the western sliding of the sun, i turned back. The temperature falls quickly, I dare say immediately, once the sun begins setting. A 10 degree evening can sharply turn into a -10.   

Clouds were enveloping the mountains again, leaving only a short window of their visibility. Even at that, only a few peaks and other rock parts were distinguishable from the mist. For the most part, the setting sun was also locked behind the clouds, with a few lines of magenta sneaking out here and there.

 December 21

The solstice.

The morning was spent In various yoga and meditations an organization in Jackson was organizing.  Once my practice closed for the day, I headed out to Granite Canyon. This area is rife with large boulders, open meadows that crawl up the foothills of the mountains, and draw into the forest, eventually up into the canyon, where it crawls until it has reached the 10,000 back shelf. I would not be traveling that far today.

Though the sage was dormant, its perfume seemed to drift in the air. It had snowed the night before, and there was a decent blanket over the 2-3 foot high sage brush, as well as nearly coating many of the boulders.

My trail ended shortly after it wound into the forest. I continued on through the stands of pines decorated so perfectly, they seemed each one as a perfect Christmas tree in some Christmas movie. To not stop and stand in reverence is to be blind to the beating pulse of the world around and within us.

Meadow after meadow passes along this route until finally either turning in to begin the ascent into the canyon or drifting into the forest to eventually make your way away, back to the road.

A lone boulder sat within a few hundred feet of my path, and I set my sights for it. The snow had slid or melted off most of it. Standing taller than I, it was too much to climb with my snowshoes, and as I was unwilling to exert the effort to remove them for a short climb, I leaned back, laying on the granite, breathing.

The mountains were breathing in splendid pslams.

With the ravens adding harmony.

After several “Oms”, and a solid meditation, I made my way away from the canyon. Snow sparkling in the air the whole way, as a real-life snow globe. It also shimmered in the snow covering the meadows. What a surreal disco ball of natural brilliance!

December 27

Swan Lake

A staple in my hiking is Swan Lake. This trail is fairly north in the park, so the snow is generally more, but the trail winds through an inviting and open lodge-pole pine forest. The past summer, this is where I came upon an unhappy mother elk who proceeded to charge for three quarters of an hour before I could get a safe distance away. There was no repeat of this incident, thankfully. Swan Lake itself was frozen and snow covered. Willows lined it and grew in their great giant willow flat on the other end of the lake. The calm is striking here. The silence is penetrating. And yet, relaxing. No sounds from the crows, geese, or people here. 

Just the stillness and crispness of the air.

One can see numerous rabbit tracks hopping out from under low-limbed pines, but as much as I hoped, I did not catch any sight of the little creature that day.  Sunsets here are frequently astounding. The vast fronts of Mt Moran and its neighbors that form the end of the Teton chain turn a light violet, with hints of pink. The sky above and behind them is dashed with darker purples and even the occasional red. The mountains turn blue and the chilliness of their wilderness goes from something suspected to something very real.

Moose tracks dashed back and forth from the forest. 

Welcome to the New Year

We survived the end of the world.

Again.

And now 2013 has blown into town.

As an adult, I don't remember a new year bringing the amount of hope and possibility that this one carries with it. My favorite idea from the Mayan 2012 predictions was that this is the beginning of an age of compassion. This idea is powerful because if we believe that a new age has begun which will bring about great compassion, than it quite possibly will come to be. Reality is all about our own mindsets. Just believing in this new age is calling into being.

So that's where a lot of my giddy hope comes from.

We all look back to see where we've been, so that we can look forward to where we want to go.

2012 was a pretty interesting year:

- Recorded a CD with Colin John

- Played SXSW

- Toured ATL and Asheville

- Attended a moving service on the Anniversary of MLK's assassination in ATL

- Hiked in the Smokey Mtn National Park 

- Wrote, recorded "I Want a Future Too" about fracking (was featured on 350.org's page)

- Toured KC, Denver, Phoenix, Southern California, Sacramento, San Fransisco, Utah, Wyoming, Montana   

   in the summer

- Hiked in the Rocky Mountain National Park

- Stayed a night in Arches National Park

- My girlfriend, Courtney, finished her thesis and got her Masters in Arts Administration

- Wrote an amazing song with my friend, Randi Driscoll

- Hiked in Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks

- Had a photography show in Lakewood

- My bassist, Neil, got married

- Played Chicago Veggie Fest

- Underwent Kingian Nonviolence Training / Became Certified

- Played St Louis for the first time

- Participated in a 250 mile bike rally from Pittsburgh to DC to protest fracking 

- Performed on the National Lawn

- Performed for a big fracking protest rally in Philly

- Began recording a new Bright Lights CD

- Organized the 3rd Peace Week, the most successful yet

- Studied a week with Swami Shree Yogi Satyum

- Created an annual bike ride for Peace (Peace Riders)

- Performed at the World Peace and Yoga Jubilee

- The Akron Canton Airport used Upon Your Dreams in their marketing video (as well as me as an actor) 

- Performed for the 1st Vegan Thanksgiving at Pura Vida 

- Toured St Louis, Phoenix, Southern California, Utah, Wyoming (and heading to Portland) in the winter

- Recorded the song I wrote with Randi Driscoll in San Diego

- Snowshoed in Grand Teton National Park 

- My organist, Michael, had their 3rd child, Thomas

- Began the process for a very exciting CD I can't discuss yet

- Asked to have my photography be part an upcoming show at Malone College

- Met so many wonderful folks

- Was inspired by so many wonderful folks, music, books, nature

- Cultivated some nonviolence in myself and the community

- Had a lot of delicious food!

- Played over 220 shows

- I woke up every morning

Not a bad year, indeed. And this is just a small list off the top of my head. 

We are all so blessed. A good idea was passed along to me through the Peace Project Facebook page, which is this: take a jar and write down all the good things that happen throughout the year. Big good things, small good things. And at the end of the year, look them over. 

Id already have several for that 2013 jar, and we're only a few hours in! 

Looking forward. Things that as of today I am excited to bring to fruition:

- Releasing a Bright Lights Record, the Colin John CD, and at least 1 other CD

- Expanding my practices of yoga and meditation

- Undergoing Transcendental Meditation

- Creating an amazing 4th Peace Week, including the Peace Ride and a huge Interfaith ceremony

- Touring the West in May/June

- Performing for many peace, animal rights, vegan/veggie/ yoga/meditation/spiritual events

- Returning to NYC, ST Louis, Chicago, Louisville, ATL, Asheville, Portland

- Cultivating more nonviolence in my self, and community

- Spending time in nature and mountains

- Becoming inspired by more wonderful people and music

- Bringing meditation to more folks

- Bringing my music and message to many folks

 

And so much more. everyday is a journey, an adventure. Every breath is grateful.

Be the Change.

 

Memorials

The best memorials are not made of stone or written in words.

They are written in our lives.

To know anyone is an enormous blessing. To think that out of all the energy in the Universe, it would ball up and condense into life, on this planet, in this species, in this state, in this town, and then be someone we meet and befriend - well, it's pretty incredible.

In that respect, anyone that leaves us, leaves us too soon. Though life never has lived by our timetables.

It's hard for me to even remember how or exactly when I met Peter. I associate him with Scott's Folkatorium, though I can't be sure if we go back further.

The Folkatorium was a magical place. It was like some sort of vortex. Scott found this space and drew anyone with positive energy to it. I feel in love with it instantly. And it was impossible to not like Scott. He was like what you'd expect Santa to be like in real life.

Or the Dalai Lama.

So it's been at least 6 or 7 years since I first met Peter Hessman. He was a poet. With a smile the size of the grand canyon.

His health was not great when I met him, and I never knew him in great health. He was always resigned to his wheelchair.

Yet, his spirit was unchained. People have told me that I am the most positive person they know. Well, I think Peter puts me to shame. Underneath his straw hat, his eyes were always twinkling and a smile was always perched upon his lips like an eagle hunting a fish.

Peter was a poet through and through. He would write all the time. About anything, mostly small things, things where humor or a pun could run wild. In fact, I had hardly ever heard a poem of Peter's that didn't include some pun or that wasn't written in a humorous nature. Only once, after his cancer returned, and he was facing the inevitability of a nursing home.

He loved poetry so much, he would host poetry nights at his house, since it was hard for him to get out and support his friends. They were always sweet gatherings lasting into the night. His soft voice reading and laughing until it grew raspy.

When my father passed, Peter made a point to attend all the Evening for Chuck events I hosted. No matter how difficult it was to get there, he would come rolling in, grin in place. Not only that, he would always leave me with a touching poem he'd written about me at some point during my set.

Whenever any of us vegans brought food to his house or an event, he would try it, and he would be so grateful for the friendships that even if he hated the food, we never knew.

A gentler soul I have rarely met.

A kinder person there just doesn't get.

He's an example for us all.

Namaste my friend.





    

Winter

Fall has been one of my favorite times of year ever since I was a little kid, something that brought about very ironic and mixed emotions as the coming of fall also meant the coming of school. Not that I disliked school. I just liked summer more.

Once that fall breeze began to freeze, a new joy come over me. Winter!

Winter meant holidays and big meals, Christmas and presents, and backyard tackle football in the snow. Since I didn't drive or have other obligations as a youngster, winter was never a hassle. It was just another thing to be enjoyed and played in.

Long afternoons well into the night were spent freezing cold playing football in on of the neighborhood yards. When there wasn't snow, I would still enjoy throwing the ball around and pretending to be all the positions.

I racked up some impressive stats in those me vs. me games.

And when the snow stacked up, we could run around and tackle each other, constantly hating and loving when our boots would come off, sending frigid snow to take its place. After hours outside, I would come in, rosy-faced and plant myself by the fireplace with hot chocolate, or some sort of hot beverage. The warmth rolling over me like a blanket, wrapping me up and half the time, actually putting me into a nap.

Perhaps it crept in, slowly, each year diminishing in winter bliss. Perhaps it was taken away with a drivers license. Maybe it was one of those collateral casualties of high school. Eventually, however it happened, I grew to dislike winter.

Yes, I loved the first snow, and of course any snow day was greatly welcomed. But I lost the magic of playing in that winter wonderland. Where I once saw football greatness and endless opportunities for fun, I only saw grey and cold.

Did I never notice the winter grey as a kid? Or was it actually sunnier? Is this a certifiable case of my outlook creating reality?

This trend continued as I finished my college career, when winter became ... difficult. As a working musician, I traveled in terrible snow and ice storms, just to get to a gig. Or, worse yet, the shows would cancel as the weather deteriorated. And even when it wasn't blizzarding, people would frequently be scarce at the other wintertime shows.

The clouds seemed to never leave to sky until May.

Seasonal affective disorder - I'm pretty sure I had it.

One grey, cold day, I asked myself, 'Do I really hate winter? Or just Cleveland winters?' If I only hated Cleveland winters, there are other places to go. Perhaps if I found a joy in winter elsewhere, I could bring it back into my life in the Ohio winter. Either way, hating 5 months of the year is no way to live life.

So I booked a tour to Jackson, Wyoming for the last two weeks of December. Rocky mountain wintertime winter. The real winter. Snow is measured in tens of feet there. Cold is really cold - zero degrees is a balmy day.

I didn't quite know what to expect as I crawled out of my van, my boot crunching on the snow-covered lot.

Something was odd already.

It was sunny.

The snow was pristine and shimmered everywhere.

The air was so still and dry that it shimmered as well.

I had walked into a snow globe.

Of joy.

Those two weeks took me outside in 20 below weather, traipsing around in snowshoes in knee deep snow, going miles and miles into the stillness of that marshmallow world.

Standing in an enclosure of beautiful, perfect pine trees, each one an image of the best Christmas tree in any movie, I found that bliss again.

Winter was not the enemy. It was spellbinding.

Yes, everything is spellbinding when in the shadow of a mountain, or alone in a sub-alpine forest, when watching the moose and elk forage, when the bison swing their mighty heads side to side to clear the snow.

But that bliss is more than that.

You see, bliss is not dependent on any external circumstance. Bliss is an inner state.

Bliss is a state where the curiosity of our childhood shines through, where the newness of each minute could bring infinite possibilities.

Bliss is everywhere. It is anywhere.

So I brought it back to Ohio.

Which is not bliss's natural habitat.

But it survives.

And waits with its face pressed against the windowpane in unbridled excitement for whatever winter holds.

Brussels Sprouts

I cannot believe I never gave these little veggies much attention.

Brussels sprouts! Since I had some earlier this year at Pura Vida in Cleveland, this veggie has received new standing in my appetite.

One of my favorite recipes calls for sauteing the sprouts with garlic and onions, and then when nearly done, mixing in maple syrup. You can also add a touch of cinnamon if you'd like, though it isn't necessary.

So good, and quick. This goes really well with rice, coated in a thai peanut sauce.

Enjoy! I look forward to hearing your favorite Brussels sprouts recipes!

   

Snowflakes

It happened this morning.

I saw my first snowflakes of the season.

Maybe it's something that still lingers on since school, but seeing the first snow is always an experience of great joy. In that little instant, I smell the fireplace, the cinnamon, the pumpkin pie, the warm blankets, and the supreme stillness in the air.

That joy, in itself, makes me more joyful. Have you experienced that? Getting a kick out of the fact that you're getting a kick out of something? It's a feeling of being present, I think.

All the trouble of winter is not yet here. Just a few snowflakes, like the first robins returning in spring.

In elementary school, my bus stop was about four house down the street. That little street corner housed a large shrubby tree, the sort of tree you could crawl inside, and it would hide and shield you from the day. Many winter days I would shuffle down the street, puffed up like the Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Man in all my winter garb, and I would press my way into the tree and be in my own world. A world where the wind did strike at your bones. A world where the snow was held at bay. And for a few minutes those mornings, there was a calm and peace that filled every ounce of me.

The last 2 years I have been touring through Wyoming for the Christmas holidays. The great northern Rocky Mountains must indeed have been the inspiration for Winter Wonderland. The pure snow blankets everything and makes you almost swear that the whole scene is faked. The air is still and cold, but fragrant. And clear. The mountains in their yoga reach far into the sky. The rivers fight the frost. And the land seems to meditate.

We'd always have Christmas music swinging as we put up and trimmed the tree. Each ornament would allow a moment of where it came from, before figuring out where it would be going. The fire would be crackling. My dad napping on the couch. And once the lights were up, of course we'd turn off all the other lights, and sit with the twinkle for what seemed like hours.

Actually, my fondest Christmas tree memories involve sitting alone in the dark room late at night, and just being by the sparkling lights. Their reassuring glow could hold me for hours.

And so it is that the brilliant little snowflake finds me as it whirls beyond my vision before uniting with the spruce tree nearby.