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I stare at my in box for 10 minutes, there is an email at the top, I don’t want to open it, I don’t want to know what it says.  I delete it, then I hit control alt delete and clean my entire mail, time for s fresh clean platform in my cyber cafe.  Letting go comes easy for me, sort of. Moving on, starting a new direction it’s all part of the creative process.

Tonight I’m having wine with Barbara, she is in from Europe on her parents Catalina 34.  When morning comes she will slip the lines and a whole new cycle will start for all of us.  That’s what summer in a resort is like, people always coming, always going but I’m always here, I can’t take the stagnation.  I have a pile of gear waiting for me at the post office, I’m trading my foulies for light weight rain gear, my Xtratufs for bare feet and my fancy pressed uniform for my purple man kilt.

I’m a drifter, a vagabond, a transient a dirt bag explorer, I have many names but guru or role model isn’t one of them.  I continue to turn down advertising offers mostly because advertising sucks but it’s a double edge sward.  I’m not rich by any means but I’m getting used to having a few bucks in my pocket, the freedom to buy food, and my new shelter.  This is where it all begins, the downward spiral of upper mobility.  I spend my little free time searching for a cabin in the woods or a cabana on the beach, anyplace that I can both stand up in and lay down in.  Hot water and a flush toilet, a window to peer out of.  How far I’ve come from that day surrounded by dozens of rows of executives in thier little cubicles.  Each set of rows was a group, the rows went on as far as the eyes could see.  Staring out the window at a passing summer storm I Made a break for it.  I raised my hands to the heavens and soaked in every drop of beautiful rain.  

Soaking wet I walked back to my cubicle, my home for 12 hours a day and packed my bag and walked out on my life.  Was it really that I bad? A big leather chair, heat and air conditioning, more money than should ever be earned for sitting in that big plush chair.  I had a little headset so I could crunch numbers while I chatted on the phone, my nice car in the parking lot and a beautiful coastal home next to my boat.  Now sitting on the other side of that window, that day, that life I can’t help but wonder.  Has anything changed?  Have I changed?  I could say yes but I will say no, I’m that same old person hypnotized by money and willing to trade my life for it, to chase investments and Capitol and power.

They say once you are a smoker you always are a smoker, all it takes is one drag and you are hooked again.  Money is the same way, it’s a disease, one we all want and we can never get sick enough to get better.  Living on the hard cold ground, I’m at one with my bunnies and the deer, they all know me and that I’m safe but I know myself and I’m not.  I’m not safe, not from myself and not from the world, I’m a potential nuclear explosion of consumerism and waste and greed.  A ticking time bomb willing to have what I want regardless of its cost to the planet I live on.  I buy from communists, create a market for horribly toxic chemicals that I place on my boat in the ocean that I act like I love.  My foot print is huge, I’m willing to settle and sell out.  No I’m not a leader, I’m not a role model and I’m sure as hell not your guru.

 From the log of Sookie, missing Chloe.  If you want to live a better life follow your dog, they need nothing, love everybody and are always happy, cheerful and ready to please.  Chloe was and still is my guru…

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