The Mountaintop

I have finished Georgia Tech. I have taken all my finals. Most of the stuff is out of the Duplex ready to go back to Gadrock. Tomorrow morning I head to the Georgia Dome to go through commencement.

And it is looking like I will have quite a plate of options on the table. I have interviewed with / am in the process of moving forward with three different opportunities. One is being on the expansion team expanding AIESEC into Mongolia, and continuing the good work begun by my former comrade Alina and her band of merry Yalies. One is a traineeship for Prime Networks, Ltd., a content delivery network startup in Beijing, PRC. And one is for Mindvalley in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

They all represent radically different possible paths for this new stage in my life. The winds of fortune will have to be read carefully for me to take the wisest path. I intend to be out of the country by August, but if I choose Mongolia I will have to be there by July 1. As the possibilities weigh themselves on my mind at the crossroads, I remember the words of the checkout clerk:

If you want to find the truth, you have to walk through the darkness. In the depths of the darkness where no one likes to tread is where the truth lies.

Those are the words that swim in my head at night when I lay me down to sleep, that buzz through my brain while the steam of the shower awakens me while the morning light streams through the bathroom window. I think they are the calling of my destiny.

But until then, I go with a great companion on a long trip where he will begin his life anew in Seattle, and will drop me off in San Jose, CA; on the way we will commiserate and rest with old friends in Ohio, Kansas, and Colorado; we will hike a bit and chat aplenty. Then I get the pleasure of spending two wonderful weeks with Colin before he begins his MC term working with Tiffany and the others on the AIESEC US Dream Team, the first properly elected and selected such team in twelve years. I'll also be with my new ladyfriend, exploring San Jo, San Francisco (I'm particularly interested in checking out a Long Now Foundation Seminar!), camping in Napa Valley and culminating in AIESEC San Jose's Get Golden camping trip in Yosemite over Memorial Day weekend. Then I fly to New York to visit those people beginning their terms on the MC, and then back to Alabama on the first of June for some much needed R & R after five years of mental siege.

So much to try to experience and prepare for before the next chapter begins in this saga. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Drum Circle

Yesterday I took the time to take my djembe out to Piedmont Park at 4 PM, when Shaun said the drum circle folks met every Sunday.

We sat down on a sunny, breezy afternoon in the small stone-paved plaza / overlook next to The Lawn. The core of the circle had already formed - a couple of experienced and well-practiced black conga players, and around them some people with djembes of various sizes. Mine was the largest and deepest. I can't escape the large instruments.

Shaun played first, and then I played two afterwards. The rhythms were varied, richly textured, and lasted a good long time. I definitely delighted in getting lost in them after I caught my groove. As the player of the lowest-pitched drum I was pretty important so I had to pay attention to providing a reliable beat, rather than indulging in adding garnishes or flair.

As we played to our hearts' content, people came to sit and watch, to listen. Children played and danced in front of us, and so did some adults - dancing skilfully to the syncopated beats, shaking every axis of freedom with the Sun and the people watching on. There were people unconventionally dressed - throwbacks to the '60s, some just not locked into the prevailing fashion, one woman looked like an African godmother. As I watched I became entranced by the very beat I was a part of creating. I closed my eyes and let it flow.

As I subjected myself to the charging tide of the beat of which I was a weaver, one of the paddlers on the grand boat down the river of music and art and life that was happening in the southeast corner of Piedmont Park, I thought about a world or a place where this gathering would be frowned upon, or illegal, or attacked. People dressed differently would be shunned, spat upon, pissed upon, attacked with rocks or sticks or bags full of old food. The musicians would be surrounded by the police, their instruments confiscated or smashed on the ground in front of the illegally gathered crowd who would have to flee for their safety, weeping with confusion and anger and desperation if they were caught. And when those expressing themselves were safely detained, the mouthpiece of the regime would declare to the park: "This has been an illegal gathering in violation of the Code of Peace. You are reminded not to attend unauthorized and unsanctioned cultural gatherings at the risk of punishment under the prevailing Ordinances. Return to your homes."

With that in my mind, I reveled in the small but remarkable moment of expression we were a part of. And I was thankful for the place I lay my head.

Gone Ramblin'

It only just hit me that, oh, I leave for the airport to go to Spain with my sister in a few minutes.

The first time I went to Spain it was like this huge movement and upheaval, but the next time I left the US for another country - to Istanbul, Turkey - it was more like sitting down in a room for 15 hours and then walking out in a new place. It wasn't a huge upheaval, it was just there. I think that's when I truly realized that travel had changed me at the core.

I like that a lot. I hope my sister will come to understand the same thing.

Ramblin' On My Mind

The finals are done.

The room cleanup is done.

And before I go back to my Alabama home, I've got ramblin' on my mind:


View Larger Map

I'm hitting up Boone, NC; Shenandoah National Park, VA; and Roanoke, VA, all for daylight hiking and nighttime jiving. In tow are Shanky, Rob, and one of Shanky's friends.

On a cold winter morning, in the time before the light, we'll light out for the territory and come back Friday night.

It's Been a Long Time, Since I've Seen Your Smile

There is so much more I could be doing with my life than editing a poorly-written lab writeup by my lab partner.

Like:

• Selling traineeships to Atlanta companies so awesome people from around the world could come here
• Getting more involved in WREK, and promoting a better Internet approach for it
• Learning to photograph better
• Learning to cook better
• Getting back in shape
• Looking for traineeships for myself
• Playing MUCH MUCH MUCH more music
• Working on my plans to bust open the world
• Reading more books
• Smoking shisha
• Blogging
  

In VLSI and Advanced Digital Design on a Monday at the Autumnal Equinox

My day is one of path effort delay and flip flops and latches, of masculinismo y marianismo, awful sushi with green Tabasco sauce to make it palatable, reading the news on my Smackberry, fretting for my homework and grades, trying to conquer it all with AIESEC and being conquered by my environment. It is a day of overstaying familiarity and futility of the dream of escape and breaking bonds, of fulfilling my Pyramid and occasionally descending (or ascending?) into a different Way just for it not to be the same Way.

I feel like after graduation and my traineeship I would benefit from one year in a place where the bulk of my day would consist of reading and running, so I could descend into my own underworld, discover the boon, and return it to this plane. Then I would be The Conqueror to our enemies and The Liberator to us.

Labor Day Wockende 2000-Great

I still don't have time to write about the massive month of my life that was August and the immense change therein, but what I can say now is the kind of weekend I had:

Friday night: Enjoyment > Dinner with Family > Walking around Dragon*Con with Gadsden family friends > Going back to the house with my Boys from Bama and enjoying a party downstairs > Enjoyment

Saturday: Enjoyment > Barbecue with family friends at Roy and Dave's > Enjoyment > BAMA LOOKIN' FRESH, MANE! at Alabama vs. Clemson in the Georgia Dome > Going to Dragon*Con with friends and people-watching and people-talking and people-drinking until about 4 A.M.

Sunday: Enjoyment > Karaoke

Monday: Nothing.

Pictures from Dragon*Con:


Tiffany, exhibiting our normal love / hate / pinch relationship


I don't know what she was supposed to be, except camera candy


A Battlestar Galactica nugget initiation party: "SO SAY WE ALL!"


Las mujeres de las peliculas jovenes fantasias. Un poquito Freudesque.


They told me to "Get on your knees." I wasn't about to not comply.

Gonna Bring It On Home To You

Only have time for this much:

I passed all my classes. 2.4 GPA. All C's but one A. Still have above a 3 GPA. That is behind me now. Time to gear up.

AIESEC coming back into major focus. Went to Canada NLDC and there not only was it an amazing conference that is so much more professional than any one I've been to in the US, but they LOVED the engineering PBoX idea, which now has a name: "Engineer the Next Generation" a.k.a. Project01. It was definitely an important conference for me. Plus, the day and night in Oxford, OH was, shall we say, rad.

I plan on enjoying my classes. I plan on enjoying brewing beer in the breakfast nook, courtesy of Thomas' brother's donation while he goes to live the AIESEC dream in Costa Rica for a year. Looking forward to hanging out, in general, and reading, and catching up on some Wii (when it's rainy outside) and riding my bike. But mostly I plan on rocking the AIESEC world and AIESEC GT especially with Project01 and being a better LCP.

Call

I'm ready for something with high gravity, something more sinister than primetime television. I want to pick up my sword (after finding it) and march on My Way.

I want to be able to cast the back of my hand against all the things plaguing my Dream and the world and feel the weight of my arm bring them crashing down like a cosmic wrecking ball.

I want to be worthy of a fugue.

The Hero in P. Rhea

CAMPBELL: Myths inspire the realization of the possibility of your perfection, the fullness of your strength, and the bringing of solar light into the world. Slaying monsters is slaying the dark things. Myths grab you somewhere down inside. As a boy, you go at it one way, as I did reading my Indian stories. Later on, myths tell you more, and more, and still more. I think that anyone who has ever dealt seriously with religious or mythic ideas will tell you that we learn them as a child on one level, but then many different levels are revealed. Myths are infinite in their revelation.

MOYERS: How do I slay that dragon in me? What's the journey each of us has to make, what you call "the soul's high adventure"?

CAMPBELL: My general formula for my students is "Follow your bliss." Find where it is, and don't be afraid to follow it.

- The Power of Myth, "The Hero's Adventure"

When I read this passage in The Power of Myth, they struck me down. It hit me as if begging me to let it be my John 3:16, my Preamble, and the foundation of my Mantra. It is exactly what I have been seeking, the description of what I have been trying to metaphorically relate to my friends about what I am searching for - I used the term "lifequest." But here it is the soul's high adventure. My heart beat about as fast as it can without making me pass out as I read over it again.

Live the Dream. Follow your Bliss. Solar light. Slaying the dark things. All of these threads are coming together at the perfect time - when in less than two weeks I will be back "on track," even though I never left the Path. I just got off the train for a while.

It was especially pertinent because this was the first Christmas in which I voluntarily did not participate in communion. I knew I was not going to, having concretely decided to pick up my sentiments and organize them months ago when I read that there was no record of George Washington ever taking communion, and even having denied it on occasion. Of course, although I believe in the Author - Newton's "clockmaster" - this book, along with inklings in the Ishmael trilogy, has made me think significantly about the importance of a kind of ritual and mythic understanding in my life in a serious way. While my own currents were coalescing around me, I thought of two distinct and important parts of my life that have been described by others, for others, as religion - Alabama football and live concerts.

Football is so popular in the South, not solely for this one reason, but certainly most directly and mythically - the Alabama vs. Washington Rose Bowl game of 1926. Ever since Reconstruction, the South was (and has been) maligned by the economically and influentially dominant North, which was really just fanning whatever flames were left from the Civil War - and prejudice against Southern culture smarted extra-badly when the poverty and ruined infrastructure of the South after Reconstruction was taken into effect. The underdog of Alabama upsetting Washington for the Rose Bowl championship united the entire South in this one thing that they could manage pride for, and the SouthEastern Conference of the NCAA continues that pride to this day. It was that foundation of pride and myth that spawned great import and figures, most notably the coach Bear Bryant and as his symbol the immediately recognizable houndstooth hat he wore, which has become to Alabama fans what red is to Socialists. (Crimson is also like that to Alabama fans). There are ritualistic qualities in a football game, especially one which you attend on a regular basis: it is split into quarters, with music coming at halftime, and the cheers you repeat are designed to get everyone on the same page. "BAMA" shouted by 80,000 people sounds like "Amen" chanted by 100 if you are in the right state of mind. You always hold four fingers up at fourth quarter, because "the fourth quarter is ours." If you come often enough, you hold season tickets and always sit in the same place - just like sitting in the same pew at church. And as with any established religion, orthodoxy, heterodoxy, and all kinds of arcanities and submyths are built up - legends like the Van Tiffen kick are retold side by side with factions of agreement or anger over the administration's banning of the Rammer Jammer cheer, which can either be compared to the Council of Nicaea's state-enforced declaration of the homoousia of Jesus and the Father or the decisions and fallout after the Second Vatican Council. Finally (though not exhaustively), if you switch your allegiance to Auburn not just in heart but in practice, your family and friends will literally undergo the same kind of feelings and actions that are undertaken when a tribe or sect "shuns" its members for heresy or breaking the law of the land. I like Alabama football and Georgia Tech football, but I always thought - and think - my mom screams too loud when we are just watching on TV.

Concerts - shows - gave me more serious thought. Duane Allman once said "Music is my religion, and it never hurt nobody." Butch Trucks, in defense of his former bandmate, described the Skydog as "Messianic" in his effect on those around him. People wouldn't make fun of heads for talking about seeing God and the universes colliding while seeing a Grateful Dead show if they didn't mean it in the first place, psychoatively aided or not. I was raised on the Allman Brothers Band by my mother, which also drove me pretty deeply into the blues I have come to share with Atlanta when I was the host of the Friday Night Fish Fry on WREK. I also, thankfully, had a musical mind that was probably first molded by singing in church, as is the case with many Southerners, Methodists especially. But my true consciousness was not awakened until I saw my first Widespread Panic show at Oak Mountain Amphitheater in the destroyed Medina of Panic shows: Pelham, Alabama. Like the Dead, thousands of young people disillusioned of what their parents had in store for them and empowered by (if not drugs) the sense of freedom they had on the road with their fellow Spreadheads would dance and "worship" at the shrine of Havin' a Good Time. In fact I do not even know why I put worship in quotation marks. It was worship, of the same type that most any congregation that does not bow before idols participates in around the world in any manner of toungues, names, traditions, and divine aims. It was different every time. The ritual was most founded in the reliable structure of a good show versus the way many acts play their concerts. A Panic show is an hour-long first set, followed by twenty to thirty minutes of setbreak to get your beer on, and then a second set that lasts anywhere between an hour and two hours, followed by the requisite exit before the encore, and always (in those days) at least two encore songs, if not three to cap off a heady three-night run. As in any "respectable" society of worship, what you wore mattered - don't get caught with official swag, get Shakedown Street T-shirt gear. My favorite was my "Action Man" T-shirt. If you are in tune as you should be, then your emotion will sway with the quality the band is producing. I had seen someone on a message board describe going to shows as their own worship service, but until I read The Power of Myth I never considered it potentially valid. I definitely found something there for me, but not everything I need.

Then, there are finally the ideas that have come to me as a result of the incredible people in AIESEC around the world. These are the ideas that are beating away the faulty parts of me and most effectively encouraging me to reexamine myself and my Mantra. I never knew people consciously and presently living as heroes and legends until I met AIESECers and AIESEC alumni, and now here I am, drawing out the hero in me. Time and trial will bring about my ritual and my own relation to the Myth, and I am confident in my honesty to myself. I will never stop following my Bliss so I can live the ultimate Dream.

Also, I am kind of proud of my picture of my girlfriend enjoying the Hobohookah on Christmas Eve being a part of the Hobohookah holiday greeting.