"Get A Job!" vs "Save Your Future!"

It's was sort of Spinal Tap. I sure thought so when we gathered in front of City Hall in downtown San Luis Obispo early Tuesday morning.

That was the day that The Monk was walking from City Hall to the gates of Diablo Canyon. We had been posting messages for days, encouraging others to join us. I had no idea who might show up.

Activist Chikako and I arrived first. There was no crowd in front of City Hall, but maybe individuals were hiding until it looked like something might be happening.

Maybe that guy over there at the bus station is a "could be" participant. Or that one over there, hanging out on the corner.

They weren't. In fact, the only other people to show up were The Monk, The Artist who was housing The Monk, and The Native American Activist.

This is the reality. Despite Fukushima having nuked half the world forever; despite decades of pain and suffering in all aspects of the nuclear industry from mining to processing to storage of nuclear waste; despite the horrors of HIroshima and Nagasaki, Three Mile Island and Chernobyl; despite generations saddled with birth defects caused directly by the depleted uranium in dirty bombs; despite the fact that our future is so on the edge it's probably over it… Despite all of that, most people just don't care. Many just don't know. Others know some but not much. Still others know (or suspect) but they don't think it's as bad as it is. And there are always the handful who seriously believe that no matter what the source or amount of radiation, it's all a-okay.

That is our reality and it was a tiny kick to my gut. (I am also realizing that there must have been many people who wanted to but couldn't participate because of jobs. But knowing how many retirees are in our community…hmmm.)

We were all a bit disappointed but that didn't dampen our conviction or our commitment. The struggle is a long one and those who have been fighting for decades have been able to find their own motivation for what they do.

The Native Activist performed a prayer, burning cedar instead of sage. "Cedar represents the east, so for Hiroshima and Nagasaki, I am using cedar instead of sage," she explained, 

Our tiny, motley crew was joined by another activist a few miles down. I love these women! They are not your ordinary mothers and grandmothers. They are FIERCE and FEARLESS, yet seem to be such spectacular peacemakers. I am so curious about who they are, it's all I can do to hold back from poking and prodding out all their past details. But that's a whole 'nuther story.

We took turns walking and driving.

We stopped at a local charter school (closed for the summer) for lunch and were joined by our German nuclear waste expert and his lovely wife.

We all walked the last mile or so to the gates of hell. I mean, gates of Diablo Canyon. We had grown to the magical number 7, the exact number of syllables in The Monk's chant: Na-mu-myo-ho-ren-ge-kyo.

Avila Beach was hopping with tourists and campers, the entire stretch of road lined with huge, expensive RVs.

In a small space between the monster RVs, The Monk stood, banging his drum, chanting his chant. Most people hadn't a clue why we were there. Nor did they care.

One guy saw our No Nukes sign and said incredulously, "No nukes? What? You mean there're nukes here???"

Another man rode by and yelled "Get a job!" It was both sad and funny. It was funny because most of us were retired. We all had jobs. Most of us had wonderful careers. For The Monk, this was his job. It was sad because a job is nothing when there is no future. It was also sad thinking that this man probably would not have yelled that to someone who looked like a member of a Christian group (I am thinking, Catholic priest, Presbyterian minister, Baptist preacher and so on.) Sad, too, how there is a huge bias against religions other than Christianity. How many times have you snickered at a Hare Krishna group?

Humankind is such a dysfunctional group. It's no wonder we have the problems we have. Without changing who we are, collectively, can we really change the world? Can we really hope for a nuclear free future? Can we hope for world peace?

I have no answers, but I do know this. No matter how far away the goal, the only way towards it is step by step. And that's the prayer and lesson of a Peace Walk.

A Taste of Tradition

The second farm/ranch I visited for the Central Coast Grown website was Nick Ranch, a multi-generational cattle ranch. They do everything organically. From start to finish. And that means not just being good caretakers for their cattle, but for their land and all the wildlife on it.

They are all about coexistence. And if you were worried about the karmic effects of eating meat, this is about as good as it gets.

At $30/lb, their beef seemed expensive to me...until I thought about what beef costs in Japan. It costs this much to raise cattle the proper way, but it doesn't have to. Right now, the corporate farms and ranches get all the subsidies. To do things right shouldn't cost this much more than doing it wrong, but today, that's the way it is. Organic farmers and ranchers have to go through extra steps, not just in their operation but paperwork. Meanwhile, those who raise cows in massive feedlots, feeding them GMO corn and shooting them with growth hormones get to flood the market with cheaper meat and still get rich.

But we get what we deserve. We have what we value. If we value good honest food over CHEAP, we will be able to keep these businesses alive and thriving. And preserve a piece of tradition.

All wildlife welcome!

Friends Feed My Soul

Here in Tokyo the skies are dark. Too much concrete and steel weigh down my spirit. Everything seems outrageously expensive. So why am I so happy?

I am surrounded by love. Love from my family, love from my friends, even love from my former radio show listeners (the fans who I have gotten to know well.) It is a humbling experience.

After decades on air, I was sick of it all. I didn't need the stress, the endless hours of work, the exposure, the fan mail... Ugh. Get me out of here. 

What an ingrate I was.

Most of the year I live in silence and isolation. I tell Big Dog, that's why I talk so loudly in my sleep. I have not found a new "tribe" to replace the one I had in Tokyo, but it was okay. I had all the great energy from nature to commune with. But now in Tokyo, reconnecting with all these people, I realize how much they mean to me, how so fortunate I am.

My wacky family and our amazing dinner conversations that can go from heated political debates to potty humor. MM who has inspired me to lighten my life in preparation for The Big Change that she/we believe is coming. Q with all her spiritual wisdom. MS who never ceases to push my creativity buttons. My oldest friend G, always making me laugh. Remember how you made me laugh even on the day of my father's wake?

I can't wait to meet up with the others.

I used to think the best part of homecoming was the fantastic food here. Now I know it's really my friends and family who so completely feed my soul.

Forbidden Fruit

how was it that they chose
an apple hard crisp
to represent the forbidden fruit
seeds dried, black
-- impenetrable, inedible

i would have chosen
something like a tomato
warm, fleshy, moist
lover's thighs, mouth, breasts
ripe, red

don't you think it more apropos?
drinking of its wetness
dripping seeds vulnerable like the rest of us?

That's a poem I wrote when I was 18 or 19, but my love affair with the solanum lycopersicum, the "swelling fruit." the "golden apple," goes way back. In fact, I cannot remember a time when the tomato was NOT my favorite fruit and vegetable. (It is botanically a fruit, but "legally" a vegetable, at least in the United States. Leave it to Americans to have "legal" definitions for produce.)

I tried to grow a tomato when I was in grade school. Maybe fourth grade. I wasn't much good at taking care of things back then and had a long and terrible history of killing everything I looked after: turtles, canaries, goldfish..... But I managed to get one beautiful giant tomato out of the plant. It thrilled me to no end. I could not bear to eat it. I sniffed it endlessly. (I still think there's nothing better than the smell of a beautiful ripe tomato!) I tied it to a string on the end of a pole and swung the tomato around and around. My tying skills were crappy, too, and in no time at all, the tomato came loose and SPLAT! Onto the concrete patio it went. I cried. "I never got to taste it!"

My paternal grandmother, who lived in Kyushu during her last few decades, had a small farm around her house. She grew the most awesome white peaches -- big, juicy and sweeter than sweet -- but now that I think of it, everything she grew was awesome, including her tomatoes. We only visited her place a few times, and only for a few days each time, but I loved being in the garden with my grandmother. I loved eating the just-picked tomatoes right there in the garden with her. Not only was the taste unbelievably wonderful, but over the years, my memory has warped the taste into something mythical. My own homegrown tomatoes can never compare. But I try!

My grandmother was a tough old bird -- uncharacteristically direct for a Japanese, as well as completely independent. She didn't seem to have much of a maternal instinct and was never very affectionate, either with her children or theirs, but she must have poured love into her garden. Unlike my maternal grandmother, she never doted on me, never bought thoughtful little gifts, never played "house" or other silly kid games with me, but she gave me her love of growing things, her love of art and poetry, her connection with nature. It just took decades for these gifts to mature.

But back to the tomato.

"Cherry tomatoes are easy!" swore Big Dog, back when we lived in the middle of Tokyo. So I got a planter and once again tried my hand at growing my favorite fruit/vegetable. Tokyo summers are hot and humid and the plant grew and grew. It was quite an impressive plant, with lots of little yellow flowers. But the flower kept wilting and falling without producing that little swell, the embryo of a future tomato. Fall came and the plant died, without giving me a single fruit. It was a long disappointing summer.


Today, at the ranch, I am able to grow a number of different kinds of tomatoes and I await their season like an impatient lover. Ooo, the cherry toms have fruit! Ohhh, they're sweet -- like candy! Ohhh, here come the Romas. Mmmm, the Brandywines are almost ready... Ohhh, why don't we live in the Central Valley where it gets hotter faster?

Our tomatoes don't really get going til near the end of September, so by the time the major tomatoes arrive, I am almost sick with anticipation. But now, here they come and I am in heaven. Or should I say Eden? This Eve needs no temptress Snake. The Forbidden Fruit is seductive enough.
Canned Love!

Getting Back to Me

Has the situation in Japan affected me that much? I seem to have lost the urge to write, draw, create. Maybe it was seeing all that destruction. I thought my trip to Japan would cure this weird ennui. I thought I would encounter a changed (for the better) nation, ready to shed its old ways and come together to face this immense challenge. Instead, of course, we found out just how much TEPCO was covering up the extent of the nuclear disaster. Bureaucrats were more concerned about "not causing a panic" than disseminating proper information, while politicians merely sought to use the crisis as political leverage in their own factional or partisan struggles.

What's the point?

To add to my listlessness, there was an interminable wait for our vehicle to be repaired in Los Angeles, delaying my return to The Garden...then more matters to attend to in LA. It wasn't until a couple of days ago that we finally got back.

"Everything will be dead," I moaned to Big Dog nearly every day in LA. He was so sick of hearing me whine about how I needed to get back.
"They're just plants."
"And we weren't there for the major gopher action -- I'm sure they've taken over the entire place." OK, so Big Dog cares naught about plants, but maybe talk of gophers will make him want to get back, too.
"There's nothing we can do about it, so stop complaining. I've been holed up here in LA all during the time you were in Japan!"
"I should have stayed longer," I frowned.
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
We were testy, testy, testy. I could have told him that he could have 1) rented a vehicle! or 2) taken the train back! or 3) borrowed a vehicle from his family -- everyone seems to have more cars than they need. But I was too...listless.

But here on The Ranch, it seems like life carried on without us. A few seedlings did die. The greenhouse seems infested with ants and aphids. There are surprisingly few strawberries and not a single cherry left. Much has bolted either from the heat or water-stress. And there are gopher mounds everywhere, but amazingly they have not taken over the place. Many plants are still alive. Some are actually thriving! My summer garden is a jungle of haphazardly planted things, weeds, volunteer arugula and chard.

I was wrong to think I could find strength in any society. Nature is where my power source lies. Maybe I can finally get back to Me.

Still Speechless

Full Circle

I think it was earlier this year. I came across Alicia Bay-Laurel's website.

If you grew up during the 70's you might be familiar with her book "Living on the Earth." Or maybe "Being of the Sun." Alicia lived on a commune and wrote beautifully hand-scripted, illustrated manuals.

Reading how Alicia wanted to one day learn Japanese compelled me to write to her. I told her that her books became a sort of inner guide as I navigated through the time and space of Tokyo. During the following decades, as I worked in the World of Media, that guide faded into the background, but one day, as I was cleaning out my mother's attic, I found my old, beat-up copies of her books. How crazy, I thought. Look at me now. Trying to "live on the earth" much as I had dreamed all those years ago. "I feel like I've come full circle," I emailed her. And that I would be happy to assist in any language related matters.

It read like a dumb fan letter. Ready to be ignored. But, no! I got a lovely, warm reply and we started exchanging emails. She made me feel like I had known her for ages. (Actually I HAD! I just had to wait more than 3 decades for her to know me!)

And then the synchronicities started flooding in. We had mutual friends! And now we were going to be in Japan at the same time!

We met in Japan for the first time, although for me it was like reconnecting with an old friend, as the synchronicities kept adding up. Not only had I come full circle, but the circle (en) of connections (en) kept growing. Keeps growing.

But, why should I be surprised? We are ALL connected...really...in the en(d).

(Indigo plant from Alisha and my new friend, B.'s yard. He uses it to dye his silk, made the traditional way.)

My Personal Lava Lamp

The floater is still there, like a lava lamp blob today. My own personal lava lamp!

I've always believed that physical problems are merely symptoms of inner problems so I tend to look at them metaphorically. My current eye condition is driving me crazy as I wonder what I could possibly be "turning a blind eye to" or what truth am I trying not to see?

I just can't figure it out. All I can do is zone out and enjoy my floating blob.

Original Sin

The gophers got almost all of R's potatoes and she fears the garlic is next.
"And I spent nearly twenty dollars on those!" she cries.
Her fiancee, J drives up with dozens of new starters -- squash, peas, beans joining their 40 tomato plants already in the ground -- and we talk gophers for a while. They're thinking of the chewing gum ploy so I tell them to be careful not to get human scent on the gum. I am beginning to think that was my problem last year. (Our house painter told us about her friend who uses empty aluminum cans, buried every three feet, around his vegetable plot. The gophers hit them when they burrow and the sound of their little nails against the metal freaks them out. Or so she says.)

They've gotten all my hollyhocks and many of my cosmos. (I'm hoping that the cages protect my food plants.) I've gotten 3 gophers so far this year. It sickens me each time I kill a gopher.

All this carnage makes me think of Original Sin. I don't think it has anything to do with our knowledge of right and wrong, but our need to kill life to sustain our own. The gopher situation has thrown it in my face, but every one of us, and in fact, every animal, is a Creature of Sin.

"That's why I'm a vegan," you might say. But as long as you are killing plants for food, you also have The Mark. A purist would only eat fruit.

I believe the real Garden of Eden would only have plants and a few insects, like bees and worms. No taking of one life for another.

Today, my snails go back into the wild. We're leaving The Ranch tomorrow and I haven't built up the nerve to cook them. I am sure BD is thrilled not to be witness to another part of my weirdness and I'm just as happy to get away from the Killing Fields for a while.