What does it mean that someone tried to steal my moped?

Is the world dangerous? Or do I create the danger that I experience?

It’s interesting to explore how I may have contributed to this incident. A big clue was that when it happened, though I felt afraid and angry, one of my major emotions was relief.

The moped I bought was by a company called E-max. It was a cutting-edge, experimental, electric vehicle — it ran on batteries, which appealed to my vague “green” ideals.

The problem from the very beginning was that my objectives were completely unclear. Though the main thing was that it would be more convenient to have another vehicle (we are a one-car household), I confess that the idea of riding a cutting-edge technology zero-emission no-gas vehicle seduced me into buying without thinking it through rationally. Not until after I impulsively put down two grand for it did I begin to question it; and by then it was too late.

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Okay, so I lied. What can I say, I like to be melodramatic. I like to write, too … Still, I probably won’t write too much more about my life after I leave the Teaching Drum, which is in ten days.

I’m curious, though, as to who would be interested in having me continue this journal. Let me know.

As the snow melts and people begin to arrive for the next incarnation of the Wilderness Guide Program, I feel a quickening in the air, a sense of rebirth, of anticipation, of change.

It’s about damn time.

Winter has not been easy for me; I’ve found that the pursuits available here, of making crafts and following tracks in the snow, don’t suit me particularly well — they’re not really a part of my path with heart. Still, I’ve learned a lot about relating to myself and experiencing my own ability to choose and be responsible for my feelings and reactions, and for that I’m grateful. And, as the air warms, I find myself getting excited about tanning and smoking another hide or two, and making a buckskin shirt to wear as I travel elsewhere.

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The winter is winding down to a close. We had an experiment in snow caves, building several caves and a makeshift lean-to, before moving back into our old camps. The two camps have switched places; by now we’ve settled back into each other’s old spots, Wabanong on the west side of the lake, Niingaabiaan on the east.

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Entering into a transitional phase here, even while trying to stay in the moment. I’ve been really struggling with keeping focused on the here and now, while starting to think about what may come after the program is over — that’s in less than two months.

I’m starting to get distanced from this journal. Starting to close down on it, as my relationship with Abigail grows, as I struggle with the present and the future, as I move into a deeper state of understanding of myself and my place in the world. I’m starting to lack the capacity to describe it in few words.

So … I’m not even going to try. Take that.

Tracking is the name of the game. I actually didn’t really think that I could get into it. If I needed it, for hunting or something, or if I found it fun from the start, maybe. But we don’t hunt, and it wasn’t fun when I first learned about tracking at Tom Brown’s school, where animal tracking is a big deal. I suppose I had a lot of baggage piled on top of me before I even had legs to stand on. Pressure to learn about all the different animals, to notice pressure releases, to note number of toes, claws, to measure stride, straddle, pitch, and on and on. I should have known it, but no one ever quite mentioned to me that first and foremost I should be enjoying myself.

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I’m growing dramatically in new ways. All I will say for now is that I am becoming involved with a wonderful woman, Abigail Northrop. Things have developed in an extraordinary way, and she has just spent the past week with me here at Nishnajida (I got back from Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago). Our time together was magical and intense, full of meaningful exchanges and wordless experiences in being together. I’m falling in love.

This journal was originally meant simply to circumvent the need to send out the same e-mail to various friends; it was an easy place where people who knew me could get updates on my life, at their own leisure. Unexpectedly, though, it has brought in new connections in my life, for which I’m very grateful (particularly for one — you know who you are!). It has also allowed interested people a peek in on the goings-on in the Wilderness Guide program, and I’m glad that I’ve been a part of that sharing.

I should emphasize, though, that my experience is my own, and in some ways very different from what others are going through. I cannot speak for the school or for others, only for myself. There are many stories that I haven’t told, many that I don’t have the right to tell; each person here has a wealth of stories to share. We share much in our experience and beliefs, otherwise we wouldn’t be at Nishnajida together, but we also disagree on many things, and that diversity enriches us all.

I say all of this as a preface. Recently I wrote a letter to a few of my friends, describing the perspective that I’d gained from my experience. It occurred to me then that I have never explained here, in full, what I’ve been experiencing in terms of realizations about my lifeway. As it’s the end of the calendar year, it might be appropriate to do so now.

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Perhaps it’s because I didn’t get much sleep due to jetlag, but I’m finding it incredibly easy to hate this cozy Los Angeles lifestyle right now. It’s not even in Los Angeles, it’s one of the nice suburbs to the northeast. My parents have a condo across from a grade school and near a golf course, and I spent some of yesterday and some of today walking around.

It’s depressing. It’s like enriched white bread. The difference between enriched white bread and real bread is that with the white bread, they process the hell out of it until all of the nutrients are gone and you’re basically left with solidified Elmer’s glue, and then they add some vitamins to pretend that it has nutrition. Not only that, but because the vitamins are artificially added, they aren’t very easily digested and probably tend to get spit right back out the other end. You could probably fit an entire loaf of white bread in a slice of whole grain bread.

That’s what it felt like, walking around here. Even the nearby park was just an expanse of well-manicured lawn and some trees. The vestiges of the wild are there — in the crows, sparrows, and fat squirrels — but they’re like the artificially added vitamins in the otherwise dead piece of bread. Everything is controlled. Everything is domesticated. The only things that are allowed to live, live at the whim of humans who look at living things as expendable playthings, who set ourselves up to be better than others. It’s not even anyone’s fault anymore; it’s the system we grew up in. But that makes it no less disturbing.

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The yearlong is nearly two thirds over. I’m currently in the Los Angeles area with my family for the holidays. Leaving Teaching Drum has brought up a host of emotions, mostly connected with the transitory nature of my experience.

Zinnia left last week, for good. She’s been with us since she and Lety arrived in early June. Lety stayed but her daughter wanted to go home. I have been amazed by how well she’s adapted and how much she’s taught me; I’ve learned how to be open and playful and loving from her in these few months, and I’ve come to really love her. So I miss her dearly now that she’s gone.

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