and in the end

Did you imagine in January you’d be back in the desert by December? 

Well, there was nothing else on the radar.  I interviewed for this current post in February though I didn’t know I’d have to wait until October to get here.

In retrospect what were the highlights and lowlights of this year?

I am still surprised to be alive.  Not that I put myself in harm’s way, I just didn’t think I’d see 50. 

So, being alive and turning 50 is a highlight?

I’m not into birthdays.  Am I just too modest? Living at the lodge and waking up with the Himalayas at my doorstep for five months is the best medicine for a longsuffering, tagging along soul. A definite highlight.  Turning 50, hmmppt, not a highlight, not a lowlight, it just happened.

Was leaving Nepal a lowlight?

Sure, I’d been there for ten months, I knew I’d have to leave eventually.  But my time there was good.

You plan on returning?

Sure, but I don’t know what my role there will be anymore.  The lodge is an investment without a return.  I’ll always have a room and I know I’ll always be welcome but when 50 appeared I feel as if I have to do what I can to keep myself off the streets when or if I am like really old. There’s no way I can stay in the mountains indefinitely unless forces unseen pull some strings.

So you left the mountains in May, returned to the flatlands of the heartland.  Highlights? 

Seeing family was good.  I’m not sure family knows how to deal with me.  I haven’t conformed to anything normal. My sister’s home was a sanctuary, nestled in the trees, a lake in the back, it was very quiet and there were good books to read.

And then you went to upstate New York and volunteered at a homeless shelter for three and a half months or so.

Getting into the low and dirty, the real broken and lost, humanity at its most pitiful.  It was a depressing place and yet I knew I had to be there, I was fortunate they invited me to work with the Catholic Worker.  They are a gritty bunch.

And then you left, returned to the desert.  A highlight?

I am grateful to be working.  If the university chose not to send me a ticket I would have remained in Rochester and for what it’s worth I would have been alright but I am still able bodied, I can still work.  I had to go.

So, any predictions, resolutions, for the next year?

I hate that we measure everything.  I would like to live in a state of mind that is free from all constraints. 

Where would that be?

Who the heck knows?  But this last three months has felt like house arrest.  It’s strange but in Rochester I made a small weekly stipend but it wasn’t enough to enjoy the city and what it had to offer.  Now I’m here and I have money but the city offers nothing. Nada. 

Folly la la

 

Hope is a good thing, it must be the only reason we keep going.  But what is hope if what we hope for is simply not meant to be, what kind of hope is that?  Should we know, really, that hoping for something irrational is not hope at all?  And where is the bearded old man in all this, trust God, love God and let's hope we can persuade, persuade? yes, persuade God to change the irrational hope into something wonderful.  I know, a predetermined view of life means God does not change what is already so, unless, changing ones stars is part of that predeterminism.  Should I really continue to hope irrationally?  Aren't I boxing in the almighty creator if I conclude some things just weren't meant to be in my life?  Where will my hope lie?  In the obvious?  Is my hope only tied to my performance?  It kind of takes faith out of the picture then.  What is faith without hope?  What is hope without faith?   

Christmas morning is cold, relatively speaking.  When there are no furnaces, when there is no insulation, when the fleece isn’t within reach, it’s cold.  Yet as soon as the sun rises we are warm, we don’t need to hope for that, right?  The sunrise is reliable.  Who ever imagines the day the sun will not rise?

So, what do I hope for today?  No students?  Good students?  A good lesson?  They’re burned out, all your classes are in English and you’re not a native speaker.  It’s tough, half the classes were absent, there is talk now they will all stop coming after next week.  The students pull the strings here.  If the collective bunch impose demands for the end of the something it will end.  We as the teaching body, scratch our heads wondering what in God’s Christmas day name are we doing here.

No one is happy.  I am not happy.  Oh, but wait, I’m grateful.  Considering an outing to Dubai may save three or four hours but what I save in time, I will lose in money.  But why delay the gratification of owning some new books.  The price to get there will offset the contentment you’ll have when you crack the binder and disappear in someone else’s imagination.  Sigh. 

Why not wait until next week, the next bloody year.  What’s wrong staying in this good for nothing kitty box.  I’m obsessed with saving money, that’s what it is.  I’m so happy, right, I can’t get my driver’s license. Look, you’re saving at the expense of moving around.

Wimp.  Tomorrow, take a taxi, cross the border, take a bus, check into an Indian hotel, spend half the day in taxis and on the metro, buy a few books, look for the vitamins and then return, cross the border pay another unscrupulous taxi, come home, wish you hadn’t left, turn on the tv, read the empty walls, pray, light a candle, wish you were present with God, light another ciggie, and go to bed to start another absurd week of folly.  That’s all life is.  Folly.  Folly la la, folly folly loo loo. 

heavenly coconut tree

 

 

An officer at traffic police said my Michigan driver’s license had to be one year old in order to apply for an Omani license.  Before I left the flat this morning I had a sneaking suspicion there might be an issue but I didn’t guess this one.  This is demoralizing.  I think I can still rent a car with my US license but I won’t be able to cross the border.  So?  Any attempts now at getting to Dubai have been squashed.  I don’t know if I’ll find grapefruit seed extract there anyhow.  The organic store that used to carry it has long departed. 

It’s hard to do any work now.  I’ve got to come up with a lesson plan for next week, introducing the thesis statement for a five paragraph essay the students will need to write.  My mind is blank, a full moon, the winter solstice approaches, Christmas approaches, and there are reminders of places I’d rather be.  And where would you rather be? In places I don't know how to remain, except for the land with coconut trees.  Surviving for reasons unknown.  Lots of ideas fizzle, adrift in a cosmological quandary.  If my only hope is found in an ancient chant, what kind of maddening hope is this? Imagine spirits waiting for thousands of years.  Ok, it’s easy for them, they’re not constrained by time.  A thousand years is what five minutes?  That is depressing. 

If it weren’t for the media we wouldn’t know how awful life is for millions and billions.  The Syrians,  the CAR, the generational poor, a third of the world’s very poorest live in one country, India.  What kind of hope do they have?  When is so much suffering too much suffering.  Where is the hope for heaven on earth for the longsuffering?  That 'heaven' on earth is a relative and completely abstract space the worst of humanity will never see.  If you experience heaven on earth because of love, because of transcendent nature, remember it’s temporary and  illusionary while a million others live in hell.  Where’s the compassion, where’s the justice?  Enjoy life while others suffer, well that’s easy to remedy, I won’t think of others and that, according to the Golden Rule, is wrong.

The full moon rises in the east.  What would I give to be content.  Mother Theresa, the saint of darkness.  And she was content?  She knew her calling, who wouldn’t, experience a vision and you’d follow, right? I can't get that woman's experience straight in my head.
 

I can’t wait for 12.22.13. 

 

 

 

The big grotto

Two hundred and twenty papers graded in the past two days.  How does it happen?  How can I stay awake?  One coffee, eight hours of sleep, keep stress away.  Wait a second, doesn't a mound of papers produce just that? 

This week I blew off getting photos and stuff copied for the inevitable trip to the police station to obtain a driver's license.  In two weeks time I'll be out of reading material again and Dubai is just closer than Muscat. 

Another week here at the raucous jolly rancher comes to a close.  An American interested in working here asked me online what I thought of the joint.  You need patience, you need to be flexible, you need a sense of humor and you need to keep your expectations to a minimum.  I didn't advise the candidate on the necessity of keeping a rosary, that would have sounded like you're putting your life into someone's hands every time you walk out of your dusty door. It's not a dangerous place at all.  It's just one big grotto.

I'm falling into the lazy habit of taking the rosary to bed.  I usually can't finish one decade before I'm out.  But that is a good way to close the day, right? the very last words in head are pleas for mercy and forgiveness. 

A Christmas convoy to Sohar's Crowne Plaza is being discussed.  An hour's drive and a buffet (belch) for 17 OMR, or under fifty bucks.  Fifty bucks!  I don't know.  And we have to work the following day.  Christmas Day.  I'm not much for the holidays anymore, it's a family thing, not for singles who only use it as an excuse to drink.  Ok, I'll go. Ok, maybe not.

I am grateful for Beatles full albums on youtube.  I've tired of listening to the same music I've carried around for the last four years.

Here's a thought that is hard to understand yet it's so simple.  Contained in one second of time is the past, present and future and they fly by us so fast you'd say it is almost impossible to distinguish between them. 

And if you look at each second of time the trio occurs simultaneously and it has been doing that since mankind found the need to measure it.  So you're saying time is immeasurable and looking at all three coinciding with each other will somehow make your life better?  I don't know how to accept the three as one if I keep looking back.  And I prefer not to look towards the future.  To live each moment in the now, to not worry or fret of the past and the future, well that would be a good thing, right? 

So what are your plans for the weekend, speaking of a future I shouldn't be concerned with?  A two week old copy of the Economist, clothes to wash, maybe sweep the flat, sleep a little more, eat a little more.  And more tv.  I watched Gladiator over the course of three nights and one morning.  Is this anyway to live?  It could be worse. 

 

The Honeymooners

 

            The newlyweds board the 7:20 train from Pennsylvania Station enroute for Cleveland.  Married for a week the 20 year old bride leaves New York City for the first time.  The entire northeast is a frozen tundra in December of 1945. With the Bronx behind her and her handsome young sailor man alive and in one piece next to her, it could have been minus 90 and it wouldn’t have mattered.

            They check into the Carter Hotel and later dine at Borsellini’s Supper Club.  In the restaurant three salesmen with alot of time on their hands notice the young man in uniform.  They call him over and ask if he wants to make a few quick bucks.  They play a game called horseracing where each participant ignites a point on a napkin with their cigarettes.  The first trail to pass a finish line drawn on the napkin wins.  The sailor wins a few ‘races’ and impresses the salesmen.  The groom asks the fellas for a favor; he’s looking for tickets to the NFL championship game between the Cleveland Rams and the Washington Redskins.  The men buy drinks for the couple and instruct them where to get seats for the game.  The following morning the sailor finds a bootleg liquor set up located in the backroom of a men’s shoe store and purchases two tickets at $4.80 a piece on the 50 yard line in section 9, row 10, seats 9 and 10.  He also picks up a liter of Southern Comfort.  The forecast at gametime is going to be really cold. 

            He wears a heavy navy peacoat over his white uniform and she dons faux fur with open-toed shoes for the game.  At kickoff time the temperature is announced at -2 degrees Fahrenheit.  By the end of the game one columnist writes enough imbibing went on in the seats that the temperature had risen to 3 degrees above zero.  The newlyweds do their part to stay warm, finishing off Tennessee’s finest.  They return to the Carter, warm air hits the bride with such force she passes out and has to be carried into her room.  The groom takes her shoes off, covers her up, and heads down to the lobby for a smoke.

            The next morning comes, the sailor returns to the lobby to get some coffee for himself and his bride.  On the ride up the elevator, another passenger comes into the car.  Seeing the uniform the young man in civilian clothes introduces himself and thanks him for serving in the armed forces.  The groom is honored and tells him he just married a few days ago.  The dashing individual in the fedora hat and gray pinstriped suit offers to meet the new bride and offer his congratulations.  The groom sheepishly admits she drank too much trying to stay warm at yesterday’s game and wasn’t feeling very well.  The gentleman exits the elevator and wishes the couple the very best of success in their marriage.  When Charlie returns to his room Norma slowly rises from bed.  He asks how she feels and she mumbles her need for strong black coffee.  “I made a friend in the elevator and was going to bring him up to meet you, but I didn’t think you’d be up for it.”   When she asks who in the world he met, she slaps his arm and tells him not to lie. Almost 60 years later my mother still shakes her head from such news. Frank Sinatra wasn’t in that elevator.

oceans of harmony

Am I swimming in thin water, just ahead of the tide that’ll drown me in a pool of mediocrity I don’t know. Time as usual will tell.  But I look around and see the sea of obfuscating pedantics it’s hard not to get caught up in it.  Working alone, seeking advice, looking for agreement, confirmation, I’m asking those who know no better than I and I am left to my own devices.

I listen to rock and roll and the rebellion builds but at the end of the day I am no different.  It’s all about having a plan.  Plan to rebel but do so knowing where you’re going.  The clock ticks and everyone looks younger by the minute.  And yet I don’t feel old.  Except for fragile eyes and breaking teeth I could be twenty years younger. 

The cleaner enters the room emptying the wastebasket, leaves the door open, afternoon gaggles of girls walk by causing commotion with no effort.  I am grateful to be here, but is this it?  What must I do to rebel and be happy?  Contentment is a fleeting ideal.  Get the wife, a few kids, a couple of dogs, and go through each day hoping for something else. 

I returned to the desert with a plan that is so filled with doubt I am ready to go again and where may that be but south.  In the land of monsoons, coconut trees and oceans of harmony.  Not necessarily in the walls of my occupation but outside it.  A quality of life filled with nature.  The balance between the mundane and ordained.  Well, if it is meant to be, it will happen.  I’m never feeling strong about anything unless it’s survival, what’s a plan if it fizzles.  Restlessness has to end.  I have to find a home. 

 

She had a good heart and through terrible moments she came to the surface and is now in good hands.  I think.  She has her daughter and she paints.  A talent is there I didn’t know and she probably didn’t either but the right circumstances revealed a gift.  I didn’t know I could take a decent photo until I was awakened to it. 

A candid conversation:

Teacher:  So, tell us something about yourself.

Student:  Well, I have three mothers and 21 brothers and sisters.  We all live in the same house.

Teacher:  Whoa!  And what does your father do?

Student:  He doesn’t work.

Teacher:  I should think not.  Where are you in the order?

Student:  Number twelve I think.

Teacher:  Can you name your brothers and sisters?

Student: Ha, please teacher, don’t ask this.

Teacher:  But you’re happy, right?  Everything is good?

Student:  Ah yes, I am happy, everyone happy.

Family.  Family is supposed to be your place of happiness, right?  Unless of course you’re stuck in a mean family.  I was so fortunate to grow up in a happy family.  Sure there were moments of dysfunction but something kept pulling us out of the terrible no good moments.  It’s been nine years since the parents left us.  Time heals the loss but the memory continues and oh thank you God, Om, whoever the hell you are.  Those who are dead are not dead they’re just living in my head. 

The spirits sure want to see something happen, don’t they?  Do they live a restless life as well?  Every day for thousands of years they anticipate something.  That is a bummer. 

blow the land clean

It is unfortunate but the only quality of life in this town is having the means to get out of it.  And two days in the capital was good, a bit pricy but I don't know how to get around that one.  The five hour bus is ten bucks each way.  I could hitchhike.  The room was 31 OMR a night after taxes.  That's about $78.  I could sleep on the beach.  I'm embarrassed to say I visited Starbucks five times.  And I walked an hour for a McDonalds breakfast.  Meals added up.  Beer added up.  I'm such a lightweight these days.  Four pints and I'm headed for room 521.  Sigh.

Mid term exams continue here at the not so jolly ranch.  All the teachers have left.  That's one of the few things they got right here.  Keeping teachers for eight, nine hours when they can do their work at home isn't good.  So why are you here?  Because I don't have a computer.  And all I'd do at this time of day is sleep and putz around.

I finished Barbara Kingsolver's "Flight Behavior" a little too fast.  Rednecks and Climate change.  Sometimes I get this feeling I am supposed to be reading something at any given time.  I do not think about climate change and anything significant happening this month or the next month ad nauseum. 

Nevertheless if I don't spend money my quality of life will depress to no end.  I can drive.  I can get out.  Al-Ain. Dubai.  Even walking around with something to look at is better than straggling along in this oversized truck stop.  Yesterday the students did their speaking exams and they sure are a candid bunch, those who can speak that is.  I pressed a few of them on the country's lack of investment in this border town, and really, how can one not compare it with the greener than grass space on the other side.  Some say it's money.  I don't buy it anymore.  The latest stats show Oman has 4 million people, 44% of them are now expats, and the average salary of the Omani has risen in the last four years to 1,170 OMR, more than three clammers a month.  The place is just a forgotten and disputed stain on the country.  Why they didn't sell it to the Saudis makes me think that's the problem right now.  They did sell it to the Saudis and they ain't doing a damn thing with it. 

Well it's certainly not a place to remember.  Like a desert wind it will blow the land clean.