Bee Hold!

“… solitude is not a private therapeutic place. Rather it is the place of conversion, the place where the old self dies and the new self is born, the place where the emergence of the new man or new woman is born...solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self."
-Henri Nouwen

So Naomi inquired, and I responded, and becasue I'm lazy this is mostly the body of the aforementioned message.

I am wonderful! I started my office work yesterday, and it has been fun and challenging. I am living in a small (2rooms + a bathroom) apt above the warehouse of CFI, by myself...well, there are a few mice to keep me company. The Apt. is filled with a mystifying early eighties decor, and at times I feel like I'm in a DHARMA bunker. It is so gorgeous out here. I arrived in Moab at night, and walked down to the gas station for some shaving cream. I didn't think much of it. When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to see mountains surronding town. I was so oblivious to them the night before. It was dark and such... And the people...oh the people...everyone thus far in the office rules. I haven't ventured into town too much yet due to the bike situation (do you know where it went?), but I have a half day tomorrow, and there is a bike shop a ways down the street, so I'm going to do a long hike into town and see what can I scrounge up. But anyways people... on the train, the dude who sat next to me was on his way to the Burning Man, if that tells you anything. He is a photography major, and we talked at length about Art, and Photography, and Chicago. Cool dude. So on the train I hung out with him and about 5 other gypsies on their way to burning man. I'm pretty sure one of them didn't have a social security number nor has he paid taxes in the last...ever. Another dude was a dirty stoner irishman, who came to the states for the 1st time specifically to go to Burning Man. Something to do with his theisis... and his insatiable appetite for gobbling up drugs. He was like straight out of Trainspotting, except he was irish...As soon as I can get some quicker transportation rigged, I'm going to enroll in a free community Yoga class, and there is a music festival here this weekend. Last night, I listend to some smooth jazz on NPR, whilst I drank a Chai Delight I made myself, ate a peach, and finished up reading "the perks of being a wallflower" for the upteenth time. I'll be really glad to get to the library. I have a TV in the bunk house, a dusty old Zeinith, and a VCR, complete with 4 VHS cassette tapes! There's no cable hook up, and I don't forsee myself going through the trouble of jump starting the TV/VCR so I can watch "Field of Dreams" on VHS, so it's jsut NPR for the next 9 weeks, and I'm really excited about that. After I get down screwing aroudn on here, I'm going to go back to the bunkhouse, turn on the radio, fix some Chai, maybe a PB & honey Sandwhich, and paint. I bought some cheap crayoloa water colors and a big pad of paper at the Alco the other day. Alco is the western version of Big Lots, but it's really weird, because there are empty shelves in some places, like no one has bothered to stock in a few weeks, and it has some real nice stuff mixed in with super cheap knock-off things that smell strongly of plastic, bad chemicals, and carcinogens...very shoddy and strange. Jim Morrison was right: The west is the best. I know one person in a 112 mile radius and after that 112 miles, it jumps to states. Mmmm...