If this was how it was then this was how it was. But there was no law that made him say he liked it. I did not know that I could ever feel what I have felt, he thought. Nor that this could happen to me. I would like to have it for my whole life. You will, the other part of him said. You will. You have it now and that is all your whole life is; now. There is nothing else than now. There is neither yesterday, certainly, nor is there any tomorrow. How old must you be before you know that? There is only now, and if now is only two days, then two days is your life and everything in it will be in proportion. This is how you live a life in two days. And if you stop complaining and asking for what you never will get, you will have a good life. A good life is not measured by any biblical span.
--Ernest Hemingway, For Whom The Bell Tolls
24 December 2008
17 December 2008
¿honduras?
La respuesta: Pienso que sí.
After 2 months back in Portland, I decided it's time to go again. I've always had stability in my life so sometimes I seek instability. An adventure, a journey before I settle into a "career." In the last 2 days I've turned down a job and bought a plane ticket.
And I'm going to Honduras. A place called San Marcos de Ocotepeque.
Adiós muchachos.
After 2 months back in Portland, I decided it's time to go again. I've always had stability in my life so sometimes I seek instability. An adventure, a journey before I settle into a "career." In the last 2 days I've turned down a job and bought a plane ticket.
And I'm going to Honduras. A place called San Marcos de Ocotepeque.
Adiós muchachos.
16 December 2008
amtrak cascades
One of the most beautiful train journeys I've had to date. From Bellingham, Washington to Portland, Oregon over snowy tracks, across frigid waters, and alongside towering mountains. Definitely the most beautiful I've ever had in the United States.
It was my first.
Icy wind blows snow dust soft as down, fluffily floating over dark waters. Chalk soot and pale sapphire stand frozen in complicated patterns of cracks and lines, spider webbing across the water. Rocks cold as ice dance back and forth across sandy patches. Frosty spikes of timber poke heads above the charcoal waters, capped by a white hat of snow.
The delicate moon still hangs as daylight creeps over the water. Freezing blue meets the morning sun on the horizon still darkened by black hills. Clouds float pink above dark waters. White peaks cut baby blue skies across a bay. First sunlight beams a pathway across the water blinding your cold face, guiding you straight to the center.
Sun tops the trees. One dash of bright green amongst white pines and brown bark. Snowfields run endlessly flanked by red timber. Struggling stalks poke through arctic tundra, kissing the cold air, wishing for spring.
The continuous purr of the steel against steel is often broken by the howl of the train’s whistle. Which is better, the journey or the destination? In the company of quiet strangers all facing forward, all thinking their own thoughts, all the staring outside, all lost in the music, the movie, the silence.
Small towns. RVs, SUVs, and auto shops. Train cars, taverns, warehouses. Fast food, icy hills, overpasses. Smoke stacks and brick buildings. Christmas cookies reflected in the condensation saturated windows. The red light flashes as the train idles across roads. Cars stop. Exhaust exhales into brisk air, coughing forth from cars.
And then my thoughts were disrupted. We hit a car.
We had to change trains in Seattle; 6.5 hours became 9. And where did the heat go during the last 2 hours?
Maybe it'll be my last.
It was my first.
Icy wind blows snow dust soft as down, fluffily floating over dark waters. Chalk soot and pale sapphire stand frozen in complicated patterns of cracks and lines, spider webbing across the water. Rocks cold as ice dance back and forth across sandy patches. Frosty spikes of timber poke heads above the charcoal waters, capped by a white hat of snow.
The delicate moon still hangs as daylight creeps over the water. Freezing blue meets the morning sun on the horizon still darkened by black hills. Clouds float pink above dark waters. White peaks cut baby blue skies across a bay. First sunlight beams a pathway across the water blinding your cold face, guiding you straight to the center.
Sun tops the trees. One dash of bright green amongst white pines and brown bark. Snowfields run endlessly flanked by red timber. Struggling stalks poke through arctic tundra, kissing the cold air, wishing for spring.
The continuous purr of the steel against steel is often broken by the howl of the train’s whistle. Which is better, the journey or the destination? In the company of quiet strangers all facing forward, all thinking their own thoughts, all the staring outside, all lost in the music, the movie, the silence.
Small towns. RVs, SUVs, and auto shops. Train cars, taverns, warehouses. Fast food, icy hills, overpasses. Smoke stacks and brick buildings. Christmas cookies reflected in the condensation saturated windows. The red light flashes as the train idles across roads. Cars stop. Exhaust exhales into brisk air, coughing forth from cars.
And then my thoughts were disrupted. We hit a car.
We had to change trains in Seattle; 6.5 hours became 9. And where did the heat go during the last 2 hours?Maybe it'll be my last.
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