I began an Odyssey years ago, with my son. We canoed down the Wisconsin River for two weeks and passed from below the dam at Castle Rock Flowage, all the way to the Mississippi River at Wyalusing State Park. With a few notable exceptions, and occasional forays into the river towns or wayside rests, we traversed the whole way in a relatively direct route downstream. Much to my chagrin, I made bad choices several times along the way, as navigator and ended up in shallow, leech infested backwaters because I thought there was enough current on the inside of a particular bend in the river to float our boat. Indeed, I probably dragged the canoe about five miles overall. Let that be a lesson to anyone who thinks that there are shortcuts in life. This is lesson number one. If you have never pulled a fully laden canoe through leech infested water, I cannot explain how much this lesson is worth.
As all good tours do, ours got named. Not by a band or promoter as often happens in the entertainment world, not by a conscious choice that we made, but by circumstance and oblivion. We tried several chosen or given names, but the trip has changed both of our lives forever and there is a name for that.
For a time, we called it "Our Wisconsin River Trip", which it was to some extent, because we had not made it, that was the name of the "plan". What we knew to expect and what to bring to make all aspects of life on the river efficient and comfortable as we could. We wanted at least enough shelter to stay dry, at least enough food to not be hungry, and enough creature comforts and diversions that when we did go ashore, or just wanted to float with the current, we would have things to do. Little did we know then that whatever plan our trip had, that was just a tiny part of what we had in store for us.
We called it "Vacation" for a while, but after the first few miles of paddling, we realized that it would be hard work. We certainly wanted to be able to tell the people we met along the way or the folks when we got home as much about the trip as succinctly as possible..."Castle Rock dam to the Mississippi" might work for some people, but our name had to be more relevant, more descriptive of what it was all about. After our return, the scrapbook got titled Whacky Westward Wager, but this is not the whole story. These things never are.
Ultimately, as we traversed the miles, we kept hearing ourselves repeat the mantra, "What are the odds?" It seemed that inexplicably, we became the vortecies, on a macro level to the micro-swirls made by our paddles in the great stream, ocean bound. We felt cohesive, but passed through the environment in a whirl, of images, scents and relationships with the world around us which harmonized with the cyclic flow of the water. The macro beyond our perception kept binging things into our vortex of experience that amazed and astounded us. In one place, we pulled over to a boat launch and dock to eat our lunch and an old fellow looked at the fishing poles and said, you ain't gonna catch nothing with a rig like that. Those are for fishing in lakes. Then, he proceeded to rig our poles for free and he gave us some tackle, but he told us worms worked best. this old friend we had not met before that day was hesitant at first to take the apple we offered, until he saw that we had a whole bag. When we got on the water and settled into the boat, we said in unison, "What are the odds?"
We had, in two weeks, no less than several dozen instances when one or the other of us would remark, what are the odds? There were a few times we said it in unison, in fact, each is a story all its own. We had a few things that those words could have been said about, but were left unsaid, or "spoken" between us with a silent flicker of recognition. If we were in a jovial mood, we would often shout, or if on land, we would jump up and click our heels and emit the response 100%! Once, we got fine art, given to us by a nun, what the heck are the chances? 100%! We could not find a place to camp, someone would offer to take us home to their place and have our tent in their yard. "Our kids would love to camp out in the yard tonight." and it would be decided. The chances of nearly all of our meetings seemed so tiny as to be almost imperceptible, but there you would have it, ice cream in the woods on a hundred degree day, or a fish that, once breaking the surface of the river, flails in just the right way to get himself off your hook.
One particular portage was noteworthy because we left a sleeping bag behind. We were in danger of being caught in tight quarters with a giant tour boat near Wisconsin Dells and did not do inventory before shoving off. Lesson number two, always do the "idiot check". What is the value of wasting half a day of time that could have been spent on the water? We spent half a day getting back to the portage after we noticed it gone and by then, it had grown legs and went home with someone who needed it more that we. Dejectedly, we began to hitch-hike back downriver to the canoe, where we had stashed our gear, and the guy who gave us a ride back downriver gave us his car blanket and a ride all the way to the place we left our gear. What are the odds? You guessed it. Time and time again, we would land in advantageous circumstances and the people around us would behave graciously, magnanimously and almost magically.
Because I like to keep things topical, this is not just some old story about the odds being 100% way back when I was on this transformative journey. We are constantly journeying, going down the river of time and sometimes, when you leave something behind it is not worth going back for. sometimes the gifts that going back bring your way make it worth the effort. When we begin to make choices that make sense, rather than ones based on a belief in scarcity and lack, we will make the right connections, meet the right people and develop the most important relationships along our way. The inexplicable nature of Bernie Sanders, or for that matter, back when Barack Obama got elected, the will of millions of good people everywhere is creating a resounding glow over virtually all of the people of our great nation, indeed, the planet. Understand that what we hear about and read in the popular media will always be gut wrenching, that is how the media outlets know that they will not "lose" us. They would rather we be swirled about it the toxic mix that they brew up that that we align ourselves with our communities, ask deeper questions, or imbibe of the flow of grace that transcends what they have on offer.
In my heart of hearts, I truly wish that the oligarchs would have an Ebeneezer Scrooge kind of night and that they would emerge from that journey cleansed and of conscience, but that seems to be not in the offing. deeper still, in my soul, I feel the abundance and grace of the world we would create if we took it back from the counting houses, the Wall Street raiders, the corporados and those whose holdings are tax free somewhere else in the world. Darwin said that "survival of the fittest" is the rule, but I have seen far too many proofs of the fact that it is actually survival of the luckiest and it looks as if the oligarchs luck is running out.
As all good tours do, ours got named. Not by a band or promoter as often happens in the entertainment world, not by a conscious choice that we made, but by circumstance and oblivion. We tried several chosen or given names, but the trip has changed both of our lives forever and there is a name for that.
 |
| I wish to serve the people of Northeast Wisconsin's District 8. Saladino 4 District 8 is my facebook page for the campaign. I use just three words to sum up the campaign, Honesty, Integrity, Principles. My slogan is "Write-in votes are hardest to steal." Please let anyone you know, across northeast Wisconsin that I am running to serve them, much the way I have chosen to serve the planet, her people and the soils which support nearly all life. |
For a time, we called it "Our Wisconsin River Trip", which it was to some extent, because we had not made it, that was the name of the "plan". What we knew to expect and what to bring to make all aspects of life on the river efficient and comfortable as we could. We wanted at least enough shelter to stay dry, at least enough food to not be hungry, and enough creature comforts and diversions that when we did go ashore, or just wanted to float with the current, we would have things to do. Little did we know then that whatever plan our trip had, that was just a tiny part of what we had in store for us.
We called it "Vacation" for a while, but after the first few miles of paddling, we realized that it would be hard work. We certainly wanted to be able to tell the people we met along the way or the folks when we got home as much about the trip as succinctly as possible..."Castle Rock dam to the Mississippi" might work for some people, but our name had to be more relevant, more descriptive of what it was all about. After our return, the scrapbook got titled Whacky Westward Wager, but this is not the whole story. These things never are.
Ultimately, as we traversed the miles, we kept hearing ourselves repeat the mantra, "What are the odds?" It seemed that inexplicably, we became the vortecies, on a macro level to the micro-swirls made by our paddles in the great stream, ocean bound. We felt cohesive, but passed through the environment in a whirl, of images, scents and relationships with the world around us which harmonized with the cyclic flow of the water. The macro beyond our perception kept binging things into our vortex of experience that amazed and astounded us. In one place, we pulled over to a boat launch and dock to eat our lunch and an old fellow looked at the fishing poles and said, you ain't gonna catch nothing with a rig like that. Those are for fishing in lakes. Then, he proceeded to rig our poles for free and he gave us some tackle, but he told us worms worked best. this old friend we had not met before that day was hesitant at first to take the apple we offered, until he saw that we had a whole bag. When we got on the water and settled into the boat, we said in unison, "What are the odds?"
We had, in two weeks, no less than several dozen instances when one or the other of us would remark, what are the odds? There were a few times we said it in unison, in fact, each is a story all its own. We had a few things that those words could have been said about, but were left unsaid, or "spoken" between us with a silent flicker of recognition. If we were in a jovial mood, we would often shout, or if on land, we would jump up and click our heels and emit the response 100%! Once, we got fine art, given to us by a nun, what the heck are the chances? 100%! We could not find a place to camp, someone would offer to take us home to their place and have our tent in their yard. "Our kids would love to camp out in the yard tonight." and it would be decided. The chances of nearly all of our meetings seemed so tiny as to be almost imperceptible, but there you would have it, ice cream in the woods on a hundred degree day, or a fish that, once breaking the surface of the river, flails in just the right way to get himself off your hook.
One particular portage was noteworthy because we left a sleeping bag behind. We were in danger of being caught in tight quarters with a giant tour boat near Wisconsin Dells and did not do inventory before shoving off. Lesson number two, always do the "idiot check". What is the value of wasting half a day of time that could have been spent on the water? We spent half a day getting back to the portage after we noticed it gone and by then, it had grown legs and went home with someone who needed it more that we. Dejectedly, we began to hitch-hike back downriver to the canoe, where we had stashed our gear, and the guy who gave us a ride back downriver gave us his car blanket and a ride all the way to the place we left our gear. What are the odds? You guessed it. Time and time again, we would land in advantageous circumstances and the people around us would behave graciously, magnanimously and almost magically.
Because I like to keep things topical, this is not just some old story about the odds being 100% way back when I was on this transformative journey. We are constantly journeying, going down the river of time and sometimes, when you leave something behind it is not worth going back for. sometimes the gifts that going back bring your way make it worth the effort. When we begin to make choices that make sense, rather than ones based on a belief in scarcity and lack, we will make the right connections, meet the right people and develop the most important relationships along our way. The inexplicable nature of Bernie Sanders, or for that matter, back when Barack Obama got elected, the will of millions of good people everywhere is creating a resounding glow over virtually all of the people of our great nation, indeed, the planet. Understand that what we hear about and read in the popular media will always be gut wrenching, that is how the media outlets know that they will not "lose" us. They would rather we be swirled about it the toxic mix that they brew up that that we align ourselves with our communities, ask deeper questions, or imbibe of the flow of grace that transcends what they have on offer.
In my heart of hearts, I truly wish that the oligarchs would have an Ebeneezer Scrooge kind of night and that they would emerge from that journey cleansed and of conscience, but that seems to be not in the offing. deeper still, in my soul, I feel the abundance and grace of the world we would create if we took it back from the counting houses, the Wall Street raiders, the corporados and those whose holdings are tax free somewhere else in the world. Darwin said that "survival of the fittest" is the rule, but I have seen far too many proofs of the fact that it is actually survival of the luckiest and it looks as if the oligarchs luck is running out.
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