Sunday, March 2, 2008


-The Way It Is-

There's a thread you follow.
It goes among things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time´s unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.

-William Stafford

Sometimes it is hard for me to see my own thread, and I wonder how other people can ever see their own. If, as alluded to in an earlier posting, I am a tamale; have the leaves I am to be wrapped in already fallen from heaven? Am I already being wrapped in them? Maybe they are so comfortable I can't even feel them all.

Over a year ago, my friend gave me a hand made journal with the William Stafford quote written on the first page. She said, "hang on to your thread; pursue your dreams." Since then many days have passed when I thought I may have lost my thread, when I could not feel it in my hands, when I could not see it, or smell it, or taste it, or even hear it near me, lying by my side.

But here, on the road, on the long brown path, on the bus, in the stream, I am finding my thread. I think I was holding on to it all the while, only the feel of it had become so comfortable to me, so familiar, I could hardly notice it anymore.

As I have left Oakridge, left my friends so many miles away, my goals and dreams awaiting for my return; I have been able to gain a new perspective. I see thread running through my life.

I can feel it in my hands as I grip my pencil and write in that handmade journal my friend gave me on a cold winter day in Eugene, Oregon. I can hear my thread when I hear a guitar being played, when I hear an old Beatles song, when I think of my friends voices, or hear the rush of a creek. I can smell my thread in the dirt of the Earth, in the tire of a bike, in the loamy smell near a moist creek, in the scent humity. I see my thread as I imagine the metal creations I want to make when I'm back home, when I look at the pictures I have taken on this trip and look forward to the slide show I plan to have, when I imagine the upcoming summer, and the opportunity it holds.

I find my thread, when Lindsay and I have walked for miles in Los Alerces National Park, to find ourselves in paradise. Nothing around but white sand, green forests of lenga trees and bamboo, hawks, and clear water. Yes, this place is a part of my thread, but this place is also where I needed to go to regain the clarity and peace of mind I have needed to see my thread, in my everyday life.

Sometimes I've tried to find my thread. "Don't let go of it Eug!" I've thought to myself as I remembered my friend's urging, all the while wondering if I'm still holding on to it at all. I've often wondered what "it" is. What is this thread I am supposed to keep hold of? Is it my biking? Living in Oakridge? Working at the Merc? Is it in finding true love? What is my thread supposed to be comprised of anyhow?

However, although I haven't always known it, I think I have been holding on to it, maybe almost letting go at times, but I still have it.

My thread is not a monofilament, that is not what thread is. A thread is a strong, flexible, material of many fibers spun together. Mine is a thread made of many elements, all comprised to create a single form, made of diverse yet compatible materials from which I can weave the fabric of my life.

My thread is one of art, of creating with the hands semipermanent form of what is only transitory in these lives. It is also art that is transitory; music, performance art, personal perfomance art-traveling, unicycling, biking, being in love.

When I find a quiet place of reflection I see: the rivers of Oregon, my tribe, a little home in Oakridge, the Merc, the trips I take, the art I have made, and hope to make, and the dreams I have for the future.

When I find the space to reflect upon my life, I find my thread.

So what about Chile? And where am I anyhow?

Tonight my energy went to writing about what has happened for me inside, as a beautiful world of mountains, lakes, trails, new friends, and borders has passed by outside.

Lindsay are in El Bolson, Argentina, a beautiful little town of 8,000 people, nestled deep in a valley between a really tall bare cliff face to the East, and a huge more gradual mountain to the West (Cerro Hielo Azul- Mountain of Blue Ice).

Here we have recovered from our fantastic travels in Los Alerces Park, where we hiked 20 miles or so. We have enjoyed the slower pace at which Argentenians speak, eaten really well at there is lots of trout here and the food is cheaper than Chile, and found a really awesome handmade ice cream joint, which we have visited 3 times in 2 days.

Tomorrow we head out of this little paradise and to Cerro Hielo Azul for 3 or 4 days of backpacking in the cordilliera. Should be good.

The trip is going quickly now. We have hit a good stride, however our days here are short now, less than 2 weeks to go!

After we leave Cerro Hielo we will head North to Bariloche, then on to Santiago. We haven't chosen a route yet, but I hope to visit some of the lakes north of Bariloche as Steve and Denise of Coconino Cycles say they are great.

Gotta sleep, more miles to go tomorrow.

Oh, about those pictures I've been taking.. Never have been able to find a computer where I can easily upload them. I'm looking forward to some slideshows back home.


  1. good travels.....Argentinia clearly in my mind is amazing beef/ chocolate/ chilean wine and yes fresh trout from all the water-with red meat. yummmmmm Enjoy....Denise

  2. "A noble life is what I seek."
    ~ eug(ene) / 'Tamales In Space'

    "... and Oz never did give nothing
    to The Tin Man
    that he didn't ... didn't already have."
    ~ a band that called themselves
    'America' / November . 1974


  3. What a beautiful post! I'm so glad that you are searching and finding internally as well as externally. You are living a sacred life, a "noble" life, becoming well practiced in the act of joy and sharing it with others. I LOVE your line that your thread is not monofilament. Don't forget about your lifetime supply of journals: so your thread always has a place to go....

  4. one of my favorite gifts is a steel cut flower made by a fleeting friend.

    i wonder what kind of metal creations you are dreaming of in the mountains of the southland!

  5. You have some great writings on your blog. I am enjoying reading them. Sounds like a grand adventure in all. No Club Med for sure.

    Things are good back here. Not getting out much, but did ski the tunnel chutes last Sunday.

    Miss you lots. Looking forward to hanging out on the porch under the freshly pruned apple tree and for mountain adventures.



  6. Good trip makes you a great writer, Eug.
    You are thinking on your feet, not your head, so I have nothing to add about your findings.

    But I think of "being not monofilament" all the time, and here is some words from my zen collection:

    You find yourself in troubles and may lose somethings. It's OK, never mind. But you would reflect on these lessons which are "kindly" given to you.

    Need it so badly, but you can't get what you want. Wait... sometimes it is your luck really.

    Learn rules all the way, and you will know how to brake the rule "correctly".

    Make your tea, bro,


  7. ! Muy Feliz Cumpleanos 26, Yahn !
    Light a candle on a can of beer
    and drink yourself a toast from me!
    The bump in the road at 2:52 Hawaiian
    is 9:52 Chilean. Fair breezes to 'e, lad!
    Me, too! ~ Fierce
    Me, too! ~ BearMan

  8. Un momentito, por favor, s'il vous plait ...
    Dr. Uohara holds him gently, his hands
    beneath his bottom and his head. He has
    just emerged, completely, into the air. At
    first look, he seems to be -- Thank You! --
    properly made. His face and body are the
    color of cardboard. He is not quite yet quite
    fully alive. I hold the umbilical connecting
    him and his mother. My second cut with the
    surgical scissors completes the cut, and at
    that exact instant, he opens his blue eyes ...
    closes them again ... opens them again ...
    and takes a breath ... . And lights The Fires.
    The All Mighty Fires of his Life Time. Like a
    Saturn V rocket on its way to the stars.
    He exhales shouting ... clearing, testing, the
    rig, his color changing to nectarine. After a
    few minutes he has it in hand, and lies
    there calmly beside his beautiful battle-
    weary mother. "You have a son," says Dr.
    Uohara. "What is his name?" Cinnamon Rose answers him, "I think his name might be
    It is a sunny Saturday afternoon in March
    of 1982, on the side of a 12,000 foot snow-
    topped volcano mountain standing alone in
    the middle of a deep blue crystal Pacific
    ocean, surrounded by the fragrance of
    plumerias, on a blue and white globe, 500
    light years from Orion.

  9. Happy birthday this week bro. Been reading and looking as far south to the stars as I can. maybe they will reflect my prayers to you. Lets ride when you return.
    love, Vulture

  10. Your tribe misses you man and we'll have a Eug celebration when you return carrying traces of your travels. I just read your latest entry and , such a seredipitous thing - just last week Erika and I learned a new song together....titled Slender Thread. I or maybe we'll sing it for you. I'm returning home today from a trip to Redding and rode some great new trails this morning. Your spirit was there riding with me.