I have driven over a 1000 miles since I left Austin, Texas, and I am merely just one state away. I still have quite a few miles and a few states to cross before I arrive to Long Beach, California. My rig has been parked in front of my sister’s house since Tuesday afternoon. I haven’t cranked it once since I parked it, choosing to use my feet to get places instead.
Santa Fe is such a walk-able city. Seems like you can get anywhere you need to go on foot or bike, and what a relief that is. It’s much smaller than Austin so you really don’t need a car. Plenty of hip artist types as in Austin, along with everything they often bring to a city such as plenty of yoga, pilates, and slick coffee shops to choose from. There are artist studios everywhere, or maybe it’s just the neighborhood where my hosts Virgine & Tanya live, I don’t know…
In the next day or so, they have promised to take me to Canyon Street, where most of the galleries in town are located. Rich people from all over the world come here to buy art. It’s an amazing thing, really, and though it makes sense when you think about it, it’s still a weird phenomenon. Why this place? Why not another? And why buy art only in certain locations? Why not find it everywhere you go? I guess, if you can tell your friends: I bought this in New York City, or in Paris, or in Santa Fe, then somehow this gives more value to the piece than say: I bought this in Kansas City. I don’t know. I’ve never been to Kansas City. Maybe the artwork sucks there. Or maybe it’s great. Or probably both.
I walked downtown yesterday and found a cute second hand book store where I found a used copy of Turtle Island by Gary Snyder. I bought it. You know, because I need more books.
He begins the first poem of his Pulitzer winning collection of poetry with:
tucked up in clefts in the cliffs
growing strict fields of corn and beans
sinking deeper and deeper in earth
up to your hips in Gods
your head all turned to eagle-down
& lightning for knees and elbows
your eyes full of pollen
The Ancient Ones permeating the air we breath, tucked in the ground like coal mines slowly turning to diamonds if we’d only let them. The Ancient Ones, looking backward as well as forward; we could learn so much if we’d only listen, sit there silently for a few minutes, or a few years, and merely observe the universe do its thing.
It is cold here. 39 degrees this morning. The air is crisp with almost no humidity. I am thankful for my sister Virginie and her partner Tanya, for the warmth of their house and the coffee in their kitchen, and their wonderful hospitality. What a beautiful place it is here. I understand why they would want to live in this city. I must come back here someday.
Don’t forget to buy my books! Beers Songs for the Lonely and Good Feeling: seven short stories. This is how I keep the gas tank full and my belly full. Also, please write reviews, this is how you help me tell the whole world about my books. Thank you so much!