This morning, I thought I lost my sunglasses and had a moment of high voltage panic. I opened the driver’s side door of my car and leaned in, the daily routine of automatically reaching for my special shades. They are Oakley’s, a gift from my son and daughter-in-law, before I embarked on a historic, solo motorcycle journey on the mainland last September. After running around the house and the garage, I returned to the car and Thank God, they had fallen off the seat and all was well with the world once again.
The story doesn’t end here, it just begins.
About three years ago, I decided to leave my personal paradise of Kauai and move to Costa Rica forever. Let me tell you, that’s a long story for another time. However, we need to start there because it is when I decided to rid myself of nearly all my stuff. I was never someone who enjoyed accumulating because it always felt like too much responsibility. I flew out of here with two pieces of checked-in luggage, weighing a total of 100 pounds! My entire world got crammed into those two bags. At least half the weight belonged to some Buddhas, and Rocky. Rocky is actually the star of the show and we will get to him in a bit. Other than my modest collection of statues, there were some clothes, including the remnants of a great t-shirt collection.
Since my sudden return, immediately following my sudden departure, I can’t say I have deviated from the practice of keeping it simple, at least in my material world.
Now that I think of it, when I moved from NYC to Santa Fe, NM in 1987, everything I owned fit into my incredibly small Dodge Colt. Repetition qualifies as a pattern and I sure have one going in terms of possessions.
Our choices are easy until we actually confront their consequences. While it is true I have very little in the way of stuff, the potential loss of my sunglasses nearly put me over the edge. I understand I made a choice regarding this lifestyle, but that is all I’ve done. I am no more immune from attachment than the prince in the palace, who can’t find his royal accouterments and then kills his entire staff.
Through my years of paring down, Rocky has been exempt from the process, occupying a sacred space in my heart.
We met in downtown Philadelphia in 1983, at the top of the 72 steps, revealing the mezzanine of the Philadelphia Art Museum. I was a dedicated runner, having entered the NYC Marathon the year before. I watched Sylvester Stallone run through the streets of Philly, Eye of the Tiger soaring in the background, capped off by his run up those same 72 steps.
I was working for the USA Cable Network in NYC, in the early days of the cable explosion, a precursor to the infinite choices we now have on line. I went down there to explore the possibility for some kind of late night dance show, the details now up in smoke. I was more excited about having my Rocky running moment than the prospect of a programming deal.
I woke up early the only morning I was going to be there. I put on my running uniform, a sweatband, sunglasses, shorts, and running shoes. Then and now, a shirt always seemed like a way to add to the laundry pile and nothing else. Room key in hand, I headed out of the hotel and on to the main street that leads to the museum, its name gone in that same puff of smoke.
I made it to the museum and up those huge stone steps. Right there, on the mezzanine, was an immense concrete pedestal, looking like a statue had been wrenched right off its supports, leaving twisted rebar to tell the tale of dislocation. In the middle of this mangled muddle, Rocky was patiently standing in a perfectly calm position. Instinctively, I ran toward him and gripped him in my right hand, room key in the left. I never thought to look around because I knew he was waiting for me, no kidding. It so happens this was the remnants of Rocky III, which involved a statue being made in his honor and my Rocky stood there in his place, so glad to see me.
We have been inseparable for over thirty years. He is always the last to leave and the first to enter any place I have ever inhabited since then and there have been plenty. I put him in a perch where he can keep an eye on me. He became the totem for my quiet journey, which began around the time we met.
At the same time I started this little story of stuff, I also wondered about having nothing at all. I lost my Oakley’s and nearly shit.
I just looked over at Rocky and wondered what he was thinking. The first thing is probably that this piece is running long and to always remember I am not writing for myself, rather to touch others. He would save the best for last and make sure I told you that as long as the societies with stuff destroy those with less, we continue to sew the seeds for the violence and hatred we now live with. The victims become the perpetrators because they have nothing to lose.
PROLOGUE
I was going to post this piece a few days after its completion. Today, my computer ceased to function. I can’t believe I left out the computer when I was writing about possessions and I think it’s because I simply take it for granted, it will always be there. Who cares about sunglasses if you can no longer communicate with anyone? I am sitting at home after an awful day. I am using my new computer and it is not even close to where I want it. Truthfully, I can think my cadaver of a computer was hurt because I didn’t mention it earlier.