Chapter 11: San Francisco
My spiritual unease was pacified when Ben and I glided into the small stretch of downtown that represented the city of Tomales. Ben had been calling it Tommy-Toes since we first glanced at it on the map and even he, Godless man that he is, commented on the lasting positive effect Tommy-Toes had on both of our auras. There was something very soothing about the entire town and the people in it; a quiet peace pervaded the countryside. Which was good, for I was certainly in need of a professional aura combing by that point in our journey.
We dismounted next to a motorcycle and waved to a couple riding a tandem bicycle up the street. Two women sat casually outside the café talking to a passerby in the street. Inside the pastry shop a dark haired woman in a matching apron took our order, which was both delicate and delicious and, as we were waiting to be served, I inquired:
“Is the Blue Mountain Center for Meditation nearby?”
I am not sure what prompted me to ask — certainly not my disdain for all organizations purporting a spiritual purpose. Perhaps it was the same subtle energy that was stroking Ben and my faintest of nerve endings and causing us to smile and inhale deep breaths of Californian air. Whatever it was, it felt like the right question to ask and when it was explained that the Center was nearby it was Ben who encouraged us to pursue its gates.
The Blue Mountain Center for Meditation is a spiritual retreat and an organization that publishes the work of Eknath Easwaren — who passed away in recent years. Mr. Easwaren was born in India but lived much of his life in California and wrote on the art of a happier living as taught to him by his grandmother. Of course, he did live in California — in Tommy-toes, no less — so what reason he could come up with for being unhappy remains to be seen. But because spirituality, in America, is often taken to have something to do with God, I was hesitant to bring Ben there. If I hadn’t already been in Tommy-Toes and possessed by the spiritual boogey-man, I wouldn’t have wanted to go myself. Sure: I had enjoyed Mr. Easwaran’s literary prowess and his was the only organization to which I donated any money (ten dollars a month — though I’m not even sure why). But that was all. I didn’t want to know them and I didn’t want to meet them and I didn’t want them to give me a hug or tell me I was a beautiful person too because then I would have had to withdraw my contributions and move to another country where they couldn’t find me. I would rather hang out in a seedy bar than with a bunch of foolishly enthralled religious zealots touting nonsense about enlightenment. I had been afraid that Tommy-toes would be swarming with them — as was the rest of California.
But it wasn’t and I asked and they told me and we went and, of course, it was nothing like I imagined. Once again, I was forced to completely re-evaluate my harsher judgments about people who had dedicated their lives to service and peace and joy. We walked with our guide through the gardens, past the humble memorial, around the meditation room, and to the window of the dining hall. Then we were offered a picnic table under a tree where we ate our peanut butter in jelly in an appreciative silence and occasionally fielded harmless questions from those who passed on their way from one good deed to the next. The people of the Blue Mountain Center for Meditation were the first people we met, as a collective whole, who were actually interested in something above and beyond themselves. Ben, who seemed more comfortable at a spiritual retreat than I could ever be, was more enthralled then I — though we both smiled headily and promised to return for one of their weeklong retreats. We have not yet done so. It was rather impressive and beautiful and a little unnerving and made me feel rather worthless and vile and bitter. Which I am. But I am trying to be better. I would like to make Mr. Easwaren proud.
Some day.
DAMON: It’s July 13th, we’re just before Gualala, in a thirty-eight dollar a night campsite which is expensive, but it is also right on the ocean. I had a little incident with the shower, cost me $2.50 because I had a little soap left on my hands when the time ran out. It was quite stressful. We had a pretty light dinner, we’re going to have some pancakes this morning. We spent the day mostly on the beach being blasted by sand, and when I say that, I mean that you had to create barriers and walls and when we got back we were so covered in sand we couldn’t tell us apart from anything else. The water is phenomenally cold. The woman at the desk warned us about it being cold and we made some snide comments about glacier fed streams and being real men. I screamed like a girl when I got out there. So I need to apologize to that woman. Other than that, we’re going about fifty miles today — should be a great day. Got a little bit of a late start, Ben and I both had really weird dreams: his involved three exploding hard-boiled eggs, which he set off in the parking lot of some store — the authorities were out to get him. Mine involved kissing so many girls that I was in so much trouble and I was emotionally confused and it was weird. Really weird. Especially when this one girl went to kiss me and this guy tried to kiss me at the same time. [groans] That freaked me out. Anyhow, over and out.
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