Author: Swevly

The leaves have turned their autumn colors. In a single day, it seems, a tree can go from vibrant foliage to bare branches here in Southern Oregon.

The days are getting shorter, and the nights and mornings are chilly. There are a mix of sunny days, cloudy days with drizzle, and beautiful partly cloudy ones too.

I always feel like traveling in the fall. In fact, I feel like traveling all the time, but around late October, the urge is even stronger.

I’m a nomad at heart.

A list of towns might be interesting. Below, I have listed only the towns where I have resided at least once. In some cases, I lived at several addresses at different times.

These are not necessarily in chronological order:

1. Reseda / Tarzana (what was Reseda reverted to Tarzana)
2. Canoga Park
3. Malibu
4. City of Commerce
5. San Pedro
6. Harbor City
7. Torrance
8. South Santa Ana
9. Burbank
10. Shadow Hills
11. Dunedin, FL
12. Spanaway, WA
13. Kingman, AZ
14. Encino
15. Carson
16. Pasadena
17. La Crescenta
18. Kagel Canyon
19. Lake Los Angeles
20. Sherman Oaks
21. Lomita
22. Glendale
23. Altadena
24. Arcadia
25. Gardena
26. Lake Elsinore
27. Tujunga
28. Palm Desert
29. Palm Springs
30. Bermuda Dunes
31. Medford, OR

I lived in Bermuda Dunes for 9 years, second only to the home I grew up in, in Reseda, where I lived for about 13 years.

I still think about where else I would like to live next.

I want to have a nice, stable home as a base of operations, then travel to see other parts of the country.

That is why I like the title “nomad.” It describes how I have lived.

It starts with me as a low-level officer on a small cruise ship, like the Queen Mary. “Midshipman” might be the term. Bob, my employer at the time, was the captain. I talked to him about striking out on an adventure to test my skills. I left the ship and swam across a lagoon that was more like a swamp. An alligator came up and bit me on the side, and I felt physical pain that was real. I was afraid that I wasn’t up to the test and that I had made a mistake being so reckless, testing my skills for no real purpose. But just then, a thought from a deeper part of me reassured me that I was up to the test and that I should use the skills I had. I realized I wasn’t alone—there were others looking out for me. I was able to endure and escape unharmed by using the skills I had learned. As the alligator let go, I became aware of movement approaching, so I turned my head to see a rowboat with Bob, Todd my chiropractor, and a couple of other people coming near. One of them had a stick ready to fend off the alligator, but they hadn’t used it. They congratulated me on my success, and I asked how long they had been there. Bob answered that they had been watching out for me the entire time. I thanked them, and he asked if I was going to continue. I said yes. He told me they wouldn’t follow me any further but would keep me in their thoughts.

I continued to the shore and ended up on a beach. I turned back and saw the ship in the lagoon, surrounded by trees, with green water that reminded me of southern U.S. swamps I had seen in pictures. I had a thought that the water didn’t look deep enough for the ship and that it shouldn’t go further into the swamp. I walked along the small stretch of sand and saw a food stand with some people nearby. I walked over and talked to the man making food, and he asked if I had come from the ship. I said yes and that I had just swum over to look around. He said I was lucky to be associated with the ship and that he wished he could be part of it. I told him he could be, but he said no, that he had a different job keeping him on the beach.

I looked back at the ship with great admiration, but then I realized it was time for me to go out on my own. I felt a sense of loss, knowing I was leaving, even though I had learned what I needed. While there was more I could have learned, I had gotten what was necessary, and it was time to move on. I didn’t want to just leave, so I swam back. Even though it had been a short adventure, it felt like a long one, and there were already new crew members on board. I was welcomed aboard with respect, as if I were a ranking officer. I was surprised and didn’t feel I deserved it, but I went along with it. I cleaned up, put on a nice uniform, packed my bags, and told Bob of my decision to leave. He told me I could return anytime I wanted, with full honor. But I knew I wouldn’t return—the time for that part of my life was complete. Yet I was comforted to know I could always return to a place where I’d be accepted and had a role in the organization. It gave me confidence.

I thanked him, and he took me to a small boat—a new, powerful, fast, seaworthy runabout, just the right size. It had room for four people, even though it was just for me. Bob said, “Here is the boat you built.” I got in. I wasn’t surprised to have a boat of my own, for I knew I had built one, but I was happy it was bigger and nicer than I had expected. I had envisioned a small rowboat. I motored away and looked back at the ship. I realized how small my boat was compared to the ship and almost turned back. Then I thought, “This is my boat, and the ship is for many people to learn how to build their own boats.” So, I headed for a dock where my house was.

I tied up my boat, walked along the beach, and climbed up to my house on a bluff. When I reached the top, before entering, I turned to take in the view. I was horrified and scared to see that the entire horizon was in flames. The whole world was burning, and the flames were coming toward me. I looked from the fire to the land between and saw people in long lines, carrying their possessions, walking toward me. Then, I gained perspective on the distance and speed of the flames and realized I still had time. The refugees were almost to me, and I feared I would be trampled, but they were heading to the dock in a somewhat orderly fashion. I worried someone might take my boat and leave me stranded, but I saw many small boats coming to pick people up and take them over the horizon. I felt sad that so many people didn’t have their own boats and needed to be rescued, but then I realized they were not being abandoned; they were being saved, even if not in the way I would have chosen. I felt happy that I had built a beautiful, fast, and now seemingly large and comfortable boat. Another realization hit me: only I could use my boat.

I went into my house to gather my belongings and found my home was a mess—totally disorganized. Panic set in as I saw trash mixed with unimportant items, all tangled with my most valuable possessions. I realized that if I threw everything into the boxes there, I would never be able to carry it all, and there wasn’t enough space on the boat. I had to sort through it all and decide what to keep or leave behind. I wasn’t ready to leave it all behind; I knew some things were valuable, and I wanted to inspect them before making any decisions. I dropped to the floor, trying to sort through the mess, but I was falling into panic and despair at the thought of leaving everything behind unwillingly. Some things had value that I needed to keep, but it was all mixed in with junk and trash.

I decided to look and see how close the flames were. I stood up and looked out a window. The flames were still very far away, and I realized that if I worked hard, I would have just enough time to organize my things, discard the junk, and pack the valuables. As long as I kept working, I would have enough time. I turned back to the room and saw it was about five boxes of stuff, but the valuables would only fill one box. I had enough time and space for what was truly important, and I have a boat ready at the dock.

It is a large concrete building, built like a parking structure, but inside it is open, with pipes everywhere running up and down. It is drizzling and dark, and it has been this way for a long time—at least a week. I am entering the building with a group of about five guys, and we are talking about this as if it’s a great adventure. The building appears abandoned, with only pipes and steel stairways filling the interior. We go up, and it’s dark and damp inside. A doorman tells me to only go up because going down might lead to encountering some kind of dangerous creature. We go up, but I decide to go down. My friends refuse to go with me and continue upwards.

I descend and see that the building extends far underground. There are people heading up, and they warn me not to go down. I am scared, but I decide I must face my fear. As I reach the ground level and begin my descent below, I almost can’t move due to the fear. However, I get a strong sense, a knowing, that overrides my fear—I know that as long as I can control my fear, I will be okay. But if I give in to the fear, I will fail; this is certain. If I quit, I will miss out on discovering a secret that will change my life for the better. I know completely and utterly that my future depends on this knowledge.

I pass the ground floor and keep going down. There are no other people around, and even the sounds of those above fade into silence, broken only by the noises I make. I am alone. I continue descending many levels. My fear lessens as I get used to being on my own. I have a flashlight, though it’s getting dim, but I can still see well enough. Suddenly, a creature emerges from the shadows. I see he is a vampire. He comes at me, and I see that he is tall and growing taller before my eyes. Terror grips me as the vampire reaches for me. I can’t retreat, and I start to panic, losing my ability to think clearly. I force myself to stay calm, knowing that as long as I can think, I can figure out how to survive. I gain control of my fear. At that moment, the vampire stops.

I realize then that the vampire feeds only on the terror of his victims. He begins to shrink before my eyes, morphing into a creature shaped like a bowling pin, about three feet tall. His hair looks painted on, and his blank expression makes me laugh—he looks like a cartoon character. A caricature painted on a bowling pin. I mirthfully laugh at him. Seeing this, he merely stares at me and backs into a corner. As I pass by, I glance at his face up close. I am still somewhat fearful, knowing the power he had over me and how his kind could regain it if I let them. But I no longer fear him. I pass safely and continue downward.

I hear the noise of work—machines operating not far below—and I see a red glow along with heat. I stop. I look back up the stairs and then down toward the red glow. I can’t decide whether to go back or forward.

There were rats running around my house. So, I got three cats. The thing was that my cats would not chase the rats, in fact they ignored them. First, I would see one rat running through the back of my closet. Then as time went by it was two, then three, then groups of two and three. My cats were big and well-groomed and fed and so it would appear were my rats. Soon the rats were running in packs all over my house and my cats would play with each other or lay and lick themselves with no apparent interest in the rats. These rats, I must say, were energetic. Always running along the base of the walls. All were adults and large, brown, brown – gray and other such rat colors. These rats were generally neat and well behaved, never a dropping or any damage was found and quieter than a mouse. Soon I accepted the rats and I would watch them run around the house as I worked away and my cats would groom themselves and play. One day as one of my cats lay at the foot of my bed and groomed himself, I pulled back the bedding at bedtime, what to my surprise, three rats ran out from underneath. My cat just lay there grooming away. At that moment I realized, with great certainty and relief, the rats are in my head.

My dad and I used to go to the Mammoth Lakes area of California for two weeks every summer to camp. One of the campgrounds we often stayed at was Reds Meadow.

This time, I decided to go up the mountain by myself. I was raised pretty much free-range, so going out on my own was normal. I think it was the summer between fifth and sixth grade, though it could have been the year earlier.

I went up the hill from the steep, sloped area of pine trees, pine needles, and loose decomposed granite to a steeper rock outcropping. I continued up as the outcropping turned into a sheer rock face. I started climbing the rock face to reach a flatter spot above. I found myself spider-crawling up the face, stretching for handholds and footholds. As I approached the flat spot, the last few handholds were just at the edge of my reach.

I realized that the difficulty was slightly beyond my ability to confidently continue, so I did what comes naturally to most people—I looked down to try to retrace my path.

I suddenly realized I was higher on the cliff than I expected. Though it was only about a twelve-foot sheer drop to the transitional area of steep decomposed granite at the base, it was still far enough, in my estimate, to potentially cause injury or at least result in a painful landing at the bottom with no sure stopping for another twenty feet until the slope leveled out.

I started to attempt my descent but soon realized that I couldn’t see any of the footholds or handholds from the angle looking down. I could see them going up, but my legs and torso blocked the view going down.

Panic started to build. My arms were getting tired, my legs were starting to shake. I was ready to start yelling for help. I didn’t see another person around, so who would hear me?

Just as I was about to say “help” in a low voice, readying myself for a big yell, I thought better of it. The thought of the embarrassment of needing a rescue stopped me. What would my dad say?

So, I looked up. It wasn’t that far, and maybe if I just stretched a little more, I could make it. I would have to grab a splintered section of rock that I normally wouldn’t trust with my weight, but I tested it. It seemed okay. Anything would be better than the humiliation of needing a rescue.

But what about that cowboy movie I just saw with the rattlesnake? Was there a rattlesnake in the cracks? I hoped not.

Somehow, I made it onto the ledge. I was relieved but still near panic. The ledge was just big enough to sit on without hanging off. There were trunks of trees just out of reach, growing up from twenty feet below. I thought about jumping to a tree trunk, but it was too far.

A thought came to me: “Calm down and rest a moment; perhaps a solution will come to me.”

So, I sat there and looked around. It was beautiful. Trees to my right, a rock wall to my left and behind me, a drop-off in front, and a view of a large portion of the river valley and the mountains on the other side. I noticed the shimmer of the river and a gap on the other side of the stone that was polished from water. I could just make out a thin darker section that must have been a flow of water. How much water must flow over those rocks in the spring to polish the stone? I heard the sigh of the breeze in the treetops, though I could barely feel it. A hawk screeched way off in the distance. I spotted it flying toward the other side of the valley. The sun was warm.

I realized this was a special place and a special experience. I was calm and in the moment like never before.

At this point, I started thinking about how to get down. I knew that I couldn’t see the footholds below; that was the problem in the first place. I started to get a little scared. But if I thought about the climb, I could remember all the footholds and handholds.

Okay. I have a plan. I’ll start down and just place my foot where and how I remember. I thought about it again. I could remember each move, the way I stretched. Really, it was just the last few that I had to stretch near my limit. The last three, and then it would become less and less of a stretch to the bottom.

Time to go. The hardest part was laying on my stomach and pushing myself over the edge. I tried to go over sideways so I could see, but I found that to be impossible. Reorienting to feet first, I started to go over. I was scared again.

As I got most of my body over, I thought about where to put my foot and my hand. I was so focused that I was practically reliving the ascent. I put my body in the same position that it was before, feeling the position match up to how it felt earlier. I couldn’t see below, but I felt my foot find the foothold like someone’s hand was firmly guiding it. I had to reach for a blind handhold now. Again, it was like I was being guided to the spot. I was reliving the positions by how my body felt, matching up the present with the past, and, like locking a door, the position in the present and the position in the past would lock together. The top three were the hardest, and I was moving through them confidently.

I reached the soft granite base. I did it. I turned and started running down the hill, zigzagging like a skier. As it got less steep, I started going straight and jumping over obstacles. I was the happiest I had ever been.

I got back to camp and to my dad. He noticed something different in me, but I don’t remember telling him what had happened. I don’t think I did tell him.

Birds screech and frogs croak, a nature’s rhyme,
A wild duet in rhythm, keeping perfect time.
Water dances over rocks, a liquid song,
In nature’s symphony, where we all belong.

In the stillness of the woods, the concert plays,
Each note and melody in nature’s own ways.
Birds, frogs, and water in harmonious delight,
Creating poetry of sound, both day and night.

The world’s a canvas painted with sound,
Where life’s orchestra in beauty is found.
Listen to the screech, the croak, the liquid flow,
In this symphony of life, let your spirit grow.

Downtown L.A. is a mean, dirty, and ugly place at ground level. The streets are in poor condition, as are the broken humans who live in their cardboard sidewalk castles. At lunchtime, the suits and skirts come out and give the appearance of civilization to the city. Beautiful tall, shiny buildings and seventy-five-thousand-dollar cars mix in with relics of a beaten-down, decrepit past. Surrounding this is a semi-industrial landscape to the east, the very rich and totally poor west, a hill to the north that gives the impression of a disconnected, hollow, failing, and struggling residential life, and the violence and poverty of the south. However, in the first light of dawn, driving above this on the wonderful freeway, the rays of a new days sun glisten on concrete and glass, and all is quiet and all is calm. It is beautiful, it is perfect, and I am in love with this great and terrible city.

From a road named Mulholland Drive, you can see the entire San Fernando Valley. At night, you can see the streets lined with streetlights, the yellow light of buildings and houses, and the green and red of traffic lights and car headlights and taillights. The freeway resembles a river of white and red light, and even at this hour, it is alive. From this viewpoint, it’s all just lights and buildings. Although I know that people are there, in their homes and some on the streets, no individuals are visible. Life goes on with happiness, love, contentment, and more, along with the ugly things, all covered in darkness, distance, and twinkles of light. It is beautiful at night.