portugal

"ecstatic wonder is the natural state of mankind.  we should not settle for anything less"

a calilfornian university magazine from the sixties

"oui, ça me derange que tu manges avec tes mains" exclaimed claude across his table, and an undercurrent of tension between us became manifest.  "wow i gotta get outta here" i silently exhaled.  he later apologised for his exclamation.  we actually mostly got along famously.  claude shared with me his penchant for finishing a meal with red wine and dark chocolate.  every evening was film time chez claude.  on sunday night we watched "sept ans en tibet" which i had already seen before, and claude too, but that didn't matter it was still a great film.  when on saturday i announced my intention to hit the road again claud said "tu veux pas rester encore un jour?  il y a l'enterrement de ma belle-soeur lundi, et ça me fera du bien d'avoir ta compagnie.  tu peux quand meme rester encore un jour, non?"   of course i was free to stay another day if i wanted to if he wanted me to but all truth be told i didn't really really want to.  in the end i stayed and gave smiling comments of slightly forced politeness and as we were beginning the evening meal i asked "ça te derange si je mange avec les mains?" et voilà sa réponse.

claude is in his late sixties yet his hands have began trembling involuntarily.  he really really wants to be with a woman and bemoans his solitude.  he is a talented abstract painter - one of the rooms of his house is filled with intriguing tableaux - but cannot sell his paintings.  he knows how to paint but he doesn't know how to sell.  last summer his watery shining eyes met mine as i was looking at one of his paintings at an exhibition in the library in prades. "ça te plaît?" he came up behind me "oui. beaucoup" i said, and, liking his emotional honesty, i came back to his place for lunch.  he has gone from his almost life-long roman catholicism to experiment with meditation and psychotherapy and alternative healing but none of these techniques make him really aware that he is the one who may be in charge of his bonheur o why is a simple joie de vivre so difficult for some?  he assures me that my loving parents are a huge blessing in my life.  o if only he hadn't had a mother who was caring yes in her own way but who was so overprotective, he would have loved to have traveled around as i do.

rain was forecast so instead of immediately continuing hithchiking to portugal i walked into the pyrenees to a ramshackle wooden refuge hidden in the trackless pinewoods next to a crashing mountain stream.   claude and i came across this refuge last summer after following la gorge de carança - a spectacular ravine winding up into the mountains, made accessible by rope bridges swinging across the river and metal walkways drilled into the rockface.  now in april i walk up in my trainers and am surprised to find quite a lot of snow on the last few kilometres leading to the refuge.  the next day i wake to abundant falling snow which does not stop for two days.  everywhere becomes covered by a knee-deep blanket of snow.  also the pine trees become covered by a luxuriant snowy mantle.  it feels incongruent to find myself in the snowy heart of the pyrenees, at 2,000m, in my trainers.  i keep the fire burning, and wade out with the saw to bring back dead branches, and then sit in front of the fire watching how my wet trousers release a continuous stream of wet steam.

my hitchhiking progress flows smoothly from one open curious french encounter to the next, but slows down considerably as soon as i enter spain.  generalisations of course hide the rich diversity of reality but among the french i find a certain tendency towards openness, exploration, encountering of the other, intellectual curiosity, whereas among the spanish (this comment is perhaps largely fueled by the experience of the hitchhiker) i see timidity.  they tend to stay within what is already familiar, known, tried, tested.  less exploration, less curiosity.  that said, for my first night in spain i received wonderful hospitality.  i entered spain in a fruit delivery van driven by two israelis whose country of origin was of no importance.  they were now living in spain, in a community which occupied in its own geographical space, called doce tribus - twelve tribes - with about a hundred members, quite a few of whom were from spain but not all.  talmid had a black beard and simple shining dark eyes.  his taller younger companion had long blonde hair and similar shining joyous eyes.  they pulled in at the motorway exit where they had agreed to let me off.  "today is shabbat in our community"  they shone  "we have a big meal and dance and play music.  we would be very happy if you wanted to share it with us"  of course i couldn't refuse.  they genuinely were very happy to have me as their guest.  i think they would have been very happy if i had decided to stay there for the rest of my life.  everyone was so happy to see me.   anyone i met for the first time (there were, as i say, approaching a hundred of them) would stop and beam to me a smile of pure and simple contentedness and ask me what my name was and tell me i was very welcome.  it was heart-warming to meet people who felt so clearly at home there, and who loved their home.  i listened to a few of their stories.  a common theme among them was the feeling of always having searched for something, a place to belong to, a people to belong to, and finally to have found it on arriving at doce tribus.  they were quasi-religious in that they obeyed no religious creed, but they did recognise yeshua (jesus) as The Teacher and the gospels as sacred (but not the growth and subsequent direction of the church.)  it is clear to them that God has created humans with the intention that they live in community, living together harmoniously, loving one another, sharing everything.  they consider that in doce tribus, they are fulfilling God's intention for mankind.  in the morning they sit on chairs in a circle in the main hall and have a free time of sharing whatever they feel they have learned.  many of the contributions focused on the importance of the abnegation of the self - forget about yourself - give yourself to others, be humble, be very humble, love one another.  any thing that interfered with this self-abnegation was referred to as leaven.  leaven was used like a codeword for sin.  i picked up this point with someone.  can the metaphor of leaven not also be seen as a good thing in that it gives elevation to the bread dough, gives the bread an airy tasty texture?
leaven is seen as something bad in that it provokes separation between the particles, i was told.

what about alone time?
i confessed to talmid that i liked to spend time alone, that for me it was important sometimes to do exactly as i wished, and to take a break from thinking about other people's wishes.  talmid gently insinuated that this was a valid temptation, but that it should actually be overcome, in order that God's intention for human living be fulfilled, and there be no leaven in the bread, and that our self-abnegation create complete and loving group harmony.

i was happy to see, from my brief but rich contact with that branch of twelve tribes, to what extent they seemed to achieve that.

after four days - much waiting - on the spanish roads, i finally get to the border with portugal at vilar formoso.  after hitching and waiting for a further couple of hours in the wind and the rain i say "okay, i may until now have cherished the hope that passing motorists stop and pick up strangers with outstretched thumbs at side of road, but it is clearly not happening here.  one's expectations about the world must adapt to changing circumstances.  if nobody is stopping, i will walk.  it is only a hunderd kilometres now to the rainbow gathering.   it will take me but a few days"

my waiting game is transformed into a purposeful striding through the beautiful deserted portuguese countryside.  i don't know exactly where i am going and i like this.  having a detailed map, a clear idea of what lies ahead, is comforting but at the same time it detracts from the sensation of pure discovery.  i will try a field here.  it becomes overgrown and full of thorny brambles.  never mind, i come across a curious winding path which winds for miles beneath old oak boughs, old mossy stones surround me, not a soul in sight.  night comes and i sleep wonderfully comfortably atop a pile of hay, covered by a tin roof, preciously useful when a rain shower sweeps through the night.  the frisky young calves gather round ceremoniously and all of us look at each other with curiosity.

the next day it comes as a slight surprise to enter a village actually inhabited by people.  a young englishman responds to my "sabes como se chama esta aldeia?" with "eh, english, français?" then his father len strides out with a wide natural smile.  they are in the process of fixing their washing machine.  we talk about traveling days and the deserted portuguese countryside, abundant abandoned properties, sold very cheaply.  len bought this house two years ago and after renovation plans to live here half the year.  len is retired now but he still occassionally plays in a rock and roll band . . . "you never retire from rock and roll," he smiles.  he calls "bom dia!" and exchanges friendly words with the old men who amble past.  he invites me for a good earl grey with milk then a good english breakfast of fried eggs on toast.  his son nick has come out for a couple weeks rest after a minor burnout after years of work work work in england, earning plenty money but now not knowing where his life should go.  i tell him about the vision of the simplicity of being at the rainbow gathering.  simply being in the moment.  being in nature.   celebrating the simplicity of being.  eating food together in a circle and singing and playing music and gathering round the fire at night. 

i last saw portuguese sara three years ago in a hare krishna temple in india.  now the big brown eyes of her baby sol look into mine, rapt in intelligent baby contemplation.   of course for a baby when faced with another human, the most interesting thing to look at is the eyes.  i return his gaze.  then i look up at man sitting nearby with infinite calm ocean sky blue eyes and we hold our gaze for a time.  i tell him of what i have just thought of course for a baby the most interesting thing is the eyes and he tells me about a workshop he did once consisting of looking into a partner's eyes for a long time then writing down something of what you felt they communicated.  "lets organise such a workshop here" i suggest "i am sure lots of people would be interested"   he agrees it is a good idea, "we could do it first ourselves" after that whenever we met we look long into each other's eyes, but in the end we never get round to organising any workshop.  he has a young baby too, on whom more often than not he needs to keep his eye.  in any case i think including words into the eye communication equation is extraneous. beside the point. meddling. 

when i arrive at the rainbow it is raining. people tell me it has already been raining for two weeks, the rain maybe letting up for a cloudy day only to commence again the next day.   i am soaked and creep among the nearby abandoned houses.  they are constructed with solid granite blocks but many rooves have caved in.  i find one with a dry space upstairs although some of the floorboards are rotten and i always move about with gentle caution.  i light a fire on the stone shelf beneath the open window and watch all the steam magically emanating from my sodden clothes.  "abril, aguas mil" people tell me is a portuguese maxim indicating that it often rains in april, but this april is an unusually rainy one.  i revel in the dry shelter of this old house and sleep and rest from my wandering and watch and listen to the rain falling outside and marvel at the high spirits of the hippies who gather beneath the tarpaulin of the kitchen down on the sodden meadow to play guitars and bongo drums and sing, "magic is our give away and magic is our song, so give away your love today and sing the whole day long.  sing the whole day lo-o-ong, sing the whole day long.  sing the whole day lo-o-ong, sing the whole day long"

slowly the old house is visited by curious shelter-seekers and a group of squatters grows.  one night a softly-treading man with a big trenchcoat and a big beard appears as i am slumbering.  he is led by german girl bea, who met him at the fire.  just then swedish tyler calls though from next room "sorry, does anybody have a spare blanket i can borrow?  i am really cold."  sure, have this jacket.  lets get a fire going.  lets make some mint tea.  we sit in silence round the fire then i look round at the new-comer.  "its you!" we suddenly exclaim.  it is cuba, with whom i spent a couple of weeks sleeping in caves and scouting for the european rainbow in romania a couple of years ago.  he has just flown from england.  he has become involved in a community in york, working with a teacher who performs ceremonies and works to create deep vibrations which will reverberate throughout the collective consciousness and further the journey of the evolution of human consciousness.   so much i am perhaps able to coherently collect from cuba's curious metaphysical hyperanalytical ramblings.   he changes personas unexpectedly in the course of a conversation.  he himself admits to having many different personas. he is capable of paying great attention to his interlocutor, and making insightful insights, of surprising sensitivity.  sometimes he simply wanders off without really ending a conversation.  other times he falls into a reflective silence.  i find cuba crazier than ever.  on that first night i listen intently, intently fishing for meaning, as he strings together curious constellations of significant-sounding words, which often then break up into convulsive cackling.   i smile at the seemingly slapdash abstract paintings cuba creates with his words, somehow resonant with their own not-quite-graspable meaning, and realise that i, in comparison, am rather attached to my goal of using words clearly and my idea that words can and should be used to convey things as clearly as possible.

cuba's question is "is this your dream?" asked with raised eyebrows and twinkling playful eyes.  he casts himself in the role of dream coordinator, making everyone's dreams align, creating perfect harmony in groups.  i am often at a loss when i hear him speak, yet my meaning-sensors prick up when he talks about being highly conscious of the transforming influence he has when he enters a group.  he sees rituals, the fire and dragon dreaming as the tools to achieve his vision for group harmony.  behind the abandoned houses is a wonderful horseshoe waterfall.  the swollen white waters crash upon huge granite boulders.  on the hillside opposite, beneath the pine trees, in the lee of a great granite rock cuba sees a perfect spot for fire ceremonies.  the strong purifying energy emanating from the water element is truly something special.  juxtaposed with a strong hot fire energy a dynamic energy flow will be produced.  i become aware that indeed the fire is a magic unifying element in a group.  everyone who comes to sit in the magic comfortable distance from the fire - not too close warm, not too far cold - finds themselves united in the magic circle of the fire's glow.  even without speaking, without any conscious intention to communicate, a magic unity is formed thanks to the fire.  cuba often designates himself as the "fire man" the one who chooses the placements of new pieces of wood and who readjusts and prods and pokes and blows flames back into life and integrates the half-burned pieces from the periphery.  i observe cuba's desire to create, to direct, to always be engaged in a conscious project and say to him "a big difference between you and i is that i am generally happy just to be, whereas you have a general desire to actively do things"

one of the songs i learned and found infectious at this rainbow goes

"i step into the flow and then i let it go i open my heart my body my soul
i surre-e-ender   i surre-e-ender   i surre-e-ender, i open my heart my body my soul"

stepping into the flow amply characterises the experience of many who come to the rainbow.  i think of one food circle where somebody started wriggling around then pulling everyone else - everyone linked by hands held - to begin a big snaking movement.  everyone allowed themselves to be pulled.  over a hundred people - normally held in a solemn circle - spontaneously snaking around - exchanging surprised smiles with those they pass.  these things just happen, and people allow themselves to be led. 

while at the rainbow i read arnaud desjardin's book l'audace de vivre.  the boldness of living.  many of his themes were pertinent to the ways of the rainbow.  he writes about . . . well, he originally delivered lectures which were later transcribed and compiled as a book . . . about the great source of energy which simply comes to us as living beings, which he calls l'elan de vivre and which is often compromised in us by our mental activities, our judgements, denials, repressions.  the biggest and best example of our elan de vivre is our sex drive which, when channeled appropriately unleashes within us an inexhaustible source of creativity and spontaneity and vital force not to mention joy.  the author attempts to offer a general commentary on the human condition, but at the same time, i spotted how his vision of things was influenced by his personal journey through life.  he admitted to growing up in a restrictive catholic environment, where sexuality was not seen as a principal life activity to be celebrated, but merely a functional process to be tolerated exclusively within a marriage.  so for the author the discovery of the importance of sex is salient. 

another idea in the book i liked is the idea that whatever happens in the world, whatever message (lets say) that comes through whatever sound or smell or vision or physical sensation (e.g. oo my leg just got caught in a manhole), instead of making the habitual response of classifying it into good or bad, etc, instead to see it as always God who is speaking (God of course in this context understood to be everything which happens)
in essence, accept everything, for any given phenomenon is always an instance of the great unclassifiable mysterious experience of being.   i quote:

ouvrez toujours, c'est toujours Dieu qui frappe, meme sous la forme d'un ennemi.  D'ou ces paroles "aimez vos ennemis", "pardonnez les offences."  ouvrez toujours.  on frappe a la porte, a la porte de votre etre, ouvrez toujours, c'est Dieu qui frappe

yes, the idea of always being open open open

yes, the idea of always affirming

yes yes yes yes yes yes

yes!


voilà another cheeky little quote i found curious:

les animaux se manifestent spontanément, le paon fait la roue, le lion rugit.  il n'y a que nous dans la nature qui nous coupons de l'énergie vitale.  imaginez un corps de ballet qui ne serait composé que d'estropiés, d'infirmes, de semi-paralysés: voilà les etres humains!


a few days ago i left the rainbow and traveled to lisbon and sintra to meet a girl who i used to know as charlène, but who now wants to be known by her spiritual name hirdenam.  she explained it to me.  hirde is sanscrit for heart, while nam means true identity, thus giving: the heart's true identity, or the true identity of the heart.  hirdenam is volunteering at a kundalini yoga ashram and says she has "found her true self" there.  i was so happy to see her looking so serene.  for years she traveled around lets say aimlessly, loving the freedom and not wanting to be tied to anything.  now she sees those years as an evasion, "almost as if it were a different life"  her old life of adventurous exploration has now given way - she talks about crystalising - to a life of discipline, getting up at half five every morning, chanting mantras with the others at the ashram, adopting postures often accompanied by brisk repetitive movements and vigorous breathing, then the chanting of the sikh scriptures before breakfast at eight.  then seva - selfless service - which often consists of cleaning, she smiles, "but i don't see it as work.  whatever you create outside of you is a reflection of what you have inside you" before she is free at three.  she has always spoken slowly, carefully chosen her words.  now i especially admire the slow tempo of soft slightly french accent, filled with the serenity of her speaking her inner truth.

"do you get on well with your parents?" i ask her.

"for a long time i resented what they weren't, instead of appreciating what they were.  i get on well with them now that i have completely accepted who they are.  i know that they can't be anything other than who they are.  before i resented that they weren't so interested in spirituality, or into culture or art.  now i realise that for some reason i chose them when i was born into this life.  before being born we choose the life circumstances that will help us to learn.  in this life i realise that i have to learn tolerance, compassion, to accept people for who they are.  my task is to reprogramme my subconscious.  i feel that in my previous life - maybe for many previous lives - i was not tolerant.  maybe some people have led a life of very strict discipline, and in their next life they choose to live hedonistically, to experience also materialism.  it may take some people many many lives before they learn.  the ultimate goal is to learn to be completely compassionate, completely loving, completely peaceful, completely non-attached to the body so that finally the soul can be free from this world, from this material dimension, to exist purely and timelessly in the spiritual realm"

i listened with rapt attention, overawed that such an extravagant spiritual stance could be held with such conviction by this self-possessed young woman.  for lunch everyone sat outside in the warm sunshine and ate delicious vegan food.  shiv charan singh is the teacher of the ashram and the one to whom hirdenam looks as to her guru.  my first thought upon seeing him was "nice beard!" hirdenam says he wouldn't have minded at all, that he has a lively sense of humour.  when i told him that i had just come from the rainbow and when hirdenam said that she went to a rainbow once but that she did not really enjoy it, shiv charan said warmly "yes, i can't see you at a rainbow"

this comment intrigued me and at the evening dinner i asked shiv what his experience of the rainbow was.  he instantly responded:  in england many years ago, lots of people taking drugs, completely lost.

it formed a notable contrast to my experience of the rainbow, but i appreciate that from the point of view of the founder of an ashram the goal of life consists of a very concentrated and dedicated spiritual search, undertaken by following a very disciplined practice, and faithfully maintaining the ancient indian traditions.   compared to this point of view the rainbow gathering is quite rightly seen as anarchy,  undisciplined chaos, a rabble of ragged hippies, a melting pot of new age trends.  i can see the validity of shiv's critique of the rainbow, but personally not being someone who upholds a rigorous discipline as a necessary or necessarily good thing, i also appreciate that precisely the anarchic lack of hierarchy of the rainbow gives the space for spontaneity, for spontaneous expression of self, for the coming together of many different people.   the rainbow is a unique social phenomenon.  it brings together a great diversity of souls and, through adhering to very simple principles and basic structures, allows the experience of unity, connectedness, family.  i recognise that i am speaking for myself, for there are as many different experiences of the rainbow event as there are participants.  and yet . . . i also recognise that group energy is incontrovertible, is manifested by incontrovertible looks in eyes.  a person's powerful presence - not to mention hug - most clearly testifying to the sheer bliss of being. everyone feels the love.  many people dance.  our harmonised omming vocal vibrations rise up high and incontrovertibly proclaim the unity of what deep down always was always is oneness, masked by the illusion of separation.  it is true that the open openness "everyone is welcome" of the rainbow credo does indeed allow for dribs drabs of murkiness to seep in, unconsciousness, low vibrations, lost souls, those who give nothing and are even unknowing of how to receive.  the rainbow thing is very close to the spontaneous pulse of life.  i do not doubt for one minute its usefulness in the great scheme of useful things.  the rainbow thing is actually quite difficult to define and the only reason i am nattering on about it at well nigh midnight is due to me having being unwittingly locked into this public library in small portuguese rural town.  the portuguese are very relaxed about things, that's one thing i'll say about them.  i think i had already began writing this blog entry when the lights went out.  i says, "ah right, must be closing soon.  someone will come and tell me when it is time to close" but no.  i kept on typing and at a certain point realised that the whole building had gone very quiet. i actually received the realisation that i had been locked in with a certain degree of inner mirth.  i am well aware of just how precious time on the internet is in my life, in all of our lives.  not to mention all the portuguese books that surround me, many of them emanating the silent whisper "read me, don't you want to read me? you will probably enjoy reading me" at this point - bang on midnight - i foresee sleep becoming more of an appetizing appeal.  moreover, somebody told me that rain has been forecast for tonight, so i am happy indeed to find myself under a roof.





a anecdote from last night/this morning: my train had just arrived in coimbra, just before night came, so i headed up the hill towards some trees where i already had spent a night on my way down to lisbon.  on the way i hang about outside a house looking for someone to ask if they can fill my water bottle.  a shiny car then rocks up.  the woman says in an american accent: you can speak english.  i tell her that i am thinking of sleeping in the woods nearby.  she says:  don't do it.  it is too dangerous.  these houses are full of junkies.  she gestures to the low quality high rise housing nearby.  and those too.  she indicates a similar sort of housing estate across the motorway.  and we are right in the middle, she says with a smirk.  she thinks and says: much better head back down into coimbra and look for a quiet place near the river.  i thank her for the water and contrariwise to her recommendation, head back to the spot nearby where i had slept peacefully before, thinking: so narrow-minded, writing off a whole housing estate as junkies.  i look across to the all the windows in all the houses and hear the shouts of children playing in the last light of evening and imagine all the lives and life stories and families growing up contained in that relatively small concrete space, whereas just across the valley, here i am preferring so much more to collect dry sticks and cook over a little fire and sleep beneath the trees and the stars of course nobody is going to disturb me here, a lot of people don't even tend to spend time in nature, that woman had a serious bourgeois complex, with one denigrating word she dismisses them all as junkies.  in the morning i am still sleeping soundly when a man walks past and says something unintelligible to me.  he comes back later and sees me preparing black tea with lemon and honey over the fire "and i thought you were a drug-addict when i first saw you lying here" he says "yes, lemon is good for us, but we who are tall and thin, we should not take too much - lemon makes you thin"  - mas falas bem portugues, he compliments me. i actually don't catch everything he says, but he is patient and explains anything i don't understand, indicating, along with a certain honest quality to his eyes, that he is capable of empathy and respectful of the worth of his fellow humans, something that is totally contradicted by his lifestyle, which he gradually got across to me while smoking a cocaine bong.  his mother is poor, there is no work.  what can you do? that's life, with a rueful smile, then silence.  he spent six and a half years in prison for robbing someone's house to fuel his drug addiction.  the government do offer help for those dependent on drugs, but it is too much effort to head down there all the time.  now he has been out of prison for a year, and is back robbing houses.  he knows it is shaky, if he gets caught again . . . he still has two more years of his previous prison sentence.  mas . . . a vida e assim.

ista nao e uma boa vida, i limit myself to saying.  he looks around at all my scattered belongings and says "espera aqui, volto em dez minutos" but the morning sun is already rising and i briskly set off walking through the countryside.   it is no wonder that many rural properties have a huge dog with a vicious snarl that seem to want to sink their teeth into me, with such property thieves on the prowl.