Taste the Rainbow

A prismatic polychromatic spectrum of E.R.M., like white sunlight through a crystal, 26.2 facets through which to radiate my own energy and inspiration.

Real $$ Millionaires Black & White

Crawford, Whyte Nynsha, T-Payne, P-Rock. Mad money big world millionaires.

Get your glow on, get your groove on.

The best joke of the day, any day, every day, guaranteed:

What did the wall say to the blind robot?

“Stop running in to me!”

Like a smooth aged whisky give it a moment to hit you, then you’ll feel the warmth.  Share it and spread it, it’s an original, from Mr. Chad Woodward.

How far can you walk without running into a wall you hit yesterday, and the day before that…  Life is ever changing, dynamic, from conception to death, our lives are a series of cause and effect relationships.  Realizing that we are a part of the beautiful system of the world is a gift, and the power we have to be aware, observe, learn, and take action.  Leaves turn and change, grow and unfold, dry and fall to ride the wind.  Much of the manmade world is centered on the idea of control, constants, and attempting to lessen the frequency and severity of change.  Essentially creating many walls, and many blind robots.  Check your surroundings, and where your eyes are focused, and the path your feet are taking each day.  How far can you walk without running into a wall you hit yesterday, and the day before that… Surround yourself with nature, open your senses, and I guarantee your walk will be long, new, abundant, and beautiful.

Whyte Nynsha, October, keeping the streak, alive.

Fall maple's cool yellow hot red fire.

Last week I posted on the many health benefits of getting your Whyte Nynsha on, and keeping mine rolling at least once a month through till next summer.  October is still here, and already there is one Whyte Nynsha sighting in the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife record book…

Hawai'i? Oregon? Alaska? Tokatee Falls on the beautiful Umpqua River. The 65 foot falls pours through amazing columnar basalt formations, cold, clear, powerful water. A nice little river front property there off to the left as well. Just the kind of place a Whyte Nynsha would reside.

Something like the elusive Sasquatch photos. Whyte Nynsha caught here in the moment, in the element, about to enter some very cold water.

Cold, blue, a cleansing blessing, baptism of clarity, feeling it all is easy when you are immersed in it.

Nature's sacred geometry, columnar basalt.

Where the wall of moss stands begins the way where River Mermaids and Whyte Nynshas discover a path through.

It doesn't all happen at once, still plenty of this around to cool the fiery foliage.

 

Forest Friends

Black Beauty (my mountain bike) and I left Ashland in late afternoon, a bike and run mission was on order to enjoy the Sunday evening.  The original plan was a bike and run up Pilot Rock, though on my way past Emigrant Lake it was clear that her head was in the clouds.  I rerouted up above Buckhorn Springs to Tyler Creek Road.  At the Green Springs Summit pulled off the backpack and swapped my bike shoes for running shoes, lycra shorts for running shorts, checked to make sure I had my crystal in my pocket, today’s choice a purple amethyst, and set off to run some of the PCT.

The golden, high, prairie grass captured the sunlight like a fishing net, rays of gold wriggling and moving in the late afternoon breeze.  The sky clear, blue, soft white islands of cloud suspended in the sky on the wide horizon.  Swaths of aspen swales lined a small creek, attracting my eye like a peacock’s displaying its feathers.  Occasionally I would pull the amethyst from my pocket and holding up between the sun and my eye as I ran.

Deeper in the trees the light made its way through the dark, mossy trunks in long soft rays.  I ran smiling through the golden ribbons among the trees, occasionally passing through open meadows full of star thistle and grass gleaming in the sun as it slowly set.  The air, slowly cooling, drew the earthy smells of the forest floor up to my nose, into my lungs.  I was well into the sensory simplicity that, when coupled with movement, brings me the peace, clarity, and presence to truly enjoy every aspect of nature.

About two miles from my bike, and nearing the end of my run, I entered a section where the trees were huddled together on the steep hillside.  Darker, denser, and quieter. Looking ahead of me I was surprised to see something moving along the trail about 70 yards away.  I’ve seen animals on trails before, an indecisive squirrel, skittish deer, bobcats, coyotes, bear, badger, and other animals flying down the trail spooked by the sound of my bike or pounding feet.

This was different.  In size, shape, and in that it wasn’t running away, and seemed to be casually walking down the trail.  And it was big, the width of the animal’s shoulders and frame obscuring the entire path.

My eyes started at a long tail, and slowly tracked up along its back.  The alternating up and down motion of the front shoulders was elegant and graceful, though, in the moment, reminded me of the, “predator stalking his prey”, moment in the National Geographic specials I watched as a kid on PBS.  I realized, what I was seeing, what I had met, was a large cougar.

I thought I might be able to make a quiet exit, that maybe he didn’t notice me charging up behind him, and I could just back away like we never met.  Right about the time my brain finished the logic of it, the cougar slowly turned his massive head, looked back over his right shoulder, and stared straight into my eyes.  As if to say, “Yeah, I heard you a long way back there, you didn’t surprise me.  And in case you didn’t notice, I weigh more than you, and am kind of a big deal here in this forest.”

Stay still, make yourself look big, don’t turn and run.  Did the person who came up with this cougar survival advice ever come up on one wearing only thin running shorts and a sweaty t-shirt?  Far from any other humans, and having been raised by optimistic parents who taught me anything is possible, perhaps even outrunning a cougar, I decided to run. Now having to back track the previous hour of trail and hills, though that was the last thing on my mind as I sprinted, slowing every couple minutes to stop my breath, open my ears, and scan the treed slope above me.

I checked my pocket for my amethyst, for at least some bit of comfort or security.  I quickly discovered that it had fallen out, likely during my first few violent strides.  I was saddened, but later thought that maybe the cougar decided not to chase me down after coming upon the crystal in the path, maybe he is even wearing it around his neck instead of the rabbit’s foot he was wearing before.

The sun was setting, and I wanted to get back to my bike, out of the woods, and on my ride home, before dark hit.  The thought of a paved road seemed like bliss.  The next few miles I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being stalked, that the cougar was just waiting for the right moment.  I did my best to make weird human noises, and once I got back to the gravel road for the last few miles found some empty beer cans to crush and bang together as I ran.

After the adrenaline settled, recounting the story to friends and my parents on the phone, I took time to reflect.  My initial reaction was fear, for my safety and life, that the cougar would run me down and eat me up.  Some online research revealed that cougar attacks are extremely rare, and of those, not often fatal.  Every day I am in close contact with what could be seen as life threatening encounters, statistically much more so than a potential cougar attack: careless drivers, crazed people, lightning strikes, natural disasters.

In many indigenous cultures, from sharks in Polynesia to panthers in the Everglades, seeing a large predator in its element is a blessing, gift, and totem of strength.  I assume that these people spent enough time in nature, observing the animals and their actions, establishing a connection, to know that the animal was not out hunting for human.  Their observations became experience, which became knowledge, and became comfort and safety, and an appreciation for the animal’s strength and role in the health of the forest, and ultimately the health of the human community as well.

Found this sign pic on the internet. Where this sign fails is: not showing that in my case the cougar was bigger than the human, I did not have any small, unbent children to hold in front of me as a shield.

Aloha Friday, best be prepared…

And here is a little Aloha Friday Funk Fest for you to enjoy…

Help Whyte Nynsha Keep the Streak Alive!

It was a glorious hot July day, deep in the North Cascade's Methow Valley, that Whyte Nynsha emerged from hiding... and has since traveled the world, being so obvious with his art that even the most prepared, aren't.

Friends, family, and regular Building Boats readers are likely familiar, in one way or another, with Whyte Nynsha.  Frequently seen in the warmer months, a bit more elusive in the winter.

Summer is past, fall is slowly fading, and outdoor pursuits in the Rogue Valley are involving more layers of lycra and Patigucci. For most Ashland locals swimming in a nearby lake, river, stream or mountain creek is joyous summer treat.  Feeling the fresh water on the skin, a respite from the heat, a new and exciting way to enjoy mother nature.

As fall makes its way into the valley we make our way into jackets and jeans, less time spent dodging the heat and more time seeking it, which all means less time enjoying those calm, cool lakes, and rushing, rapid rivers around us.

No reason to stop though. Whyte Nynsha is planning to rally, at the very least, once a month, to make an honest full body dip-and-swim in a nearby body of water.  Could be a lake, river, ocean, waterfall…  Running naked in the rain doesn’t count.  I’m sure most of you have at least one September swim in the books.  The weather is looking, decent enough, this weekend to get October in.  And before or after there is always Bikram Yoga of Ashland to get you warmed back up.

I encourage all ya’ll to get out there, get your bike, run, hike or E.R.M. on, get the sweat on, get the clothes off, the Whyte Nynsha on, and crush it out Polar Bear style.  If you need more reason than for the pure joy and slight craziness of it read some info I pulled off the on-line, check out reason #2, turns out there is some E.R.M.ing involved in mid-winter Whyte Nynsha outings.

1. Boosts your immune system

For your body, a sudden and drastic change in temperature constitutes an attack – as anyone who’s ever fallen overboard in British waters will concur. And, whilst “attacking” your own body may not sound like a good thing, there is no harm in keeping it on its toes. In fact, quite the opposite.

Scientists from the Czech Republic immersed witting subjects in cold water for one hour, three times a week and monitored their physiology. They found significant increases in white blood cell counts and several other factors relating to the immune system. This was attributed to the cold water being a mild stressor which activates the immune system and gives it some practice.

2. For an all-natural high

Winter swimmers talk a lot about the ‘high’ they get from cold water – a feeling of wellbeing that’s so encompassing that it becomes quite addictive (who doesn’t want to feel truly good, at least once a day?) The cause? Endorphins.

Endorphins are the body’s natural pain killers and, in the case of a cold dip, it uses them to take the sting away from your skin. So, to get high on your own supply, all you need to do is jump in a river.

And if you think that sounds dangerously close to the pleasure/pain barrier then you’re probably right. The two other primary causes for endorphin release are pain and orgasm.

The cold will also stimulate your parasympathetic system, which is responsible for rest and repair, and this can trigger the release of dopamine and serotonin. These neurotransmitters are a vital part of keeping us happy and low levels of them are linked with depression. Couple this effect with the endorphin rush as you take the plunge and it should make for a warm glow and a wide smile when you re-emerge.

3. Gets your blood pumping

Being hot brings blood to surface. Being cold sends it to your organs. Both extremes work your heart like a pump. That’s why the whole sit in the sauna, roll in the snow, sit in the sauna thing makes people glow. But why is increased blood flow good for you?

Well, it helps flush your circulation for starters, pushing blood through all your capillaries, veins and arteries. It will exfoliate your skin and flush impurities from it, thus helping your complexion (firm-bodied women of all ages around pool sides say it stops cellulite). Evidence also demonstrates that your body adapts to the cold with repeated exposure and this may improve your circulation, particularly to your extremities – no bad thing in the winter months.

You could get these benefits by switching between the hot and cold taps in your shower (or the sauna, snow, sauna thing) but that doesn’t sound nearly as fun as quick dip in your local pond followed by wrapping up warm afterwards.

4. Improves your sex life

The suggestion of a cold shower might bring forth images of hot-headed young men trying to quell wanton urges but research paints a different picture.

In a study with a similar format to the one described above, participants took daily cold baths and were monitored for changes. In addition to some similar results to their Czech counterparts, these researchers also found increased production of testosterone and oestrogen in men and women respectively.

In addition to enhancing libido in both sexes, these hormones also play an important role in fertility. In fact, one technique recommended for men looking to fatherhood is to bathe their testicles in cold water every day.  Whatever your procreative desires, a dip of a different sort certainly could add an edge to your sex life.

5. Burns calories

We all know that swimming is great exercise but there are some extra benefits from doing it in the North Sea that you just won’t get from a warm wade in the Med.

Swimming in cold water will make your body work twice as hard to keep you warm and burn more calories in the process. For this sort of exercise, fat is your body’s primary source of energy and the increased work rate will increase your metabolism in the long run.

Find it. You may be surprised the places you find yourself, maybe in an ocean, in a river with some salmon and lost oars, in a lake beneath a mountain, where will you be when Whyte Nynsha is ready for action?

Mother Shasta, Mt. Mazama, and Vulture’s Duty

Crater Lake and Wizard Island. (picture taken on my first annual Big Daddy Pilgrimage Ride)

If you live in the Rogue Valley or Southern Oregon you live in a land that was once passed over by the connecting gaze of two important and distant souls in love.  Their presence taller, and more rugged than any others to their north, south, east or west.  The woman, Mother Shasta, who is still alive today, and Mt. Mazama, to the north, now known as Crater Lake, whose form changed before we were all born.  And in this story there is Vulture, who, despite a reputation as an undertaker and Grim Reaper, you will find actually carries out one of the most important duties for the animal and spirit worlds.  Enjoy the story, inspired by my own adventures here in the valley and the amazing people I have the opportunity to share the experiences with.

-Alex Newport-Berra

Mt. Mazama’s and Mother Shasta’s service to the Spirit World

Like Mother Shasta to our south, Mt. Mazama once stood to the north as a tall proud mountain.  He served as sentinel and steward of the surrounding lakes and jagged peaks.  Confidently directing the winds and clouds, the lightning storms of summer that keep the forest healthy and the snows of winter that blanket the hills and quiet the land in winter.

Mt. Mazama served an important duty in the animal life cycle.  When animals became sick, old, or injured, they made their way to his base, and, using their last reserves of strength, made the long slow climb to Mt. Mazama’s peak.  The animal’s journey would take a few days as they navigated their own path through Mt. Mazama’s  tall pines, basalt cliffs, waterfalls and mossy trunks.  Often being visited by friends who would walk or fly by their side for segments of the journey.  During which time the friends would rejoice in all the wonderful times they shared together.

Above tree line the sacred journey was completed alone.  Higher and higher, until at last the animal reached the very top.  Mt. Mazama, feeling the animal as it climbed his long ridged back, rugged shoulders, and head.  At the top the animal took time to enjoy the amazing view, the highest it had ever been afforded in its life.  Mt. Mazama waited as patient guide and last companion while the animal enjoyed the unique view.  Often the animal would remark about a sense of wholeness, understanding, and perspective, as it took in all that extended between Mt. Mazama’s summit and the distant horizon.

Mother Shasta plays an equally important role in the life cycle of the area’s forests.  It is from Her high summit that youthful new animal spirits descend from the spirit world to Earth and occupy the bodies of newborns.  It is not uncommon in Spring and early Summer to see their one-way footsteps coming from the upper snowfields down to the pine needle duff of the forest floor.

Red-Tail’s Visit

It was a windy day when an old red-tail hawk, weary and tired, though happy from many years of gliding over the Rogue Valley, came to be at the top of Mt. Mazama.  He knew it was a winged animal because if it was a land animal he would have felt the slow footsteps climbing his body.  However, with birds and hawks Mt. Mazama would only notice the occasional soft landing of the bird as it made short flights upwards, until the final soft tap on his head when it reached the top.

On this particular day, before the animal’s soul was lifted up into the spirit world, Red-Tail Hawk asked a question to Mt. Mazama.  “Do you know what I hope to take with me?” he asked the mountain.  “Your ability to fly?” replied Mt. Mazama.  “No.  I hope to take love.”  and with that, his soft feathered body crumpled into the stone, wind rose up Mt. Mazama, across his chest, neck and face, and lifted Red-Tail’s soul through the clouds, into the spirit world.

Red-Tail’s comment stirred the fiery heart of Mt. Mazama that lay deep below his gray stone slopes, and in the following days the animals could hear boulders rumbling down his side.  Mt. Mazama knew the feeling of sharp winter wind, the warmth of long summer days, and the rain as it built from a light sprinkle to a heavy shower in the spring.  Yet he wondered if he knew the feeling of love.  So many animals that climbed to his summit were filled with an overflowing joy and radiance, despite the condition of their dying body.

Mother Shasta and a cold Spring

Mt. Mazama and Mother Shasta always knew of each other’s presence.  Together their peaks dominated the skylines of the Rogue Valley, Klamath Basin, and Siskiyou Crest.  Often, as he watched the sunrise, Mt. Mazama would find his eye captured by the striking silhouette of Mother Shasta, as cold blue dusk opened to the warm amber light of dawn in the east.  In the fall and early winter he would admire how the rising moon arced gently over her moonlit snowfields, draping her in an elegant flowing gown of white.

It was an early Spring day when a bitter cold, still left of winter, found Mt. Mazama tired and weary from his continuous internal questioning, his form slowly eroding from the inside out.  That night the animals of the forest felt the earth shake and the sky rumble.  Many thought it was one of the thunder and lightning storms spring’s unpredictable temperament was known for.

However, when they awoke in the morning, they looked up to see that Mt. Mazama had collapsed.  His strong back and shoulders had given way.  All that remained of their stone sentinel was a deep, empty crater.  The animals were stunned, some crying, others running to the elders seeking council and wisdom.  It was not until the afternoon that the animals came together to sit in silence and stillness.

In this stillness the animals could hear a calling, carried on the wind, filtering through the pines from Mt. Mazama’s broken top, “Vulture, vulture, be here.  Vulture, Vulture, be here.”

The animals looked around at each other, “Has anyone seen Vulture today?”  asked Raven.  “Yes, I saw him perched atop his favorite gnarled tree this morning.”  replied a young deer.  In that moment they saw the long shadow of Vulture’s body pass over them, beating his wings hard, flying a course to the jagged rim that now overlooked the crater where Mt. Mazama once stood.

Vulture receives his duty

Vulture landed on the rough edge of the crater and listened,

“Vulture, I have lost my tall, proud, form and I can not serve the forest as I once did.  Yet animals still need to have a way to ascend to the spirit world when they die here on Earth.  I have chosen you to continue my work.  You are black, so I can see you arrive from afar in the sky.  Your wings are wide and sturdy, so I know you will have the strength to serve all the land.  Your focus and sight are precise, so I know you will have the determination and integrity to carry the duty, day after day.  In addition, your keen sense of smell will aid you in finding the animals whose bodies are beginning to decay, and whose spirits are seeking a new body, high in the spirt world above.

When you find an animal that has died, give it company and security.  Inspect the limbs to ensure there is no disease that will spread as its flesh returns to the soil and nourishes the plants and animals.  Once this step is complete the animal will recognize your voice, and know of your gentle care and companionship during this time.  In this comfort the animal’s soul will tuck tight among the dark swaths of your wings.  It is then that you must fly.

Fly high, and you must close your eyes, for you will fly with your heart and not your sight.  Unfold your wings, stretch wide, and be still.  You will glide and drift, at first, back to the ground.  Your heart will beat fast and hard as you struggle to keep your wings spread open against the rushing sky.  Trust, be still.  Vulture, you may drop, doubt, and rush, but have faith.  Trust in the heart and your intention, feeling for that small edge where a warm current is lifting from the land into the sky.  When you are in the warm uplifting current your heart will slow, your effort will ease, and that is where you will be carried up, higher than you have ever flown under your own power.  Stay in this uplift, eyes closed, listening to your heart, feeling the warm air swirl around you, pulling you up with grace, keeping you warm in the cold thin air as you rise with the animal spirit kept close in the folds and creases of your wings. When you finally open your eyes you will arrive in the spirit world, where the animal’s soul departs from yours, and you can return to Earth.”

The clouds and rains hold Mt. Mazama’s heart safe

Vulture accepted his new role, humbled and honored.  Proud that he had exactly the mind and body to carry out the task.  He would need only to practice with his spirit, the new sort of flight that Mt. Mazama described to him, flying with his heart rather than his eyes.

When Mt. Mazama fell and lost daily sight of Mother Shasta, he realized he did know of the love Red-Tail had described that day on his summit.  The beauty, presence, and connection he had with the distant peak of Mother Shasta and all the land surrounding, brought him joy, passion, presence and intention as unique as each curve of river flowing to the sea.  Rains that once fell to cleanse and cascade over the hard boulders of Mt. Mazama’s slopes now collect in the center of the crater.  The clear, cool, blue water serving to protect and hold a quiet, still, comfort over the beating heart of Mt. Mazama.

Generations patiently rebuild

At the base of Mother Shasta you will see a small cinder cone, referred to by many as Mt. Shastina.  Mother Shasta asked the forest creatures to help construct a mountain top that will replace Mt. Mazama’s broken back and body.  Century by century this small cinder cone is growing.  Squirrels scurry with pebbles in their mouths, bears and badgers work together rolling boulders to the base.  Eventually, this cinder cone will be large enough, and Mother Shasta will call upon every bird, hawk, vulture, owl, butterfly, bee, and moth to hoist the massive mound and rebuild the broken and incomplete body of her love, Mt. Mazama.

The forest animals around Crater Lake are helping too, and if you visit the rim and look inside the crater today you will see what is known as Wizard Island, also a small cinder cone.  Slowly rising, stone by stone, to eventually crest the rim’s jagged edge, and allow Mt. Mazama and Mother Shasta to see each other once again.

©Alex Newport-Berra 2011

And if you enjoyed this story you can explore some more I have written by clicking on the “Poetry and Stories” category to the right on the Categories toolbar, scrolling down that screen and clicking on ‘older posts’

Mother Shasta visible on the far horizon. (picture taken during one of the Rogue Valley's infamous winter inversions)

From the archives: Harvest Time

This picture makes me think of the image of someone dangling a carrot in front of the horse.

(* Note: From the archives features posts that for one reason or another I have decided to re-in-joy with ya’ll)

Nature is wise.  Seasons, adaptations, cycles, all snychronized across the globe in a seamless, everchanging manifestation of life.  I am always amazed how nature times the readiness of fruit from June – October.  Rather than ripening all at once, the keen eye will notice a rotating monthly menu as the summer and fall progress.  Cherries, to strawberries, blueberries to veggies, to blackberries, figs, apples, pears and grapes.  Can you imagine if they all ripened at one time, one three week burst of abundance?  That would be like Costco.  Nature is smart, She nutures us slowly with ever changing palette.  Fall is wonderful in the Rogue Valley and normal ride food can be supplemented by freshly picked fruits.  By now I have all the good trees mapped in my mind, and in the last week have managed to glean most of my ride food from roadside fruit, little sweet bundles of summer sunshine that I put in my belly.  So if you see me riding, and see my jersey pockets bulging with something round, in the words of Arnold Schwarzenager in the movie “Kindergarten Cop”, “It’s not a tumor!”

Sweet, crunchy, juicy, and not too big.

Nature's own Gu packet.

Sun dried raisins, oh yeah. Only thing I miss about the red box ones is you can use the empty box as a train whistle.

Pears are a little more finicky as they usually ripen best after picked, still, there is some good fructal love to be had here.

Aloha Friday!

Cruising at Sandy's was a highlight of living on Oahu, some of the best waves I ever caught were without a board. Blue, heaving, round, glossy, close-out barrels deeper than a subway tunnel.

For most, Friday marks the transition from the work week to the weekend.  Here in the Rogue Valley its looking like the sun will come out and radiate radical rays upon us today for some outdoor time, get your run on, hike on, bike on, oaring on, E.R.M. on, sunbathe on.  When I lived in Hawai’i I enjoyed the diverse cultural influences and the way they manifested in daily life, from how the police system operated, to the festivals, to the weekend rituals.  One of my favorite was the concept of, “Aloha Friday”. Every Friday is Aloha Friday.

Aloha is one of the most beautiful Hawai’ian words, in sound and meaning.  Aloha means hello, Aloha means I love you, Aloha means goodbye.  It is very similar in sentiment and use to the sanskrit and common yogic term, “namaste”.  The Aloha spirit is strong in Hawai’i, and here in Ashland as well.  So today, spread it, say it, get colorful, chill out and tune in to being outside.

Traditional ways of recognizing the day are wearing a floral “Aloha Shirt” and generally be stoked and saying aloha Friday to your friends.  Even at school most professors would swap their more formal threads for flowing aloha shirts and shorts, and the change in clothing was often a catalyst for a change in attitude, for the better, mellower, more hang-loose-wanna-go-beach-brah-kine-style.  Even the weather forecaster and news team on T.V. would don Aloha shirts.

Put it on you, stoke, smile, sun, weekend on the way brah.

*Dinner table trivia for your pau hana tonight, the Hawai’ian alphabet has only 12 letters!  a,e,i,o,u, and can you name the rest?  Correct entries in the comment field below receive a free karmic blessing from Dr. N. Kent himself.