A million homes along the way…
I have been on a fast for 9 days now. It’s a beautiful experience. Aside from the benificial biological processes to your health, there is a depthful awareness that comes along with the absence of eating.
Your senses sharpen to a surprising degree. Midway through, I started mapping spaces with my ears like a bat. I can see the tiny details near the horizon and can track moving pine needles and leaves in the swaying branches. Looking up under the shade of a tree has become like a puppet show where the trees are like gloves over mother natures hands.
My joints have softened and I can feel things more distinctly on my skin. I can smell, WOW! I can smell the precise way someone has prepared their meal next door. Mid-fry, I know all the ingredients in the batter, the temperature of the oil, the salt and pepper and flour and chilli powder. I’m pretty sure I can smell shapes now. Chicken shapes…
Our senses are amazing. When I fast, my own humanity appears before my eyes, in my fingertips, in my centerdness. I am like an animal again and the world appears not as chaos or imposition, but as a place to play. I jump down the stairs like I might jump from a tree. I can sit silently, thoughtless, observing, saving my energy. I can say hello with the entirety of my body expressing itself in agreement, connected whole-heartedly to the world around me.
That awareness extends even deeper. Into emotions, their causes, how they interact with each other and which depth of being they occur at. How to navigate those layers, negotiate them, barter and trade, set aside, becomes as easy as shuffling and playing cards. Hiking and mediating churn what lurks beneath the surface, bringing deep water to light to breathe and be known. I become more whole when I fast. More connected to my heart, more loving towards myself and more understanding of the world and of the people in my community.
The awareness extends further still! Through the body and into the dimension of spirit. Everytime I fast, this being the third time, I have clear insights into how our human bodies and selves are in constant interaction with a mysterious and pervasive interdimensional fabric. One we cannot see but occupies the same spaces that we do. It is here always, just beyond our perceptual reach. Like dogs smelling something 12 miles (20 kilometers) away that we cannot. Like animals who can see infrared and ultraviolet. Can hear sub and super sonic. All of these terms are, in a way, an admission of the parts of the world that are just beyond our reach.
I promise you, our hearts are intimately connected with this world. It is a part of all of our lives no matter how much we come to know it in our minds. How much we believe in it. There are dimensions to this existence that are beyond our understanding and reach. The great mythologies are very often collections of centuries-long, legacy efforts to explore into this space. To give it names and perscribe stories, rituals and rules onto our interactions with it. This week, I had a special experience as I attempted participating in that legacy and delved into my own spiritual spaces.
When you fast, its important to get your heart rate up and blood going through your veins every day. If you can manage to do this consistently, there can be little to no discomfort during your fast, in fact I often feel much more energized and equalized than normal. I have been walking my dog at both sunrise (5 AM) and sunset (8 PM) every day for 1-2 hours. The mornings are special, we take a small trail near the grocery store into the woods to the top of a tall hill that overlooks the mediteranean sea towards Croatia. There are olive trees, butterflies, birds whistling their morning rise, the muted paper blue and orange sky all laid upon the silence of still-sleeping Slovenian dreams.
In that space, I started to get the physical sensation in my heart of a window slowly opening. Day after day the window grew, and the weight of a world that makes constant demands of our attentions and effort, the grip of the unameable chaos that is Ukraine, Los Angeles, now Syria, Trump, Elon, buy this, eat, fuck, is it broken?, hey, don’t forget you!, dogs gotta go out, wow i didn’t eat today, hey!, man I’m out of cat food?, visa, school, hey, are you in there?, you ain’t got money for that, dude, you know this, ok lets budget, hello..?…. Yes?
Fear. It gathers on our hearts like something sticky and thick. Weighs us down and keeps the window from opening. Keeps it shut up tight. Severs the connection with our own voices, keeps us from hearing the voice of life and, what I’ve learned, from hearing the voices of all the ones we’ve ever loved.
On my walks, the grip of that constant sub-surface fear began realaxing and, every day, I found the window in my heart open a bit wider than the day before. A gentle voice was coming through more and more clearly, though it did not raise itself to be heard. I felt its presence through the window.. Maybe more than one presence.
There were voices, quiet and vague murmuring, not necessarily directed at me. In fact, it sounded like several people going about their business completely oblivious of the fact that I could hear them. I couldn’t make out any of what they were saying but I could feel them. Some were in their dreams. One was getting breakfast. One was at home reading, thinking, worrying. Then there was one, that came as clear as backyard sun. She spoke softly, with a constant and easy smile that seemed to be waiting to laugh. Her voice came through to me so clearly, it bordered on physical touch
The next morning, maybe in my dreams, I had somehow received answers for what was hapenning. This window in my heart was acting as a gateway between dimensions. I could feel that, sure, these were the murmurings of people, but much more importantly, they were connections that didn’t mind distance, didn’t mind space.
Connections to every person that I had ever shared a true love with. Every friend, every brother, every lover, every sister, teacher and smiling stranger. These loving connections were pathways that are only accesible through open gateways of trust. The wider the gate was opened, the stronger the connection became, and in turn, the clearer I could hear the respective murmur inside my heart.
Trust can happen in an instant, whether it is through the serendipitious meeting of two people with matching labyrinthical mind-ways, or maybe it happens when you meet an older, wiser soul. Or maybe in moments of shared vulnerability, maybe in danger, or in romance.
I think this is how we know when someone accross the world might be thinking of us, or something has hapenned to someone we care for.
Now, for my experience… That quiet and laughing voice who seemed to be waiting on me…
I spent three days in direct conversation with my grandmother. Asking her questions, mostly on those morning walks, where my heart was most unencumbered and open. In the quiet of Istrian hills. Looking over the mediterannean sea. Her voice flew to me like the Maestral winds from the horizon and beyond.
“Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Is that really you?”
“Yes.”
”Am I going insane?”
“Yes,” she chuckled softly
”Have you been here all along?”
“Yes.”
“Since you died?”
“When I died, I promised myself I’d stay with you until you found a home…”
“…will I?”
“Yes, it’s not long now…” I felt her knowing and gentle smile cover me like a blanket.
I was shocked. I grappled with my thoughts for the next 30 minutes. Am I actually going insane? Is this just some sort of starvation delusion? An oasis in my psyche? But it felt external. When I used my voice to think, I could feel neurons firing, the connections in my brain and neck and lungs and vocal chords. The subtle tension of my mouth and tongue and throat. Your body mimics physical speaking and other actions even when you are performing them in your imagination, a technique many musicians use to practice while away from their instruments. But her voice? None of that. I could hear it as if she were here but not here. Speaking through that window in my heart like a neighbor might call through the kitchen window. I convinced myself to trust the experience and try again.
“….you there?”
“I’m still here.” she chuckled, smiling..
“DID YOU WRITE THAT SONG??!”
(The title track on my upcoming album is titled I’m Still Here)
“We wrote that song…”
She said it softly, gently, I could feel the peaceful blanket. There was so much conversation. Mostly about why I had to go through what I went through. I learned through our conversations that that statement in fact was not true. The inverse was. I’m LUCKY to have gotten to go through all that I’ve been through. It’s my greatest privelege.
If you don’t know, I was homeless for 5 years. I’ve spent bouts of life in impoverished areas. Through bouts of impoverished conditions. My life has been threatened in very real ways, as recently as 2023 when a group of Hawaiin men summoned an actual hitman to kill me at a campfire, where my friend, thank God for Ben, told them I was protected by a powerful Hawaiin family. I’ve suffered numerous devastating injuries and accidents. Every single one of my ribs is misplaced. My spine is messed up. I have a brain injury from Hawaii that left me with a years long struggle to regain my capacity to speak and migraines that would leave me in bed for weeks at a time. I struggle with memory loss to this day, though I have learned to roll with it and communicate to confused friends whats going on in fun ways. My life up to this point has been paved with extremes, tragedies and victories.. Hardships were compounded by dynamics of lonliness that seemed unshakable. Non-reciprocal relationships mirroring childhood traumas. Under-developed social skills from an early life spent moving from place to place, leaving me in echo chambers alone when friends couldn’t understand my behavior. The classic psychology of attracting relationships that represented the archetypal broken parts of familial bonds.
So why is this all a privelege? Because we are as strong as the hardships we prevail through. The heights of our happinesses are in direct proportion to the depth that sorrow has dug into our souls. When we experience grief, we also gain appreciation for the preciousness of the thing that we lost. In fact, fasting is a practice of exactly that. Do you know how good ANY piece of food tastes after not eating for 10 days? I break my fast with oranges. They are sweet and colorful and explode expressively as if they speak in celebration with you. Do you know how slowly you chew? How enjoyable every drop of that juice is? How your entire body seems to melt in prayer as if that piece of orange was fed to you by the hand of God herself?
Is it not the same when Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Jews, Jains, Sikhs, and Taoists meditate on death? Is not every moment that we take a breath also a wondorous orange slice of life?
I spoke with her for 2 days more before the need subsided and I could trust that she’d be there when I need her. In my mind, for years, I have been searching for a home. The belief that I don’t know what a home is has haunted me. I use the memory of my grandmothers presence to navigate that definition, I even tattooed a stencil painting she had above her stove that said “Home” onto my chest. But defining the concept permanently has remained elusive.
During this fast, this troublesome belief I’ve held onto for so long, of not truly knowing what a home is, has transformed into a new comfort. I may not be able to give you a certain definition, but I’ve discovered a million tiny ways that a home can be. It can be a moment, it can be a love. It can be a dog named Kalo, or a cat named Kai. A passion or a plan. A dream, a dimension, a dance. It can be a belief, it can be your faith. It can be a walk and a conversation. A surrender.
I am on a journey towards Bonito, Italy. A village where my grandmother’s grandfather, Agostino, was born. One hundred years later, through the beauteous and serendipitous fun of fates, I was born in Napoli, just 28 miles (54 km) from where he was born. For as long as I remember, this town has been a myth living inside my heart. A home I’ve always thought of as long ago or far away, is changing into a million little homes I’m finding along the Way towards it.
I love Kalo and Kai. I love my music. I love this town I’m in, I love studying language, I love the ocean, writing, swimming, Slovene and Slovenians, I love FOOD (FUCK!), I love this little house I’m renting in its hidden alcove by the schoolyard where the children shout “TIGGER!” at me and my dog when we walk by. I love my story and I am even learning to love the struggles. Truly. I love myself for not giving up through the homelessness, the betrayals and the violences, both quiet and loud, of navigating my way out of a vampiric and capitalistic shame-machine society.
I love the wind from the sea, the grass and the swaying leaves that sometimes hypnotize me to sleep with their shadows on the wall. Through the window…
Through the window….
Throught that window…
My music has always been about this journey. I’ve been playing a song recently by a Raggae band called Steel Pulse. I love the lyrics, the song can be summed up by its chorus: “I wanna live in your house”.. You can use whichever word you prefer, I prefer not to give it a name. But they’re talking about God, or life, or existence or in the house of the faithful. ANY way you interperet “your house” is correct, I promise you and I encourage you.
I started playing this before the fast. When I came back to it after the fast, I realized I used to always think the same thing as a child about my grandmother’s house. I was a child of abuse and my grandmother’s love saved my soul. As clear and simple as that. Without it I may have become an addict. Or another force of evil. I’m proud that I only went as far as being a mess.
A memory returned to me now of being in my room when I was young and comforting myself, hugging my legs on the floor and rocking back and forth saying quietly again and again… I wanna live in your house… I wanna live in your house… Thats a real memory. A real magic connection, a wound that this music helped me to heal here and now.
Now, I say the phrase from a place of Joy. To me, it feels like saying, I want to believe. I want to see the beauty, stillness, and wonder of this world even as our society’s institutions try their hardest to convince us that we are being swept into their chaotic storms… I wanna live in your house… I wanna live in your house.. I want my life to be lived in wonder, appreciation, gratefulness and joy. To be a force of peace and belief. To know for certain that love and laughter are indeed the highest laws of any land I’m walking.
This song was written by my favorite Raggae band, Steel Pulse. They are tremendous and I will first leave a link to the orginal track here, then post my version below. Listen until the end for a cathartic surprise.
:)
Steel Pulse- "Your House" (Spotify)
Steel Pulse- "Your House" (YouTube)
My take:
