What if you build it, but no one shows up?

Laying down wood flooring on top of concrete is no joke. First you gotta throw down a layer of goop to level out the uneven spots in the concrete, to make sure you have a stable foundation upon which to build. And like any good foundation, it takes a while to sit and cure ... to come into it's own.

The easy part is putting down the cork, or whatever else you're going to use to absorb the blow. To make sure the floor finds that balance between support and surrender. We've got something that looks an awful lot like sawdust lined up to do the job.

And only then can you actually start to glue and lock together the individual pieces of treated bamboo which will actually be the floor. Each piece is grooved on two edges and notched on the two. And they come together like a giant set of lego's to create what will become your floor.

I didn't set out to help lay the floor for a yoga studio, it just kinda happened. I'd been attending meditation and yoga at the Dharma Bum Center / Red Lotus Society / Ideal Hotel / whatever it is that they are calling themselves this week, for a bit now.

And I watched with admiration as a few doe-eyed idealists took an abandoned historic building in dire need of renovation and used their blood and sweet to pour a seemingly endless amount of love into this vessel. I watched their incremental progress week by week, and marveled how they could take on such a project in need of so much time and effort and proceed with quiet, unwavering determination.

Over time I realized that it wasn't blind optimism that made them trudge forward, one nail at a time. I occasionally saw frustration and desperation creep into their otherwise stoic faces when the challenges facing them seemed unsurmountable. When time, money and all other earthly realities seemed to conspire against their ambitious project. And I watched with awe as they cast them aside to return to the task at hand, sanding hardwood floors or digging a trench for the plumbing.

And little by little I got sucked in. It started by just dropping in whenever I was in the area for a few hours, cleaning up the remnants of the hard work of others. Then I'd mix it into my bike riding schedule on the weekends, why not just cruise through downtown as long as I'm riding around and see if there's another plaster wall that needs chiseling away?

I watched as an entire community came together around this effort. As people from disparate walks of life, different backgrounds and different belief systems joined their effort and energies in order to create something. I'm sure they all had their motives for coming, I certainly had my own.

I watched as the living quarters were transformed from forgotten ramshackle rooms into vibrant dens full of life and zeal. I watched as the space which housed seemingly nothing but dust and debris sprung forth into a zendo, a space for practice. And as I heard more and more of the grandiose plans I'd start to excitedly question the 5 Dharma Bums ... "what about the yoga floor?" ... "when's it going to be done?" ... "who's teaching classes?"

I knew they were dumb questions when I asked. These guys were trying to get through the next crisis, doing a remarkably good job not obsessing about the fact that they'd basically gone bankrupt and were knee deep into a project who's entire size and scope they were still coming to terms with. They didn't have all the answers, they just knew the next step in the path. Then Jeff asked me "can you help make this happen?"

The answer was painfully obvious immediately ... but I initially resisted. I'd spent my entire life avoiding investing and committing in things greater than myself, avoiding putting forth the effort into an uncertain outcome. I never managed to stand up and be counted for the fear that I would be the one left holding the bag.

I thought back to some of the first e-mails I traded with Dorian. In my best John Cusak-esque writing style I sent her a list of my Top 5 Dream Jobs:

1) Travel writer
2) Yoga instructor
3) Center fielder for the Cleveland Indians
4) Smoothie stand guy
5) Linguist

No one was offering me my own syndicated Travel Column, but here was a Yoga Studio that needed built and needed some teachers. In a sense my own practice is still very young. It's either been going on for about a year and a half or since my first breath ... I'm still not sure which.

But it's given me something that I never knew I needed before. A sense of calm, the ability accept the world as is and understand where my own inner turmoil is coming from. A sense of unity and a sense of understanding of how I am involved in this real world I inhabit. Plus my shoulder's have become pretty well defined and that's awfully cool. Sometimes it seems as if it's two steps forward and one step backwards, but such is life I suppose.

So yesterday morning before I took of for work Clay asked me to show him some yoga stuff for his back. I took it as a sign. A sign that in my naivety I thought I understood. I excitedly spent most of the day at work figuring out what sequence I would show him, how to dictate the pace of the class, how to enter each pose. I enlisted Dorian in this make shift class and when Crystal showed up I pulled her in as well.

And then reality happened. The outcome bore little resemblance to what I had imagined. Instead of practicing what might eventually become the foundation for my own class we just kinda kicked it and did some yoga. It didn't take too long, but I soon realized I was way too attached to my own vision of what this should be. I had failed to see my friends as my friends who I could show some cool yoga shit to, but instead saw them as a means to my own ends.

It's hard to let go of those expectations, to contain that sense of ego, maybe the hardest thing of all. And it's hard to pour time and energy into something not knowing where it will go. It's hard to open up and just give without having some assurance that you're going to get back as well. But maybe that's the real lesson I was supposed to learn.

There's definitely still a part of me, a large part, that would rather just throw my shit in a bag and be out the door. Avoid the disappointment of unfulfilled expectations by never bothering to show up. But I'm trying. I've been down that path before, it was good times, but ultimately it left me wanting. So instead, tomorrow, I'm going to help lay a foundation for a yoga studio, and see what happens next. Maybe I'll fulfill the number 2 spot on my list of Dream Jobs, maybe I'll never practice yoga again...

They burned my barn and stole my horse

I saw the beard before I saw Greg. He was driving towards me and I had to stop and look twice to make sure my eyes weren't decieving me. But sure enough, it was my good pal. I had spent my last night in the US with Greg and Nicole, crashing on their futon in Chicago about 11 months ago. And now I was heading to their new place in San Diego to crash on their air-mattress. It's funny how the life takes you around full circle some times.

It was strange being back in the US. I cringed at the rows of cookie-cutter condos I scattered from Chula Vista up into downtown. When Greg and I went to the grocery store I marvelled at how one single store could have 30 different varieties of orange juice.

I had managed to make it into town 3 days before the Dylan show, earlier than I originally thought. But I was feeling ready to go home. The next few days were a blur of submitting resumes, arguing with the DMV, looking for an apartments, and trying not to let my spanish slip out at inopportune moments.

I talked to Bill and he told me of his idea to head to the northern beaches of Brazil. I talked to Sean and he told me he was heading back to Colombia for the holidays. Yanet was finally off to Mexico. And I started to wonder what the heck it was I was doing back in the US. I wanted to run, it was all just too much, too fast. And no matter how many times Greg and Nicole told me to just calm down and take it a little slowly, I just couldn't.

Nicole fed me with her excellent cooking and Greg did his part plying me with beer and his famous fried eggs. It was nice to be somewhere that felt a bit normal again. Greg was even generous enough to let me borrow his car while he was working, which happened to come complete with a copy of "Modern Times" my new favorite CD.

And soon enough the night of the big show was upon us. As Greg and I excitedly rushed off to the Cox arena to see the man in person. Before the show I told Greg, I need to hear "Working Man Blues #2" I wasn't a working man as of yet, far from it, truth be told, but when Bobby told me about the declining power of the proletariet or his inability to give away what he had, I felt it too. He played Watchtower, Like a Rolling Stone, Cold Irons Bounds and just about everything else I wanted to hear.

As we pulled away from the arena I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. And I knew without a doubt why I was here and what I was doing. It wasn't going to be easy, but there is just no price you can put on the company of a few good friends who get it.