Abstracts from Argentina, chapter 3

There we were, the three of us: Lewis, Joel, and I, having a bit of lunch. We had walked about 30 feet off the trail, down onto a large outcropping of rock - which jutted out into a moderate size lake. We had been walking for about six or seven hours on a cold and rainy day, and lunch sounded like a great idea. We were in Torres Del Paine - a national park of Chili - and in our 3rd day on the trail. Having come off a great week of social adventure in Calafate we were ready to get back in the woods. So, sitting on our packs, we brewed up some, what we would call, kick-ass sandwiches. We ate in the rain. It felt good. Usually, at a point like this on a trek, we would fall into a lazy conversation or some stone skipping, but, because of the rain, we decided to keep hauling. We stood up and strapped up. Joel pointed himself back toward the small hill we had come down and noticed something was different. He saw, what he thought was possibly a fox.... I stared silently, knowing exactly what I was looking at. There, on crest of the hill, about 25 or 30 feet away, sat a perfectly poised mountain lion. We stared intensely at one another, eye-to-eye for what seemed like an eternity. I knew what I was thinking, but I wasn´t exactly sure what he was thinking. At this point it was just his shoulders and head I saw. Now, if you have ever come across a mountain lion on the trails in golden or what have you, you know it is a rare and mixed occasion. You are amazed that you could see such a thing in the wild, but you are also a little uneasy, knowing without too much trouble, if it so chooses, it could quickly pin you, snap your neck from the back, and have its lunch for the day. And as I stared, saying nothing, Lewis said, with a certain quickness in his words, "that´s a mountain lion!". I do not think any of us were really too scared then, just amazed. About five seconds past. Joel, in a staunch voice, then blurted out, "thier´s two!". My head was on a swivel. Scanning the hill I found it. Double the size of the first, and closer too. It, just to the left of the first, was a third of the way down the hill, and pacing. I could see its body moving closer, now, at best, 20 feet off. Two words came to mind: power, silence. Before this moment I had never really comprehended the intrepid confidence of a mountain lion. As these two beasts stood above us I could tell just by looking they knew they had no natural predators (and it should be stated here that because of the conservation efforts in the national park these mountain lions had not even human predators). It is also interesting to note that mountain lions do not travel in packs, they are extremely territorial animals, usually distancing themselves by 10 or 15 square miles, and up to 300 square miles. So seeing two in the same place is kinda like lightening hitting the same place twice. It was then, my head still on its swivel, that I, with a confused sincerity, noted the third mountain lion. There were three! To the far right, this mountain lion, still even closer than the other two, dwarfed the other two by at least 40%. It sauntered closer. I think it hit us all at the same time: we were being hunted. So there we were: trapped on an outcropping of rock, three mountain lions with the high ground and closing in. According to South Dakota´s "The stages of mountain lion attacks", of the seven stages, we were in stage six - the last stage before the actual attack. The department´s description of the situation is noted as: grave, and the direction of action is: Fight. At this point three things flashed through my head all in the course of a few seconds: the first was a quick daydream of being eaten alive, the second an inductive reasoning that chances were good I would survive because in 24 years I was still alive, and the third was every damn thing I knew about mountain lions. We kept our packs on. We yelled and grunted. We threw rocks. We waved our arms. I had the knife used to cut our sandwich bread open and in-hand. We spoke loud to each other, congealing into a unit with a common purpose: to survive. We decided we would be as big and fearsome as possible - these were of course the things we were not. And then we began to move toward them. If you know anything about mountain lions, you know that you do not act scared, you do not back down, and under no circumstances do you turn your back. We knew this, and capatalized on our knowlege. Inside I was unbelievably scared, and surprisingly ready to fight. I was happy to be with two guys I trusted, and now trusted with my life. I knew that if logic followed... every sign of this situation pointed to an immanent fight. I also knew that we stood absolutely no chance were this to go to fist-to-cuffs. We bluffed and we bluffed huge, it was our only option. And like a marble rolling of the end of a table one of the lions disappeared over the crest of the hill. The biggest one, the one that was easily bigger than some of the lions I saw in Kenya, the one that proved the fact that the closer mountain lions live to the poles the bigger they get (some up to 260pounds), was gone. Then miraculously, the second vanished over the crest. After about three more well placed stones by Joel (whose great throwing arm I liken to Herculean strength) the third ducked down the other side. Now, I am not sure whether I was more scared when they were in sight or after they disappeared over the crest. At least, before I knew when it was coming. Now, without warning (because mountain lions are utterly silent in their movements) they could leap over the crest and be on us with three paces. We quickly developed our game plan. Lewis grabbed a tree branch and held it like a riot shield. We inched (briskly) off the outcropping and to the left, where the trail came down the hill meeting us at our current elevation. From there we had about a 200 yard stretch of path to walk. The 25 foot-high hill to one side, and the lake to the other. We decided not to run but walk fast, facing every direction. I wished I had eyes like a fly. We moved fast, as a unit, yelling, throwing rocks, holding sticks high. This was closer to the essence of ´running the gauntlet´ than anything I can think of. We made it to where the path turns out into the open without any sign of the lions. We then had about 3 hours of hiking until our destination, and despite our readiness (that is as ready as one can be to be eaten by a mountain lion) we saw no more of them on that trek. We had escaped, or more appropriately had been saved.
All this to say, death has been a bit on my mind. In life we face it so much; we face such a large spectrum of events, full of so many things and feelings. None are like death. Only one day after returning from our trek just as Joel, Lewis, and I were calmly processing our past event, Joel received an email. One of his friends from Jackson died, killed in a car accident. I did not know the man, but it is tragic. The pain Joel was feeling was enormous. And the two events weighed on me. As I was trying to process the two events: the lions making me want to live a intentional, carpe diem life; and joel´s friend´s death pushing me to introspective reclusivity, I wrote these words that encouraged me: giving, trust, seasons, freedom, Jesus, promise, love, family, peace, friendship, trees, knowing, guidance, truth. And for some reason dwelling on these words helped me, and made me ask: Is it that we have it when we are younger, and we spend the rest of our time trying to get back there, to that feeling of awe at the world, the feeling of peace, sanctity of life, freedom, and joy? The feeling you have when you are younger and all is possible. when all is okay and freeing, and now, now the world has made you jaded and rigid, skeptical and ready to poke holes in everything for intelligence´s sake, for pride´s sake, for the sake of the world- like it is up to me to see through everybody. I hate this. I want to be me, no matter what, just love people, and be honest, apart from my own pride or thoughts that I ´know´what ít´ is in this world that someone needs to learn. I am learning that changing the world for one person is, in fact, changing the world. Not because that person is part of the world, but because that person is a world. Doing something good for someone changes the entire thing for them. As I look over my moleskin I see questions piled up from the last year, and as I look at it as of recent I see dreams piling up. If it is true that life can be some sort of poetry in motion, then I do not want to be ashamed of my verse. I am now dreaming more complicated dreams and trying to live them. Rilke (the german poet) says that all criticizing is simply misunderstanding in the end. And so I tell myself: "The poem is a feeling, not a measured anything. Fear not your own hand, let the ink drip, splash the page with courage. Do a cannonball. Who could really care? What feeling is final?"

Much, much love.
Phil.



Laurel: Thank you. I am and I will, leaving no good memory to vanity, rather, like you said, channelling it into new beauty I can´t yet imagine.

Kelly: Exciting things I am sure you can relate to. I am glad to know you are reading.

Jamie: I love how simple the deconstructing and reconstructing sits with frames of leaving, returning, processing etc. But like any good remodeling project it is so messy and the timing seems to always be a bit off.

rough n´tumble: I believe it was sugar-glidizzle. ahem, ahem. So sweet to hear from you.

Lewis´s handiwork:

Abstracts from Argentina, chapter 2

In the late morning of our last day in El Bolson we paired off: Lewis and Christy together, Joel and I together. We were decidedly going to hitch to Esquel (180km south). Without too much trouble Joel and I shuffled between the beds of pick up trucks, and in a few, short hours we were there. As we sat, watching Patagonia fly by at 100km´s an hour, we sat in disbelief at our situation. While icey peaks stood tall above us, blooming trees and flowers protested it was in-fact spring. The whole situation felt right. I thought to myself: maybe this is what I envisioned for this trip?
After making some quick friends in Esquel Joel, Lewis and I were playing on an indoor soccer team. We played from about 12am to 2am. Then it was over to someone´s place for some beer and chips. Needless to say we got back to our tent around 4am, tired, and a little queasy from all the activity and grease. Esquel was a fun place, but it again made me wonder what did I envision for this trip. I mean it has been almost 6 weeks I should have something to say of some merit or resolve. I came with the intention to slow down, learn from a new culture, learn a new language, and talk about life with some good friends in a thought provoking and different place. What I got was, respectively, a lifestyle slow enough I sometimes never left my campsite, my ass kicked in soccer, confusion and reward, and a never-ending, vulnerable discussion about anything and everything that comes to mind. I wanted to focus inward and call it progression, or to paraphrase Kierkegaard: to pause and call it movement. It is like I´ve been playing Super Mario my whole life going from level to level getting coins and stars and such. And I just hit the pause button to think about the levels I´ve accomplished, which warp tunnels I want to take, If I want to run fast through levels or stop and get every coin, or if the princess is really worth all this trouble. (I just use this metaphor so I can be ´first-player´for once in my life. Younger brothers never get to be the first player in video games). I do not think I am here to figure anything out and come home with any answers. I did not come here with specific questions to be answered. I only wanted to pause the game where I am and feel the questions I am in. I just want to feel the dimensions around, that is the questions that surround my life.

Now in Calafate my life is a lazy stroll and a hectic rampage. Each day is its own. Some days I do no more than read, write and drink tea, while other days I take in so much newness it is exhausting. It is kinda-of a funny thing: learning a language in a place that always uses it. It is like studying for a test, but then having to take the exam each time you walk out your front door. At times it is all a bit much for me, and so last week´s escape into the mountains was wonderful. I hiked for five days around the base of Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy. These massive, beautiful peaks, under girded by raging glaciers was unlike anything I´d seen. At the foot of Cerro Torre I felt en-couraged, built-up, like I feel sometimes after reading an inspiring poem, or hearing a favorite song. On the edge of the glacier´s lake, stairing into the glacier base with Cerro Torre sitting on top I took down some notes about the day there, sitting on a grey stone in a place where you could recline on the wind:

Glacier everywhere. Every few moments: thunder. Crashing in the distance. Soft and melting at my feet. Winter´s corpuscular glow lights the page. Happy and content I sit, comfortable in the midst of ancient power. God. The Glaciers are alive. They never stop moving, melting, crashing, constantly. Everything else is so still as if the glacier, so vast and unmatched in power, was watching over everything around it. Cerro Torre stands open-faced, and untouchable, displaying its allegiance to God-un-high. Its not unlike a finger. The scene is picture framed by close-by rock faces and spires, and now more rumbling. The glacier sounds like a thousand shuffling feet.

I then realized, almost being blown over by the wind, I had slowed down enough. I had, had enough time slowing the car. I now required something more. My type of reflection was changing. I had enough pause. I had recouped from a year and a half of working, and I am now constructing again. I must pause still, but the pause is different. Kiekagaard was right, but could have been more right. there is a time to pause and reflect so as to know the past and be [still] with it, and there is a time to pause and reflect so as to construct something. To know the past, or rather to know yourself, and then tell your feet where to go. Determine your future. Stop reflecting only on who you are, and start saying: "so..." "I must..." "then..." The first section of my trip is over. It existed to slow me down, teach me the basics of spanish, and get me comfortable here. Now this second section is all about application.

Phil.

Laurel: It is awesome to know you are reading.

Steph: Thank you so much for the encouragment.

Chestnut: So fun you are coming down here. I wish I would still be here. You will love it.

Paul: Work sounds crazy. I am so glad that you were able to get a week off and head home for thanksgiving. I hope work never gets in the way of life for you again. I miss you so so much.

abstracts from argentina, chapter 1

So. I´m in Argentina, and more or less anonymous. Much like America, Argentina is full of a wide array of colors, ethnicity's, accents, and traditions. It is has been quite the change from the last time I travelled, where hoards of children would chant (wazungu, white person) as I walked along the train tracks. Here people ask me for directions...(which is hilarious to the same degree, in which my spanish is hilarious). After taking a single day in Buenos Aires, a huge city full of character and apparent history - truly the Paris of South America, I took a night bus to Bariloche - a spectacular exhibition of what God can really do - to meet Joel, Lewis, and Christy. (by the by you should go to christyandlewis.wordpress.com read some wonderful, descriptive writing about these places) If you have not met these kids you should. Joel Wenger is astounding; he is uninhibited in his honesty and intentional about his celebration, while Lewis and Christy are two walking inspirations, absolutely meticulous in loving both the world around them and each other. Now, south of Bariloche in a small, hippy´ish town called El Bolson (which so far I think means big bag...), things have been wonderful. The days are full of hiking, reading, writing, spanish, and endless conversations attempting to elucidate the worlds mysterious on how one should live. Having just returned from a three day camping trip up one of the surrounding valleys I feel full of calm and contentment. While camping Lewis, Joel and I took a day to hike up to the Alerssas Forrest. This rocked my world, filling me with all sorts of thoughts about our world. Some of these were 15 feet across. I wanted them to speak truths of the birth of humanity and tell me tales of when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
Thus far I felt many freedoms here, in Argentina, I have not felt in a long time. And through seeing so much new I have felt so much new in myself. Byinlarge this trip has been quiet, filled with solemn mornings and piercing questions, staying up late discussing what I believe, and then even later to read or write about it. I have already felt so much in just two weeks. I have been laughing and playing hard no doubt, and yet have found an abundance of things to keep my thoughts and feelings on overdrive. The time now is for reflection, calm of spirit, happiness only when justified by the purest of joys. In all sincerity now l want to live, looking inward as to know what is coming forward. I wish to never again attempt to look ahead into the fog of the future, a fruitless endeavor really, we have now this moment and no more. Tall gates, insurmountable in their height and uncaring in their strength, guard the roads leading to the past and the future. We are left only with our ability to guess at the future, or claim vague truths we access through that weak and unreliable device called memory. I should look now to my heart for that will determine my feet, and thus my future. And so now I travel, because to travel is to seek, to search, to look around at everything you have never seen before and find it makes you new as well. It makes you what you cannot be at home because at home you believe your image, the image assigned to you by family, friends, and social context. You believe you are what everyone thinks you are, and what travelling does is take all that away. You are left with an undetermined self -¨as far as the world is concerned. Immediately, as you speak and walk, conveying some particular style, you become more determined by the world, but the beauty of travel is you have the freedom of choosing yourself without the fear of being told: "that´s not you" or "that doesn´t suit you." And it is in these comments that we begin to draw ourselves back into something more reserved or expected of us. It should be mentioned that it is our friends and community that keep us accountable for our progress and integrity (vagabonding indefinitely frees us from any visible community, and thus in many ways frees us from from growth). So as we integrate the two we mitigate stable community with travel, and travel with stable community. I think the two can compliment each other in the best ways. But if we build a sulaphane layer composed of what people have come to expect, protecting us from having the expectation to change, then we miss a life lived in submission to the consequences of the heart; in other words, we sometimes get so caught up in what is expected of us we forget to grow into that which we could never expect. It is the heart that speaks to the feet and hands, urging movement from desire. It is the sound within, the thing that wishes to change things for the better. It is the thing full of desire given to us as a gift. I hope as this time of travelling unfolds for me I can be accountable to the good things in me, and be transformed unexpectedly.

much love.
phil.

Eric.
Good to hear you have been chilling with the BS and that you and It havent already forgetten me.

Nathan.
Sweet to hear from you. Um yeah it was a bit odd. Election day here in El Bolson was absolutely calm. People either say the whole thing is corrupt and ridiculous, or do not really care one way or another. On an interesting note you get fined if you do not vote here, it is compulsory.

The Levridge.
I am enjoying the no cell phone currently, and I have to say their is defenitely something to be said for not having that damned thing in my pocket 24/7. However, it is still odd how sometimes I think my pocket is vibrating. Anyway, I hope you are doing well and make it out of bed for some solid BS in the future.

Kaettie.
No worries, a round of hugs for all.

Deja.
Sounds so insane-busy to deal with all that meat. It sounds like it is sweet for you, and helping those omnivores around you to live more consciously. Good luck with the officiating and technologizing.

Breaking the long blog silence.

So. Hello, and all the like formal and informal greetings. I am travelling once again, and thus I am apart from my community but wishing to stay in touch/somewhat authentic with those I care about. These next postings will, as they have been in the past, be more to do with my reflections on my experiences than than a simple listing of my experiences. I think it is more apt, when the words between friends and family are reduced to blogs and e mails, to share words on issues of the heart as they relate to new experiences, rather than to just relate those experiences. So, I hope that as I begin posting again I can convey both my experiences and my thoughts to those I care about, and that those I care about would do the same toward me. I guess I catch yáll at the next post.

a quick note.

I am back in Golden, Colorado. I do not yet have a cell phone, home phone, or internet; but beware because as soon as I have the means I will be hunting you down one by one.

Mezzo Travelling

In what consists of the silent majority of my trip:
I left Kenya on Feb. 25 and I arrived in Uzbek on March 13. Today is
March 15th and I am sitting among Ben's Newspaper class (yes, I
stick out a little bit among the seventh graders). The question for this
blog is: what the frick was I doing from the 25th to the 13th. Well, you got a
taste of my Oxford experience with the last posting. After chilling in
Oxford for about a week Timm went to Portugal and I went to Norway (and then
Sweden, then back to Norway, then back to London). Scandinavia was
beautiful; I had a pretty phenomenal time, and I met some pretty phenomenal
people. At first (in England) I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything, I was stuck asking myself what the hell am I doing? I either want to be back in Africa
or in the states; the reason I left Africa was to come to the states...so
what am I doing hanging around in England waiting for a visa to go to
Uzbek? It was not until I picked myself up by the bootstraps, and began
to confess that this weird in between time is, in fact, in *time - *it is
not something I can just wait out; it is something I should be taking
advantage of and living the life I want to live, not merely waiting for
something eventful to happen. Thus, I bought a next-day plane ticket to
Norway.
My thoughts during this straddling of Kenya and Uzbek were a bit like this (this is an entry from my moleskin):
:
I sit now, as I have many times before, in the basement of the Ashmolean museum - my hands cold, my sense of time muddled, and my chest feeling tight, as if the bones were trying to crush the heart.
The coldness in my hands is a result of walking. Slow and impatiently I proceed to drift along the streets with my travelling companion: Timm. The walking is tedious because it lacks direction or even purpose, and i'm in a hurry to acquire both. I want to walk faster when I am with Timm just so I can be done with it, as if the faster I get it done the faster I will be done with it and ready to move on to something else. However, as is apparent in my step, I only feel this urge and uneasiness when I walk with someone other than myself. As a solitary walker I step with ease, sloth, and wonder; I stroll. Why am I so different walking with someone else, as opposed to walking alone? Easy. When I am with another I think of the other: their well-being, intention, desire; alone I think only of myself and the strangers around me. I Cater to no one, but use the time for perfect reflection. Walking alone is one my favorite things to do.
My sense of time is muddled. I think Dali was right in his surrealist assertion of the constant, inseparable flux of space and time. A cavity filling may take an eternity, while an all-night conversation with an old friend may flash by in the wink of an eye. Time is what you make it, and I have made mine a capricious mess. Living in the space/time between Kenya and the future has been nothing short of a depression: depressing ideas, emotions, senses, and, in the end, my entire life. The depression though is a self-fulfilling prophecy based on a myth. I claimed that I was living in the margins between Africa (the past) and Uzbek (the future) giving it no credence itself. The myth is that one can live apart from the past and the future. (I don't mention anything about the present here because I assume that those reading are aware that one, in fact, always lives presently unable to access past or future, save the imagination). So, living in this created non-time I have tricked everything into moving very slowly in no particular direction, like entropy, believing that somewhere other than the place I am is where I should be - on every level. It's like looking in some direction and saying: "there is where I am".
It's a funny thing when certain parts of your body wage war on others, I guess I don't know, or can't really explain why my bones are pressing my herat. I can tell you it hurts. I think I could quite easily extrapolate some lesson from it, or posit some analogy that propounds a northern, developed, consumerist suffocation of the raw, beautiful, charged humanity inside me (the bones are the conventional life and the heart is..um...the heart). But I think I will just leave it at: my chest hurts, with my best guest being last nights fish n' chips.
But. Things are changing. I am now turning a corner. I no longer want to live in a muddle: depressed, confused, self-obsessed. To look at the future lifts me; the future calls me to live - the future in the past. When I look back on my history in Africa it points me to the future. Before today I saw the past as only the past: flat, still, static. I sliced it into information, superimposing some odd metaphysical structure. When I thought about my history in Africa I dehistoricized it; that is to say, I took the time (the historical thing) out of it. When I look back now I remember that I lived then, and the people that were in my life also were living toward the future. We were living toward something. Looking back into the past realizing that those people were, or are, looking to the future as rich and dynamic people. As I look to the past it turns me to the future; looking back gives me hope. "[history] It turns you around in your turn" (Moltman). As I turn to the past the past pushes me to the future.
I guess, basically, what I am talking about is: hope; I am talking about the Eschaton, I am talking about living a missional life; I am talking about being one sent out into the world.
I feel myself moving, turning a corner, not because of some arbitrary act of volition, but because I am growing more, I am beginning to see my past time in Africa as eschatology. But, most importantly I am feeling movement. In this awkward stage, in this particular flux of space and time, I don't feel stuck in a fold of "non-time" but rather I am living in the reality of the kingdom of God.
:
So, I just picked up and flew to Norway. I literally knew nothing about the
place except that I have always wanted to go there, I haven't seen snow yet
this year, and the plane ticket is super cheap. Well, I end up meeting a
stellar, kind-hearted student of the U of Oslo on the flight over. I end up
staying with him for my entire time in Norway. Man, did I have a good time
in Norway; not only did I see all the sights in Oslo, but I also got to
spend some quality frolicking-time in lot's and lot's of snow. I loved it.
One could even say I fell in Love with Norway. It's funny though...I thought
I was going to do some quality reflecting/processing-of-Africa while I was
there, especially during the hikes. You know...solo hiking, nature, ipod,
moleskin...how could I not? However, the truth is: I just flat out had fun.
I mean, I just hiked around listening to Joni Mitchell, sliding down sledding
hills playing in the snow. It is hard to describe...It is like when a
little kid wakes and discovers the first snow of the season on his window
ledge. It just felt good. I just hiked and played; my mind wasn't troubled
by any ominous issues beyond my capabilities (the usual). HOwever, when I got
to Sweden that all changed. I hunkered down (in the way Amy Bethka would
hunker down in Alaska with tea and family after sledding) in a little coffee
shop in the island, old-city of Stockholm and began to write. I wrote and
wrote, for hours. I spent the rest of that day walking (seeing what
Stockholm was all about) and 'thinking progressive thoughts.' That evening I
met up with some Swed's, hooked up some sweet dancing, and crashed at one of
their places - it was a lot of fun.
I guess for all the thinking time I have had since the last blog I have not
made much progress as it applies to America. I am still fearful of coming
back. I am attempting to work through this now, but being in Uzbekistan is
actually making that process, what seems to be, more difficult. I have only
been here for a couple days, but it is more like Africa (in a much, much
different way) than England, Norway, or Sweden. The poverty here is so
different from Africa, I don't know what to make of it yet. It is not
exactly up front, but it is still present. PLease pray that as I begin to
transition back to America that I would not be motivated to take actions
out of fear, but rather out of love -love for those in my life, love for the
image of God in myself, love for the people I have been with during this
time.

Welp, I suppose that's all for now.

Buku Love.

Paul: I'm in one.

Deja: Your quote reminds me of Mark three: when Jesus takes his anger (or being greatly distressed) and heals a man's deformed hand. It is not that we should not get angry, but it is what we do with that anger that matters. I can't get over that when Jesus gets pissed off he heals someone...
Thank you for your prayers and excitement. The whirlwind has continued, but it is rapidly coming to an end. Please pray that I wouldn't fear the united states. Oh, and I am glad that you are making use of that pile of dusty pages that I have the audacity to keep around. I am glad someone is gaining something from those books. And, no worries on the card catalog system - it pretty much consists of me not having any idea where my books are (I only notice when books are missing when I want to read them, so..it is super easy to steal the ones I don't use anymore).

Steph: Frick steph, it so stinken good to hear from you! I could not agree with you more on so many different levels. I agree with you about the Mercy ship; that is to say, it sounds absolutely incredible. I was very close to hopping on that ship this past fall myself (doing menial, unskilled labor of course). It sounds phenomenal, I am so excited for you. Ah..just thinking about you doing that makes me gitty. I too agree with you about our current community, or lack thereof. I find myself telling a lot of people in my life about this super cool girl I know in Austin without having any intention on talking to you myself. Gosh, when I think about it, it makes me feel kinda dumb. I concur with you and propose that we began to open the lines of communication again - whatever that looks like.

Tay: Thank you for your words. I think of you and bill quite a bit often wondering what your lives look like: you being pregnant, bill being a youth pastor, you guys living in a house, living/working amongst such an elite class of people... I hope things are moving swimmingly for the two of you. My travels are rapidly closing, and a time is coming when I will find myself in the states. I am still not sure when I will be in Michigan, but I don't foresee it being far off. Much love.

Kell: The word is in, moreover I am in. I am here, and don't worry I will write about the uzbek soon. Take care.

Hahnamonster: frick.

J$: You went to Isanbul again!! Crazy! I hope it was as amazing has your past visits. I am so excited to hear all about it. How long were you there? Who did you go with this time? I guess I will have to ask you about it soon when I get home. I heard the story about Christina from Laurel awhile ago, that stuff is so crazy. Your story is amazing, especially b/c it involves things like: caribou, ram's horn, and the ghost and the darkness. Welp, much love to you man. I will be back in the states in just over two days...and soon after that I am sure I will make my way to Michigan...

notes from Oxford.

The story goes as follows:
With no time to lose I dashed out of my seat at the ole' Internet cafe in the quasi-slums of Nairobi, haveing just finished my last entry to you, I grabbed Timm, Genesis (my african friend), and my borrowed rucksack and headed for a hooptie of sorts. I made it to Nanyuki (the town closest to mt. kenya), waded through the mob of hassle, found an old hotel, and slept. Arose at five a.m., taxied to the base and Timm and I were off. We hiked an epic hike - a hike, which was possibly the best hike of my life. Against all recommendations we went with borrowed (ancient) gear (we got it the day before from a random guy who runs a safari lodge in the maasai mara), no guides, no porters, and...we were both sick with head-colds. We hiked straight to the second camp (only getting lost once...where we found out that my compass[the same one from my boy scouting days] no longer knows North), made a quick fire, and slept. We made that second camp at about 5pm, after fire/spaghetti we set up our tent and slept until midnight. (oh, by the by, mt. kenya...yeah, its real cold). We then woke up, packed up, and hiked until 5am. At 5am we made it to the summit base camp. For that leg of the journey we relied on the moon, and our ability of listening to a distant river. We were only on the "trail" (a loose term on mt. kenya) for about 1/20th of that second leg of the journey. We slept from 5am to 9am. We then woke up, and against every fiber of my climbing knowledge/experience, we headed for the summit. (you're really supposed to summit high mountains around sunrise and get down before the afternoon b/c that's when storms happen...but...we were like a tenth of a latitude line off the equator, what's going to happen). We hit summit around 12:30pm, rock the kasbah! It was a phenomenal hike. We proceeded to stay on the summit for about 8seconds, as clouds enveloped us faster than J.J. from 'good times' could say: dyn-o-mite! We scurried off the mountain like lemmings, and slid about 2,000 vertical feet down scree toward base camp. Man, what a summit. We took some tea, relaxed, and then decided to book it off the mountain. We packed our tent, and by 3pm we were off and running; however, once again we got lost; this time it was severe. We were trying to get back down to the place we camped the first time, but ended up skirting around it by about a mile. We found some fresh tracks (an eclectic group timm quickly identified by shoe style), and began to follow by way of headlamp. And, between my map-skills, and timm's tracking-skills (chicks love guys with skills), and my bow-staff skills we made it to the first camp (the one we skipped on the way up) by about 8:30pm. We made ramen, pitched the tent, and slept...hardcore. The next morning we peaced that mountain.

On the way home our hooptie broke down, and as I was sitting at a "gas station" in the middle of nowhere waiting for a ride when a man handed me a copy of the Nation (kenyan newspaper) and said, "isn't that your country?". I proceeded to read a story of how my vice president shot someone in the face while quail hunting....sweet.

I got back to Nairobi did some washing (in record time mind you), took care of some business, and packed a bag to go to the coast. The next morning I went to Mombassa (the place everyone and their sister has told me to go since being in Kenya). I caught a buss at about 8:30am, and a hop-skip-and-a-eight-hours-later I was in Mombassa. The ride was actually amazing. I got to see the side of Kenya I had not seen, and you know what it is filled with....c'mon guess...Baobab trees! These things are the most beautifully stupid things I have ever seen; it is like God planted these trees upside down - I adore them. Too, we stopped in Tsavo. I didn't even know it was going to happen...but we stopped in the village that is home to the beasts: the Ghost and the Darkness...after all these years of bearing through Val Kilmer I finally got to see the place. It was cool, and it was also surprisingly fun to see the railroad that Patterson built and the old huts they lived in while buidling it.
I stayed in a hostel my first night in mombassa (on the wrong side of the tracks), and on the second day I made it all the way out to the most southern island of Kenya: Wasini Island. What a crazy place. There I: snorkeled through a coral reef, chilled with dolphins, ate food (that was good at the time but made me sick later), saw a coral reef that is now on land, and met a Belgian dude who is part of something called, "clowns without borders". The stay was much needed. Oh, also, I went sailing on an ole catamaran that sunk (and was rescued by the coastguard) ealier that day. (i'm sure timm's blog will have an account of this story, as it was, i think, the best moment of his life). Oh, a word to the wise...if you are ever in the situation to buy coconut wine for the guy that you are sailing home with make sure you know how much you are buying for him to drink with 100shillings ($1.50).
The next day was a travelling day. I was super sick. We woke up early and proceeded to travel by boat, hooptie, bus, and taxi. We, despite its stellar paint job, ended up on a less than awesome bus to take us back to nairobi. The bus to Mombasa took 8hours, and this trip took 12; meanwhile, I am in the backseat spasming and throwing up out the back window/on myself trying not to get decapitated by oncoming traffic - it was awesome...i learned a lot about patience and the different shades of yellow.
We finally made it into downtown Nairobi at around midnight (i guess), and after dealing with some punks and a bunch of prostitutes (which did not help my sickened state), we found a decent taxi back to the slum/our home.

The next day was full of stuff, and the day after that we said our once-and-for-all goodbyes and caught a plane. Oh, by the by, Timm and I were both sick that day. Timm actually passed out between the two security checks in the Nairobi airport.
We flew to London, and met up with a good friend of mine who attends LSE (london school of economics). We chilled in london Saturday and Sunday, then we applied for our uzbeki visa's on monday morning. On tuesday morning we hopped a bus to Oxford, which is where I am now writing you this.

We are staying at Brasenose College (part of Oxford U.) through a random hook-up/connection, and are currently waiting to hear back from the Uzbeki embassy. I must say it has been amazing being back in Oxford. I have already met up with some of my old friends, shown Timm many of my favorite spots, acquired bikes for Timm and I, and have a full schedule of lectures, events, and meetings for tomorrow. I love Oxford so much.
I am feeling very at home write now...that is, I am sitting at a random computer in the library of the college at midnight typing a long document...man, I miss college.

Welp, this is definitely the most story I have ever given you guys. I hope it is enjoyable, but you are not getting away without me sharing a little bit about the inner journey...
Grappling with the unknown is hard. It is hard to not know what you are doing the next day. Travelling changes you so much. I am now trying to process "Africa". How do you do that? how do I process the completely 'other' and gut-wrenching (both in good and bad ways) things I have experienced? I am so grateful for my experience, so...grateful. And I am so glad it happen the way it did. I am happy that the beginning was this ridiculous adventure from working concrete in the Mara to riding in the back of a pick up across most of Kenya to hiking in a 'rain-forest' to four-wheeling to lake turkana in 140degrees to camping in a dried river bed in the middle of nowhere for four/five days playing horseshoes and shooting glocks to ...the list goes on. Then, settling down in the densest slum in the world, and teaching Christian Religious Education to African high-schooler's/doing a million other things. Then, placing the other bookend of adventure, hiking mt. Kenya and travelling to an island where you can see Tanzania. I am soo grateful for my experience in Africa, but I am soo scared it will be for not. I know that it has changed me, and I have learned/seen things that will alter the way I will live/am living, but I can't go back to living the life I was living. I am so scared that when I get back to Golden, and things are familiar/comfortable again, I will let it get in the way of pursuing my dreams/God (isn't kinda wierd and a bit uneasy how those get equated so much in my thoughts). I am so scared that my experience in Africa will end. I don't want to stop thinking about it, I don't want to stop learning from it, I want to do something tangible with it. As Timm so pointedly described in his previous blog: the time that we left was odd. It was extremely hard to leave (however, I would like to note that it was our choice to leave, we were not forced to). I have been wrestling with what to do with my experience. Where is God taking me next? what do I do with Kenya? Last night, I stayed up most of the night brainstorming crazy ideas on how to continue to help, via Kenya, in the resurrection and reconciling of the world God is enacting. Man, I don't know I just want to be a part of it, I feel like I was a part of it (just a little) while I was in Africa, and I don't want to give it up. I desperately want to help change the world in huge, i'm-22-and-can-change-the-world sort of ways. I feel so strongly about it, and I feel so much like the community of people I know and love back in the states is where that begins. One of the most important things in the entire world to to me is the community (you guys) in my life. I have been thinking about it a lot, and am finding more and more how much I need you in my life, and how sneaky I can be in evading real community. Man, community is so fricken important. I feel like it is so important that I don't feel, right now, that it would be okay for me to move away from it again.
Okay, I am definitely rambling at this point, and this blog is fricken long so I will peace out.
I love you all tremendously. I want to tack on some stuff to pray for...am I allowed to think of that right at the end of my blog and then just tack it on? let me know if I can't do that...
Please pray that Timm and I get visas, we find a place to sleep as we wait out our time to visit Ben (if we get our visas), and that (and most importantly), in this wurl-wind of travel, that I would have the perseverance to seek out the quiet voice (that I am currently avoiding) that will enable me to sort-out "Africa" and not be so scared of returning to the states.

In hopes of incorruptible love,
phil.

COMMENTS:
OKAY. so I attempted to start responding to comments in my normal fashion when...I got utterly confused. So...unlike normal protocol I have actually gone back through the old (past 3) blog posting and posted a comment at the end of each of the comment lists. This way you will actually know what I am responding to, as many of you have posted more than once since the last time I responded. So go back to the blog you commented on and find my comment. see you there. (oh, and, I have only managed responding to the oldest of the three, with any luck I will get to the other two tommorow, it is 2am and i cant see straight).