Aspen and I have been so busy raising our three boys that we haven’t been very social. The boys do have a few ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles,’ friends of ours that can stand loud, rowdy but loveable little boys. We’re close with some of our neighbors too. But aside from that our social life is minimal.

However, there are a few folks that we do see regularly – John Bob, our computer genius friend; Ariana, my incredibly gifted daughter and the boys’ half sister; Curly, our gardening wizard; Doug,  our gifted writing friend, and Judy, our all around wise woman friend. There are more but not a lot more; and we don’t even see the folks that I have mentioned very often.

As I think about all of us, I begin to see that each of us has found a unique way to live free while still supporting themselves. Each of us has found a way to actualize our dreams and live the life we have envisioned for ourselves. This has certainly reduced the stress in our lives.

Most, if not all of us, have survived serious physical or mental traumas. All of us have survived them, have actually come out of them more centered and conscious than before.

We are all survivors. Aspen and I are definitely survivors. Since she was a little girl, Aspen has been severely deaf in one ear and moderately deaf in the other. I almost died as a young boy from an infected mastoid bone, meningitis, pneumonia in both lungs, and polio, all at once. All of our friends have survived equally threatening physical and/or mental traumas – and all have overcome them!

We all have overcome these traumas by becoming more conscious about ourselves, our bodies, and our relationship with Spirit. To survive, we have had to learn a lot.

This knowledge of bodies, health, illness, both physical and mental; the examples that we offer by our lives; all this is bringing our friends and us together, I sometimes wonder why. Sometimes I think I know. I do know this – we are definitely helping each other to survive. Maybe we can help others too.

Here are some left over thoughts about death and dying, although here I would rather call them thoughts about life and living. At my age these thoughts come more frequently, but they are relevant for folks of any age.

It helps to have a reason to live. It’s difficult enough just staying alive when you get to my age. Body wants to slow down, be lazy. Body is tired more of the time. Body has less energy, less reserves, gets worn-out more easily. Often there is more pain too – in the joints, in the feet, in the hip’s ball and socket, and so on and so on.

I had an old rainbow friend who called himself Cedar Tree. He lived down in the Four Corners area of Colorado. He took care of his dying parents when they couldn’t take care of themselves; and then soon after they died, he died. He followed them home.

At that same time, this was a bit over ten years ago, I started a new family with Aspen, my wife of fourteen years. Now I have more reasons to live, three more of them actually. And I’m still connected to my older kids too, even though Jonathan is almost fifty and Ariana is in her mid thirties.

It’s not just being responsible for my kids that keeps me alive. It’s living daily with the beginnings of life, not the end of it as Cedar Tree did. Almost my entire day, every day, is spent with my three boys. I live in their world. I hardly ever leave it, not even when I’m tripping or writing.

As long as you are really living, that is, using the life energy that is in your body to live, not just to stay around to watch more TV, you will stay alive as long as you want to. If you are not using it, you will lose it.

And at any age really, it is good to be living a life worth living.

Eugene

I was Wanderer before. I want to be him again. It’s difficult being a wandering holy man and a father. I’m still finding my way.

How I became Wanderer before is a long story. I won’t tell it here (but you can read the story in the Weekly Reader. The first two chapters are there now.)

I will tell you that when I become Wanderer, I become complete, a whole being. I will tell you that when I become Wanderer, I become a wizard, a shaman. Magic abounds then, all around me. I see it everywhere. But I don’t make the magic. That’s not how it works. I just notice it. It’s always there.

It has always taken acid to connect me to that side of myself. I’ve been Wanderer more than once before. The first time was in Berkeley and the Sierra Nevada mountains. I did a lot of acid in our house in the flatlands of Berkeley and up at our camp at Dinky Creek. That lasted a good while. The next time was doing lots of acid with the Rainbow Family and traveling. That lasted too.

This time will probably be my last time. And I want it to last as long as I do. I would be there already. I would be Wanderer now if I had any acid. For the first time ever, since the late sixties, I have run out. Part of me wonders if this is saying that I’m supposed to be doing it alone, without acid. Another part of me remembers though.

I’m waiting. My writing is a big part of it. I wander when I write. I’m Wanderer when I write.

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. I am 76 years old. Most folks this age have already died. I can’t.

I’m married to a wonderful woman. We’ve been married for almost 25 years. It will be 25 years next June. We waited for 14 years to have children. We were having too much fun together until then. We have three sons now. Callahan is our first. He’s almost 10 years old now. Jake is our second. He’s 7 now. Zane is our youngest. He’s going on 4.

I can’t die yet. I have too much to live for – an awesome partner, three very interesting sons, and another chance to explore consciousness, in particular that of the father who is trying to be both a father and a holy man.

My wife and sons would be reason enough to live for awhile longer, but I have another, more important reason. I have an assignment. My son Jake has Duchenne’s Muscular Dystrophy. Most boys with MD die of complications in their early thirties. Jake has maybe thirty more years to live if he’s lucky. I’ll be around 100 then. I’ll still be here. My assignment is to go out with him.

I also pray every day for a miracle. After all, it was a stray gamma ray that hit his dystrophin gene. Another one could just as easily come down and set it to rights.

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. I’ve been out of my body myself once before. When I was a young boy, I died while they were operating on me. I left then and was heading blissfully towards the light when the doctors rudely brought me back into my body. I know where I’m going eventually. I’m looking forward to it, but I’m not in a hurry. I’ve already waited almost 70 years. I can wait another 30.

My body is getting old. I can feel it. I can see the changes. I have less reserve energy. I probably am done carrying a 75-pound backpack, although I might still try to backpack with a much lighter one. I still work out at the gym, lifting weights mostly, although I have come to realize that I’ll never look like Arnold. I take longer to recover from good sex or an acid adventure trip, although I still enjoy both. Body needs sex and adventure. This body always has and always will. I’m very healthy in spite of having less energy. I hardly ever get sick anymore (Knock on wood!)

.

For more information about Jake and muscular dystrophy, look at Issue 18, summer of 2007, Beyond Body, and Consciousness after Death. You’ll find it listed in the E-Zine Archives.