I feel old and fat. Now, by all reasonable measures, I'm neither old nor fat. 48, 5-10, 150 lbs. But ten years ago, I was a half inch taller, five pounds lighter, and I now take Ibuprofen after hiking, as a prophylactic against pain. Plus add my Dad's death over a year ago, Annie and I breaking up a while back, and the deaths of friends and acquaintances from drug overdoses, motorcycles accidents, and suicides, I'm starting to feel the downside of the bell curve. The fat thing is just a combination of vanity, the remnents of an eating disorder, and an irrational wish to be 32 again.
A three-quarter moon is up, as I back my Pathfinder into a pull off near Owl's Head. Owl's Head has become a sacred place to me over the years, in addition to being one of my major outdoor photographic studios. One folds into the other.
Been playing with the Christmas lights of late and have left the Zippo behind for awhile. I'm discovering that as an artist, if you get popular doing one thing and then start doing another, some of your fans sigh, and wish for the old thing. I'm not get great reviews for the 'prayer towers' from the viewing public lately. These towers of light created by cranking the film by an open shutter while a circle of lights are on the ground, are generally greeted with a yawn, while the Zippo flames spirals are still selling well. I'm thinking of calling this next image, 'Play Freebird.'
In the past at Owl's Head, I've used my Christmas lights powered by my truck using a power converter. "New Wheel" was made with a spiral of lights, with Annie warming herself by a fire near by. [We weren't together then but we were civil.] "Open Circle Prayer Tower" was a C-shape circle to the north, on a moonless night, and "The 16th Circle" was a prayer tower made a full circle of lights, near where I am tonight.
I open the hatchback and pull out a four foot diameter hula hoop with a couple hundred Christmas lights wrapped around it. The converter is plugged into the cigarette lighter, and a green drop cord has been wrapped around the side view mirror and then pulled a hundred feet or so into the desert. I'm looking for the right place for the hoop to sit on the ground. I plug it in to give me a bit more light, holding it above my head. There. A good flat spot with young creosote around, and Owl's Head to the South. I unplug the hoop, place it on the ground and run the extension cord behind and around, to hide it from view. I plug in the hoop and go and get the tripod and the Rollei out of the truck. With the hoop lit, I compose the shot. I set the f stop to 5.4 as usual, and begin to calculate the exposure time in my head. How long for the hoop? How long for the moon and sky? How long for me?
I unplug the hoop and walk to a small fire pit I built years ago. No one around for miles and miles. Haven't even heard a distant train so far tonight. It's a bit nippy for October, but not bad. I flick my Bic and light the newspaper inside of the teepee of mesquite I build before messing with the hula hoop. It comes to life, a small fire, yet warm and fragrant. I sit on a good sized rock that I've sat on many a time, and just quiet myself. Smoke a cigarette. Look at the fire.
After about ten minutes I go to the truck and get naked. Last thing I take off are my hiking boots. I gingerly walk by the pit fire, past the Rollei on its tripod, to the hula hoop and plug it in. I slowly walk to the camera, and open the shutter. I walk back to the hoop on the ground.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch," I say quietly, not because I've stepped on a cactus. It's simply from the sharpness of the pebbles against my tender feet.
I sit in the center of light, place my forearms across my knees, raise my head a bit, and breathe in deep. I try to sit still, yet breath and meditate with ease. I empty the monkey mind as best I can. The rocks are cutting sharp into my naked ass, but I breath through it in a few seconds. I feel naked. I am naked. I sit for about five minutes.
During those five minutes, I remember something. That my body is just the vessel that moves my soul through this world. Nothing more. Nothing less. My body is not to be hated nor judged, but loved for doing the job of moving me around. I breath deeper. I'm misting up a little, thinking how hard I am on myself, and then how hard I can be on others. I remember that great quote by Jackie Small,that we are not human beings having a spiritual experience but rather spiritual beings having a human experience. I take another deep breath. The extra bucket of Shame I carry around, seems to drain away into the desert floor. I breathe again. Eyes closed. Feeling better, except for those rocks in my ass, that I can't seem to completely dissociating from.
After around five minutes, I reach over and unplug the hoop. Only the light of the 3Ú4 moon now. I rise and stand inside the circle, step over the hoop and exit the frame. Once outside the frame of view, I inspect the damage. Not too bad. Just a number of dents in my ass from the sharp little stones. I walk to the truck and check the time. Another twenty minutes of exposure I think, for the moon to do his job.
I walk to the fire pit, sit my bare ass upon the big rock by the fire and take a sip of the soda I just got from a cooler in the truck. Lighting another smoke, I smile as I look into the fire. I don't have my glasses on, but I can see just fine.
Not my body, I think. Just a soul in transit.
Maybe I won't call this image 'Play Freebird' after all.