I am from outer space. Actually, we all are. WE are made of stardust. The carbon, oxygen, and every other element that makes us up was created by a star. The heavier elements were created in a supernova…or maybe just a nova. Sometimes being stardust is enough we don’t have to be Super stardust.

Since it appears that destiny will find me when and wherever I go, it seems best not to make its work harder than I aught, so I once again donned The Peace Artist mantle. This week I ran 65 miles—a bit short of the 150 that is projected to complete this journey, but not chicken scratch either. That is between 9-18 miles a day. I am being cautious in building up not wanting to get injured just before my send-off. But, I digress.

As I mentioned I wore The Peace Artist smock today. I decided to run to my favorite place in the world, to the place where I first learned to delight in nature and this world, to where I first learned to love a friend, to the place I want my ashes scattered.

August 15th is the day of my birth…it is also the day of my death. On the fifteenth day of the eighth month, I was born at 8:15 am; ironic. And, on the 8/15/11 at 8:15 am I will die, and The Peace Artist will be born. Funny, is it not, that the ground plan for this whole departure from self was “conceived” last year on my birthday of 8/15. See this post: The Future.

On that day I will cease to be who I was, the age I was, the person I was, and become ageless and eternal, for message of peace and love is ageless and eternal. Universe willing, I will become that message. This month here at my mother’s has been the final month of a gestation of sorts. Like all mothers child unions, there must come a day of separation. I was a month overdue…and I have another month left here in Oregon. I used to joke that I was a month overdue because, “Hey, free rent and food. Can’t beat it, why come out?” Some sense of humor that the universe has.

When we are born we come forth from the womb by way of water. I shall leave from Edmonds, Washington and be “borne” by water to  Apple Tree Cove (the symbolic fruit of original sin) and will begin to…run. My aunt will meet me that night, and the next morning, the universe willing, she will cut the umbilical cord to all that was…safety…security…the womb.

Perhaps this all seems a little melodramatic and contrived, but how could I have foreseen most of this come about and come to fruition?

But, as I mentioned, today I traveled to my favorite spot in the world; The McKenzie River. As I stepped out on the well trod and worn path that leads down to my river, I was taken by a vista, the first of its kind for me at this spot. A bald Eagle. I’ve lived in Oregon on and off for many years, I’ve come to this river a thousand times…never have I seen one. I couldn’t help but think that this symbol of the United States resurgence in this area to be an auspicious portent of the ability of the United States which has been on the endangered species list can be revitalized…and saved from the throes of death.

I saw another bird along the path that I’d never seen before either a Western Tanager.

Shortly afterward, the owner of the farm I’ve been coming to for 25 years came out and asked me about my intentions. I asked his permission to paint his old truck and shed. We talked a bit about my pilgrimage the trouble he has had with vagrants camping and leaving their trash, and I offered him to help clean up. He mentioned to me that he was not a friend of hippies and that he believed that I aught to be saving up for my retirement rather than giving away all that I owned. He said, “When you get to be my age, you need to have saved up so you don’t have to worry.”

Checking in, this man has a farm on the banks of the most beautiful river in America, perhaps the world. His barn and property is beautiful, the land is so fertile that it will grow anything, and his house is a thing of beauty with a wrap around porch, and judging by the amenities at his house, the man isn’t hurting for money. But, that is where his concern was, even with all he has. Fear. Fear of not having…fear of what if…fear of death. My heart sank out of compassion for him, he has so much but fears it’s loss, so much that even his conversation with a total stranger is tainted with it.

I painted the shed, the old truck, and the wheat field. I offered it to him afterward. He didn’t want it. I left and shook the dust from my feet.

I had drawn a horse earlier in the day, but as I ran home I saw some chickens in someone’s yard, so I added them to the drawing. I think it is a nice composition.

Finally, I met Sail; a gal with a great name. We talked about peace, gratitude, and the reason for the run. We talked about the farmer, and I offered her drawings and paintings. She said that she was getting rid of things herself. I think that was code for divorce. I could tell that she needed a hug. I shared with her how I found peace, and it was just that only my way. I mentioned it all begins with gratitude. At hearing that, she smiled a knowing grin, but one that belied her true emotions. Upon leaving her, I turned back and said, “Hey…feel loved.”

She replied, “It is like you are from outer space.”

I said, “I am.”

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