Notes from the Underground: Freeway Day One
Notes from the Underground
On the Freeway Underground
Day One-May 22, 2009
by Pi Kielty
The Polk County Underground has gone Wisconsin, on the freeway of ideas, commerce, labor and culture. I travel to new territory, while I traverse some old to get there, to see and meet, and greet and exchange a value of my Spirit of ideal liberty for a mutually profitable transfer with others. Only by doing this will the Nature of all, I pray, replenish my song, my voice, my optimistic soul–my inner Muse.
The venture came to a rash mind, heavy from exhausted, endless struggle. At the moment I left, the bright-eyed poetry of my worship had died, existent no longer, and it was as rotted as a carrion horse the morning after its honored murder in the last battle of my own internal civil war. The steed, powerful like a Bukephelus, trust worthy like a Traveler, was my one-horse engine that kept me moving. It had noble strength, phlegmatacy; a pique, and positive pony. The last cannonade kicked it once in the forelock mane for a full, undoable measure, and I retreated to the sanctuary of a cave. That conflict ended. I start anew an insurgency of a free idea to swim as a little fish among the sea of oppressed peoples, left marooned by leaders on an inner-island in my middle-Middle America. I teach a revolution of peace, for community, by means of a simple idea–the Spirit of ideal liberty–acted on by a simple trade: My respect and friendship for yours. The war inwards ends. Long live the Revolution for Peace & Liberty!
On the Underground Freeway, I am on Day One, still. I left my last regular haunt south of home late last evening at midnight. I journeyed My First Place. I bought the following foods for $20.11
• French bread (1)
• Box cake rolls(1)
• Bag of tuna (1)
• Bag of rice (1)
• Apples (2)
• Pasta meals (2)
• Peaches (2)
• Oranges (2)
• Cabbage (2)
I slept for 7 hours on a couch at an Underground safe-house, re-packed the gear I hastily loaded an hour before my escape. The Underground housekeeper, Merle, bought me lunch of a burger, fries, and soda. I showered, loaded, and having spent exactly 12 hours in My First Place, I rambled here in Lil’ Casino, to Wisconsin’s D.C. I visited my friend at her work, and then I drove out here out of the city to a barn where I know my leave is welcome for two nights.
As I write, I drink a cup of coffee cooked in a saucepan on a white gas, single burner stove. The place is empty of a soul, as my friends must have gone for the weekend. I am alone but nearer to my peace of mind than I had been in months, or possibly years. I pitched my tent by my car. The sun canopy recedes westward. Night’s dark-lit veil of sparkling diamonds in the sky soon will be cover all.
A full inventory of what I bring with me must await more time. Like the fool I am, in sorting gear today, I realized I forgot three things I would need: mess kit, silverware, and a camping hatchet. Merle provided me a saucepan and hatchet. I can eat with twigs shaved into chop sticks. There are many sticks in the property fire-pit, a budding fire which shall remain unlit for the dryness of the month.
I do not mean to spoil my story, as indeed I possess no idea the length the journey may take, whether it will take me, or what might or might not happen. I have brought my cameras, my computer a bag of books, and a load of paper and envelopes. I left family and friends behind at home to visit other friends , and family elsewhere. I wish to meet new people, make new friends, of course, and, the god-willing–approach foul or foulness from no one nor nowhere.
More remains to write, to chronicle in the Underground Freeway notes. I should at least explain the reasons I took to the road, to sum up the causes, purpose and theme of this journey. However, I go underground with great remorse for what I reluctantly said to others to deceive the world so I start my escape from the sub-reality of life back home. I may own enough courage to leave all and everything behind, except what those things I own and carry in Lil’ Casino. Furthermore, I may be stupid enough to gamble these stakes to find a lifeful Spirit still inside me, so I can live once more, happy, loving, positive and optimistic. And I know there are knowns and unknowns I must confront, experience, or avoid, flee.
Despite a foolish bravery for these things, I confront cowardice because I fail to tell my loved ones what I feel, what I fear, and what I can and cannot do for them. I pushed myself beyond limits, but I don’t know, “WHY?”. I failed to live up to their highest happy expectations of me. I could not be who they wanted. I leave with law and my property on my side. I commit no crime in going, I have performed no sin but erred in obligation I offered. In sum, no one owns this one-man Corps of Discovery but I.
Why did I leave then? Most men who run do so for a woman. That is only part of my problem, yet not an ounce measured for the ton of justifications to go. I left no romance behind. I did, though, leave for a deep shame, shame before friends and family. It is a shame we all should share in common, whether or not almost everyone denies it in their lives. As spirits undergoing a human experience, we think we search for answers. In discussion yesterday with my very own Wizened Yoda, a discussion concerning what I feel like I must do on this journey, he told me not to seek an answer, for it only lies within. Instead, Yoda continued, “Go elsewhere so that when you return you know the Question.”
The “WHAT?” of my life is found in the answer itself: To be helpful to others. Unless I know the “WHY?”, am I really doing it for the right reasons? If not, I lived a Spirit being half formed by the god and the Nature through which it works. Everyone wants answers. We must find those on our own. Now, on Day One, it does really make sense. What is the Question for which we need the answers. “WHY?”
In this Underground Freeway voyage, I call it the search for the “Question.” I asked my friend at her work today, “What is the Question for which you want an answer?” Of course, as I believe will prove common, she answered, “Where does everyone go when they die?”
I intend to return home when appropriate. Perhaps I can stop carrying the burden of shame for humanity as an altruistic martyr by then. Return I must; return to a sick and dying friend, and to concerned others.
On the Freeway Underground
Day One-May 22, 2009
by Pi Kielty
The Polk County Underground has gone Wisconsin, on the freeway of ideas, commerce, labor and culture. I travel to new territory, while I traverse some old to get there, to see and meet, and greet and exchange a value of my Spirit of ideal liberty for a mutually profitable transfer with others. Only by doing this will the Nature of all, I pray, replenish my song, my voice, my optimistic soul–my inner Muse.
The venture came to a rash mind, heavy from exhausted, endless struggle. At the moment I left, the bright-eyed poetry of my worship had died, existent no longer, and it was as rotted as a carrion horse the morning after its honored murder in the last battle of my own internal civil war. The steed, powerful like a Bukephelus, trust worthy like a Traveler, was my one-horse engine that kept me moving. It had noble strength, phlegmatacy; a pique, and positive pony. The last cannonade kicked it once in the forelock mane for a full, undoable measure, and I retreated to the sanctuary of a cave. That conflict ended. I start anew an insurgency of a free idea to swim as a little fish among the sea of oppressed peoples, left marooned by leaders on an inner-island in my middle-Middle America. I teach a revolution of peace, for community, by means of a simple idea–the Spirit of ideal liberty–acted on by a simple trade: My respect and friendship for yours. The war inwards ends. Long live the Revolution for Peace & Liberty!
On the Underground Freeway, I am on Day One, still. I left my last regular haunt south of home late last evening at midnight. I journeyed My First Place. I bought the following foods for $20.11
• French bread (1)
• Box cake rolls(1)
• Bag of tuna (1)
• Bag of rice (1)
• Apples (2)
• Pasta meals (2)
• Peaches (2)
• Oranges (2)
• Cabbage (2)
I slept for 7 hours on a couch at an Underground safe-house, re-packed the gear I hastily loaded an hour before my escape. The Underground housekeeper, Merle, bought me lunch of a burger, fries, and soda. I showered, loaded, and having spent exactly 12 hours in My First Place, I rambled here in Lil’ Casino, to Wisconsin’s D.C. I visited my friend at her work, and then I drove out here out of the city to a barn where I know my leave is welcome for two nights.
As I write, I drink a cup of coffee cooked in a saucepan on a white gas, single burner stove. The place is empty of a soul, as my friends must have gone for the weekend. I am alone but nearer to my peace of mind than I had been in months, or possibly years. I pitched my tent by my car. The sun canopy recedes westward. Night’s dark-lit veil of sparkling diamonds in the sky soon will be cover all.
A full inventory of what I bring with me must await more time. Like the fool I am, in sorting gear today, I realized I forgot three things I would need: mess kit, silverware, and a camping hatchet. Merle provided me a saucepan and hatchet. I can eat with twigs shaved into chop sticks. There are many sticks in the property fire-pit, a budding fire which shall remain unlit for the dryness of the month.
I do not mean to spoil my story, as indeed I possess no idea the length the journey may take, whether it will take me, or what might or might not happen. I have brought my cameras, my computer a bag of books, and a load of paper and envelopes. I left family and friends behind at home to visit other friends , and family elsewhere. I wish to meet new people, make new friends, of course, and, the god-willing–approach foul or foulness from no one nor nowhere.
More remains to write, to chronicle in the Underground Freeway notes. I should at least explain the reasons I took to the road, to sum up the causes, purpose and theme of this journey. However, I go underground with great remorse for what I reluctantly said to others to deceive the world so I start my escape from the sub-reality of life back home. I may own enough courage to leave all and everything behind, except what those things I own and carry in Lil’ Casino. Furthermore, I may be stupid enough to gamble these stakes to find a lifeful Spirit still inside me, so I can live once more, happy, loving, positive and optimistic. And I know there are knowns and unknowns I must confront, experience, or avoid, flee.
Despite a foolish bravery for these things, I confront cowardice because I fail to tell my loved ones what I feel, what I fear, and what I can and cannot do for them. I pushed myself beyond limits, but I don’t know, “WHY?”. I failed to live up to their highest happy expectations of me. I could not be who they wanted. I leave with law and my property on my side. I commit no crime in going, I have performed no sin but erred in obligation I offered. In sum, no one owns this one-man Corps of Discovery but I.
Why did I leave then? Most men who run do so for a woman. That is only part of my problem, yet not an ounce measured for the ton of justifications to go. I left no romance behind. I did, though, leave for a deep shame, shame before friends and family. It is a shame we all should share in common, whether or not almost everyone denies it in their lives. As spirits undergoing a human experience, we think we search for answers. In discussion yesterday with my very own Wizened Yoda, a discussion concerning what I feel like I must do on this journey, he told me not to seek an answer, for it only lies within. Instead, Yoda continued, “Go elsewhere so that when you return you know the Question.”
The “WHAT?” of my life is found in the answer itself: To be helpful to others. Unless I know the “WHY?”, am I really doing it for the right reasons? If not, I lived a Spirit being half formed by the god and the Nature through which it works. Everyone wants answers. We must find those on our own. Now, on Day One, it does really make sense. What is the Question for which we need the answers. “WHY?”
In this Underground Freeway voyage, I call it the search for the “Question.” I asked my friend at her work today, “What is the Question for which you want an answer?” Of course, as I believe will prove common, she answered, “Where does everyone go when they die?”
I intend to return home when appropriate. Perhaps I can stop carrying the burden of shame for humanity as an altruistic martyr by then. Return I must; return to a sick and dying friend, and to concerned others.
posted by Scipio Cepicanus @ 4:21 PM
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