Settling down in Santa Cruz

Dear Friends -

I hope this moment finds you in love, at least with yourself.

After traveling the U.S. from June 2010 to June 2011, visiting friends and family, nesting in temporary retreats to write, camping some nights, renting a motel room now and then, and sometimes having no idea where to go next . . . I finally found a place where I can relax and feel at home.

My bother Jerry and Cecille invited me to stay in their little guest cottage in Aptos, just south of Santa Cruz, California. I'm in the studio space above the garage. I really like Santa Cruz. The downtown is upscale and trendy - and it’s sort of the retirement lounge for old hippies. I’m an old hippie, so I feel pretty comfortable here. There is something refreshingly retro about this place . . . in an area of 75,000 people there is not one Walmart anywhere in sight! Elvis is long gone.

I've come to realize that when I first started my travels I was looking for a “home,” but as I got deeper into the writing of my novel Shambala, my quest turned into looking for the best place to write. Perhaps this will be my ideal writing den. I'm a grateful artist freed to focus on my art.

There’s no getting around it - as an artist I see the world in my own unique and often peculiar way. An exceptional artist will express their art in the way that flows naturally. Van Gogh saw the world in impressions and painted that way.

Impressionistic Cadillacs stuck in the mud a few miles west of Amarillo, Texas.

Van Gogh wouldn't paint and sell pictures of windmills to tourists, even though he could have lived better if he had. For most of my life I wasn’t an exceptional artist, in that I made art wrapped in a struggle to survive. I compromised my talent and that had an effect on my artist's soul. Once I let go of the ceramics and embraced writing, I stopped compromising. Each time I found a retreat place along the way, Shambala was a joy to write. 540 pages flowed from my fingers. For the first time in my life, making money wasn’t the motivating factor. This wonderful story proved to be pure, raw inspiration and I can hardly wait to share it with you.

Mt. Kailash - considered the most sacred mountain in the world

is central to the plot of Shambala

And, of course, there is no doubt that it takes money to live in this world. I have used my savings to travel around - and soon I will have to invest in printing books, which I will want to have available. I will have to pause in order to sell Shambala to the salesman. But more than anything I really want to share the Path to Paradise. The story has reminded me to open my eyes and heart and to see the beauty that surrounds me - wherever I go. It reminds me that wherever I am - I am - in paradise.

I left Tennessee almost three weeks ago and drove to Taos, New Mexico where I spent six days with my gypsy family. I really like Taos - it’s like an island high in the mountains. Fresh air, clean water, nice people. I could live there. From Taos I drove west to the LA area - Corona Del Mar, Cardiff-by-the-Sea, Duarte and Santa Monica.

I had wonderful meetings with people I love, who love and accept me. I planted some “writing” seeds in good soil, and I will patiently wait for the flowers to bloom.

Self-Realization Fellowship pond in Santa Monica

I have come to realize after all my travels, that I am a West Coast man. I’m familiar and comfortable with the land west of Oklahoma. It’s pretty obvious to me that the Western U.S. has a different energy and personality than the American South - and the western ways are more to my liking. All those southern states I’ve traveled through - Tennessee, North Carolina, Kentucky, Georgia, and Alabama - are extremely beautiful - lush with forests, rivers and lakes, birds and wildlife and Adult bookstores.

In all fairness - Chattanooga is the cleanest city I’ve ever seen. They’ve spent multi-millions to build parks and riverside walkways. Incredible public art is all over the place. Everyone I met there was kind and helpful, and nobody bothered me with their religion. June and Scott treated me like family, opening their home and hearts to me with a whole lot of love and respect. Not every Southerner is born again, eats fried chicken five nights a weeks and lives in a trailer park.

When I write my novels - like Twins of Kashal (now being reworked as The Crystal Women), Shambala and Two Crows - I’m very respectful of organized religions. Blogging is different. It’s been fun for me to let lose and ramble on in this forum; to be blasphemous, sacrilegious, satirical and silly; to get lost in petty parity exaggerations. I certainly don’t mean to offend, though sometimes I can’t help myself. I have to say something about things like this sighting in Arizona.

Being from the West I just know that Western Christians have a better sense of humor regarding Jesus and porn. They just do. Instead of the blanket Jesus-saved-me-so-its-OK-to-be-a-redneck-asshole, the Catholics sin, confess, sin some more, confess, and it keeps going on in a lighthearted Jesus, Mary and Joseph way until they die and go to hell for all the lies they told during confession. A weird part of me likes lumping Jesus, porn, Starbuck, Walmart and the second coming of Elvis all together. OK, I’ll throw in a few gray aliens and a six pack of Bud. To balance all my 'bad' out, one day soon I may write a serious discourse regarding what I have learned about Jesus after over forty years of religious and spiritual study. I'm slowly compiling The Memoirs of an Old Hippie, which will include my spiritual journey. In my next blog I may send a short story I first wrote in 1975 when I lived here with Sara, mother of our two sons, before we were married, titled "St. John of Santa Cruz." Stay tuned.

I send my love as always

- and please -

Don't hesitate to drop me a line and let me know how you're doing.

With blessings,

David Dakan Allison

my new writing window

In the South somewhere between penis and piety

Dear Friends -

Yesterday I was in Muscle Shoals, Alabama where many of the great American musicians - like the Allman Brothers, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon and Wilson Pickett did recordings. I remembered this town from Lynyrd Skynynd's "Sweet Home Alabama.” Anyway, being the silly Dad that I am, I decided to pick up a Muscle Shoals shot glass to add to Alan and Aaron's (my) collection - a shot glass from every state I drive through. I looked around town - no shot glasses. Finally I stopped at a Big K (I’ve lost interest in my US tour of Walmarts) thinking for sure they would have shot glasses.The manager didn’t remember seeing Muscle Shoal shot glasses anywhere. There wasn’t even a little frickin’ "Alabama" glass in the whole store. His “I’m sorry, sir,” was like the Zen slap. At that very moment - I achieved enlightenment!! My grown sons don’t need another damn $5 shot glass. Truly. What was I thinking? If they sat with a bottle of Jack Daniels and filled and downed the ones I already gave them - Texas, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Arizona, New Mexico, Arkansas, California, Graceland and Anderson’s Pea Soup - not to mention the Neunschwanstein Castle glass I illegally bought at Goodwill - or the one from Alcatraz that came from God knows where - they’d both be hammered out of their minds - all because of my silly tourist collecting useless crap thing. So I bought a cool $5 straw hat instead. What do you think?

I was driving down the freeway this morning and passed by a billboard with huge lettering - WHEN YOU DIE WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY? Hmm. Do I still have two choices? I thought about that for a few miles and realized that I’m no closer to the answer since I’ve become enlightened, then I was before. Then a few miles later the answer boomed out on another billboard. Arkansas’s Largest ADULT SUPERSTORE. Next Exit. (Jesus saves . . . right after the next lap dance)

The picture on the right sums up Southern Christianity for me . . . except I would put a crucifix around his neck and a boner in his pants. (though he just may be yanking off - if you check his left hand and that shit eating grin on his face) I think if God were a psychiatrist and lined up Southern Christians on his or her couch - he or she wouldn’t be doing shots of Jack Daniels with my sons - he, she or it would be swigging the whole damn bottle and saying, “Jesus help me!”

I'm still not sure what Jesus has to do with good old All-American Baptist patriotism and sex toys. I'll choose #3.

By the way, Jesus lives in the South. These people down here take a particular ownership to him. He’s their boy. If I decided to take a photo a day of every Christian church in the South I'd be taking pictures for the next 200 years. And it's all about answering that billboard question. Who exactly wrote the curriculum? I did notice however that rapture does happen. I don't know where they end up, but I’m probably the only one who noticed the rapture last week. While his father did everything in his power to hold on, this young handsome Master was pulled through the car’s glass sunroof and up into the tornado. They never found his body. So, at least one person we know of was raptured up. I guess you just have to be in the right place at the right time. Shoot - I’m sitting in a Starbucks in Little Rock and I’m feeling pretty darn raptured right this moment. After abstinence for a few months, this coffee is making me feel real high. The point being - Who makes up this shit?

I really liked what the Enlightened Master Sadhguru is saying. Here's his picture again if you forgot about him. He said that India has produced thousands of Enlightened Masters. He said that many of them weren't religious at all, or necessarily nice - some were downright mean and nasty. They lived in a culture where they didn't have to play by the rules or subject themselves to advertisements, society or peer pressure. If they wanted to spend their life standing naked on a street corner ignoring the world, it was OK. The one thing they had in common was DEVOTION. They found something they devoted their lives to and stuck to it, no matter what. We are sooooo distracted all the time. That's our insanity. Jesus and porno most often are forms of distraction. My devotion is writing - telling stories. My blogs are silly stories - but my 540 page novel Shambala is serious good writing. I call it the "Most surprising love story ever told." It's detective intrigue, travel around the world to the Himalaya's and one of the most understandable spiritual teachings you have ever read. This all happens because I have no doubt that I was born to share something with the people of this earth. That may sound cocky - but I believe it is actually true for all humans - if we choose not to be so distracted - if we choose to stand naked on the street corner and shout "This is who I am and this is what I do." Then you will see - all these other beliefs, all the ones I appear to be so sacrilegious about - are the pulls away for Self - pulls away from your chosen devotion and unique reason for Being.

If you're interested in update on the progress of Shambala let me know. Should be available this fall.

With lots of love and blessings, (the highway is calling - on to Oklahoma)

David Dakan Allison

Namaste to You, and the guru in Tennessee

Dear Friends -

I hope this blog finds you happy, healthy and surrounded by love.

I'm still in Chattanooga. I hear the call of the highway again. Reading Steinbeck's Travels with Charlie doesn't support my wishy-washy sedentary thoughts. I imagine once I'm back touring I'll blog more - with pictures and stories of new adventures on the road. I'm taking these months to polish my 540 page novel Shambala. It's a wonderful story - and I hope millions of readers will agree. I just need to be a bit fussy right now, and make it worthy of being a best seller. An Inspirational best seller!

I'm not sure how I will go about marketing Shambala. The new direction for unknown novelists is an online ebook for your Kindle or iPad, followed by Print on Demand - directing the buyer to go to Amazon. The old way is printing books to sell out of the trunk of my car. One way or the other I know this to be true: I just want to have fun, and I'm too old to get lost in the struggle. I've written a book about journeying to paradise and finding love along the way. That's what I want - and why not?

My good friend Karen came down from Detroit and we spent the last few days at a spiritual center called Isha, located on 11,000 forest acres some miles outside of McMinnville, Tennessee. Last night we were honored to sit close to and enjoy two hours of wisdom pouring effortlessly from Sadhguru, the enlightened master looking at you. What a beautiful being! I'm not a seeker or guru chaser; I have no desire to be anyone's devotee - and it was a joy to be in this man's presence. He flew to the center earlier that afternoon in a helicopter, which he is learning to fly. He fully engages in life.

Sadhguru wove funny stories into his wise discourse - and laughed at his many jokes. I think his overall message can be summed up in these two lines - which he repeated over and over about 200 times in a row - literally: He asked us to inhale saying, "I am not this body," and then exhale, "I am not even this mind." Later when he took questions most everyone's had to do with their "I." This (their) body problem or this (their) mind problem. He was very patient and kind with the answers - all variations of the theme that you are not your body or your mind - which came in the form of stories (parables) and jokes. When someone would go on about a problem, he would say "Great! It is only change and that is much better than being stagnant. Enjoy the change." He talked about the insanity of the world and encouraged us to live our lives in grace. It reminded me of the saying, "A Master is never perturbed." I couldn't image Sadhguru ever being perturbed. He says there is only One. "One is not a problem. All the problems start when there's two." (when we see or we believe there is more than ONE)

In Shambala I quote from another (my fiction) book titled Many Gods, One Heart. "Many Gods" refers to all humans - re. the idea (or fact) that each and every one of us is innately and uniquely a god or goddess. "One Heart" means that our hearts are all connected. I've always liked the saying "there is only one of us." If there is only one of us - one heart - then there is no separation. There is no "me," no "I (or you), so then it follows: "I am not this body," and "I am not even this mind." Each god - with a name (your name) - is here on earth to love and serve the oneness of all thing . . . to love the earth, love the animals, love the beauty of all creation - and of course, love all the people. We've made separation and surviving on earth into a struggle - when oneness and living a good life is really quite simple. We just need to be the gift, and give the gift of our godliness, our talent, our unique holiness, to everyone we meet - What the heck - be the love that you are. The guru said that when you're not giving and loving you are - insane. Maybe its time to stop being insane.

Talking about insanity. I know that not everyone embraced my last blog regarding weather

control. This is still a love and oneness thing. You may not notice the rats living under your house, but when they come up and feast out of your kitchen fruit bowl every night and poop on the counter, you will notice them. And if you don't like it - then it's a problem. You didn't notice something until you noticed it. It's called awareness. And if you're aware of a bigger than house rats problem - like lots of people dying tragic deaths - it's hard not to say "Look." (this here may be what's causing it) There wasn't a cloud in the sky Thursday morning. Then the sky was filled with jets checkering long white trails in the sky. (Karen was my witness, as is my photograph) By late afternoon this is how the sky looked. The next day was totally overcast. Tennessee tornados and floods. What do you think? Am I making shit up?

Karen and I met some new friends, devotees of the guru, in Nashville. We had lunch at a great vegetarian restaurant and listened to the founder of Farm Sanctuary speak. If you're interested in knowing more about the ethical treatment of farm animals, go to their web site: www.farmsanctuary.org. That evening we went downtown to The Stage, and listened to some live country music. Yahoo! It was fun. Life is good.

I always love hearing from you, so drop me a note . . .

Much love and blessings, David Dakan Allison

Ringgold, Georgia Tornado April 27, 2011

Dear Friends - (that's me 40 years ago)

This morning was a perfect spring day in Ringgold, Georgia. Not a cloud in the sky. 75 degrees. Today was the day of the royal wedding - the cusp of Beltane when the Divine King and Divine Queen wed. A day filled with many important symbols of change. It is a 19 day - the number of the star which illuminates our intelligence, and invigorates our innocence and the purity of our hearts. Today, right now, the ancient and modern are meeting in ways we never imagined. The beloved mother-in-law Diana, the spirited Princess of Wales, blesses her children, the kind Duke who will be the King of the common people and the beautiful Duchess who will be Queen, who will serve the world in her footsteps. This historical enactment is steeped in Druid and Pagan roots; a rich homage to all that is good, pure and holy. Gaia Mother smiles.

At the very same moment, modern technology is clashing with Mother Nature, with all that is natural, pure and in balanced harmony. Love and marriage is juxtaposed with death and destruction. And the big question - the one that is foremost in my mind: Is the death and destruction we are currently experiencing natural (acts of God)? In other words, are all these hurricanes, earthquakes and tornados the movements of nature or the contrivances of man? As long as scientists and governments remain arrogant to the spiritual wisdom and intelligence of Gaia Mother Earth, refuse to honestly reveal what they are doing, refuse to honor and protect her, which indeed they seem to be the case, then we the people will experience the results of what could be madness.

I live in Ringgold, Georgia. The power went out Wednesday night around 8:30 p.m. I lit a candle and went on with my business - glad to have my iPad. Thunder roared and lightning pierced the nearly moonless sky, but that didn’t bother me - such weather seems to be normal in the south. I felt perfectly safe and secure in my upstairs bedroom, and had no thoughts of danger. Unlike in Kauai, I heard not sirens, and had absolutely no idea the sky was in turmoil less than a mile away - and the upstairs bedroom was the worst place for me to be.

The god of Wind

At the very same time I was lighting my candle and feeling so safe and secure, all hell was breaking loose 4000 feet away. Right down the hill from where I’m now living a tornado ripped through the town - killing seven. It went on for miles and destroyed everything in its path, three football fields wide. This beautiful morning I drove by broken trees, demolished homes, sheet metal wrapped around telephone poles - all outside of the heart of the Ringgold city disaster. A three story Super 8 hotel and Ruby Tuesdays were gone. Nobody was ordering a big Mac or a burrito from Taco Bell. All-America was bombed.

It is no secret that scientists are manipulating the weather. HAARP in Alaska has the technical ability to, and routinely does, pour focused measured amounts of intense energy into the earth’s ionosphere. (Goggle it) The result of this interference is beginning to produce startling results. The scientists who manipulate the weather through the HAARP technology are (either resultantly, accidentally, or intentionally) creating all kinds of storms - like hurricanes, thunderstorms, floods, tornadoes, and drought. Earthquakes? Unfortunately for the 300 southern state Americans who died on April 27th, 2011 (and the 10,000+ who died in Japan) this is not a good thing. Scientists in Alaska are blasting the ionosphere with high levels of energy and 200 tornados occur on one day in the south. Is there a connection? Hmmm. Do these deadly earthquakes and storms have anything to do with the government sponsored HAARP and Chemtrail experiments? I’m trying my best not to say “duhh.”

I always want to give credit to the inherent goodness of humans - you know - people with hearts and souls. Sons and daughters go to college, get good paying jobs, have families and so on. But ask any good soldier - people will do the strangest things for job security. Maybe these scientists have been convinced they are doing something good with their “modern science,” and/or maybe they consider their great paychecks and job security more important than anything, and don’t think about connecting the dots.

I’m not alone in noticing how obvious the dots are beginning to appear. I wonder why more people don’t pose the question: “What’s going on with the weather?” “Two hundred tornados in a day??” “Is that natural?” or “Is it wise to trust those who experiment with our weather and water?” I think these are questions worth asking, and ones to ask before your home turns to rubble, or you find out what fluoride is really doing to your health. And those white lines in the sky? Is that healthy? Has science truly gone mad? I think its important that modern technology embrace Ancient wisdoms and spiritual truths, or we will most likely continue to see the results of these mad experiments.

As always my heart goes out to those who die unexpectedly in natural disasters. God bless them in their transition.

The contrast always interest me. It’s two days later. There is still no electricity. I’m looking out over the balcony into the forest below. It is so quiet and peaceful here. Sun rays warm me. The tall trees are all in full spring green. The wind has stilled. Birds are chirping and critters are chattering, as always. One mile away the town of Ringgold is shut down. Schools are closed and police are everywhere. The freeway, which was stalled and bumper to bumper yesterday is finally flowing again. I hear sirens in the distance. An army of workers are still down there, trying to establish order in the chaos.

I sit here in peace. Yesterday I could have walked to town and volunteered. I didn’t - since I am satisfied with the conclusion - it is not my job. Some people volunteer directly, others give indirectly with money or donations, and, unfortunately, most ignore it all until it’s in their face. My giving is a different form of indirect. I give with my prayers, though holding the strong vibration of peace, and by sending love out to all those in need. I believe that all the “OMG seven people died” energy needs to be balanced with thanks for the seventy thousand who survived. I pray for the well-being of the departed’s family members. I pray that all the chaos turns into a higher level of love; that the living find balance again. I pray that those who have lost someone who was dear and precious will gain a greater appreciation for life, and find a more proactive appreciation and love for members of their family who have survived and are safe. I pray for everyone’s well-being in the face of tragedy and great loss. And I hope we all begin asking simple questions. Where did all these tornados come from? Are they really acts of God? Are these storms natural or man made? Why not demand our leaders who invest billions of our dollars in this risky scientific technology, to answers this: “Prove to us that there is no connection between HAARP and these disasters?”

I am grateful and happy to be living with June and Scott. I really do like Chattanooga. It’s a very beautiful city. I’m blessed to have a yard to landscape (I did the rock wash on the left) - in a lush setting surrounded by trees and wild critters. I’m still dedicated to restoring my good health - I don’t believe we’re ever too old to become young again. It’s been six weeks since I stopped eating all wheat products, all dairy products, all sugars, coffee and alcohol. I supplement my whole food diet with the very best probiotics and immune system builders. I drink lots of pure alkaline water and exercise every day. I keep getting stronger. My rotator cuff injury has all but disappeared and my over-all well-being has improved substantially. I’m still working hard with editing my adventure love story Shambala. It’s a fabulous story (if I don’t say so myself) and I hope every one of you takes the time to read it. I imagine it will be available in one form or another sometime this summer.

And, as always, I send you my love and blessings,

David Dakan Allison

New Year Blessings 2011

Happy New Year dear friends,

I sat in a dark room, with a single candle flame, the minutes up to and at midnight New Years 2011. I prayed for you and me, and everyone and everything in this glorious world.

My oldest best friend invited me - being with ones you love is also important - and I chose to be alone . . . with candle light and sage . . . to bless the past, and welcome in a blank canvas of infinite possibilities . . . to pray in the New Year.

Another year and I'm still alive! My heart bursts in gratitude with the simple I AM knowing. I am here! Almost sixty-four years old, alive and healthy, living during this incredible time of transformation on this amazing planet earth . . . what a blessing! All of us who have incarnated at the change in ages - now having entered into the electric Aquarian Age - with the bonus end of the Mayan calendar (actually December 21, 2010) have won the greatest birth lottery of all time. Not only have I won the greatest prize of all - I Am the prize! And so are you.

Upon rising New Years Day I honestly felt I was beginning life all over again.

I watched the Pasadena Rose Parade. I couldn’t stop crying. I got lost in the millions of multi-colored flowers . . . this gift of Gaia, our Mother Earth . . . the splendor of vibrant life on display, my gratitude for the farmers who planted, protected, then harvested this perfection. I marveled at the art of each and every float - how designers and artists and helpers took those flowers, and spent hours and days crafting beauty on top of the beauty, all given to a short morning drive for our viewing pleasure. I cried more watching the marching bands - high school kids who spent countless hours learning their instrument and music and steps - just to entertain us, each one a necessary component of a whole moving orchestra.

Pasadena Rose Parade 2011

Then I switched channels and watched the countdown to the 100 all-time greatest musical artists, ending with our true musical saints - # 1- The Beatles and Michael Jackson. My heart was touched with such incredible talent and music. Beginning in the 1950‘s with Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley, the early 1960‘s with Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, Bob Dylan and the Beatles . . . and then all the incredible singers and bands of the late 60’s who totally rocked my world. As I watched The Who, Chuck Berry, Led Zepplin, Neil Young and John Lennon . . . Madonna and even Kurt Cobain caused the tears to flow. Each contributed to the rich tapestry of life that we are so blessed to be part of.

Change is slow and subtle. One day maybe even you will wake up a senior citizen sobbing over flower floats and marching bands . . . and like me wondering what you can give back that would bring another to joyful tears.

In my understanding, the Aquarian Age offers a change in focus. Instead of being obsessed with what is wrong, bad and ugly - the opportunity is to focus is on what is right, good and beautiful. To discover our personal Divinity and do what makes us happy. The question I ask myself is: Am I loving myself as I contribute to and support all that is right, good and beautiful? Am I doing what makes me and others happy?

In 2011 it will continue to be my intention to do what I love - and to share my art and writing and love with others . . . this is why I write these blogs and send them to you. Keats said that all we need is truth and beauty, (I add a big dose of love) Live in truth - appreciate and add to the beauty, and life for us will continue to bloom like a spring flower. We will then each be that flowery float cruising down the avenue - with Marvin Gaye in the background singing "ain't nothing like the real thing, baby."

My heart invites you to dance with me in the field of flowers in 2011. It really is time for me - for all of us to proclaim: I Am Love - and mean it, and be it and see it in everyone . . . you are - Love.

I wish you all JOY this coming year.

David Dakan Allison

Suzie and Jim's house in Manzanita, Oregon - where I'm staying in January

The December Oregon Coast

Dear Friends -

It’s been a month since I last wrote, and I’ve had a few inquiries as to where I am, and yes, that's me on the right, standing on a much different beach. I spent November in Seattle with my sons, enjoying them, waiting for my art to arrive from Kauai, and in search of the right vehicle in order to continue my travels. Oh, I also grew a beard for the first time in around thirty years.

Finding the “right vehicle” was an interesting exercise. I traveled the US last summer in my son Alan’s stallion Toyota 4Runner. I could and did sleep in my traveling home; a choice other than someone’s couch. While in Seattle I looked at conversion vans and flirted with station wagons and pick-ups with canopies - only vehicles I could sleep in, if necessary. My car budget was $5000. When I sat in and drove the car I ended up buying, it “spoke to me.” It told me that I didn’t want to be a 64 year-old homeless man living in his car. The voice was very profound - it said I deserved to drive the country in a luxury sedan, even though I normally couldn’t afford one. And this car was a gift. I was surprised at how it was almost perfect, like new, inside and out. An independent mechanic verified this to be true. A $45,000 Volvo when new, with a current bluebook value of $7300, for $4500? I almost couldn’t not buy it. Here’s my new car.

So, once I had my car, I accepted the invitation of my dear friend Suzie, and her husband Jim, to stay at their second home, a block from the Oregon coast beach, in Manzanita, northwest Oregon. I’m blessed to be cozy out of the rain in this wonderful house. Here I continue writing my novel Shambala. It’s beautiful here in a wind swept rugged Oregon coast winter weather way. And it’s true . . . I do have fits of loneliness, wanting to share this all with a special women . . . cozy by the fire . . . snuggle in bed at night, falling asleep to the pitter patter of rain on the tin roof in the arms of the one I love.

I often wonder why there are people like me who feel so much love, and have so much to give to another, a lover, and no matter what . . . they end up alone. I don’t wish to be an old bachelor, but it seems as though the universe wishes that for me, though I never have, and probably never will, resigned myself to that conclusion.

Yesterday I corresponded with a friend who also feels this aloneness. Later I realized that our lives are always a reflection of how we “respond” to the situation we’re in. I sat down and made a list of ten responses that I make to my life situation that aren’t true, or are at least self-pity exaggerations. The number one non-sensical response, for instance, was victimizing my aloneness, when in fact I chose to be alone so I could write my novel, when in fact I have many invitations to stay with friends and family.

Last night I had a dream. (I fell asleep reading Sherlock Holmes) I was a detective and had a woman detective partner. The woman had a junior partner. She needed to go somewhere and asked me to watch this man and not let him leave. But the man did leave. He went down to the subway. In a subway car he pulled out his machine gun and opened fire on line of seated German-American men, killing the first ten. So . . . analyzing dreams - we are ALL the characters. I am both the man and woman detective. (self- inquiring) The female (me) was controlling a male part of me - keeping it from getting out of control, and now was willing to surrender him to me, the male (me). The usually in-control junior me goes into the underground, (my personal unexposed subconscious) My mother was originally German-American. So what (I am) “killing” are subconscious root beliefs that most likely come from my mother, and her heritage. I was killing (transforming) the ten lies that I listed earlier that day.

Talking about being alone . . . (I am writing this from a Starbucks in Tillamook, and wish I had a picture of my mother, who was quite beautiful back then - so I sillily substitute cheese)

In 1937, (ten years before my birth) my mother Clara left the blip-in-the-road town of Colyer, Kansas (so small it won't come up on Google), took a bus across the United States, and ended up right here in Tillamook, Oregon. She arrived with no money, no job, no home, no family or friends. 1937! She was 16 years old! Alone in the world. Makes me ashamed that I dare whimper about being alone (and love my dear departed mother all the more.)

Now that I'm back on the road (so to speak) I hope to write more often. As always - I would love to hear from you . . . read to your stories, as you read to mine.

With love and season's blessings,

David Dakan Allison

Honoring the Change in Seasons

Returning on the ferry to Seattle

Dear Friends,

Some of you wanted to know where I am, and another called to say I was becoming boring because I’m not anywhere - at least not somewhere new and interesting. That not being somewhere and interesting is because I am resting (nesting?) in Seattle.

Someone once told me that everything that comes after “because” is a lie.

(that someone I could almost guarantee is my infinitely wise and dear sister - please check her out www.lindamasterson.com. And if you or your brother or sister or friend want a horoscope done or any sort of life coaching or wisdom from the wise woman - there you go. No "because" about it.)

OK. I haven’t been resting - not like last week in that cute yellow house on Hood Canal. The picture below was to the right of the deck. Ahh, fond memories . . .

What a wonderful place that was, being right on the water with nothing else for me to do than keep the pellet stove going, watch the ducks and crane living their lives on the canal, and cook tasty meals. Ahhh is right. And of course I spent many hours writing. Almost 140 book pages of my new novel Shambala, which flowed from my imagination. I was creating people, places and events that became, are still becoming, alive, real and oddly familiar. It’s like reading a great book, which I need to write, before I can find out what happens next. It calls to me like a soul wanting birth.

Anyway, after not seeing another human in eight days, and thinking I could easily hang there for weeks, the Bank came in and changed the locks. What the heck? It was there and now - to my friend Scott’s, and my, disappointment - this great getaway is gone. Because . . . the bank needed a house on the canal? Because the bank need the money? Because it was the wisest and most win/win thing to do?

Only love is real. And everything is a gift. (I keep reminding myself)

It’s easy to get lost - on an island, or on a road trip, in a cute little house on a canal. But as important as all that, or actually more important, is family. Did the bank forced me out of that house, or was my selfish isolation trumped by the Universe, reminding me of family? I arrived back just in time to celebrate my sons’ stepfather Ron’s birthday, and then (the days of not resting) working with Alan to prepare the house and yard for his brother’s, my son Aaron’s 30th birthday party on Saturday. See what I would have missed far away on my island, driving down the highway, or hidden away in the cave?

Aaron on his 30th My sons' house in Ballard, Seattle

Sitting here as I am, looking out the window upon the rain, the green to yellow to red maple leaves clinging to, falling from the front yard trees, I can’t help but think of seasons, my various aches and pains, the sort of rheumatism of change in the weather, the metaphor of seasons, the bundling up to take a walk that’s now an effort. Noticing how I retreated to my room after the introductions, having no interest or desire to party through the night with the thirty year-olds, I wondered. Am I that old? The answer to that question brought the truth.

I am in the winter of my life, and not the summer. I’m no longer interested in pretending.

So I contemplate, (questionably forced in from the cold November rain), the seasons of life.

Spring - 1 - 20 years old. Summer - 20 - 40 years old. Fall - 40 - 60 years old. Winter - 60 - 80 years old. And Spring again - 80 - 100.

I condensed that into a sentence, when it is worthy of a book. In my reality, the summer party was happening all over the house on Saturday, while winter hibernation was also happening, alone in my room. And that is what I want to honor, am honoring, with my writing. I have watched with interest, engaged appropriately, as the spring, summer and fall of my life have naturally flowed one into the other. I have earned the right, feel entitled to be, and good about, sitting by the fire or looking out to the wind and the rain and the falling leaves, with a very simple, kind and sweet desire to do nothing other that see it, be in it, with it, and write about it. To simply love it all.

Andy Irons

I wish to share my sadness with the passing of a great son of Kauai, of the ocean and the world. Andy Irons left us so early in the summer of his life (32), and without knowing him I too feel as though one of my son's had died. The circle of 1000 surfers in Hanalei Bay, the 10,000 on the shore, the flower tribute from the sky, shows the impact one good person, with no more than a surfboard and the gift to use it, can have on so many. I can only hope that his passing is a wake-up call to a much greater world-wide campaign for early detection of, and protection from death due to dengue fever, malaria and hepatitis C. My heart goes out to Andy Irons, his wife and unborn child, his family and friends, but also to the millions of people around the world who silently pass from these diseases, which I pray the World Health Organizations, and other such humanitarian groups, will (must) one day protect us all from.

With love and blessings,

David Dakan Allison