After a sweet night of lovin with a man of interest, the city I love became cold.
It was a fun night-he treated me well-I’ll spare you the delicious details, besides, all good things must come to an end. By the next day, tho, he was cool, aloof, and then sick…waves of reality put out my passion; so we spent the night laughing instead. Bitter sweet, as I slept alone, with no touch and woke up twice thinking, ‘I should just leave.’ Spirit was talking but I wasn’t listening.
Unbeknownst to my conscious mind, hoodrats were ramshackling my car outside. They took a small black velvet purse, my favorite these days, and popped the trunk of my car, where they found the gold. I left my black bag tucked away, safely in my trunk, I thought, with my laptop, the only back up to my laptop, all my radio equipment, my digital video camera and photo camera.
Those hood rates landed about $3,000 worth of equipment that night; at least someone scored.
When I stepped out into the sunny streets of San Francisco the next day, I immediately noticed my trunk slightly ajar–thieves.
Just like that–within hours, minutes perhaps, my life’s work was gone. The last 4 years of reporting, the audio, photo and video footage of Ecuador-the stories I reported about–indigenous resistance to gold mining, a community resisting relocation to make way for a dam, and oil pollution in the Amazon; a host of rare interviews with tribal chiefs, visionaries like Paul Stamets, radicals, and freaks were all gone. Video, audio, print, photo. My short documentaries I never posted online, about environmentalists facing terrorism charges in the Amazon, for what American’s know as 1st amendment rights-something deteriorating here at home too; my memoirs, everything I lived for, all disappeared in the ethos.
Yes, San Francisco stole my heart and then my life’s work, my passion.
As we stood at my car, I in disbelieve, he said cooly, calmly, “This is a purging.” Yes, a spring cleaning, a painful letting go….
The butterflies in my heart flew away, leaving me wide open, empty, spacious, and sad.
For 2 days I was in a void, with a huge hole in my chest, until Rob, whose taking my free media class at the Mendocino Environmental Center, said to me, “You’re more relaxed,” when I tried to explain why I was so unprepared for the days lesson.
I agreed and sank into that relaxed feeling under it all. The void was actually freedom. The more I was letting go of the idea of who I thought I was, and sank deeper into who I am, life flowed with greater ease. I was no longer tied down to my day planner, arbitrary deadlines, and the huge responsibility to save the world through journalism. I could sink into my body, my bliss and feel good, in the now.
And the show must go on-so I started out on our May edition of the Independent with less than 1 week to print and with almost nothing to start from. It’s been a good feeling–starting from scratch.
I like the name Mendocino Country, and I’m considering scratching the Independent. No one is an island. We also have a new Food & Farming section, where we highlight a local farmer each month, and share news and tidbits for our progressive, rural farming community. TC Golez, who joined the free media class did a great job on featuring Inland Ranch Organics this month.
Needless to say, the paper’s late, by 1 day, maybe 2, and I still don’t have a laptop, a calendar, nor my radio, video or photo equipment; moreover the funds to acquire them. But, that’s ok. I have a pen, some paper to write this out on, a computer at the MEC to type on, my heart and the space to move freely into it.
I turned over a story for Free Speech Radio News, to another reporter, since it’s not about me-never was-and I know the story about the US plummeting in international ratings for press freedoms, next to a 3rd world country, due to the arrests of journalists covering the Occupy movements across the nation is a juicy story to tell, I’ve passed it on for someone else’s fire to ignite and create. Me? I’m just letting go and accepting what is.
My roommates are organizing a raffle to help cover some of the costs to purchase back the equipment that was stolen. Should any angel desire to help manifest the equipment I lost, like a mac book pro, a Marantz PMD 660 recorder, a microphone, let me know.
In the meantime, I’m going to dream a little more, and smell the roses from clippings of my late grandmothers garden that I took before they sold her house, 4 years ago after she died; the roses have finally started to bloom.
If you want to reach me, I’m firstname.lastname@example.org.
People wanting to contribute to my media cause can donate online for new equipment…