I know my name, but who am I?

I grew up in the likes of a Buddhist ashram chanting Hari Chrisna. It is perhaps my most memorable memory from childhood. I was raised by a group of burned out hippies who knew and followed Timothy Leary through the '60s. I was reading books like the 'Bhagavad Gita' and 'Be Here Now', the former written from ancient text, while the latter had barely come out in print. Those books meant nothing to me then, but I would read them again a dozen years later so as to understand them. Here I would learn about Arjuna's journey towards battle and his talks with Krishna, and follow the antics of the good doctors tales. I spent my mornings watering flower gardens, tending a gold fish pond and grooming foot trails that led from one building to another. There were round adobe-like yurts and small buildings spread out across a few acres of land on a thousand acre ranch in the Arizona desert. My hair was down to my butt and I had the nickname Snake. I was also a ward of the State.
When I was 11 years old I ran away from home and I ended up living in a group home in the Sonoran Desert near the base of the Rincon Mountains. I lived there with dozens of people. We were men and women, and boys and girls. And we were all there for different reasons. Some of us were sent there, while others just came. We were lost souls and runaways. We were bullies and thieves. And we were disheartened victims of abuse. In 1973 I was a runaway. For almost two and a half years I lived this life, and then one day I walked away. Everything I learned; everything I believed, it all happened here.
Early on as children we are marked by scars and injuries both mental and physical that we carry into the future. They are the wounds that link our past to present; uniting infancy with age. They bear witness to the people we become and are a testament to the lives we lead. It is rare to go through life without them.
At night we would gather in the dining hall. Wood carved tables and chairs filled the room. The walls were made of stone and cement at least one foot thick. A large round open-faced fireplace was in the center of the room for those cold winter nights. I still remember the smell of mesquite wood burning. They built that place two years before I came. In the summer the students and teachers united, and months of work followed. Boulders of river rock had to be moved into place. Eight foot sections of railroad ties were stood upright and were the supporting structure for the walls. Layers of cement and river rock were poured in between them. Inside giant timbers ran across the ceiling locking out the light of day. I do not know how long it took them, but I can imagine the months of pain. I can almost feel their blisters and certainly there is blood inside those walls. These people left other things as well. Small relics as reminders. On one wall you will see a handful of marbles embedded in the cement in an intricate design. There are names in the cement floor and you will see a peace sign next to an Anhk. There are green and purple glass insulators protruding out of the walls here and there for coat hangers. Burned into the wood you will see symbols such as the Yin and Yang, more peace signs and the Hindu Om sign of Absolute.
Inside there was a corner library. Bookshelves lined the walls. Over the next two years I would read most of them: Carlos Castaneda, William Goldman, Kurt Vonnegut and Wilson Rawls. There are titles I can’t even remember and titles I can: The Catcher and the Rye; Mister God, this is Anna; and Gibran’s Prophet. Sitting there at night I would read line after line and verse after verse. I was particularily enamored with Castaneda's story 'The Yaqui Way of Knowledge' because I am a Yaqui Indian. This story was unique to me because in its own way it tied me to a heritage I knew nothing about. I eventually outgrew my fascination with Castaneda. Don Juan was a little too colorful of a character for me and so I stuck a little closer to home.
My parents and I never spent much time living together, sometimes I think it was act of preservation. But the fact is they were my parents, and the only parents I ever knew. When my mom died a few years ago I remember that feeling of loneliness. I remember thinking that I was all alone and that I was an orphan. I have felt that way from time to time ever since her passing. And I have always felt like I was the last of my line save for my children. All of that changed today. Today we finally received my adoption records. I don't think I've ever felt this way before. Today I have a name for both of my birth parents. I think I'm going to have to let that sink in for a while.

My Friend Bob...(part 1)

My friend Bob was ranting to me the other day at work about the cost of living and the fate of the economy in general. I like Bob. I understand him. But I have to watch him or he'll sometimes leave me in the dirt. One minute he will be talking to me about the Olympics in China and the next thing you know, he is asking me about the idiots who poured his driveway.

"What do you think, Beaux," he will ask me, "Should I sue those idiots?" (this isn't his choice of words either).

"Well, I don't know Bob," I'll say, "Maybe if you told me the story first than I could give you an opinion."

"See that's what I like about you, Beaux. You're always listening," he'll say.

And then he is off on something else...

"You know I went home yesterday and I turned on the television and there was nothing on. Just a bunch of junk. And you know my son moved out right?" he looks at me and I nod my head yes, "So it's just me at the house. Alone. By myself. He'll come over sometimes to eat dinner. But anyway, I'm thinking to myself, why should I be paying for dish when there's just me? I only had it because my son liked watching it. It doesn't make any sense to keep paying for it if I'm not going to watch it. So I call the dish guys up and I'm telling the lady that I want them to disconnect my service. I don't want it anymore."
And the gal says, "Well, didn't we just upgrade you Mr. So and So? (not his real name).
"Why yes," I tell her, "You guy's just gave me like twenty extra channels. But how many advertisements do you think I really want to watch? I'm looking to start saving some money, not keep spending it. And I'm not really interested in some guy who goes fishing all day long and then ends up throwing them all back. What's up with that? Plus I'm single and I don't want to buy a bunch of jewelry. And who the heck is that guy who is trying to sell all his guitars? Nobody wants his painted guitars. I mean, I'm in a band. I play rock and roll. I can't imagine anyone wanting to buy his guitars."

So I notice Bob has stopped talking and I look up from what I'm doing because I suddenly realize he's waiting for me to say something. "So are they disconnecting it? " I ask.
"Well, now hold on a minute, Beaux," Bob says, "I'm getting there."

"So I ask the woman what needs to happen. Do I have to take the whole day off and wait for someone to show up?"
"No, not at all Mr. So and So. What we will do is send you a couple of boxes with some instructions in it and then you can disconnect the receivers in your home and unscrew the cone that's in the middle of the satellite dish by yourself. Then all you have to do is pack it up and send it back to us."
"Well now, how long do I have to wait for you guys to do this. When are you going to be sending someone out to disconnect everything?"
"Oh that won't be necessary; we have already taken care of that, Mr. So and So. I'm processing your order right now."
"Well, when are you going to turn it off?" I ask the lady.
"Oh, I have already turned everything off, you've been disconnected for about five minutes now."

"So I walk over to my T.V. and I turn it on and guess what? There's nothing but dead air. With a flip of a switch she has already shut me down. Why does it always take a month to turn everything on?"
"I don't know, Bob," I say, "They probably have a lot of orders to fill."
"Yeah, you're probably right. They have to run a line and put up a dish and if you live in a new house like mine, then none of that stuff is there yet."
"Yep," I say.
"Do you know what else I did yesterday?"
"Well no, Bob, what did you do?" I ask.
"Well, I'm sitting there in the living room with nothing to do because I just turned off the dish, right, and it occurs to me that I'm still paying for the internet. So I get up and wander into my son's room and I'm looking around and I'm thinking to myself I don't need this internet service anymore. I don't even have a computer. So I call them up and I tell them that I don't want it anymore and right away the guy is asking me if everything is all right or if I'm unhappy with their service and I'm thinking to myself that it's none of his business. I don't want to have to tell this guy that my son just moved out and I won't be needing his services any more. It's none of his business. So I just yell at him and tell him it's none of your business.
And I'm talking to this guy for a little while longer and he finally says. 'I've taken care of everything Mr. So and So. If you have any problems then please don't hesitate to call us back. And thanks again for using blah-blah-blah.'
'So then I'm disconnected?' I asked him.
'That's right Mr. So and So, you've been disconnected now for about five minutes.
''Wow, that was fast,' I thought to myself.

"Do you know how much money I saved yesterday. I just saved myself over $200.00." Bob says.
"Wow, maybe I should be thinking along those lines." I tell him, knowing full well that that's not going to happen.
"Now all I have to do is go home and pack up those boxes," he says.
"I thought they were going to be sending you some?" I asked.
"Yes, but when I asked her how long it was going to take she kind of freaked me out."
"Why?" I asked him.
"Well, I'm not really sure but, I think I heard her say, 'Have you checked your porch yet, Mr. So and So?' "

And then he adds...

"...yeah, thanks Beaux. I think I am going to sue those concrete guys!"