The Compound

Most people would probably no longer be interested in a potential investment property upon hearing the owner say things like "I'm sick of being a slumlord," and "the place used to be a condemned crack house." But I'm not most people. I am curious. I am courageous. And I am lucky! Lucky that my gut was right about the owner not being dangerous. He picked me up at the Austin airport and took me back to what he referred to as "The Compound."

You may already be asking yourself why. Well, before leaving for Austin, I was on the phone with a friend debating whether or not to accept a low offer on my house in Anacortes. My friend suggested I take the money and run and make up for the loss somewhere else. While we were on the phone, she actually did a Craigslist search and found a 4plex in Austin for me:

A $160,000 fourplex redesigned to a triplex with an added efficiency studio and loft. A recording studio, large yard with a stage, fishpond, waterfall. And with a cashflow of rent around $2,000 per month.

Sounds good, right? I started daydreaming about keeping a unit for myself in Austin while renting out the other units. Teaching qigong out in the back on this stage. Possibly turning the recording studio into a dojo or treatment room. I looked at the pictures online, and it looked pretty good.

i don't remember seeing a kitchen that looked anything like this!

So I called the guy. It was for sale by owner. And this guy-- let's call him Billy-- came across as an old stoner hippy. The answering machine greeting said to speak up and leave your number more than once since they were all deaf from playing rock music there.

We played a little bit of phone tag and exchanged some emails before talking. And when we did talk, he told me, as I mentioned above, that he was sick of being a slum lord. I asked him what he meant by that. He said he was joking about the slum lord thing. But when I saw the place, I realized he really hadn't been joking.

He also said that the place used to be a condemned crack house and the neighborhood was so dangerous you couldn't walk down the street. But he's cleaned the place up, done a bunch of work on it as a contractor himself. And then he talked about all the gentrification happening in the neighborhood and that University of Texas just bought some apartment buildings down the street for student housing, so there was nothing for me to worry about.

Oddly enough, I wasn't worried. I was hopeful. Hopeful that this was a diamond in the rough. So I asked if I could see the place. Because I was only going to be in Austin for a limited time and at a meditation retreat, I asked if I could come straight from the airport. He agreed and asked if I had a ride, saying it's only a few minutes away. From our conversations and emails, I had a feeling it would be ok to agree to this. So I did. He said to just look for the old hippy dude. So I did.

Coming down the escalator at the Austin Airport, I saw him. Petite build. Late 40's or early 50's. Long brown and grey hair. Tattered jeans with paint splattered all over them. A plaid shirt with the sleeves torn off. Pox marks all over his tan face. Chewing on a toothpic. Redneck meets hippy meets artist meets rocker.

I waved and walked up to him, asking "are you the old hippy dude I'm looking for?" He said yes, so then I asked him to tell me my name and why we were meeting just to be sure it was the right guy. He answered correctly, so I followed him out to his car.

On the way to his car, he tells me that they call the place The Compound because he went to school with David Koresh. "Great! Hearing that name helps me feel safe," and then I changed the topic to one that did make me feel safe: I asked him about his son that he said had moved out to Kirkland, WA after falling in love with some chick through the internet.

Eventually we found our way to his old silver pick up truck with a huge crack in the front windshield. Seat belt worked. I called my friend from the car, reminding her of the address, so she could pick me up soon.

I asked him about smoking during the drive, smoking inside "The Compound." He said that he's tried to enforce a smoking outside policy, but surely some people have smoked in there with all the dozens of musicians and artists that had come through. He also said though that whatever they do in their own rooms is their own business though, could be shooting up or smoking crack for all he cares. The way he said it made me think that's what some of the tenants were actually doing.

the first thing i see upon entering

So I was starting to get the feeling that this would not be the place for me. But still had to see it, and we were almost there. The music space that I'd imagined turning into a dojo, was dark and dungeonous . Billy pointed out a sign that said to smoke outside. He pointed this out to me with an unlit cigarette in hand, and about a minute later he lit up his cigarette while showing me around the place inside.

I wasn't sure if he was just messing with me or if more brain cells were gone than I'd originally estimated. I didn't want to insist that he stop smoking in his own house, but I reminded him that I'm sensitive to smoke. He didn't get the hint.

the doorway to the loft

I still felt safe and was keeping my cool, sort of in shock and awe of this place. It was more unfinished than I'd imagined. One of the bedrooms was really just a closet. One of the other bedrooms was just a partitioned off area, and I couldn't even look inside because there was someone in there making all kinds of strange noises, as if trying to sleep but not able to breathe right. It was creepy. Yucky. Icky. Ew.

the ladder to the "loft"

Although I definitely had the ick factor kicking in, the only time I felt a little unsafe was when I was going to check out the quote-un-quote-loft. There was a big closet, with a hole in the ceiling and a ladder going up the hole. It felt a little strange walking into a closet, but I still figured this guy was harmless. And he was, so it was fine. But the loft was not at all what I'd imagined. None of the place was. And at this point I hadn't even seen the 2 "discreet" units in the front or the efficiency studio.

the shit garden

The partially finished efficiency was actually the nicest part of the place, with lots of window and fresh cedar wood, but there was not going to be a bathroom in it. The 1 bedroom unit-- well, the tenants were surprised when we came in. The place was a mess. Their 2 dogs were happy to see me. But then I saw that those dogs had been pooping inside. Yes, there was dog shit in the living room, and it wasn't even fresh. I didn't say anything about it. I still asked to go upstairs to see the bedroom. I think I was too fascinated and shocked to just say, "Ya know what? Forget it!" Instead I said things like, "Hmmm, This is really requiring a lot of imagination on my part. Not sure if I can take this on."

I knew my friend would be picking me up soon, and we still had the 2 bedroom unit to look at. It wasn't too bad, but, then again, what would be bad after the dog shit unit? Because it was pretty clean though and not as much was unfinished in it, I was able to just really get more of the essence of the place. And it was dark. Even in the brightest room painted with blue skies and white cumulus clouds. And I didn't want any part of it. When my friend arrived, I was relieved.

I felt I needed to be smudged, dunked in water, baptized, exorcised. For at least 3 days after. It lingered. I'm grateful for the experience though! It was quite a trip.


© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Flashbacks to Mindo

Seeing those fireflies in Wimberley, Texas the other night sparked memories of Mindo, Ecuador, the only other place I recall ever seeing fireflies. At first I couldn't remember where it had been; I just remembered seeing them on some dark street in some foreign country with Adrian.

New Zealand? No. Those were glow worms. So, where? Where were we?

Piece by piece, the memories started filling in. We'd gone to some night time nature walk in Mindo. We arrived at the place really early, but the gates were closed. We couldn't enter the property or reach anyone to let us in. We'd walked pretty far and there was no sense in leaving to come back later. It was raining. What did we do while we waited? I think we danced. I might be making that up. But that's the fuzzy memory coming to me.

I remember that once we got in to the place, it was just me and Adrian. No other tourists. There was dog. We were served some tea. We saw a lot of frogs and toads, or maybe just toads. Or was it a frog and toad symphony of sorts followed by a nature walk? That's sounding about right. Not sure though. Feels so long ago. But I  am sure now that we saw fireflies on the walk home.

And I remember children playing in the street late at night. I first noticed that in Banos, Ecuador, the children staying out late at night, playing in the streets. February 2011. From Banos we went to Mindo, or was it Otovalo to Mindo? Mindo with its hummingbirds and butterflies. We went to a butterfly garden, put mashed banana on our fingers to attract them.

We saw tons of hummingbirds, mostly right outside of the place we were staying. I remember relaxing in ahammock on the porch watching Adrian take tons of pictures of them. And there was a sweet dog that lived there. And we were the only guests, I think. Or at least it seemed that way. We even got our own rooms. Seemed the place was pretty empty other than when some younger relatives of the owners, or friends would come over to watch tv and smoke from a houka.

I practiced Kuan Yin Sitting Qigong in the mornings. Some yoga too on the dirty floor with both dead and living gigantic moths all around. I think I took some pictures of these moths, but I'm not finding all of the photos now, so just posting a few that did turn up.

I remember the kitchen they let us use. But the grocery selection was so bad, we mostly just used the kitchen to make oatmeal. I remember the chocolate factory and meeting some man with an interesting story I no longer remember. And I remember taking a photo of a re-enactment of me being angry towards the beginning of a walk we took.


I don't remember exactly what the argument was about, but I think it had something to do with communication or making requests or me being hormonal or some combination of those things. It was nice though to go from being so agitated to being able to laugh it off and even take pictures to make light of it and then continue our long walk in the rain up to some waterfalls.

Mindo is also where Adrian wanted to go tubing but never did. And I think Mindo is where we went on a canopy tour. That was fun! There was this superman pose I really liked. It was a little uncomfortable but well worth getting a glimpse into what it might be like to be able to fly.

  © 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Enchanted by Wimberley

There's just something about Wimberley. Or maybe it's a combination of somethings. Cypress Creek, with ancient trees not just lining the creek but also in the creek. The symphony of cicadas at night. The bright red cardinals in the morning. All the deer roaming around. The tall oak trees providing an abundance of greenery as well as shade.

I've been here before. This is my third time, I think. Maybe my fourth. I think my third. Always for Sheng Zhen Qigong Meditation Retreats or Teacher Training, and always at Camp Young Judea. Who would have thought my first time at a Jewish Day Camp would be in my 30's and for Qigong, an in Texas of all places? It's fun to see myself noticing things this time that I hadn't before, like the cardinals and cicadas. And something else, something magical:

A couple of nights ago I walked down towards the creek at dusk. I noticed a flicker of light. I figured it was somebody with a lighter. But then I saw more, little flickers of golden light popping up all along the creek. I stopped in my tracks and my eyes widened as I questioned, "Fireflies?! Really?!" Yes. Fireflies. I was enchanted. I could only recall seeing fireflies one other time in my life. I stood there on the trail, smiling, watching the light show with childlike awe. I walked off of the trail into the grass towards the creek, wanting to get closer. Wanting to see if I could see what they look like when not illuminated. And then I decided not to go any farther. To just stay where I was, enjoying the mystery.

























© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Wimberley at Night

Cypress Creek, Wimberley, TX

Wimberley at night is almost as loud as the Bolivian jungle. But not all throughout the night. And not all throughout the year-- actually, not even every year. Just when the cicadas are here.

Somebody told me they're not here every summer. So I did a little research. Disliking reading online though, I mostly just skimmed the Google results and then skimmed just one article out of those. From what I could see, apparently some cicadas are always here. But then there are the cicadas that only emerge every 13 or 17 years! And the noise can reach up to 85 decibels, which is not enough to damage people's hearing during just a short outbreak, but could be problematic if it were year round. Not sure if it gets that loud in Texas, but in some Southern states it's considered quite a nuisance.

As a visitor I love it though! I'll have to see what it's like back in Austin; I hadn't noticed the cicadas in the city. But here in Wimberley, outside of Austin, those cicadas create a super loud symphony, drowning out any mind chatter and instantly connecting me to nature.

And this is what I'm here for, to empty my mind and connect with nature, merge with the universe so to speak, at this Sheng Zhen Qigong Zhongtian Yiqi Meditation Retreat.

Retreat. It's not just a retreat; it is a training. Training the body. Training the mind. Each day relaxing more, opening more, going deeper and deeper, higher and higher, quieter and quieter.

And now I'm reminded of the little girl in Bolivia who had a pet cicada. Yes, a pet cicada! On a string. Oh, the things I've seen! Speaking of which, my next entry is probably going to be about something I saw down here that most people will think I should not have gone to see. But I just had to. And I'm glad I did.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
 

An Unexpected Train of Thought

Ok, so today I actually am traveling, as in I'm actually at an airport about to get on a plane to Austin. And as I overhear someone speaking a foreign language, one I cannot even identify, it occurs to me that one thing I love so much about traveling is NOT understanding the meaning of the words that I'm hearing all around me.

There's something meditative and relaxing about it. Something freeing. At least that's how it feels when there's nothing in particular that needs to be communicated! I do remember the frustrations I encountered at times while living in Buenos Aires learning Spanish. But in general, I sure do love not understanding what people are saying when it's another language they're speaking.

Hmmmm, so I wonder if that could cross over into English, that love of not understanding others. How does it feel to feel misunderstood? How does it feel to not understand what somebody's saying, or for them to say that you don't understand them? I've often been an advocate for striving to understand ourselves and others more clearly, to be understood, by using clear and conscious communication. But sometimes that's overrated. Seriously.  Is it not? Sometimes it's a great tool for growth, for bonding, for feeling more alive or joyful or whatever. But sometimes we encounter people and/or situations that just will not be understood by others. Even when interacting with people from the same place, in a shared language, there can be a cultural or communication barrier. Or how about a "belief" barrier? Or "programming" barrier? Some things are lost in translation even when speaking the same language. And some words mean different things to different people regardless of a dictionary definition, thanks to our past experiences, beliefs, and programming.

So, what if we just felt at peace or even amused when not understanding someone, or when someone is not understanding us? Basically this is about not giving so much weight or importance to the words (or thoughts) of others. I've often felt highly sensitive and easily influenced by the tone or energy behind other people's words. Sometimes I've chosen to isolate because of this. Ok, oftentimes! But I find myself stepping into a new and imporved ability to be more selective about what I share or who I speak to, and/or to just listen and appreciate the good intentions or feel compassion in the face of drama or negative stories.

It's helpful to be really clear about what I want and how I feel about something,  plus seeing so clearly people's tendency to create stories and project their fears and worries and desires. So, I'm learning to be amused and silently or audibly thank all these wonderful story-tellers without taking on their stories. I'm learning to listen less to others and more to myself. I still might run stuff by others, seeking advice or maybe even validation, or just simply wanting to share what's happening without asking for anyone's opinion (not that that stops them from giving it unless I request none at the beginning, and even then sometimes an opinion is still given!)-- but I digress-- Where was I going? Oh yes.  Ultimately it's that voice inside that must prevail. And that is all for now.

Austin sunshine, here I come! :)


© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

The Travel(l)er

"traveller," also spelled "traveler" [ˈtrævələ ˈtrævlə]. n. 1. a person who travels, esp habitually.

that is what i am.

i am a traveler. a traveller. a person who travels. habitually.

even when in one place. i travel. with my mind. habitually.

even when rooted, when staying put, i travel. i long to travel. i love to travel. constantly moving. moving on. maybe returning. leaving again. taking in the new. sights. sounds. tastes. smells. love. life.

i am a traveler.

i stated that the other day in an online dating profile that a few days later i removed, thanks to the magic of those words. realizing it's time to leave again. to be free again. and then i realized i am free. always have been. always will be. even if i'm not going anywhere. i can. i can stay. i can leave. i can come and go and do as i please.

so whether i'm here or there, coming and going, frequently or not, i am a traveler.

and so why not view each day in an old familiar place as if i were merely traveling through?

why not always feel that freedom and curiosity and sense of adventure and non-attachment?

why not write about it from day to day? the wonders. the sights. the sounds. the tastes. the smells. the love. the life. the ideas and thoughts and questions inspired when driving in my car or going for a walk or talking to someone at the store or on the street.

and so yesterday i started. i did what i've been thinking of doing for months. i spoke my thoughts into a microphone, recoding them while driving in my car. i can't even count the number of books that would have been written already if i always recorded my thoughts while driving. or walking.

so now is the time. if not now, when?

and so it begins again. this blog. this dream. this creative process. and no need to change the title again. i am a traveler wherever i am.


© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.