Walk Around

Without honesty, life becomes a pantomime. And yet it’s hard to know what’s true. I’ve found that truth unfolds in concentric rings; like ripples in a still pool of water, or the growth of a tree. And each ring references, yet also takes space from, the previous. And so only in cycles of time, and in seasons, is a kind of long term knowing revealed. It’s easy to forget that there is a kind of glacial energy to the every day, like leaves unnoticed piling in drifts in the gutters in autumn. Each day another leaf, and soon enough, there’s a drift of half noticed moments, forgotten days, and the occasional memory that stays forever. And this is life? Through the threads of being and days, acting and passivity, choices and impositions, life passes. There’s a phrase in the northern part of Italy, up against the alps: “Tiempo alla passa. Passa il bin.” Which is dialect for: Time passes. Pass it well. And I came across a phrase, translated from Lao Tze by Lori Dechars, that says: How do I know the way of things at the beginning? I feel like I’ve come to a thought about life and love in general recently that feels clear: which is that I should let what loves me do so, and I should love only what I love. And endlessly let go of those things that aren’t this. In that way, I stop resisting the flow of life, and live out a trajectory that is true. And maybe I’ll gain some energy from no longer resisting the inevitable course that my journey wants to make. In all this, in writing and in conversation, I try to find the words that are true. And yet its always hard to find the right words. And in that same way, its hard to know when to follow what is easy, or pursue what is hard. It’s important to remember the rules of life. But I lost my rule book long ago. I do my best to make up whatever makes sense to do, whatever’s true, vital, alive, and real. And to remember that resisting is a form of safety. That it’s good to be safe sometimes, but a life that’s always safe... is maybe one that produces no living. Thanks for listening ~ This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Vic Playlist Apple Music • Spotify TRANSCRIPT A long time ago, I used to have some friends who liked to go around the country by riding freight trains They'd hitch out of Omaha or Lincoln or usually Kansas City and end up in Pennsylvania or Montana, California, Arizona I never caught a ride with any of them I didn't really ever have the chance But I liked to sit with them on the rails and the bridges and watch the trains go by And they'd tell me about the different kinds of cars and which ones were good rides, where they were going, what you had to look out for Maybe that's why when I went for a walk recently and found an old abandoned railroad trestle in the western part of Victoria's downtown in Canada, where I live now. I climbed over a fence and went and sat on it for a while And I've been going back to it, sitting there and watching cars go by, people, a couple of stories up above the ground I don't really have anything else to say but that, just a funny memory, I guess Maybe a reflection about living in an urban place because I've lived out in the countryside for so long now Read more here This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

At the checkout counter, the southeast Asian guy whose country affiliation I can’t quite figure out smiles at me and asks how my day is going. We smile back and forth, subtly catching each others eye, like we are in on the same joke that neither of us know. His haircut is high and tight, he’s got a golden wedding band, he’s always here at apna, the Indian cafeteria and grocery store I come to for cheap chai, dosas, and studying. ....Full text & photos: https://walkaround.run This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Lake You are a young girl playing on a log with your brother and dog The water in the lake clear and cold and deep, the rocks warm on the bank, little cottonwoods grow on the edge, in the distance: Mountains near enough to cast their shape on the waters surface. The water blue and green some rocks white, moved there in glacial time. One day you will be a woman Living in a city apartment And you will go down to a corner bar And you will meet a man, with curling dark hair And apricot eyes And you will tell him About the pink bathing suit you wore that day About how you called your dog giggles, but his name was Oliver How you tried to get him to float on the log About how warm the sun, and cold the water was About the moment your uncle and giggles fell off the log and shriekedAbout how your brother died that summer And you'd run down a winding road With the wind blowing in one ear,The grass cicadas drone in the other You’ll be shocked to feel so young Yet so far from something long ago Be alarmed and excited at the warm hand of this once stranger Holding your arm as your memories surge And you cry, and are held. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Transcript Hello... I am on the hillside listening to two coveys of quail call back and forth They've been slowly getting closer over the last 15 minutes, and I think they're going to link up I saw in one group They had a bunch of fluffy little hatchlings running around I don't know how big the other group is though I'm below a range of mountains with snow and avalanche gullies, forests up the sides, larch and fir, ponderosa pine Ah, wow, a western tanager just landed in a pine tree I haven't seen one yet this year That was cool They're bright, bright orange, bright red, yellow, golden, crazy looking birds Probably the most brilliant bird in the west maybe I guess there's lazuli buntings out here too Or is it indigo buntings? ....that quail is trying to get the other quails to come over There's boulders on this hillside, and one of my favorite tea plants which is wild tarragon I gathered about eight stems of it just now It's a good spot for it There's a bunch of plants It's nice to be here I feel like my mind is already clearing out from the dampness of the coastal, humid, cold Salish Sea Up here in the high mountains, a divergent part of the Rockies above a big lake On a glacial moraine I guess I wanted to offer this today as just kind of way of saying of thanks to people Everybody that's supported me over the years Everyone who listens to this podcast I guess these quail are listening to it right now I just feel really grateful I'm kind of a recovering pessimist, you know, so a lot of that has to do with gratitude Pessimism is kind of this idea that there's no safety. Or that things are never going to really be what you want And the opposite of that, obviously, is gratitude for what you have Which is actually simple, but for a pessimistic mind, it's harder than it might seem And there's a lot to say about pessimism It definitely comes from damage Definitely comes from pain It's definitely a protective mechanism But I feel like I'm growing less and less pessimistic as time goes on, which kind of relieves a huge burden on a person I heard a meadowlark this morning as I was running Discovered some physiological linkages between my lumbar and knee that have to do with nerves Researched this type of technique called prickly...prickling nerve stimulation technique, which is developed by a Japanese neurosurgeon And it's a technique that's used to stimulate the nerves in the lumbar spine Which is developed by a Japanese neurosurgeon Neurologist named Dr Nagata, I think Basically, it's the idea that our skin is a direct door of access to our nervous system Which means that we wear our nervous system on our sleeves Which is something to remember, as sensitive humans I think we're all very sensitive, actually Unless we've been damaged to the point where we've been able to turn it off, or we've learned how to turn it off, or have been in a mode of having it shut off And it's really fascinating to note that there can be healing in the skin and in the tissues, just by stimulating the nerves around areas of trauma And it's interesting to note that, more or less, that's what acupuncture functions on, to access the meridians and the internal organs as well Kind of working with the nervous system in a lot of ways I kind of see these quail as part of the Earth's nervous system As showing what the weather's doing, and where the good grass seeds and the insects are right now It's quiet here, I like it It's easy to get away, just be in a quiet space that feels really big I like that I like to be able to wander It feels like it clears my mind It's starting to rain a little bit And I've run out of things to say I'm gonna walk down this draw and back to the van and head into town, get some groceries and finish settling in to my friend's house where I'll be for the summer doing rangeland surveys out here until I go to school in the fall Got a condo in Victoria Everything's lining up it...

There’s finality to certain things in life. One kind has to do with naming something. Another has to do with speaking its name. Listen for some thoughts on quietude in vast spaces.https://walkaround.run/p/owhyee-country Public lands are in the process of being sold. Call your reps!(202) 224-3121https://www.backcountryhunters.org/take_action#/ Owyhee Canyonlands: Road to 30 PostcardsMore on Northern Paiute Tribal Member, and FOTO Board Member, Wilson Wewa This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Distilled moments of presence in nature More at: https://walkaround.run This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Transcript Hey there So I am walking the backside of this little meadow, forested area where my mom lives It's on the edges of old farmland and I'm about to hop over a split rail fence, which is a little awkward, it's a little tall There's some, a lot of native plants around here, and also some volunteers from elsewhere Oregon ash and cottonwood, willow, aspen There's a grove of hawthorn and fall flower This is a place where deer hang out Floods in the winter It's marshy where I am right now I could probably set up a tent back here It's quiet I've just come back from the far east side of the state I was off grid, down in a canyon for four days, in some pretty crazy country, working on a project and just existing really I think it was probably the least I've interacted with screens and media in maybe a decade I didn't really have cell phone signal for about a week and a half, pretty intentionally I basically just didn't turn my phone on unless I needed navigation And then there were three nights and four days when I was down in the bottom of this canyon where I really didn't do anything at all I just kind of existed down there Ate food and had a little fire now and then Watched the light change And it was beautiful and hard, easy, lonely, quiet, all the things And I've been thinking a lot about why I do what I do, my work as an artist and person I don't want to think about it too much, but doing something like that made me really consider a lot about why I make things, share things, live the way I do There's just a lot there There's a lot of assumptions, a lot of reasons I've been doing stuff for years A lot of time passed, a lot of habits, that kind of thing Now I'm in the Grove of Cottonwoods It's kind of a flood grove Some reeds back in here Maybe there's sedges So I don't have a lot of answers about why, but I think I discovered a new language of some kind down in that canyon Definitely a new relationship with myself There wasn't much to hide down there Turns out being alone for long periods of time is pretty tough I mean, I've done it before, but this was different somehow It's really good to do, but it's not easy sometimes Parts of it aren't easy Parts of it are really incredible It's always funny to be alone in a place like that and run into a person once in a while and realize that pretty much everybody else is out there with other people It really got me thinking about the reasons why people do things and why I do things For me, a lot of it is to get away from loneliness, actually From being alone with my own thoughts Partially because they can be boring Partially because it's really not maybe the healthiest long term to always just be alone with one's own thoughts But I think that there's something really deep there And I don't consume much media I mean, maybe a podcast every two or three days Sometimes I don't listen to one for a week or so But something I thought was really strange down there is I had songs that I hadn't listened to for many days just repeatedly looping in my head And it was almost like my mind was just spinning in neutral, trying to find something stimulating to remember or to latch on to Or maybe it was just digesting everything My friend Martin said metabolizing, which I really like Actually metabolizing the experiences that I've had And I think it takes a really silent, open, empty space without any direction, honestly No structure No one else around No information Just the sun rising and setting And sitting in places like that really makes me reconsider kind of my whole life. Why do I do what I do? Why do I want to share writing and recordings with people? What's really at the base of all that? What need of mine is being met? Am I doing it as a means to an end? Or am I doing it as an end in and of itself? And I've decided pretty conclusively that I want to do things in my life that are an end in and of themselves I don't want to be...

DONATIONS I am currently at a residency, in the midst of a self-funded project. Donations on Buy Me A Coffee, PayPal, or Venmo are all seriously appreciated right now—Thank you! In this episode I share a poem I wrote in Idaho last summer, reflections on the residency I'm attending, and some insight about remnants, joy, and grief—life, and death. I also have shared some photos from recent times. Listen, read, and subscribe on the website: https://walkaround.run! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

If you think about it, what draws people toward something these days is often about reclaiming our humanity. What's healthful, and thus has gravity, are positive expressions about who we are, resiliency, and beauty, especially amidst hardship and grief. Dance, song, creating—expressions of our hands and bodies, and what we can do as humans. The modern craft movement is reweaving the tapestry of our culture—towards something that is functional and healthy, through our own hands and bodies. Mo Hohmann first learned to grow and weave willow in the mountains of Oregon from Peg Matthewson. A craft older than pottery, weaving comes from our ancestral past. Nowadays it's being brought into the light of the present by courageous and inspired makers like Mo and Peg. "It's an innate human experience to be drawn by beauty. And beauty is pretty subjective. But it's my experience with the baskets that there is this gravitational pull towards what is beautiful. Because it feeds this deep need as human beings. It's a soul food right? It's something that brings a sense of belonging." Check Mo’s work on her Instagram and website: https://woventhresholds.com. Also, Mo offers online classes through Coyote Willow Schoolhouse, and plans to offer in person classes soon. https://linktr.ee/woventhresholds This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

There's a moment in most of Miyazakis films, when the dialogue and often the music cuts, and a single character (usually the protagonist) is left alone in the raw and open experience of something. It takes mastery to convey a moment such as this, a moment of space and presence. This is the kind of moment I can relate to, when I know that I am who I am, when everything makes sense, when I know right from wrong, when there is magic in the landscape around me. But this type of moment is under relentless assault. https://www.walkaround.run/p/ma This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Transcript This morning I downloaded and logged into Instagram Something I haven't done in a month or two I mostly got off of the platform because I don't really think it's doing good things for humanity The problem is so many people use it Their communication and time is used up on it And many people have a picture of their reality from it And so to not participate is somehow to not exist as a creative person This is something I've been ruminating on for years But this is just such a short note because what I saw on there this morning, after I made a post about possibly selling some prints to support my schooling, was the two of the most extreme directions that humanity participates in, which are death and birth Death and birth And I saw them in extremely gross expressions I saw an explosion on a roadway I saw a giant fireball engulfing cars in a place that I have no idea if I've ever been to or will ever go to or know any of the people or even if it's real Because it very well and even likely could have been something that an application generated I don't even like to use the word, but artificial intelligence It was probably that It probably wasn't even real Another thing I saw was a video of someone getting slapped so hard that they passed out But it wasn't only that It was an AI-generated image that showed his face collapsing in an unbelievable way But it wasn't real But if someone's just scrolling and they're not paying attention and they see these things, they think, oh, this is real That just happened Something I thought could never happen just happened in front of my very eyes And so that's death That's actually the death of the human spirit That is complete collapse and destructiveness Basically to be creating fear through falsehood And then on the other side, I saw a picture of a woman in a dress Could have been AI I don't know I don't know the context I didn't click on the image But she was standing in a shimmery dress And so these images.. I guess I should add that the dress was very tight-fitting So basically what I saw was extreme violence and pornography That's what is being shown in the algorithmic feed on Instagram that people in general are just being subjected to So what do we do with that? Well, I reported every single post that I saw It's not going to change anything It's not going to do anything But it made me feel better to at least do something In fact, it might make it worse It only took me about five seconds to do these things But I think it was worth it The point of this, though, isn't to blame the Instagram platform and the creators for being evil, even though they are Even though the platform is destructive and horrific and terrible and useless It's also useful and creative and profound and abundant The fact is, everything in the world ends up being related to these things To skate along on the surface and believe that these experiences won't touch us is impossible But by interacting with the world through a screen, it seems like we can have some distance from the realities And we can just entertain ourselves by watching them instead of engaging with our lives And I think that this is extremely dangerous, and actually more dangerous than being shown violence I think what's more dangerous is complacency and lack of connection and engagement with life, which is what these platforms really want They want you to just feel fear, feel lust, and then not do anything about it Just to consume more fear and more lust That's the goal But there's something profound beneath all of this, which is that the reality of fear and desire is inescapable in life But the fact is, we have to be in control of our fears and desires And it doesn't matter what the world shows us or serves us, what the algorithm displays, if we can't keep a center, there's no hope Right now, it's election day, and the political stratum is basically birth and death Not a positive...

Questioning my assumptions, and an encounter with Amanita, the Fly Agaric mushroom. Be sure to check out the images of the Nehalem and Wilson as well as the dunes at Bayocean Spit on the website This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Hello, Welcome to Walk Around. This is Hudson Gardner. It's been a little while. I've been out and about, traveling, hiking, running, doing things that I love, spending time with wonderful people, seeing beautiful things, having really beautiful conversations—learning about myself, learning about others, and by that, learning about this world we all co-create and exist in together I'm back in Port Townsend, where I live, and sitting in the pasture near a stand of trees on the edge of the field. It was my birthday a couple of days ago, actually, a week ago, and I have been coming back into some kind of personal awareness and depth inside of my own body and mind recently, thinking about things I've left behind for too long, things I've been incapable of doing, reflecting on life in general. Read more here at walkaround.run This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Transcript (includes errors) Hello. Welcome to Walk Around. This is Hudson Gardner. I am sitting at the edge of a field where the trees come out a little bit into the grass. And there's a little secret spot surrounded by hawthorn trees, there's an aspen that has a lot of young aspen around it. And down beneath the willow tree is a place that I come and make a little fire and have tea. I want to tell you a story today. Something that happened 10 summers ago, which feels like a different life, completely different time. A different world, a different person who was living and somehow that person was me and it was the same life in the same world. A hummingbird just landed on a twig of this little snag and he's just watching me. I almost feel like he's listening. So I'll tell him the story too. Ten years ago, I was living in southeast Nebraska in the town that I more or less grew up in called Lincoln. And I was getting ready to do something. I had been there a long time. My luck was running out. There was a general feeling of uncertainty, major change coming that I sensed. I had gotten out of a relationship that was, had been about three years long and it was a messy breakup and it was a hard time. My mom was living on a farm outside of town. And so I was staying in one of the guest rooms as I figured out what I was going to do with my 25-year-old life. And back then I felt that I didn't really have a conviction yet about who I was or what I had to offer I had the beginnings of it, but it was more like just a question and it's safe to say that I now know what that answer is but how to do it is still elusive. But back then I'doften go out to this zendo outside of town on a farm called Branched Oak Farm. It's a dairy farm with probably 15, 20 Jersey cows, some pigs, chickens. Pretty sure it's still going. And it was the best milk I've ever tasted in my life came from that place. Deep, deep yellow. I've never had anything like it. There's something about the pastures in the Great Plains that are just unlike any other place from all those millions of years of bison and care. And one time I went out to the Zendo and I was in a strange headspace, I guess. I mean, who doesn't go to a Zendo in a strange headspace? And I went out there and before I went to the Zendo that day, I went out to this little reservoir nearby. It's the namesake of the farm, Branched Oak Reservoir, Branched Oak Lake. And below the Branched Oak Lake, there's a series of loess hills that were blown there by the wind over millennia. And there's grass and trees and little groves of flowers and I pulled off on the dirt road and in Nebraska you pull off on a dirt road 20 minutes outside of town and you can sit there for an hour and you don't see anybody else. It's a quiet place. And it was probably one of those days like today, beautiful, sunny, big puffy cumulonimbus clouds growing on the horizon, some kind of storm forming in the distance—the wind blowing across the grass and I went into this draw and I don't know what drew me there. I just had a feeling that I should go there and I walked up through the grass and I came to a grove of plants. And I had this intense feeling inside of me this anger at myself for being so old and so incompetent. I felt like I didn't know anything about the world, like I'd been wasting my life sitting around putting myself through school and college that I didn't want to go to, staying probably too long in a relationship that wasn't good for me or for the other person, unfortunately. And just being too comfortable. And so I had all those feelings when I walked into the draw and I knew I was on the brink of change. It felt that way. And I felt so angry and there was this plant, there's a big patch of them. And I thought I'm going to show that I have some competence. And I know what to do when I'm out in the wild places. And I took out my knife, which is something I would never do...

This poem came to me when I was sitting on the rocks near a wharf off water street in Port Townsend. I had climbed down off the sidewalk and found a spot where kids hang out and tag. It’s a quiet place but some other person came with a notebook and started sketching. She kept looking toward at me, and I wonder if I made it in the drawing. I’ve been out on my bike recently, and the color of the sky and water is almost unbelievable. I’ve started to notice things again, my sense of smell has begun to return, my mind feels clearer. I get headaches now and then, still sleep strangely, often feel like crying or angry out of place, and often the urges almost overcome me. But I am not going to give up. Thank you for reading & listening. AQUAMARINE The water blue, no, green — offshore glistens The wind • • • in fits & starts traces low along the surface. Creosote pillars sunk deep in, braced, kept stable by toxcicity — nooks where life still lives despite heavy - metals - pain. Imperfectness, imperfection, needless ease, persistence of the tides, wind on the water and — look, be open — and the view becomes so wide. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

As spring has gotten into gear around here, I've been noticing the general abundance of plant life, and weather, and birds, and social engagements—and it's got me reflecting on different kinds of abundance, overabundance, scarcity, relationships, community... From that corner of the human experience of consuming and creating the dynamic between those two aspects of our nature, you could say... Listen & Read More This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

This podcast covers the issue of addiction. If you are in need of help, call the national hotline, 988. Transcript (may contain errors) There's a bell that I've taken around with me wherever I've lived I can't remember where I got it, maybe in Portland at the Japanese Garden And I've often hung it up outside and the sound has become familiar, even as all the places I've lived have changed for so long And that familiar feeling just hit me as I rode up this little hill through an orchard towards the cabin that I'm living in these days I never really realized I'd developed a familiarity with it until that moment Now I'm standing out kind of more towards the field behind the cabin looking at a willow that's flowering and the first bumblebees I've seen this year are collecting nectar and pollen from the flowers That's pretty hopeful Back in the forest behind the edge of the woods there's a giant ant nest, the biggest I've ever seen actually It's probably home to hundreds of thousands of ants It's probably four or five feet wide, a couple feet tall It's been there who knows how long Old growth ant nest, ant pile Read more or listen here: https://www.walkaround.run/p/thank-you-for-listening This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

A week ago I sent my friend Jen a poem I wrote called Selfheal. They told me that they too have a meaningful connection with the plant, and then sent the above image back. When I saw it, for some reason these words came: "Believe in your next steppingstone." Jim Harrison interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3L3STymsjeg&t=932s Listen and read more: https://www.walkaround.run/p/the-most-important-thing-about-life Jen's Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/chthoneural_/ This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run

Recorded near Port Townsend, Washington. A short rumination on movement, landscapes, and people—how they all connect. I read a poem called By Firelight, and discuss a run I took on Christmas Eve. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.walkaround.run