We visited the home of a younger family who lives on the Mesa, which is a flat secluded land outside of Taos. What's amazing about most of the houses out here is that they're Earthships, which are houses that the landowners make completely out of recycled materials, be it bottles, cans, tires, etc. While theirs isn't the most tidy of an example, and not entirely finished, it's because these folks get flown all over the world to build beautiful renditions of these Earthships in unbelievably short amounts of time. These folks are the real deal. Secluded from regular civilization on a vast stretch of land miles outside of Taos, they live off the radar and due to their ability to build their own homes aren't susceptible to the normal costs and conditions of normal expenses. While this makes obtaining water, electricity, and other supplies harder to get, it makes their general style of life much more eccentric and valuable to them, and they choose this lifestyle over that of the norm unanimously.
Earthships on the Mesa.
Outside Taos, New Mexico.
Day three in Taos NM and we were in need of some spiritual soaking. So we drove twenty miles up into the mountains, crammed in the back of the 4-wheeler we were lucky to have, as the bus would've struggled hard to make it up the old mountain roads. We arrived at the Lama Foundation mid-afternoon, a vast stretch of 109 acres of land tucked between the Sangre de Cristo mountains and the Carson National Forest. The breathtaking views had us all gasping for air and in shear wonderment (the altitude mixed with our love of tobacco may have also played a roll in this.)
The grounds feature beautiful permaculture gardens, an open community kitchen, a dome building for practice, classes, and gatherings, and a field of tent housing. In 1996 a wildfire ripped through these mountains; scared trees stick out like matchsticks on the cliff sides. People have come together year after year to help rebuild the infrastructure that was lost, and by using the bruised trees themselves, as well as clay, straw, and other natural materials, they are building sustainable foundations that are inline with their mission statement to be stewards to the land.
The structure of the organization is quite open. With no “leader” and a very open mission statement, the Lama Foundation is supported and guided by the volunteers and residents living on site at the time. Every decision is made by a consensus vote taken unanimously by all participants. This process is one of the reasons why we were restricted in our ability to film and interview, as it's massively productive to keeping the residents and visitors feeling safe and, most importantly, involved. Everyone has a job to do at Lama, whether it is cooking a meal, running the small store, milking the goats, running a lecture, etc. In this format of ever-shifting consciousness, you can feel welcome no matter your spiritual practice. We certainly did!
We were invited to stay for dinner, a meal which put me close to tears, as the love, care, and wholesome joy could be tasted in every bite. Everyone sat together at long picnic tables, sharing stories and philosophies, journeys and experiences. I sat listening to these tales and felt my body absorb the nutritious rice and delicious Dal dish. As the bell rang and everyone sat up to help clean, not one crumb was left or one plate left undried, all placed carefully away in their respective nooks. Here, solidarity and family intentions are present beyond the basic human need to eat, talk, and keep house together.
But mostly what we found here was a community of openness, communication, stewardship, and passion that has been able to survive for over 50 years. Through fires, harsh winters and isolation, the Lama Foundation has not just survived but thrived. Their welcome and open nature to strangers like us was truly inspiring and heartwarming. I can only continue to hope that others are able to learn from these open and well rehearsed practices, seeing how truly productive the spirit of all-inclusiveness and communal values can be. This is a community of ever-rotating individuals living together and working towards the change they wish to see in the world. Whether they are participating for the day or for the season, everyone is fully involved, immersed, and passionate. This is a place where apathy simply cannot survive.
Words by - Ren.
Photos by - Raychel
The drive from Las Vegas, Nevada was a long, hot, and slow journey out of what we dubbed “Death Valley.” Averaging somewhere around 35 miles an hour, the JB welds on our radiator were popping faster then our packs of Emergen-C. Sick, hot, low on water and killed by time, we drove through Arizona and New Mexico almost in silence. If there were any lands for us to hold our breath in, this was it. Snailing through Zion National Park, Navajo lands, the sacred Four Corners, and over the Continental Divide, our pace may have reduced our spirits but the lands did not cripple us. We knew we were safe as the beauty of the ancient rocks embraced and humbled us. Then, climbing the mountains to unveil a beautiful green valley, we arrived in the town of Taos knowing we would find friends, yet unaware of where and when. We dropped the bus at Aaron K's out on the Mesa (the Mesa is a vast stretch of sage brush desert about 30 minuets outside of Taos. It is home to many who choose to live life for themselves, off the grid, but more on that later.). Aaron had seen and worked on the bus before when the Vermont Joy Parade had rolled through town a few years earlier. This and Aaron's assurance gave us much hope to a speedy recovery, so we settled into town with good faith that our trusty home would be out of the doc's in no time.
We were lucky enough to find a cheap motel, rental car that fit us all (two in the hatchback trunk), and a beautiful cafe with welcoming patrons and employees who quickly gave us the lay of the land. Displaced from our bunks and mobility we made the Wired? Cafe our home and were able to start uploading and editing again. Messages of love from friends and followers who missed us during our desert solitude quickly uplifted our spirit. We created a new website that we believe portrays our mission and journey more efficiently. We have added an interactive survey we hope you will all take the time to fill out so we can add your dreams to the Manifesto. We were invited to camp out on the land of Elliot Haas , whose love of permaculture has created a beautiful oasis North of town. Amongst glorious ponds, gardens, and willow trees we set up our still playa-dusted tents and cuddled for warmth in the cold desert nights. Our time with Elliot, a proficient master on many levels, reminded us of the wonder and glory that working with the land has on the soul. We stuffed our faces with exotic sea buckthorn berries from his garden and felt our energy levels incline and our fevers break. Our stay in Taos re-mystified our souls, stripped us of our melancholy, and put us back in pace. As time itself seemed to wax and wane, one day turned into ten days and then became ten minuets. We were lucky to find old and new friends, joy, love, and smiles all throughout the Land of Entrapment. Hot springs and welcoming hugs reminded us all why we got on the bus five short (and long) weeks ago. The ole' bus got herself a nice sealed up radiator and a much needed tire rotation. One long deep breath later and we are on the road again, and our glasses aren’t just half full, they are overflowing.
Words by- Ren
Photos by - Raychel
I had only heard stories. I had only seen my friends as they returned to their homes from this apparently sacred place, their hair a cartoonish mold of clay that prompted a dust storm every time the shook their heads in disbelief. They spoke of a place where everything was free from the stresses of whatever reality we all assumed we were used to. Their souls always seemed a little shattered by the unfortunate transience of it all, but they told stories of love and family and "being home." I had never been there, so of course I couldn't fully comprehend it, only attempt to imagine and dream of a place like this in my head, which was always dashed by the Bitch that was reality's logic and principle. Now, while approaching our own theoretical post-apocalyptic life, we have seen it. Now, with every fiber of our being, we understand. Now, after our epic adventure's well-earned vacation, we too have been to Burning Man.
Secluded from civilization in the middle of the harsh Nevada desert, Burning Man is a week long festival of art, culture, and spirituality in a temporary five-mile span called Black Rock City. People come from all over the world and set up their camps in a circular shape that surrounds an open playa that is filled with all shapes and sizes of art, which at the end of the week all get burned alongside the festival's centerpiece: a giant glowing Man atop a pedestal, arms raised into the air as if to symbolize the embodiment of pure joy and unadulterated freedom. Here you'll see some of the most incredible displays of costuming and decoration you're sure to see in your life, and it brings out an unfiltered desire to participate with comfort and ease. Complete with labeled streets and landmarks, BRC is a heavily biked city that is riddled with art, activities, parties, lectures, bars, costume shops, and basically every type of point of interest you can imagine. There's no less than a million things to do at any given moment in the day or night, which makes sleep a rarity and exploration a must.
That's the logistics. Experience-wise, it's not an easy thing to explain to someone who hasn't been there; it is very much something that people can only really wrap their heads around if they see it themselves. I could attempt to tell you about the haze when the sun is up and the neon lights when it's down; the sunrises over the playa and the buzz of energy at sunset; the absolute party that ensues with an exploding man or the feeling of sacred release as the temple burns to the ground; the feeling of handing your cup to a friendly face as they fill it up or the absolute brutality of the playa's dust, but it simply doesn't do it justice. It's impossible to paint these pictures. For one week out of the year it exists in reality and for the other 51 weeks it exists only in the dreams of those who know it and long for it.
What I can say is that everything you've heard about it, whether at first you thought it cheesy, irrational, or weird, is absolutely true. The sense of home they speak of is nothing short of accurate, and the idea of utopia is undeniable. What blew my mind more than anything else was the success of it all, and all due to the respect that is shown there. Beyond just the Leave No Trace policy, everybody at Burning Man is a believer in giving; nobody is there to take. There is no money. There is no vending. There are no corporate logos. Everywhere you go, you meet people, and every time you do, they greet you with a friendly Hello, ask you (and genuinely) how you are, and nine times out of ten they give you something. There seems to be no aggression, only sharing, whether it's a piece of art, a shot of whiskey, a hug, a magic trick, or a spanking. Here people have the freedom to be who they feel they can't be when the real world stifles them. They pour their hearts and souls into the work they create and it shows in the absolutely monumental pieces of art that can be seen there, right up to the moment they are set aflame and burned. What metaphorical revelations people take away from it depends on the person, but sacrifice and release is common and encouraged.
And let it be known, the last thing about Burning Man we can really vouch for now is Decompression. Coming back into the real world is a bitch. Realizing that consumerism, aggression, ego, drama, and selfishness still exist, and to the extremes that they do, is nauseating. And a word to the wise: don't EVER go to Las Vegas as an attempt to Decompress from Burning Man, as we quickly discovered that Vegas is its evil opposite (in fact, don't ever go to Vegas at all, because it's ugly and hot and stupid). It takes a toll on a lot of people and it's understandably difficult to suddenly have to pack up and leave a place you've come to call your otherworldly home. The best thing we can do is remind ourselves that a temporary utopia exists for us one week out of the year, and in the meantime, we can do our best to spread the things that make it successful to those who have no yet had the pleasure of experiencing this enlightened society.
As a side, among the many things I appreciated about Burning Man was their system for dealing with media. Like I said, I'd only ever heard stories. As in, I had never seen video footage of the Man burning on YouTube, or photographs of beautiful nude women riding their gloriously decorated bicycles through the dusty playa on Google Images, or advertisements for next year's burn anywhere in popular media. That's not to say they're not out there, but if they are, they're against the admirable policy that Burning Man laid out to me on day one when I went to their media tent to get my photographer pass, which on it said in bold writing: MEDIA PASS: This entitles you to nothing in particular." As far as media goes, anything and everything documented at Burning Man is subject to approval before it gets posted anywhere or used for anything commercial. In many ways, this keeps Burning Man under wraps the way that it should be kept. Anybody who disagrees with this rule has misunderstood the concept and the goal here. There's a reason so many people in the country still don't even know what Burning Man is, and that's because it's a sacred experience that should be kept as such. So if you're wondering why I chose to only tease you with one photo from the dozens of incredible images I was able to capture there, that's why.
Wyoming went on for a very long time, and we had our hands full with bus trouble the entire way. How did we make it through alive? We had a magical Daghjve on our side, that's how.
The next stop on our journey brought us to that eery plot of land in the middle of the desert known as the Denver International Airport, where we explored the conspiracies hidden within it. Unfortunately, the idea of writing about conspiracy theories is generally an overwhelming thing for me, as there are always a million sources on the internet to convince you in either direction about every single one of them. So in his native tongue, here is Evan to explain to you our experience getting to see the mysteries of this place in person.
I have never flown into the Denver International Airport, but I have now visited it. I have seen many paintings in my life, from all over the world. I've even painted murals myself, well, with help. Nowhere have I seen paintings or murals of this caliber, and with such intense imagery, coincided with what basically boils down to tourism and the travel associated. There are four permanent murals in the Denver Airport which display a very radical change; this is simple and plainly easy to see. The murals are lined up in display as 4, 1, 3, 2, and are not meant to show chronological order. The first is of three women dead, what appear to be an African, a Native American, and a Jewish woman. The fires rage behind them, burning and displacing all of its victims. The next mural shows a storm-trooper slaying the dove of peace with one hand and armed with a machine gun in the other. He is trailed by what appear to be the weeping mothers of their dead children. The next mural consists of the storm-trooper dead and all the children of the earth celebrating the creation of a newfound world; a world without need of all the weapons of their native cultures. The weapons are being forged into something new by a blonde German boy. The last of these murals shows all of children again in harmony with nature, centered by what could be a Christ-like person. I am not even going to tell you what I think… this is your decision. I will hopefully only display the facts, thusly in the above I say "appear" rather than as fact of the matter. Leo Tanguma, a Mayan, is the painter of these murals, and I've not spoken with him to verify any interpretations.
Now before any of these murals could be painted by Leo, the airport had to be constructed. Somehow the New World Airport Commission is to be thanked for its completion on March 19, 1994. Yet there is no New World Airport Commission. It doesn't exist. Okay nevermind that. So construction started and five buildings were erected, but they were apparently no good and buried. So then only four were built this time. Maybe "they" could get it right the second time around. Wait, wasn't there already an airport in Denver? Well they built a new one anyway. So the new airport consisted of four buildings and had less runway space and apparently no new technologies. What is does have over the old airport is a much larger footprint totaling about 53 square miles. And even though these five buildings were buried, there is still, essentially, a massive man-made mountain nearby. How much dirt had to come out of the earth to create such a massive amount of excavated debris? It is said that now all five of the underground buildings are connected by huge tunnels with sprinkler systems to extinguish any and all fires in this sheer rock tunnel system.
Now in the middle of the main concourse on, I believe, the west side, there is a capstone. It reads "The time capsule beneath this stone contains messages and memorabilia to the peoples of Colorado in 2094" This dedication was created by the Free Masons of Colorado. The Most Worshipful Prince Hall Grand Lodge F. & A.M. of Colorado and Jurisdiction, GrandMaster Claude W. Gray Sr., as well as the The Most Worshipful Grand Lodge A.F. & A.M of Colorado, GrandMaster Benjamin H. Bell Jr.. So unless the contractors brought in to do this work were all legitimate Masons with the most high of stone carving skills, then I think this strange.
So all in all I say to you in the words of Lavar Burton of Reading Rainbow "You don't have to take my words for it" So check it out for yourself.
Check it! Evan, Zelde, and Raychel repping TNWM in the Burning Man Yearbook!
 
 This is where we last spoke. Behind an offbeat gas station run by an obese feline in some Podunk town 500 miles outside of Denver, I somehow acquired enough Wifi to tell you the story of Fairfield, Iowa. And since then, there's been an entire universe between our story and the possibility of telling it.
 The desert's gone on forever. We're dehydrated, irritable, weak and deteriorating. It's a school bus's seventh circle of Hell and the landscape is unforgiving and never seems to seize. We're holding ourselves together with a rapidly deteriorating supply of glue that feels like the last precious drops of water in our canteen. We're snapping; crumbling to pieces in the merciless heat, and just when I tried to keep my head above the ground and hydrate on the idea that it would all be alright, two have separated from our group of nine with the expression of a different intention, their actions proof of a separate interest. Whether we'll become nine again come New Orleans remains to be seen, but now we are seven. For the last week and a half, our team has been off the grid. We booked it from Fairfield, Iowa to Denver, Colorado after scooping up an extra four en route to Burning Man, an intense festival of art, culture, and spirituality in the harsh Black Rock City desert of Nevada. There is so much to say about what has happened to the dynamic of our group and project in that time, but it can be somewhat summed up in a pillar we all expected to approach at some point in this trip: the point where we all lose our fucking minds. I assume it happens on every long tour that involves a slue of backgrounds and personalities, where the road seems to go on forever and the thought of listening to the same voice say anything from "You're wrong" to "I love bubbles" only makes you want to stab your eyeballs out with plastic kitchen utensils. The point where all the coffee tastes like sludge and the thought of jumping in another hot dumpster triggers your gag reflex. The point where true colors sneak to the surface and the hardest decisions show their ugly faces and demand addressing. And what better place for this to happen to any team than that unfathomably long stretch of the United States that is covered in desolation and nothingness? What better place than the God forsaken barren wasteland that is the desert? The bus is being pushed to its limit, right alongside our sanity and will to continue, but we're pressing on. We're battling sickness, tears, loneliness, and confusion, with a little claustrophobia and agoraphobia thrown in, just to make things interesting. We're popping wellness pills and anxiety meds like candy and chugging watered down Gatorade with only our imaginations to chill it. Our boogers are dried out and our lips are chapped. But we approach the wetlands of the South with all the quickness we have, because we will not let this desert beat us. There are still so many stories we want to show and tell to the world, and if nothing else, the vast emptiness that is this wretched desert trying to destroy us has made us realize even more so that this project is bigger than all of us. We've discovered the true intentions of those of us left and they are pure and unsullied, as well as entirely mutual within the group. So to the amazing people out there we're yet to find, keep looking up for that giant red school bus, because we're still looking for you. We may be a little sweaty, disoriented, and tired when we get to you, but we still want to tell your story. And to everyone else watching, wondering if maybe we drove the bus off the edge of the planet and into oblivion, fret not, because even though decompression and our return to civilization has knocked us on our asses, we're slowly picking ourselves up again and making our way back. So check back soon. 
We almost didn't stop. One wrong turn had lead us well out of our way and back in Illinois, and we figured with the hours we'd lost having to cross the Mississippi a third time would have surely caused us to miss Transcendental Meditation Happy Hour in the small town of Fairfield, Iowa. But lo and behold, I've discovered on this trip that when you're eight amazing people traveling the country in search of other amazing people, the amazing ones just seem to find you first. Even just a few minutes before midnight, immediately upon our exit from the bus, we were greeted by numerous people asking us who we were, to which we responded with our simple fact that we were just people who wanted to know who THEY were. Fairfield, Iowa is a unique town, because it's home to the Maharishi University of Management, which from the sound of it makes me think of a bunch of hometown heroes educating themselves to become regional managers of fast food restaurants. But it's much more exciting than that. The University is essentially a liberal arts school that focuses on the practice of Transcendental Meditation, and practically everybody in the town of Fairfield is involved in some way. We ended up with a good mix of people who were nice enough to let us shine unfathomably bright lights in their faces and interview them on a random street corner at 1 in the morning. One was an older gent by the name of Tom who was a professor of music at the University, another was a younger girl, Stephanie, who was currently enrolled in her fourth year at the University and had been practicing TM since age 5, and we met a younger guy by the name of Mike, who years before had dropped out of the school due to problems with the curriculum and a general skepticism of the practice.  
The way the meditation works is by a series of mantras. There are around twelve different mantras that are assigned to different groups of people based on gender and age group. The practice consists of sitting and meditating on the mantra for about twenty minutes twice a day, and by doing so, they claim it brings them to a point where they "transcend" reality. An easier way for me to decipher it was by referencing a scene in I Heart Huckabees, where the two main characters experiencing "existential crises" sit at a picnic table and whack each other in the face with a giant inflatable ball until their minds essentially go blank and they become the earth and air that surrounds them, somewhat transcending the inevitable drama that they become so distracted by. At their constant request to "go back to the ball thing," their existential counselor reminds them not to call it "the ball thing," but "pure being." Fairfield's practitioners meet twice a day, once before breakfast and once before dinner, in two massive domes, one for men and one for women, and meditate together in giant groups, which they feel is more powerful than meditating alone. There was a strange and special vibe about this town, and I felt it from the moment I stepped off the bus. Simultaneously to being greeted by a flock of friendly townspeople (prior we were under the impression we'd have to "search" for these folks, HAH!), we were greeted also by a praying mantis that followed us around for a few minutes and landed on everyone if only for a few seconds, which we took as a good sign. The town breathes a good energy, even if it could easily be taken as a placebo effect; most of the townspeople are practitioners and believe that with their daily group meditations, they are successfully sending out positive energy, not just to their town, but to other places in the world as well. Whether they're all avid believers of this concept or not depends on who you talk to, but most of them will vouch that practicing the meditation has helped them ground themselves and become generally more calm, peaceful, and aware individuals. 
Afterwards we headed to the 24-hour grocery store because we were told of the magical milk that came out of Fairfield. Apparently singing to their cows causes them to produce incredibly creamy and sweet milk, unlike any milk we were sure to have tasted before in our lives. And apparently that was all the convincing we needed. What began with milk soon turned into magic cereal, magic songs, magic pictures, magic food stamps, magic bananas, and our magic life in this magic town on our magic bus.
You're a very, well... magical place, Fairfield. Thanks for making our search so easy; we didn't have such luck with the Amish or the Mormons...
 Welcome to Madison, Wisconsin. Here you can find basically everything you know and love in Burlington, Vermont, just… in bizarro version.
We hosted our second screening at the Madison Infoshop on lovely Williamson St., which so closely resembled Burlington's downtown that it gave us chills, but in a good way. The coffee shop, the restaurant, the co-op, the people; it all reminded us of home, which was incredibly refreshing (we miss you guys!). Madison was picturesque and our screening went great, complete with impromptu juggling and musical butcherings of a few Vermont Joy Parade songs, just for fun. There we met up with our friend Ivan Klipstein, who to simply call a Character of Characters would be a gross understatement.
 
 Our first interview during our stay was with Norm Stockwell, who's the Staff Representative of 89.9 WORT FM and has worked as a journalist for thirty years. He told us a lot about the role of independent media and community supported radio "giving a voice to the unrepresented and underrepresented sectors of our society." Following our premiere we also spent some time with Brendan Fischer of the Center for Media and Democracy, who's a lawyer working to expose ALEC (the American Legislative Exchange Council), which, in a few words, is an organization that has helped corporations to make that old idea of "government of the people" defunct by combining the forces of corporations with lobbyists and politicians. To learn more about ALEC, you can watch this video HERE or check out ALECexposed.org.
 
While it wasn't exactly a "day off," Madison was a nice, homely relief for a lot of us. We stopped at Ella's Deli on our way out of town for a good ol' fashioned carousel ride, and soon found out that Madison is also home to the epicenter of children with ADD as a direct result of this restaurant. With no less than a million colorful things moving on tracks, bouncing up and down, popping out of the ceiling unexpectedly, and not to mention about twenty flavors of ice cream, I have to say, parents of Madison, Wisconsin… I do not blame your children for being, well, slightly overstimulated and distracted.  
Thank you so very much to John Peck of the Madison Infoshop for letting us set up shop and give us a venue to show our work thus far, and also to 89.9 WORT for their feature on and support of our project. And let's also not forget our friend Ivan, for showing us a lovely time in Madison. We'll see you all again in the Burlington twilight zone someday soon! 
Also, as I wrote this, Zelde was dosed by a child pedaling pot brownies outside a supermarket. Let's all pray for a speedy recovery, yes? Thank you.
|
RSS Feed