Chapter Two

October 10, 2018

The way things roll - at which point will I truly believe that somewhere, somehow the universe/spirit/god really does have my back and my best interests in mind. Maybe that day never actually comes - maybe as the mere mortal I am it's part of the lesson to keep being tested and tested again and again because that's what it takes to penetrate our density. But I'm sincere and diligent in my devotion to this path, this way of living. It's not without anxiety, lessened as it is, and it really does seem to dissipate much more quickly. When I look back I can see all those years fraught with anxiety - the panic attacks were daily and had become my reality, ingrained in all fibers of my being.

But the students are lining up already in La Veta and I've started with so much less before but I am reminded of the horrible anxiety attacks that would come out of nowhere and blast me into helplessness and by 2 or 3 pm I'd be exhausted already, barely able - and sometimes not - to be present. Still, though, I supported myself and my boys for years and years that way.

So how hard can this really be, it's just another 1,000 drive to another brand new town but I know how to make friends now, this can really happen for me.


Missy and me on the stoop of her house. Couch surfing @Tornado Bait, winter 2017.

I went feral that winter, New Year's Eve. Bolted, fled, couldn't stand it another day more. Phoebus beckoned - Missy wanted me to stay - so it's there I went and realized I could play percussion. How long there before I camped in the studio of the old black man with his canvas and oils and piles of disorder and all his disorderly conduct. We had fun, all of us, though the raw emotions were difficult for me to process, to stay engaged with, exhausting ultimately and besides, it really wasn't safe. Sleeping in that cold concrete room, so pitch black I was disoriented every time I woke up in the middle of the night even though I knew where my head and feet had been when I laid down. The mattress lost all its air halfway through, by morning I was stiff as a board. Five weeks without a shower, I learned to be amazing at spit baths out of the tiny sink.

It was there the curator from Charles Taylor came in, saw the artwork in the back of Jackson and told me two things: This is your day job, he said, manage to live within the means it provides and, two, don't ever take an art lesson. Then, the segue into the solo exhibition: to me it all added up perfectly.

Now my mind's on Earth Ships, on building up even more skills, on honing and mastering and raising the funs to renovate a bus, get mobile, stay mobile. It's the future and the future has arrived and though it feels a bit early, everything's in a rush, the crush of treading with abandon on this precious planet.





By Dawna Markova:

"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make myself less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart, until it becomes a wing, a token, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; To live so that which came to me as a see goes next to blossom, and that which came to me as a blossom, goes on as fruit.




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