The Great Wall

After so much movement my body has come to a halt on a chilly balcony with a couple of empty chairs, a muchtooclean table, untouched ashtray and a view of the Acropolis.   I have to keep shaking my head, thinking this must be a dream. What happened to the filthy streets of Beijing? I look down at my tattoo, then away.  When I look back its still there, a solid little tree.  I jump, but I don't fly. This isn't a dream.

Flash back five days and I am saying goodbye to Lauren and Amelia, standing between buses in Shangri La. Exhaust in the air and bags on our backs as our six eyes lock, brown-blue-brown, so comfortable now within eachother, and oh how I am in love with these women. I board a bus and am gone.

Since then its been a blur. I know there were homebrews, musical chairs, dancing, lakeside day walks and nights filled with Radiohead and Beatles covers in a familiar Dali bar.  I still have a bruise on my hand from drumming.  Another reminder that I am not dreaming.

And then it was back to Beijing.  The List.  And two late night flights.

And so it was, that on my last day in China, I saw the Great Wall. I believe I saved it for the last day because I wasn't sure I could do it.  Was scared, maybe.  But, I was there. Had to at least try.  I packed a small container of ashes into a little cloth bag, put that into my pocket, touching it periodically with my hand to make sure it was still there.  I climbed in my friends car, getting lost to Bob Marley playing through his ipod on the two hour drive to the wall.  Bob Marley always makes me think of Pine Sol.  Of my parents cleaning the house on sunday afternoons as I arranged stuffed animals to take a trian ride across the living room floor.  Just like how cutting a bell pepper reminds me of an old friend Nate. And sitting on a bare toilet seat makes me think of Caty Blain.  Drinking whiskey makes me want to hear funk.  And vis versa.  Associations that time cannot part.

So we arrive at the wall and I think how there could not be ANY more people around. The place is packed. I wish deeply for everyone to clear out and leave me alone here to focus and think.  I have to close my eyes and breathe. Calm down or something.  I didn't even realize I was anxious.  I follow the wall with my eyes, to where it curves and weaves through snow covered hills to disapear in the fog. And I realize there is nobody out there.  There.  Further.  That's where I need to be.  I want to start running, like in the Karate Kid, but I don't.  I walk slowly and take it in.  Up, down, around. This really is an amazing place.  I think of all the bodies burried underneath, all the years and dedication to keeping others out, so that foreigners could now come, take pictures and buy the t-shirts. Amazing.  And I'm one of them. Two of them.

The crowd thins and I can feel I'm getting there. The air feels cleaner and there is more snow. Just a little further.  I pass the container of ashes from finger to finger inside my pocket. Thinking this is okay, I am okay with this.  And I stop. Abruptly.

Coming up from the wall is another wall, a different sort of wall, a dead end wall growing in the wrong direction heading up towards the sky. No way to go around, no way to go over.  But I can see out in the hills just how far the Great Wall stretches and I want to go there, but the official is saying no.  A dead end. The Great Wall has a dead end.  I shake my head, and turn around.

As I resign to find somewhere else, I stop periodically to check the scene. To peer over the side and look at the ground.  Checking for signs.  But everywhere something is wrong.  It's too dark, there are too many people.  I don't like those trees or there is too much snow. Or it's too windy, and I've seen the Big Lebowski.  I realize I am looking for reasons to make it feel wrong.  I've started to think how this is a crazy idea.  I shouldn't do this.

I keep walking, now with the cloud of defeat hovering over my head.  When I am almost back to the entrance, to the throngs of people and the souvinier shops, I realize its now or never.  I veer to the left, look out a small viewing window, and I see a bird.  Black and white and flying close to the ground. And I think of my mom.
                           
                                  "There he is." She would say, "There's Kirk". 


Another association I will never be able to kick.

I open the container and empty the contents into my hand and hold my fist tight.  No one tells you what cremated ashes will look like, or feel like.  I don't know what I expected, but I didn't think they would be so gray.  Black maybe, I don't know.  Blue would be nice.  Tie Dye would be more appropriate than gray. And once in my hand, they felt like a beach. Under the sun, fingers through sand. My dad wanted to live on a beach, and now he has become one, I thought. And with that, I opened my fist and let go, into the air and that slight breeze. Above the head of that bird, slowly drifiting downwords to mingle with the brown earth and some newly planted trees.  He will help them to grow, I thought.  The bird looked up, and flew away.

And now that I've begun, there is no turning back.  And this is crazy, I cant help but think.  But with help from Liam (my big brother), and with enough time, I'm sure it'll be done.

 The list, (or, the eight remaining):

- Visit Denali State Park

- Visit the pyramids in Egypt

- Run with the bulls in Pamplona

- Visit Australia, and New Zealand

- Hike the Pacific Crest Trail   (Sophie, Lea – 2013)

- Visit the great wall

- Go to France and ride the Alp D’Heuz (Davie J – join me!)

- Race in Ironman Hawaii in Kona (?!)

- Live on a beach.