Domesticated Transients & Ravens

There are some things you just don't say no to.

One of the great things about my friend Brandon is that he is always up for an adventure. We were able to hustle with our duties in the morning at the hostel, finishing up a couple hours early. So when Brandon asked, "Do you guys want to have a Big Sur Day?" I just couldn't say no. . . I hope I don't ever have to say no to that question.

Brandon, Kim and I piled into the Honda and we were off. It was a regular day. A little foggy, but the sun still made your skin warm like a cat in the sunny spot. So warmmmm. We saw a sign  pointing us to the Hermitage up towards the hills, so we went. On the way up, there were numerous places where benches had been put in nice little scenic spots for one to sit and breath, listen, and watch the world go around or whatever it is that you want to do on a bench. The hermitage was a calm space on top of a hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I have to say, there was something special about the space provided here.  It felt. . . well, I guess the word might be blessed. 

This word has always been connected to my experiences in church as a kid where I had to be quiet and respectful. And QUIET, and RESPECTFUL. But, this place didn't feel that way. This place, in a weird magical way made me breathe deeper, and simply understand that I am blessed no matter what I do. I wish there was some way better for me to convey that feeling in a word that didn't make me want to roll my eyes and call myself a new age asshole hippie. Maybe I will just say in my own wonky way that it was just pretty fucking great and good to be there. 

During our drive back down to the highway it was decided we would pull over and sit on a bench together in silence for five minutes. It was nerdy, and sweet, and perfect. And then we were back to the  winding road that is Highway 1.

One of our choice destinations was the Henry Miller Library. A place that you can sit, look at some redwoods, drink tea, and read a good book. Really, there are no bad books in this library. They are all good books by a host of authors. And it's sort of technically a store, but we don't have to split hairs. It's worth a visit. 

When you are driving down this particular stretch of Highway 1, there are a lot of twists and turns, cyclists to dodge, construction on all of the bridges. . . yes, ALL of them, and it seems like I see a dead baby deer nearly every time I drive on this stretch of road. . . Anyway, after leaving the library, Brandon was suddenly pulling over on one of the many turn outs where you can peer out at the picturesque ocean crashing against the rocky cliffs. It wasn't until we were getting out of the car that I saw why Brandon pulled over so abruptly: a man with long greying blonde hair wearing only a pair of tan tattered pants being held up by a rope. Oh, and he had a raven on his head. Or was it a crow? Kim kept her distance. As it turns out, she is not a fan of birds. But Brandon and I, we just couldn't stay away.

This man sang, and danced, and praised us in the kindest of ways. He called himself Campbell the Bunny Man. I asked why wasn't he called Campbell the Raven Man. His response was something along the lines of, "Well, there was an incident with the bunny and the raven. The raven ate the bunny. We don't need to talk about that. But I will say my raven seems to be of greater spirits since the. Do you want to hold the bird?" He laughed and smiled, revealing a few teeth that were hanging in there, and the raven waved his wings exposing where he had molted away his feathers, accompanied by his crippled little bird leg.

Of course I wanted to hold the bird that ate your rabbit in some sort of incident that you don't want to talk about. 

Besides, I haven't heard anything about bird flu in like 3 years, and even though Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds scared the holy living shit out of me, I thought, what could go wrong? So, I held the raven.

turns out, nothing went wrong.

I watched this man and his barely feathered friend play a game of catch with a five dollar bill that Brandon was kind enough to give for hanging out with us. So I put my bare arm out, and the raven gingerly hopped on. There was a bit of a struggle with keeping footing, since his leg had been maimed in what I can only assume was another incident, but he seemed comfortable enough. He sat there, cleaning and preening his feathers, looking at the Bunny Man. I thought that he may have taken the raven in due to his injured leg, but upon inquiry it was revealed that Campbell the Bunny Man was taking responsibility for that. How he was responsible? I do not know. I realized what kind of broken person he was. And he was just doing his best to contribute to this world in the best way he could, and in my effort to contribute to his well being, I felt it was best to not ask further inquiries.

There are some people that you can see the turmoil is so close to the surface, welling up in their eyes and throat. This man, he knows it's there, that it's going to rush up at him sometime again in the future. And that this is why he lives the way he lives. In his van, with a bird, virtually alone. It's a safe place for him. This is a thing that you can see in a lot of people, but the difference between this guy and most of the people that live in this state that feels so uncontrollable, is that he seems pretty well at peace with it. At peace with those inner demons, or whatever you want to call them. And I found myself for just the briefest moment wanting to be this man to see what that feels like. And maybe that's stupid. Either way, I can't be him. . . I can only be my own crazy person, which at this time didn't seem much different from Campbell the Bunny Man.

So, maybe blessed is a good word for it.