Let The Revolution Begin

Let the revolution begin. In this day, the right to not be the ego-I, had not been won. Many of the other differences—different ethnic, racial backgrounds, different sexual attraction, differences between men and women—all the hard-fought needs and rights that were ‘signed into law’ to be openly allowed and assimilated into the culture were being lived openly and widely accepted. All except the right to no difference, the actuality of not actually being a private citizen, or a public one. The right not to be a separate one was still widely unrecognized and mostly unheard of and incredibly misunderstood. Everyone had fought so admirably for the right to a dignified survival and then for their own version of the pursuit of happiness, that the few who were interested in the art or actuality of being a no one were relegated to be misunderstood as some kind of reactive cult by the status quo of certainty. What attracted these few people to give up everything to be nothing—to have no difference? Were they crazy or on a new curve of evolution, of consciousness knowing itself as matter, and matter knowing itself as the truth of no-form-necessary, of consciousness itself? How can one live with no identity and only see with eyes (no I) of awareness? This was the pursuit of madmen, saints, and artists, and of our friend Hank Harry Henry, who was an artist, an actor, a madman and most certainly not a saint!

Hank, or 3H as some folks called him, was like an actor. He could interpret personality to suit his mood and when he wasn’t on, it was hard to define what Hank was actually like. He used qualities and mannerisms to revel in happiness, and whoever met him thought they knew Hank, but everyone’s version was completely different from everyone else’s. How could one man have so many natures? After all, there are only 12 signs of the zodiac. Everyone felt him to be the sign they liked the most. He could be as loyal and stubborn as a Taurus, as sensuous as a Scorpio, and could direct like a Leo. He always did whatever he wanted and this endeared him to everyone, because he was so much fun. He oozed sensuality, had charisma, was entirely photogenic, dressed in vibrant styles and colors, never cut his hair, and always shared everything he had with everyone. He was never selfish and always kept the best treats available for whomever came by to sing and dance, paint and doodle, laugh and hiccup. He was never serious about the condition of the world or what was insane about the latest development in politics. He was tom foolery without being a foolish clownish. Hank was the most important person in the whole world but only a few people had ever met him. He was the consciousness that would start the revolution. And man, it is about time. The pursuit of happiness via the material dream of being a special “me” is getting us all down. It is flunking as happiness and the worst part is, it is a big dam fat lie. An illusion, a delusion of the slipperiest kind. Do we want to be rich, or do we want to break open the vault of happiness, of groovy real lovin? Hank, a man of open heart—a belly laugh and smile so big and wide one could stay permanently blissed out in it—he gets my vote. Who cares about getting ahead and making a profit? No more angles, no more con of the ego, let’s be on the round—all going around holding hands around the whole world. Hank, when are you coming to my town?

Hank was on his way. He was creativity exemplified. All possible magic existed in him and surrounded him. He was a magnet for whatever his heart strings wanted to play. He made up his songs of pleasurable devotion as he walked. When he wandered into my small town of 2000 souls, I heard his voice first. It was so vibrant and melodious I looked up from my coffee cup and there he was. It is hard to put into words what I saw and felt when Hank waved at me and gave me a big grin. It felt like my best, oldest buddy was finally returning to me. He was shocking but entirely familiar to me. Up to that point, I hadn’t known I was waiting all my life for this time—his entrance or should I say, his return into my life—but I knew when he sang and appeared in my little town, that’s what was happening. Day one, my life was finally beginning. I sighed in a big relief. I knew everything would change now but I was not afraid. I wanted everything that went before to end. I didn’t know how desperately I wanted a new beginning. I wanted the real thing, the real life.

I quickly became Hank’s best friend. We did everything together and not one minute of our time together was ever monotonous or unimaginative. He said I was the best of mates, and while I enjoyed the flattery, all I could actually do was try to keep up with him. He confided in me that he had a lot to do while he was here, but he never told me what that was. We mostly spent our days making up characters and improvising them into strange scenarios. We combed the river for found objects, often well-worn rocks or branches that had floated down river, and used them to create platforms or mini stages. We caught fish for lunch and usually took naps in the heat of the day. In the evenings we made up songs, never repeating, and each day I looked forward to Hank’s new diddy. We made up new fashion costumes from the leftovers at the leftover store. Sometimes we wore very little, and other days we amused ourselves with feminine attire. We went on treasure hunts and actually found a Rolex watch on the beach once. We painted plein air style and gave away our paintings to anyone who liked them. The locals always suspected that I really wanted to be a bum and this creative life with Hank confirmed my motive for them. So it surprised me one day, after living this natural follow-creative-impulse life that Hank said to me, “We should buy a ranch and start the revolution. We have been preparing for it all these months.”

I was dumbfounded. Neither one of us actually had any money to speak of. I was getting by on unemployment and Hank never seemed to even have a dime. He told me that he never touched money, it made his skin crawl. When I asked how we would do that, as neither of us had any sums of money, he looked at me surprised and said, “Mana, my best mate, we’re creative, surely manifesting money for a ranch or a ranch without money should be easy for us guys!”

“You mean, maybe someone would give us one, or let us stay at theirs?”

“Ah, the juices are flowing!”

They say think it, believe and it will manifest. All I could think was we’ll never pull this off. I began to think or doubt Hank’s plan. I thought (maybe) he was taking advantage of me, as we always did whatever he wanted to do. I felt grumpy and resistive to what now seemed as just his wild whims of imagination. He knew I was doubting him and gave me some space to stew in my own dark juices. I continued like this for a couple of weeks when he told me, “I found the ranch, it needs some work but it will do.”

This shocked me out of my mood (I was even imagining trying to get a job!) when he said that our plans are definitely in motion. “Just one problem,” he said, “the place is haunted, no one has stayed there for quite a while. The owner passed it to his grown children who live in L.A. They are looking for a caretaker to do some fixin and handiwork. Eventually, they want to get it off their hands.”

We moved in without even checking it out first. There was a main house that was kind of weird looking. It looked like a typical ranch style of the 50’s but the walls were adobe like. It definitely needed some tending to but no windows were broken. There was a barn a little distance from the house that seemed ready to collapse. Up the dirt road from the barn was a pond—a good size pond that had algae and weeds growing profusely in it. There were a couple of cottages by the pond. They all had the adobe-like finish that made them look unfinished. I had no idea what the original owner or builder was trying to accomplish with these structures. All the structures were very dusty and it was evident that all sorts of animals had come to nest or live here or nearby because of the easy water access.

Hank suggested that we shack up in the lesser wrecked cottage. It wasn’t too bad, I’ve actually lived in worse places in my small town. The first night there, I couldn’t sleep, there were all sorts of weird noises, creaking boards, rustling sounds in the nearby trees. I woke up Hank with “Did you hear that?” I could see him nod his head, the full moon light lit up the bedroom, “Yea, sounds like a mountain lion.”

I finally fell asleep around 3:30 am. I was mercifully asleep when Hank jumped up out of the bed and said, “Get up! We have to get out of here!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“This place, this property is a vortex, a doorway for all sorts of negative beings to enter. They want to mess with us and show us their power.”

The goosebumps were popping out all over my skin. I felt paralyzed and unable to move. Hank, seeing me in this position, stood over me, “Look at me,” he repeated twice. As I did I felt the fear subside and I saw Hank get bigger and bigger. He was encompassing the space in the room and then I saw him blind me with his brilliance that surrounded the house and the entire property. I don’t know how I was seeing this. I don’t know how to describe what I saw next, as his brilliance circled and invaded every inch of the property, a dark mass manifested, I heard it moaning and threatening him. I heard him say, “Be gone, this place is not for your purposes.” The mass fluctuated and swirled, trying to assert its dominance, but was unable to, then the most amazing and strange thing happened. Hank patted the dark swirl into a ball shape and popped it into his mouth and laughed hard. “It needed some sweetening,” he concluded.

After our first night there, we never encountered these strange forces again. The nocturnal animals came for water and played around the cottages as usual. I never asked how Hank did what he did, his brilliant expansion of his form. He didn’t mention it either but I began to feel that I was not dealing with an ordinary, creative type. Perhaps the impossible was in his possession or his capacity to achieve. Maybe he was really serious about his revolution. I wondered how he would change everything. Would governments topple and the people rise up to take care of each other? Would the wealth of the world be shared equally by all the people? Was this the kind of revolution he was talking about? I don’t know why I never asked him about how he was going to change the world. I knew that I was not dealing with an ordinary guy. Sometimes, I thought I should find my way back to some kind of ordinary life—not wear-a-tie kind of life, but maybe find some kind of second or third-generation hippie chick and raise a few kids. Now that we were living on the ranch we were always busy with cleaning up and rearranging the nature around the buildings to make the environment look beautifully natural instead of naturally a mess. Even Hank’s handiwork of nailing old boards and painting the walls of the houses had creative expression expressed all over it. After three months we started working on the main houses. This is when he told me that the owners, the O’Leaf sisters, were coming by to see how the place was getting ready to be sold.

They came on Friday, drove up in their new pickup truck—a beautiful truck with mucho space and pickup. I was eyeing that truck, I was even imagining what it would be like to have one of those bad boys when my attention (my daydream) was abruptly ended by the sight of the two sisters. Both sisters were at least 6’ 5 inches, big women with big bones and big smiles. They were attractive in a very rough way, my guess is that no man ever messed with them. After they introduced themselves as Tucson and Katrin, Hank invited them in and around to show them how we had brightened the place up.

They exchanged raised eyebrows a few times. Looking at the improvements through their eyes, maybe the paint jobs on the cottages were a little too bright—bright yellow with some lavender and green accents around the windows. Wait till they see the main house when it is done with a bona fide rainbow arch over it—that Hank said would be his finishing touch. More raised eyebrow exchanges at the tiki logs and fire pit.

We invited them to a tall glass of homemade strawberry kombucha. Tucson spoke first, “Hank, I had no idea that the place was being kept up, ah improved in such a way. We were hoping for a little weed wacking and a cleanup, paint job to get the place ready for sale. What you have done is…”

That’s when Katrin interrupted and spoke up. “What you have done is, wow, really interesting in a great way!”

“We just wanted to sell the place,” inserted Tucson.

“But look, sis,”

“What?” asked Tucson. The two sisters looked at each other and read each other’s feelings and thoughts in a way that sisters can do at times.

Hank got up and poured them another glass of kombucha. “Well, gals, Tucson and Katrin, me and Mana were hoping you gals weren’t in a rush to sell the place. I think you will really like some of the more innovative improvements I have in mind. This ranch, we could call it, “The sisters are doing it” or some other name you gals like. We can make this place really interesting and get some interesting things done here and someday maybe what we do here will really change the world.”

I don’t know how Hank did it, but after the third glass of kombucha the two sisters agreed to put off selling the ranch, to wait and see, and Katrin wanted to finance the improvements. I could see that Katrin had that same knowing of Hank—the intense spark of familiarity, of finally we’re here together—let’s get it on, like I did when I first met Hank on that fateful day. So after that initial meeting and agreements to continue to improve the ranch, I wasn’t too surprised at the inevitability of the two sisters moving to the ranch in October, after the hot season abated. Things got even more interesting then, our combined creative juices were really flowing and Hank worked and constantly stirred up our creative excitement. It was hard work, but a very exciting creative time.

As it went, Katrin worked closely with Hank, or 3H as she preferred to call him. She was the more creative of the two sisters and I could see that she was inspired by Hank to ‘get out of the box and go for it’ and her ideas were quite good. She had the idea to create a labyrinth in the front patio of the main house and she painted a banner to name the place. The sisters decided to call the place ‘From Here’. Tucson and I had some fun ideas of our own and Tucson was a strong worker and had carried many of the rocks up from the river for the labyrinth. She was a hard worker and wouldn’t quit till the task was done. The kombucha was flowing freely and after a hard day of work, Hank would cook us up some fish and the rest of us would make the salad and boil the couscous and share a glass of wine. I still enjoyed our evenings most as Hank would sing, always an instant classic. At times I wished I had recorded Hank’s spontaneous bursts from the heart for future enjoyment. We would all go to bed belly satisfied and heart satisfied and completely exhausted.

We worked and played every day and we accomplished so much. I could see that I was stronger than I had ever been. I had become more focused, too. I used to be a last-minute kind of guy, but with Tucson’s influence I learned how to be steady at task. Hank had never pushed or challenged me, he made everything look effortless and fun, Tucson loved the sheer effort of doing and her endurance was very admirable. I liked her, she was conservative and really decent—the type of woman that I would have never partnered with or been attracted to. I got her to laugh more and sing more, even though her voice for the most part was really bad. Her belly laugh, on the other hand, was her best song. It was full and raucous and when she laughed at my jibbing I knew she thought I was a true crazy madman and I liked being a madman for her and I so loved and enjoyed her laughter.

Hank and Katrin, their chemistry as a team involved a lot of team spirit. Sometimes, from what I observed in their creative flow, they could finish each other’s creative ideas and impulses. Katrin would civilize some of Hank’s rougher ideas and Hank showed Katrin how to open up to her attractions.

The job was getting done, the ranch was really evolving into our place. It was both functional and wildly creative. Again, I never gave any time to imagining Hank’s revolution, how he was going to change the world, and he didn’t talk about it much with us at this time. We all felt this was the best time of our lives and for me and I’m sure for the gals as well, this time with Hank was our revolution of body, mind, and spirit. We were all living in a doubt-free state—we did not doubt our instincts, our ideas, our attractions, we worked out our instincts, our ideas, our attractions in the building, in our creation of the ranch. The ranch was our heart’s creation. When Hank and I first came to the ranch, a malevolent force lived here, but our combined energy birthed a new force here. We called this force Shakti and “from here” we could feel her living presence.

The locals got curious about our ranch ‘From Here’. Most just seemed curious and accepting. I could feel the buzz around town and at the local mercantile store Hank put up a flyer on their bulletin board. Hank offered a fire pit, sharing-story-telling time, complete with not just strawberry kombucha, but ginger/lemon and cherry hibiscus as well. The girls and I made a few berry pies to go along. Instruments were welcome, no electric though. This coincided with the big, full harvest moon. I was surprised when a gang load of 20-somethings showed up along with a few older grandma and grandpa hippie types. We showed them around first and the older hippies really appreciated the hard work put into making the place so beautiful. The younger crowd enjoyed the energy, the shakti of the place and they were high on their vitality and sexuality as well. We all sat around the fire and watched it as the flames got higher. Unlike gazing at a TV screen, gazing at a fire rests your eyes and mind. It opens you to your own heat and makes you feel the burn of your own vastness. Hank led the way with his first wild song of the night. I could feel the circle of people enjoy Hank’s storytelling through song and as Hank created a catchy bridge, everyone joined in when it came around. The drummers got on to a beat that made the song even catchier. Hank’s songs were always about the audacity to be happy now, to throw every caution away for the sake of the great pleasure of love. I could feel Hank’s magic, his persuasion on everyone and as I looked at the fire-lit faces, I could feel that everyone was experiencing happiness and that grooving on love and the love of life was the only true righteous way to live. After everyone’s heart was full, Hank offered everyone an open invitation to return to the ranch. I didn’t know what he had in mind to accommodate these possible visitors, but in time a few of the younger ones returned to sing with Hank and an older hippie couple came with some wonderful ideas to keep improving the ranch. They came with their ability to endure and brought their own supplies. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but a family was forming and people saw Hank as the heart of the family. Everyone thought of him as their best friend and regarded him and referred to him as the “Heart Spoken”, as we all relied on him to speak to us from the Heart. The language of love was being learned by all of us. I realized that this language, the language of the heart being spoken, had never been heard or spoken in our culture, in our lives before. That unconditional love could be spoken and lived, was possible because of Hank. When I first met him I thought of him as a creative madman, a genius, and now I was living in his genius, his ability to create love and abiding expressions of love out of ordinary fools—fools like myself who were always rejecting responsibility. I learned from Hank that responding was the joy, was the love and happiness expressed and lived. For me and our small family at the ranch, a revolution was occurring. We weren’t trying to give peace a chance, we weren’t idealizing love as the answer, we were living peace and living love as our response to Hank’s heart of hearts. We didn’t believe anymore in the limits that the culture or our minds had grown us up to believe in. All limits on happiness, or peace, or love were just a stall from the life of learning to live as love. Living with Hank, we fed on his strength of only love, and all the justification of not love now that was the everyday meal of the world, did not exist for us here on the ranch with Hank. How he could pull off this miracle with us, I don’t know. He was a hard man to fathom, his depth was as deep and as high and you could count all the way to infinity and not ever truly fathom him. I thought at times that he was above all that we ordinary fools suffer. But his heart could be broken, and it was broken many times. I could see that he gave us happiness and love and accepted our selfishness and pettiness and only returned us purified of our limits. I could see that this process affected him, he suffered us and he healed quickly and never skipped a beat, a song or a dance to show us, and to live happiness even now and now. There were difficult times at the ranch. Tucson and I lost our first baby, she was stillborn. I thought it would take Tucson a long time to mend, to be happy again. Hank showed her how to love even then, and by the end of the day she was as giving and sharing as openly as on her best days. This was the kind of miracle Hank gave, this was the power Hank had. I’m sure we all depended on him too much for this power. He allowed us to do that.

When the ranch ‘From Here’ was established, really rooted, and the family could take care of it and each other, Hank took me aside. “Mana, my dear friend, you have been with me since the beginning. It is time for us to go out to the world and see how the revolution is going on in other places.”

I couldn’t imagine why we would leave such a perfect place. I had everything I ever wanted and needed here. How could he leave?

“It will take about a year. I have a sense where we will be going. I’ve got the call, like when I first came to your town. You up for coming with me, mate?”

I had so many questions, all of them were forms of my resistance to going. I looked at Hank. He was grinning with excitement—waiting for me to give my yes and I was waiting, resisting. All the hard work, the ties I created, the family we birthed. All this great history of giving and sharing weighed on my heart of being able to give Hank my simple accepting, my faithful yes. I began to also feel into a year without my main man, what would it be like not to be around his great creative heart? My mind weighed in on the loss of going and the loss of staying. I could see that it was incapable of making any real decision. My heart was beating hard and Hank was still standing there waiting. I could feel that my hesitancy was causing him pain and I reached out my hand to show him my acceptance and said, “Yes, I’m coming.” He grabbed me into his big bear hug and whispered in my ear, “Let the revolution grow and spread around this big beautiful planet. It’s time that all people here get happy on the real happy.”

Everyone on the ranch took it hard but to their credit, they all stayed relatable and loving. I didn’t know how Katrin would get through it as 3H (as she called him) was her closest and deepest companion and intimate. She is quite strong and brave and told us not to worry, that she would keep love and happiness as Hank would live it. I could see how her heart ached to go. She is stronger than me, I know I couldn’t be as giving or as happy without Hank’s power of happiness, without being with Hank. I knew she loved him in a way, deeper than I loved him. I admired her and knew that the ranch would be in capable hands, blessed by a strong, open heart. My dear Tucson knew I had to go—to help Hank with his great work that neither one of us really understood. We both trusted Hank and saw the effect he had on us. We knew he belonged to a bigger impulse, a more creative endeavor than just living out his days with us on our ranch. Tucson encouraged me to take a video and pictures of our journey and said, “Please, please, Mana, keep a good journal of everything that happens. I want to read it and we can share it with our two girls. For the future.” I agreed, knowing that my life with Hank and this journey was not just for us. I felt it was a link to all those who needed to know Hank’s heart and come into his arms. In all my imperfect ways and imperfect motives, I set out on May 1 with my beloved friend. There were a lot of big hugs and many kisses as our family graciously let us go. Grandpa Carl told us that they all had some more beautiful creative projects for the ranch. “So Mana,” he said, “Bring our great ‘Heart Spoken’”, as he called Hank, “back to us. We will be busy here, as we usually are, more work and more art to get to.” He slipped a roll of money into my pocket and patted it. He was always generous in so many ways, a quiet man with the stamina of any young man. “I’ll look after your two girls, give them some grandpa spoiling” he added.

Our journey was beginning, where would we meet the revolution? With Hank, I knew, he knew where we needed to go to find those he needed to find, and I sensed the world needed to find him, and he was making it easy for them by walking right to their town, their place, wherever they are. Would we find the revolution being lived in other places, not just at our ranch? Or did the world of others need Hank as much as our little family at the ranch needed him, to spark our hearts into loving action and a loving life?