Today I am in Boston, exploring the city on my own. A left this morning at 4:30 am to see his father in Florida, who's recovering from a nasty staph infection. It's cut our trip together short, and although I support his decision to go there, I still wish he hadn't. Oh well, that's that.

The hotel room I stayed in last night and will stay in again tonight is absolutely crazy - quite a deal for $55 a night, and now I know why. The heater only works when the motion censor is detecting movement. Meaning, the room is ice cold when you first go into it, and the temperature drops significantly at night. I'll be headed back to NY tomorrow, staying with an acquaintance near the Rhode Island border before crossing back into the city on Monday. A will return on Wednesday morning, and we head back to Denver on Wednesday night.

It's really cold here. It's supposed to snow a foot tonight, which sucks for me...driving in a city I don't know. I'm using the subway to get around right now - that and walking.

I walked through an old cemetery this morning and took some photos, feeling as if I was violating some unposted rule and glancing something about the life of people gone long ago. One set of worn-down tombstones told a story of a mother and child - a little boy, dead at age three. His mother died only five years later in her 30's. Others were inscribed with information about their deaths, some taken during disease epidemics and others very old for their time.

I wandered around a bookstore for almost an hour, and then searched the theatre district for a show playing today. It seems I have come during the worst possible weekend, as I could find no theatre playing anything other than movies. I might go see "Brave New World" later this afternoon.

There are people protesting in Boston Commons, right across the street. I think they are members of the something-Falun Gong religious group. I read in the paper that the group is protesting in San Francisco because they were not allowed to participate in the Chinese New Year parade because of their political leanings.

I experience a strange conflict within myself while around such historic places. On one hand, I am the proud american, fascinated by history and the struggle with which the settlers, pioneers and colonialists created the nation I live in today. On the other, my native american senses are raging. Didn't they know what they were doing? How can I be proud of one part of myself - as much myself as the other parts - when it is that part that helped in the annihilation of another? If I am to be a voice for modern American Indians, must I disavow the American in me? I am socialized to be american...there is so little left of my Potawatomi heritage's stories, rituals and knowledge. And what there is, I know very little. I want to learn more about the founding fathers, the history of this place and the places I've been...but I can't help but think of the plight of the people who came before.

It's so very cold here.

I've noticed some things I didn't expect about the North East. For one thing, people seem so much more materialistic. Not necessarily in a shallow way...but people have so much more stuff, and pretty stuff, but yeah...stuff. I wonder if I live in a place where the people have no style, or where they're all poor and trashy, or if the people here are shallower than people in the West. But somehow, I can't believe that is the only story. Arthur had an interesting theory when he said that the west has a much younger history, began by pioneers who traveled across the country with what they could carry, while NEasterners have had more time and opportunity to collect and pass on material objects. It's not that I don't like stuff - I love beautiful things and I appreciate the use of them...but I so don't CARE enough to collect them. If I had more money I know I would have more things - there are still things I want, even if I don't need them. But just buying things is not enough reason for me to change my lifestyle enough to be making lots of money just to get them.

There's a mounted policeperson in the park now. I wonder if they're going to get rid of the protesters. I hope not. It's bad enough to have to protest about something, let alone to be squashed for protesting about being shut up in the first place.

Something else has been on my mind - religion and god. Eric is a Quaker, and said to me the other day, "maybe you are a Quaker." He doesn't say such things lightly, and Quakers are not evangelical. So I did some internet research on Quakerism, and have become very confronted about my fears in regard to religion and god. I don't want to place god inside of some box of 'knowing.' I think we are all capable of experiencing the divine, but I don't think there is any real way of knowing or understanding the divine enough to be able to ....pretend that we know all of it. It's like our incapacity to see our own faces without the help of a mirror - and then, it's only a reflection of the real thing. Maybe that's what religion is supposed to be - a mirror so we can know something about the divine. I don't even want to use the word "god" in a serious way. I don't want to be known as being religious. I don't want to identify as christian - or, much of anything, for that matter. Do I want an experience of the divine? Yes. Yes and yes and yes.

I spoke with A about this, and mentioned that I don't want to be 'worshipping god,' because for me, worship entails a kind of submission that requires some admission to not being enough - to needing something from god, whether grace or blessing - that we are somehow deficient. That forms of worship for me meant prayer or reading the bible or singing or dancing or following rites and rituals. A laughed at me and said that he thinks worship is 'holding sacred that which is sacred.' I responded that I do that all the time - I just don't think of it as worship. He responded, "maybe you should."

And so there is a great turbulence inside of me. About so many things, but especially this. What does it mean of me if I claim a religion, especially a christian one? What am I giving up, and is it worth what I then gain?

Quakers have programmed and unprogrammed meetings - and the unprogrammed meetings are when the entire group sits in silence, until someone is moved to say something. It has no creed or clergy, and the more liberal Quakers do not view the bible as the final word of god, but rather one expression of divine inspiration, which is something I too believe. They strive toward radical honesty, are focused on self-sufficiency and community, and believe that we all have the divine light within ourselves that allow us to experience the divine.

I can't stop thinking about this. And it's amazing how many people are staring at me through the window of the cafe I'm sitting in. Perhaps they think I'm strange for having a laptop. I mean, this is Boston - do people not carry laptops in Boston?

I forgot to mention that I finished my book on the plane ride from Denver, "Self-made Man." I loved it. I highly recommend it to anyone.

I'm now reading "The Tall Stones" by Moyra Caldecott. I bought a book of short stories by Barbara Kingslover today in the bookstore I hung out in. I'm trying to not buy too many books on this trip - there are so many I have that I've never read. But i love books and I'll be hanging out in my room tomorrow anyway while it's snowing and blowing.

I don't want to be buried in a cemetery or any of that. I'd like to be buried directly into the earth. let my bones be scattered. Let them return to dust easily, quickly. Let there be no grossly preserved remnants of skin and teeth and hair. Let the beetles pick me apart, the worms turn me into dirt. Even better, plant a tree on top of my grave, one that can grow tall and strong, and spend its days feeling the sun on its leaves and the wind blowing through its branches. I'll be tree food - my bones will become wood and my blood sap. Let that be my memorial, my gift to the earth that has gifted itself to me. And if you want, write a poem about me, and give that poem to the tree with your tears.