Daniel, our rideshare from San Francisco, had contacted us just a few hours before we planned to shove off after having thumbed his way to Palo Alto from Los Angeles. We were happy to have his bright energy and knowledge of the area. I did, however, find the need to conjure my bull guide and speak up to him, every plan Veronika and I constructed was met with discouragement, aiming only to please his personal agenda of arriving in Eugene A.S.A.P. I told him we were on this epic road trip and had plans to see Mt. Shasta, Ashland and Eugene. He seemed to understand, but later, while barely conscious after many hours of night driving on no sleep and curled up in the front passenger seat I heard him discussing the “new plan” while pumping gas with Veronika. I angrily bundled and got out of the car to remind him again that we would be spending the night in Mt. Shasta so we could see it in the morning. He kept agreeing that what we wanted was great, and then slightly manipulating events to his discretion. When we pulled into the spring head in Mt. Shasta he was convinced we were only staying to rest an hour, but I told him he was welcome to set up his tent if he wanted. Slumber was again interrupted by sleeping body parts every 15 minutes, but it was worth it to be partially refreshed to see beautiful Mt. Shasta in the morning. Our new travel companion woke with a fresh perspective on the trip and had moved into alignment with our seat-of-the-pants, fly-by-night disposition. We filled our jugs in the icy waters and pushed on, stopping for coffee in Ashland. Veronika struck up conversation with a local, who was of course a spiritual teacher who divulged to her a website where she could promote her healing art.
Driving scenic route 99 Daniel remembered his family owns property along the Rogue River, just as we were about to pass it so we stopped, happy to deliver him to a destination of his own. In Eugene, he proudly pointed out the places that shaped his childhood and brought us to a hill similar to the one we climbed in San Francisco. It was cold and rainy, but we enjoyed the leafy stroll. We parted, relieved to be off defense duty, and rejoined I5 to Portland.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Amazed in Anza
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The sun was setting over Anza as we pulled into the towns
one lonely market for some food supplies and to change. Veronika opted not to change in the porter
john and was struggling out of a difficult shirt to put on a sports bra when I
said, “he’s looking right at you!”
the store clerk had come out to water plants or some other façade in an attempt
to conceal his voyeurism, he was only two feet from the car. He caught me catching him and,
blushing, he turned his back.
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| Christiana with Princess... I think |
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| Meet the hoof pick, before I pick up your leg... |
I opened the gate to Green Mountain Refuge so Veronika could
pull the car down the dirt driveway towards the house. We approached the door and I wondered
what kind of dog they would have and the answer was many! “There are like ten
dogs at the door,“ I said over my shoulder as Christiana, the ranch owner and
operator greeted us. A rush of
furry excitement bottlenecked the doorway, each K9 of all shapes, sizes, breeds
and ages bulldozed over one another to sniff the new comers but in 15 minutes
they were, every one of them, calm submissive and laying by our feet, in arms,
on sofas, chairs and dog beds. We
were overwhelmed with all the loving dog energy everywhere you looked and
curled lovingly around every kitten.
Christiana spoke of our Hostel friend, Eddie, who’d
connected us here with her. He’d
come to work after sustaining a brain injury, relearning certain things
physically while healing emotionally and mentally. She sent his love to him through us, wishing he could have
stayed forever. We were introduced to her spritely ranch hand Julie, who had
taken Eddie’s place and would be putting us to work bright and early.
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| Budda Baby |
Green Mountain Refuge is a non-profit rescue facility, never
turning down a horse, dog or cat in need.
Christiana, mother of one and lover of all things animal, was preparing
her proposal for a non-profit, self-sustaining elementary school she named
Green Acres Sustainable Living Farm. The foundation for the school lies in the basics: to teach
children from a young age how to live off the earth without depleting its
resources, recycle waste, meditate, be creative… basically all the elements
that are missing now from public schools. She would be presenting the next day
to town officials in a press release and so dabbed on hair color in the kitchen
mirror; focused on looking her best.
In order to raise money to keep her rescue and home running, Christiana bakes
confections fit for Gods. We gluttonously
helped ourselves to extra gluten and dairy banana cake and brownies that are
meant to go to pastry shops in LA and surrounding areas. It was impossible to
stop, they were addictive, one morning the mere thought of it lured me out of
bed.
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| Bella, sweetest bully |
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| Just horsin around |
As promised, we awoke to the sounds of names being hollered.
“CODY! COOPER! TUCKER! LUUUUUKE!” Moments later, a heard of elephants barreled
across the front porch and piled into the kitchen! Oh. No. Just dogs. The sun wasn’t up yet and the stars were blazing their
brightest, like a runner sprinting to the finish knowing he would soon be
rewarded with rest. I splashed
some warm water on my face, there was no cold water, bundled up to the tip of
my nose and rode three or four dogs down the steps. Julie was bounding around bushy tailed as we spread flakes
of hay for the horses. It took about an hour to rake and scoop all the poop, I
felt the memory in my muscle from years of shoveling manure as a girl. The morning chores put us in a quiet
and meditative state so that by the time we were to pick all 68 hooves I was
completely centered. Everyone
picked up their feet obligingly and I was a kid again, brushing and currying
while necks leaned into the grooming, targeting their itchy spots and then
showing gratitude with furry hugs and snuggles. I bet you didn’t know horses
snuggle, they do. Dogs ran in and
around bands of ponies and horses and no one spooked or budged. There is a harmony between the
different species of animals, co existing with people and I don’t believe it
would work like that anywhere else on earth than on that slice of happy
energized desert land run by two bad ass women. We took a break from chores to visit their horse, Gypsy, who
refuses to return to the refuge via trailer or ride. On this farm we were followed, suspiciously, by a wolf
dog. I followed Cesar’s advice and
remained calm assertive and soon he was licking my palm and by my side
confidently.
Later in the afternoon I walked into the Green Mountain paddock
and stood alone, quietly, as a slender Arab mare trotted curiously to my side,
sniffing me head to toe playfully but would not let me pet her. I later learned it had been Maggie, the
horse Eddie had bonded with during his stay. Good taste, Eddie! Budda, the colt of a horse Christiana
deeply regrets re-homing, followed me around from the moment I brushed him
until I left. Anytime I walked
through a gate or doorway, four dogs and two cats would seize the opportunity
to escape to the outdoors, while 3 collided their way in to check out the
house, curl up and take a nap. I was in heaven, visiting the fruition of my own
childhood dream in someone else’s life!
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| Miss Maggie |
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| Chicken Coop where Veronika offered her Chicken Shaman Advice! |
The next morning, equipped with permagrin, Veronika mounted
Princess the regal white Arab mare and I hopped face first, ever so gracefully,
onto Maura. As soon as I was
seated, the whisperer in me took over and my body fell into position as we
walked the property waiting for Julie and Christiana. Christiana rode bareback; farm life hardened every muscle in
her body and she might as well have been riding a raging bull with those
thighs! She’s an endurance rider and Arabs are the perfect breed for it. I galloped farther and faster than I
have in years! I grabbed the saddle and rocked into the rhythm, wind in my hair
and breath in my soul. An eternity
fit into the few moments of flight, Maura was aching to go and I trusted her to
help me keep balance. A true
cowgirl at heart, I left a piece of it on the dusty road. Veronika beamed, her first canter had
her hooked, she exclaimed “I could get used to this!”
For the last few hours on the farm Veronika led a mini
intuitive art session with Christiana and her daughter Dylan, Julie and I. Continuously I am surprised by the
opportunities that arise for us to utilize our talents and run our classes on
this trip! We promised to return and send other amazing women through her
gate. I said goodbye silently to
all the furry beauties refreshed and lightened again.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Camp Pendleton Marine Hoopfest!
With the Ipod connected and at full blast we drove in short
spurts until we were forced to pull over and sleep in Southern California. Parys continued to sleep, and while
awake helped herself to Veronika’s phone and our food. Either way she was occupied and quiet
so we let her. She asked us to
drop her in North Hollywood to which I replied “We’re only taking you as far as
San Diego.” This had been made
clear during our conversation, but she knew we were headed to LA in a couple of
days and so had decided in some internal dialogue that we were responsible for
her somehow. I let her know she
was not invited to stay in Anza with us and we’d be happy dropping her off at
the bus station in San Diego.
Veronika looked up ticket prices for various modes of transportation,
and we agreed to help her out with a few dollars for a ticket. When we finally released her back into
the wild in downtown San Diego’s Greyhound station and handed her $10 towards
her $19 ticket, we realized she’d only given us $35 for gas, so she ended up
taking advantage of us in the end.
Relieved to have the car back to ourselves we laughed through the city
streets and headed towards Camp Pendleton.
Veronika lit up at the sight of her home of four years while
serving in the Marine Corp. She
wound skillfully through the giant town sized base complete with every fast
food chain a soldier and his family could ever crave, bars, gas stations,
shopping and recreation. I was
able to see the places where Veronika worked in PR as a journalist for the
newspaper and then the television station where she was promoted several times
and had the opportunity to see every branch, protocol and event on the entire
base. She pointed out firewalls
they’d dangerously climbed in Hummers and four wheelers, shooting ranges that
cease fire when so much as a bird landed or a buffalo wandered in, rock
climbing walls and obstacle courses, the singles association where unmarried
Marines went on bad ass field trips.
We passed the Deadliest Battalion to which Veronika mumbled something to
the effect of major ego tripping tough guys. She even remembered the place she threw up before a
drug test and another spot where she broke down in front of an officer she was
close to; who hasn’t spoken to her since.
I was surprised to learn if you see an officer’s vehicle, no
matter who in the family, a son, wife, etc, was driving, you must salute, or be
pulled over and yelled at. In
fact, you are yelled at for about anything you do or don’t do outside of the
rigid collection of asinine rules.
She recalled feeling rebellious one day, drawing the gasping and excited
whispers of classmates as she wrote her assignment in blue pen as opposed to
black. She was torn a new asshole
for that smart-ass move. ??? I twisted my thoughts and perceptions
of my gentle hearted free spirit sister and still could not place her in
fatigues and a straight line. Nor
could she, she cooed, and mentioned the day she was honorably discharged was
the happiest day of her life.
Hooping on the beach at lunch time, we took some amazing
pictures of a very happy ex-marine and her hippy accompaniment. In the parking lot and having lunch we
watched four cars full of young Marine men hop out, remove shirts and approach
us. “Look! Hippy chicks!” One
exclaimed. The invited us to grill
and drink on the beach with them.
We declined, but challenged them to a hula hoop contest instead, which
everyone of them lost to me. When
I won I asked, “What do I get for winning? Besides the satisfaction of bruising
your ego in front of your military buddies that is,” I teased them in that Boston sarcastic way and they ate it
up, just happy to be speaking to females for a change. One revealed he works for Chippendale’s
while not serving the country, he proceeded to attempt the hoop while gyrating
his hips towards me in a terribly offensive (wink wink) way, but dropped the
hoop to his feet. We didn’t join
their party but set out for Anza with ego’s boosted and spirits lifted!Friday, November 16, 2012
Sedona, AZ Part II
I checked my phone and had 11 texts requesting rideshares in various places. A ride to the airport, a ride for a dog
and a ride out of Sedona that night to San Diego or LA. The girl who needed a lift called
as I was reading and explained she needed to get to LA, would be happy to find
her way from San Diego but had no money.
I thought for a minute but said “Sorry it wouldn’t be worth it to re
arrange the whole car, not be able to sleep in it and drive you for free. If
you come up with 45 bucks give us a call.” She called and checked in with us all day as she raised
funds.
The problem with a place that draws people is, it draws all
kinds of people so there are many unstable people tripping around. We met Ole for coffee on Sunday night
and I knew the girl, Parys, who needed a ride would be there too. Sure enough, the frazzled looking woman
I’d noticed earlier still sat in the middle of her sofa beside her oversized
pink suitcase and various other belongings. While conversing with her, Ole and Veronika, Jon (mountain
bike couch surf host guy) called to invite us to Kirtan, Hindu chanting. We told Parys we would pick her up after
that and Jon’s massage, but she followed us, wanting to come along. I again had
to put my proverbial and physical foot down. I wasn’t inviting her into homes of strangers who trusted me
when I knew nothing about her myself.
We told her to wait there at Java Love. She is on the road like us. A bad relationship dragged her from home in New York all the
way to Arizona, and a bitter end to it left her homeless and LA bound. “I’m off to pursue my acting career!
I’m going to be famous!” |
| Superstar Parys and Trippy Darryl |
On our way out of the coffee shop we nearly collided with a
young dreaded man. He smelled of patchouli
and his eyes were twisting around in his head, clearly on some
hallucinogenic. I asked if he was
ok to which he responded yes and we headed out to the parking lot. He burst out
the door calling after us “You know what? I’m NOT ok!” He continued on about
the humane society having stolen and fixed his dog and killed her entire liter
of unborn puppies. He wept in my
arms a few minutes, explaining he was on LSD and tried holding up more
conversation, we had to leave him mid sentence.
Sedona, AZ Part I
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| Veronika in "Balance" |
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| Meditation in Boyton Canyon: Masculine Side |
Snow was falling as we neared 89S and passed through Roper
Lake State Park. We looped south
and were enchanted by the looming mountains that funneled us down, spiraling us
into Sedona. It was like a gateway
into another world. Red Rock
knolls, nobs, plateaus and mountains in every direction take your breath
away. We had heard Sedona is
considered a spiritual Mecca, the beauty itself is mystical and peace
promoting. Boyton Canyon was
chosen for our first stop; we wanted to jump right into the heart of Arizona. As soon as we begrudgingly paid 5
dollars to a park that was closing in an hour we noticed the “free parking for
Veteran’s Day Weekend” sign tucked conveniently behind a bush on a fence post.
Feeling much better about the transaction, we layered up and pushed through the
wind to find balance. It was 40
degrees upon arrival and the sun was setting prettily behind ominous looking
clouds. The sound of the flute
dancing occasionally on the wind stopped us, and then led us toward the first
vortex, but first we ran into a man with a long metal pole, standing opposite a
slightly twisted tree. He claimed
that tree is where he senses energy the strongest and (withhold inappropriate
innuendo here) offered to let us try holding his instrument. The metal rod, about three feet long,
worked like a compass and pulled us in the direction of the tree. We were not
discouraged from seeking out the energetic hot spot and continued ascending,
following the trance like notes of the flute. As we approached the knolls that
are known as the male and female energy points of the vortex, the flutist was
climbing off the masculine side and coming our way. Stopping to offer us heart shaped red rocks he’d found, he
described their qualities and said they contain the healing energies of the
center. While the snow began
blowing around us he explained kindly the optimal way in which we might utilize
this opportunity: grounding, touching the rocks and leaving behind all our
crap. We parted, uplifted, with a
hug. We stood in “balance” the
space between the feminine and masculine energies, breathing in the crisp air
and with it the intense vibrations swirling around us. We sat on the masculine side and
grounded, connecting. By the time
we crossed to the feminine, the wind had picked up, it was snowing harder and
the sunlight was slipping away behind the west peaks. We hurried back to the car for dinner.
Our plan was we didn’t have a plan so we just stopped by a
crystal shop after dark and poked around inside. It was warm, there were lots of excited people who’d come
from all over to experience the mysticism of Sedona. I was toying with a key chain that said “I live in my car”
when a long haired man of about 45 approached me and asked where I was sleeping
that night. I told him we were sleeping in the car which horrified him and he
replied it would be only 19 degrees that night. He offered us a place to stay, which I considered, or
rather, told him I’d keep him in mind.
However in my mind, I knew that was highly unlikely. We were inspired, though, by the
gesture, to set up the lap top in a coffee shop and log onto Couchsurfers.com. As I scrolled through the dozens of
free couches in Sedona, a man named Ole and his group of traveling students sat
in front of us and struck up a conversation. He and his group of 9 college aged kids travel for three
months at a time studying topics of their choosing. They were currently researching Native American heritage in
Arizona and New Mexico.
I’d found us a couch, 5 minutes up the road and in under 5
minutes. Mountain biker Jon, his
girlfriend nurse Amy and minimalist roommate Brian hosted us to two gloriously
long couches by a roaring wood burning stove. Their female lab mix, Kevin, provided the sweet, protective
dog energy we love.
We awoke to breakfast being made by an eager, single
roommate. After we finished the dishes we headed out to grab coffee and
explore. At a place called “Java Love” we set up the lap top, sipped on coffee
and watched. Everywhere you go in this sleepy, eclectic town you get a show of
some kind. In fact here we watched
an old lady shout at the barista from across the restaurant that they need to
deliver her food to her sofa. The
line was out the door, the girl did not move from her post behind the crowded
counter. A 9 year old girl
serenaded the loaded coffee shop with her violin to raise money for charity.
Hippy dudes watched as their free spirited children ran amok. A young woman with a frizzed out afro
sat anxious yet completely still in the middle of a lone couch.
We chose to attend a lecture on the evolution of life hosted
by Daimon Catizone at the Creative Life Center. He explained how our evolution has been devolving from
spirit to physical form for millions of millions of years. The reason current times are seemingly so important is because it is,
we are now on the upswing, revolving back into light. Of course this happens a
mind bogglingly long time ahead in the future, but it explains the shift in
consciousness that is rippling across our entire planet! And here we all merge
at some point or another in Sedona, AZ where UFO’s show up constantly to
recharge or drop off or abduct people or whatever else may be on their alien
agenda. On a drive looking for
more vortex hike opportunity, Veronika intuitively pulled over into a scenic
overlook and we ran into a man named Alfonso and his daughter who were very
interested in the extraterrestrial encounters in Sedona. He had, himself, had inexplicable experiences
that changed his life and he stumbled to find the convincing words to share
with us. I told him I believed him
because I’ve had spiritual things happen that are impossible to explain. Veronika and I had a simultaneous
thought: The Sedona portion of the trip is like the movie Waking Life; people
just walk up to you and start talking from their perspective on life’s
unknown. He led us to Rachel’s
Knoll which winds through a private community where Madonna is said to own
property.
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| Kind Native American led us to a cliff to meditate nearby. |
On the cliffs over looking the knoll we, again, heard a flute
and followed. We came across a
Native American healer playing the flute, drumming and singing over a man
laying on a blanket. While we
received the sound healing by proxy, another man began chiming over another
recipient 50 feet away. Feeling
very blessed to have been in the right place at the right time, we collected
our things and headed out.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Quick Note: On the way to Sedona, AZ
On the way to Sedona, AZ….
40 West had us entertained with a diverse spread of hills,
rock formations and mountains near and far. Our whole drive seemed to be enveloped in distant ridges
like a wide corridor. From mile-long plateaus to thin, hundred foot stacked
structures. Every color I could
imagine was twisted into the stones! I was consistently wowed every thirty
miles or so.
One particularly red stretch of geographical splendor an
orange dog appeared, sauntering carelessly across eighty mph traffic and slowed
a hundred feet before us in our lane and made eye contact with both of us. I slowed, not slamming but unable to
swerve into the right lane.
Blaring the horn, I somehow missed the senile, chow looking boy-
checking my rear view so as not to be rear-ended. The white Taurus behind me was at an appropriate distance
and so stopped in time, but the car behind him attempted to swerve left, saw
the dog and whipped to the right sliding into the guard rail which he bounced
off, went spinning sideways into the right lane, nearly being t-boned by
traffic behind. I pulled over but
miraculously, not one car had collided, no one was hurt. Not even the death
wishing dog. (Veronika saw him
cross back to the other side of the
highway, safely.) The driver who spun out caught up to shake his fist and pass
us, but I don’t feel responsible for him not paying attention. We were just grateful all was well.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Albuquerque Check Up
The one rest stop in New Mexico was closed and my patience for the road and spasms in my upper back was growing thin, so we looped back east to the opposing
Rest area and crashed into a great night’s sleep. We awoke to the desert, estranged from the mountainous landscape we’d left at sunset the night before. After sharing Veronika’s La Luna meal (another 4.95 IN YOUR FACE!) we headed into the city towards Eagle Feather Metaphysical Emporium in Albuquerque. The store owner’s partner dazzled us with his moldavite collection. I chose stones carefully for each of my sister Amy’s kids who love crystals and all things metaphysical, and two Native American art cards; one for them and one for Shane. I desperately wanted to show my appreciation for caring for Josie and allowing me the peace of mind I deserve on this journey. Veronika purchased a book on Shamanism, a path that has been drawing her for years.
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| Veronika feelin the love in Albuquerque |
We pulled over to climb, noting warning signs for bears and cougars which both suggested we “fight back aggressively if attacked.” The mountain was a complete pile of enormous boulders, some delicatly balancing against one another. We climbed separately, meditating while gazing over all of Albuquerque and beyond. You could hear dogs barking for miles, peoples’ conversations in the parking lot, even the running footfalls of a jogger and his dog.
Downtown we parked, intending to set up the Magic Eye painting and attempt to draw people to us, but before we could unload a man approached us and insisted he help us carry our stuff to a nearby park where we would be seen. He is homeless, which astonishes me for the ideas and experiences he expressed are likened to that of a star child. He offered us his blanket to sit upon and to use his EBT card to buy us anything we should need. A homeless man, giving anything he can to strangers, this is a lesson to us all. Everyone who stopped to speak to us was homeless. We had amazing metaphysical conversations with each of them, some broadening our horizons while receiving healing guidance from us. I was so touched emotionally by each of them. The man who’d assisted us was named Angelo. Veronika and I exchanged knowing glances, of course he is an angel! Carlos, a former artist turned heroin addict currently looking for Seboxin, the drug that “cures” heroin addiction, although seemingly just exchanging one substance for the next, suggested an “us and them” view of society. There are those wrapped up in their world of capitalism, technology, societal norms and class climbing. Then there are those who broke free of the confines of current social standards and strive to remain apart from the “dream.” He had first simplified these categories into the homed and the homeless. I don’t know where we fall in those descriptions, but Veronika noted “We’re kinda homeless, too, dude. Just living in the car. And guess what? We’re happy and doing everything and anything we want!” We were deeply saddened by Carlos’s defeatist stance in life, he reminisced while watching Veronika paint, claiming he would never again be able to express himself artistically as drugs and circumstance have banned him that right somehow. He would not hear otherwise.
I gave my undivided attention to Angelo. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m just paying attention.” “Don’t apologize!” He laughed, “I’m just not used to anyone making eye contact with me.” We had a safety meeting in the center of the park with his homeless friends, who, not surprisingly, are no different than you and I except of course for the added experience of living outside. Outside, outside the box, outside obligation and expectation. They were kind, giving, happy and not complaining. Angelo escorted us back to our car and saw us off safely.
He had recommended we check out “Nob Hill” by heading straight up Central St passing UNM. As the scene we passed grew steadily more interesting I said “here’s Nob Hill!” After another quarter mile, “Oh this is Nob Hill.” Two or three more failed Nob identifications later, we arrived at the actual Nob Hill. What an eclectic spot! A 1950’s-contemporary blend colored in deep yellows and turquoise, all alight with a young college aged buzz. We drove up, down, and through surrounding neighborhoods as we often do in new places, just absorbing the lifestyle of the Albuquerque young.
I felt the excitement rise as 5:30 approached, the time my Aunt Emily would be home to receive us. I had not seen her in probably 20 years, a family falling out on my mother’s side had closed the door between me and her a long time ago. I didn’t know what to expect. I assumed she had certainly heard of the splitting of families caused in part by yours truly. I also considered fearfully the probability of her having sided with them in the disturbing pattern of protecting family members regardless of their crimes. As soon as the door opened every ounce of fear and doubt shattered and I crumbled into her arms. Her light penetrated mine immediately, her love radiated directly to the child in me that missed her and longed for a family connection. She was so welcoming to me and Veronika, offered us each our own bed, plenty of food and anything we could possibly need.
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| Chloe Faith Wadsworth organized "Hollographic Repatterning." |
While dinner was being cooked, I sat silently, mouth agape, as she listed the multitude of alternative healing modalities she is practiced in from massage therapy to Reiki and everything in between. She helped develop a school of healing known as “Holographic Repatterning” also known as “Resonance Repatterning.” It’s a system of muscle checking a persons many systems: chakra, Chinese meridians, etc., to discover the best path to healing on all levels. Veronika booked a treatment immediately and later insisted we find a way for me to also receive. My travel funds dwindling, I didn’t see it as a possibility even in exchange.
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| Becca, Laura, Emily |
As Emily cooked and spoke I tried to express the relief I felt in knowing I wasn’t the only one in the family into healing. I felt emotional and the words wouldn’t come but she wrapped me in her arms and asked, with a kiss on the head, “Did you think you were the only little black sheep?” She’d heard nothing, after all; she had left the family at the same age I did to blaze her own trail without condemnation. She was sad, but not surprised that the patterns of abuse and denial had continued into the next generation, she offered me a treatment immediately. We stayed an extra night to fit it, and a massage for her, in. The healing consisted of sound therapy with healing bowls, music and tuning forks; essential oils and flower essences; cranio-sacral therapy, clapping, bodily positioning and so much more. She even helped me dissect a recurring dream and gave me a “prescription” for continued healing.
We didn't realize the healing tour would be so good for us, we thought we were delivering but so far have received in so many ways.
After catching up with Emily and my cousin, Becca, who might I add is absolutely and stunningly beautiful, we grabbed our auntie-made, oat bran cinnamon pancakes and traveled on.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Hot Damn Springs!
11/5/12-11/7/12
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| Representing the chaos of the car, this pic is upside down! |
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| Theater dinner: quinoa and beans, mini cukes and almond butter on rice cakes. YUM! |
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| Dipping, or rather trying to dip in a hot spring. |
With perfect timing we arrived at Quapaw, the building with four
large pools set at different temperatures and soaked for hours. We gave ourselves healings, sent
distance healings to others, did yoga while old saggy men watched shamelessly
nearby. We both felt release,
clarity and a rise in vibration.
While dressing a bath attendant expressed her appreciation for our
proper use of the healing waters.
We loaded up all our water jugs in the town centers thermal water
fountain where residents and travelers are encouraged to supply. I left a message for my parents letting
them know where I was and that I was ok. I still haven’t heard back from them.
I called my sister’s kids who excitedly pinpointed our location on a map and
asked dozens of questions about our trip.
Riley told me I am lucky, I said “or crazy,” to which she responded “But
crazy is fun!” Love love love!
The road out of town was peppered with crystal shops and
mining centers where quartz, crystal quartz and a plethora of other stones are
dug right from the Arkansas hills. Judy’s crystals in Mt Ida stopped us in our
tracks. Twenty tables in the front
yard were crowded with natural glasses and healing stones. Veronika chose a piece of raw Rose
Quartz that had been excavated nearby and spent only $4. A man inside approached me. “Are you… healy feely?” I laughed and affirmed, at which point
he released a stream of consciousness regarding his path of 70 years and
commented on our very diverse energies that complimented one another. It was like hearing what we’ve felt all
along, but having it validated by a kind stranger was comforting. He took our information and absolutely
insisted we heal his ailing daughter in Arizona.
 |
| Im a huge fan and a geek! But we definitely rocked out to "I ain't in Checotah anymore!" |
On the street outside I decided if I saw a homeless person I
would hand them my left overs.
Immediately I spotted a man sitting beside his trashbag of clothes and I
approached him asking where he was staying that night. “I’m not,” He said
sadly, with a growing hope. “Would
you like a meal?” I left him my
box and darted back to the car where Veronika told me she and I could share her
left overs for breakfast. It
occurred to me… I’d just shared my meal without a surcharge! Take that La Luna! I saved 4.95 and 18% extra
on top of that.
Gratefully, it was late night and pitch dark when we drove
through Texas. Suddenly I was
overwhelmed with the stench of farm. Minutes passed when the source was revealed to me, and
my somewhat justified dislike of Texas became disgust and dispair. Thousands of cows stood behind
chainlink fences, crowded against one another in a foot of their own waste and
filth. Some were able to lay down
to rest their nearly immobile bodies and I am sure a few of them had passed, I
was also sure, and sickened, that many of them were dead. Our windows were up but were
completely choked by the intoxicating odor for many miles past. I wept for them and affirmed that one
day I would have a cow. Not for
milk, cheese, meat or manure but for love, to give back in my very small way,
to apologize on behalf of mankind.
I sent thanks to the imprisoned beings for serving human kind even in
our cruelty. Like why I feel
having pitbulls eases the collective sadness of abuse toward the breed and all
other pets treated inhumanely.
Perhaps these agreements I’ve made serve only to lessen my own guilt,
but my intentions remain benevolent and that is a choice I can be proud of.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Into the Forest
11/2/12-11/5/12
Just completely raw, exhausted and in disbelief I sunk into
the passenger seat of the good old Toyota SUV. “I can’t believe I’m going to
the hostel,” I kept repeating. All
previous signs pointed deceitfully to utter failure, yet northbound we
were. The drive was full of
release from negativity and we focused our energies to cleaner energies. We
realize all the emotional discharges are a result of the chaotic shifting into
higher vibrational frequencies, making it easier to detach. We were down-right
giddy to pass mile marker 11 and disappear into the Forest.
It was all worth it.
The same people who work shared during my first hostel visit were back
in the forest covering for new staff, along with other positive thinking
spiritual teachers and students that were new me. An energy vortex, this place draws people who are seeking to
open their minds, be around like minded individuals and be accepted for each
unique quirk and gift. As before,
I made immediate spirit family connections I know will always be in my heart.
We dance partied in the kitchen one night with Owl Feather (this girl does not call herself anything but the name
she was born with, but I feel trite renaming her when Owl Feather suits her
energy.) Veronika pounded on everything in the kitchen; mason jars, the hanging
pots and pans, the spice rack, the floor, the counter, sink, my head. I exclaimed “I need more cowbells!”
upon hearing the instrument in a song, and OF ran to retrieve one! In this
kitchen I can not stand still. I must dance while I cook, wash, eat,
everything. And its not just
accepted but rejoiced in, drawn from.
Veronika ran her intuitive arts class that she offers in
Hendersonville, NC at the Light Body Studio. I have personally attended and assisted this class several times,
but nothing could compare to the attendance in the new dome. 14 people lay on the floor, heads
inward, and received quick creativity healings from us and then painted, as a
group, the ping pong table cover.
Many minds opened in that dome, we were honored to facilitate! I taught
a massage class one day, Reiki I the next and at the end received from my
students and was grateful beyond words.
One morning, Veronika, Voice and I gave a group healing to Kristen, a
hostel enthusiast who visits yearly for healing after having severe brain
damage and relearning how to do just about everything. Her attitude, humor and zest for life
was further refreshing.
Most of my free time I spent in the kitchen helping in any
way I could be put to use, chores have a way of drawing you in like a deep
meditation, a humble thanks given to the opportunity to be a part of something
so love driven and larger than myself. And the food that is bore of it! Sesame basil dressing over organic arugula
salad, jalapeno poppers, GF
corn bread, quinoa veggie smash, baked cinnamon apples, peanut honey dipping
sauce, and every possible herbal tea you can imagine. And by dinner, having worked a better part of the day, you
submit to helpings #3 and 4.
The music of the pan drum is how I imagine the feeling of
the hostel would sound. The
healing tones drifted through the woods all weekend by multiple musicians.
We stayed in Bamboo House, overlooking the labyrinth which
takes on a mystical appearance at night in the glow of the moon, and an
enchanted warmth while the sun rose outside our many, large windowed hut.
I experienced the Angel shower beside the honeymoon suite,
knowing full well the residents of it, formal hostel kids Athena and Live Free,
could see clearly into it. I was
introduced, also, to the co-op where all the art and jamming takes place. I was even given a private showing of a
solo drum set by Truth Seeker, who, might I add, is a soul mate. He taught me the perfect metaphysical
man does exist for me, TS comes
pretty squeaky close. With him, as
with all residents, ideas spiral upward and intertwine with possible
realities. This is how I want to
always speak! There are still elements of the hostel I have not
experienced, but I took full advantage of the new massage hut! Of course the
glass house is the inspired spiritual Mecca of the property and it’s where I
choose to hold my classes.
No matter where you go or how you hide, the things you avoid
will present themselves to you forcing you to choose to heal, grow or
resist. It has been suggested to
me on several occasions to “dumpster dive” on our journey but that is just not
something I feel right about. Not
that its morally inept, but dirty, possibly dangerously so. Honestly it just grosses me
out. So when Athena and Live Free
showed up with a plethora of food from behind a local grocery store; I’m
talking cases of perfectly good berries, yogurt, cheese, milk, orange juice,
all still packaged and not even expired… I challenged myself. They were, after all, in the kitchen
and needing help. I sidestepped by
frying up gluten free pancakes for snacks while everyone else worked but could
avoid it no longer and helped sort.
It wasn’t so bad, and I feel making that personal movement towards
broadening horizons was healthy even if I’m not actually ready to take the dive
myself.
11/4
“Are we going on this trip?” I asked Veronika, and the
cards, while we were lying low in Bamboo.
We had been gushing over the absolute serenity we’d moved into during
our stay and toyed with the idea of work trading for the month and ditching the
tour all together. Obviously, this
trip is something we fought tooth and nail for, and so we settled to leave late
afternoon on 11/5/12, bringing the bottled vibrations and support received along
for the ride.
The Interim: Laura in NC and FL
10/17/12
 |
| Gustav! Again!? |
We are back in North Carolina for the time being. Veronika has barely been at the cabin,
spending her days in Black Mountain at the new, improved Hostel home away from
home art gallery space. I have
been quarantined to this hill. One
afternoon a reading told me to “go now” and be “showered with abundance.” So
naturally I drove to the nearest lotto participant and bought a ticket. I left the car running because
I’d been recently reduced to roll starting the Vdub, who hearby will be known
as “Gustav”, and no hills are to be found in the center of Burnsville, NC. While sitting inside and scratching my
(losing) lottery ticket, my engine exploded. Or so it seemed. It was spraying
coolant and steam in a demonic fashion, I sat quietly while it tapered
off. I remained calm and
held the wheel watching my temperature gauge continue to rise. “I could sure use an angel about now,”
I muttered as I climbed out to inspect the damage. When I popped my hood a man of about seventy stepped to
my side. He insisted I use his phone to call triple A, then motioned for me to
hang up and offered to tow me home on his own flatbed. Humbled, I accepted. The entire way to Scronce
Creek he spoke of angels and miracles. I listened, smiling and finally when I was safely planted at
the shop on the bottom of my hill, I told him he was sent by an Angel.
10/25/12
I’d signed up to massage backstage at a Gwar show in
Charlotte prior to Gustav’s metal breakdown and found myself frantically
searching for a ride, exhausting nearly every favor I could call in. A cab ride would cost $300, Greyhound would put me there late or
the night before with nowhere to sleep and suddenly those I drove around all
summer were M.I.A. The morning of the show I awoke before the sun, slipped a
mile down the hill on foot, reveling in the utter and silent beauty of the
mountains just before dawn and arrived at Trick’s trailer. He’s a roughneck gentleman of about 50,
although he could be 70 from the look of him; a lifetime of pill addiction and
beer for breakfast and cigarettes for air hadn’t killed him yet. I offered him gas and other items I had
in my possession, thank you Travis, and waited on the edge of the sofa for an
hour while he thought, concluding in “I couldn’t possibly.” I immediately trekked home, straight up
it seemed, and decided I would wait one hour to call it off as it was my
planned departure time.
While on the phone with the contracting company’s
administration assistant, Kenny (the one my bride friend disliked) beeped
in. His plans had fallen through
and he felt like going to see Gwar! At the last possible moment, everything
fell neatly into place, plus I had an amazing time with my selfless friend!
It took three days and several failed attempts to get the
part I needed and I happily dropped it off to be installed the morning I was
set to leave for Florida. Veronika
and I painstakingly emptied the cabin, disassembled her tent, stuffed
everything we owned into her car, then mine when it was ready. Eight miles later once again Gustav
no go. Luckily Veronika was
following, and a man on a nearby construction site helped me get running again
so I could make it to the nearest gas station. In the meantime I was growing concerned I would not arrive
in Orlando the next day to massage Rob Zombie (high school soundtrack anyone?)
so imagine my joy when 3 hours, 30 dollars and an herbal tip later I am
stuffing the storage unit to the brim ready to hit the road! Now imagine the
level of useless rage followed by complete deflation when the gig is reassigned
because “car trouble is a red flag… sorry.” Keeping my chin up, and faith that all would work out, I
continued on south, now $30 short in gas money.
 |
| Juan, healing art with Veronika |
I woke up in the St. Augustine rest stop at eight am to a
very snugly Josie and the pending question “How will I drive three more hours
on an eighth of a tank?” I hit up
my usual gas money/massage trade Florida companion to no avail. He’d told me the night before he’d help
but perhaps felt teaching me a lesson would be more appropriate. I made it to Palm Coast and began my
pawn shop search. What I found was
a “precious metals exchange,” located on the second level of a executive office
building. I was buzzed in, handed
cucumber water and seated in a chair easily worth more than Gustav himself. I brushed back my frizzed, slept on,
road tripped out hair and tugged at my mismatched sarong and tee shirt ensemble
bore of middle of the night uncomfortable outfit rejection. In moments I would be biting a
quivering lip at hearing my favorite silver rings were worth next to nothing,
swallowing the sudden shock of being stranded somewhere, completing niceties
and hurrying out the door. I took
a walk with Josie to recalibrate and to my amazement stumbled into a labyrinth
next door to the swank office park.
I walked it, and yes Josie at my heels, arriving in the center to
meditate and my phone went off. It was another Otown client of mine, Maria,
offering to fly me to Florida to massage her family. It was 11:11.
Three hours later she’d wired me enough money for gas and lunch and I
was rolling into the city right as Shane was getting out of work. I didn’t appreciate Orlando when I
lived there, but I felt welcomed by sunny arms upon my return.
11/1/12
 |
| My boyo, Casanova pooped out from Pack Chores. |
Many massage clients received Reiki and I worked a lot
seeing nearly all my loyal repeats.
Was told “Didn’t think it was possible, but you keep getting better,” by
two separate people. Reconnected
with and healed my relationship with my soul brother Juan and witnessed that
same spark in he and Veronika.
Hooped my ass off at the full moon drum circle and gave Reiki to a
stranger. Reunited my pack,
all of them, successfully, safely and joyfully! Saw my buddies Heather, Matty J, Wesley, Veronica, Ashley and
Margret. Spent quality time with
Shane. Assisted in a Reiki healing
for Veronika’s grandmother who is slowly leaving this world, while surrounded
in busy nurses. Was deeply
saddened to lose a friend who unwelcomed me and backed out on keeping
Josie. Was elated and relieved to
have Shane extend his hospitality to her only hours before Healing Tour was
scheduled to commence. Broke down
again on the way to Veronika’s folks’.
Made it Veronika’s and left on schedule.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Chi Town II
 |
| Me, blogging away |
We hooped an hour or so in the morning, and stretched and traded massages. So inspired, energy moving, all that drive time creating a stagnation and dis-ease, intensifying negative situations that need to be ushered through and out! I always forget the power of a good hula hooping sesh. Veronika suggested we hoop on the side of the road during the trip to stretch and wake up- Best idea so far. We keep a running list of ideas and road lessons. Actually, we keep many lists: To do, to blog, to add in blog, to upload, to map out, to visit, to learn, to call, to post to craigslist, to manifest, to consider, to forget, not to forget and to list.
We spent most of our time in Chicago hanging out in the apartment. The concrete and crowds could potentially become overwhelming, and we decided to avoid the burnout. We did, however, entertain ourselves driving through the city blasting Blockhead and Django Django one night- our Chicago soundtrack. It was only 60 or so degrees, uncharacteristically warm for mid-October. ChiTowners are exceptionally laid back. There’s still of course the hurry of urban life- shiny clerks check you out with lightening speed, joggers race themselves to nowhere and the L looks like a rollercoaster. But the pedestrians just sort of saunter about, some grouping on corners in lighthearted discussion, others slowing to join, smiling. “Is it just us, or is everyone dressed in black and grey?” Veronika’s observation began our inventory of color and we concluded, Chicago is devoid of it, but in a mellow cloudy day way, not a depressing eternal winter way, which is how I assumed this place would be.
In our search for the Chakra Shoppe, we instead stumbled upon Chubby wieners, Pockets, Bowmans, Manheim, and the navy pier. At the sight of the ferris wheel we desperately tried to find our way in, but five miles later we realized it is impossible to get back on rte 1. From anywhere. So, instead of attempting to submerge in local food culture, of which there is much in Chicago, we ate at taco bell, regretting it almost immediately. During one stop, the wall of the car was vibrating, at first I thought "phone?" But no, too loud. Vibrator! One of us, I will not mention which, had a stowaway which turned itself on and tried to join the party. Hilarity ensued, but he didn't get any action. Sorry, Lucky!
I enjoy driving in the city. Especially here. I was honked at only once and deservedly so as I wasn’t paying attention the second the light turned green. Other than that traffic is polite, relaxed with a nice flow, drivers allow others to merge in an orderly fashion. I witnessed a young man in an eclipse come careening through a red light, stopping just in time before smashing the minivan directly in front of us, and wave profusely apologetic. Childlike I followed beneath the “L” as far the road would allow. Veronika drove back to the apartment, getting confused by the lack of lines in the road and last moment choices, parallel parking became her moment of reckoning in the Windy City, but after 4 or so tries I took over. You can’t take the Florida out of a girl, but the Boston in me got us parked.
We Reiki tag teamed Jeremy, having measured his chakras and finding his heart not spinning up to par. I gave him an attunement and almost passed out, learning why we never attune laying on the floor. Roommate Kyle, the “I missed you so much while I was gone!” roommate received some spinal healing from me, after I finished some eye Reiki on Veronika, suffering from dehydration and caffeine withdrawl. Road lesson #3: hydrate hydrate hydrate. We resist drinking on the road to avoid many additional pee stops but the consequences include headaches, dry skin and looking generally strung out
I would like to take a (nother) moment to (again) digress. There are many types of friends in the world, the ones you call when you are sad, those you prefer to share happiness with, one you wouldn’t make a decision without being advised by, someone who tells you like it is not how you like it. Then there’s the true-blue-I’d-do-anything-for-you friend. When I discovered wiggling legs sticking out of my buttcheek I hollered for Veronika’s nursing skills. She pulled a tick out of my ass that I have no recollection of picking up. That is true friendship.
We hauled out of town ready to get back to the cabin and button things up, prepare for the next trips to come: Florida, Georgia and then... the World!
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