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!

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. 

Kirtan was highly uplifting and we left with open hearts and ready to begin our journey so after giving Jon his massage we headed back to pick up a very excited Parys and give her tripping, homeless, hippy boyfriend of 3 days a ride to his sewer pipe in Cottonwood.  It took us close to an hour to get him out of the car!  Finally we booted him and I suggested we kick off the next leg with some music.  Thankfully, Parys is a highly talented singer, she claimed, and offered to get it started with one of her jams.  I’m just going to ask you to watch the video we took.  Veronika graciously shot the footage, I was reduced to a convulsing mess of repressed laughter, curled up in the passenger seat.  I couldn’t watch.  I was Simon, Randy and Paula wrapped up in a conundrum of the deep desire to be honest but loving, give constructive criticism and out-right laughing and kicking her out of the car to invite the next contestant in.  It was going to be a looooooooooong ride.

Sedona, AZ Part I

Veronika in "Balance"

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  

Hot Damn Springs!

11/5/12-11/7/12

Representing the chaos of the car, this pic is upside down!

We awoke in Arkansas.  I’d driven until 2 am and we tried out our makeshift car bed, shifting the boxes and bags I’d privately condensed in the hostel parking lot, hoping by the time Veronika realized I’d dumped out three tote bags of clothes and laid them flat beneath the blankets, she would understand what I meant by the suggestion she casually declined while packing in Orlando.  If I could be open to dumpster diving, I figured she could get used to this.  It opened up plenty of precious sleeping space.  The car bed had a few dips and glitches, but we were laying flat with pillows and blankets, sarongs and scarves covering the window, and Veronika’s painting in progress blocking the windshield.   This piece would become an ice breaker, an eye catcher, heart stopper that draws curiousity.  I am amazed she keeps improving it, each time I am sure she’s done.  She creates healing pieces and intends for people to be lifted by experiencing the images, I can vouch for their power!

Theater dinner: quinoa and beans, mini cukes and almond
butter on rice cakes. YUM!

Hot Springs is a neat little town, definitely mellow and relaxed but a sneaking suspcioun of tourist trappery.  This boyhood home of Bill Clinton is a magnet for people seeking healing in the seven chakra tubs. They aren’t named this of course, but there are seven springs, each with an elaborate monstrosity of formal elegance built over it, so the “healing waters can be preserved and enjoyed,” otherwise known as “capitalism.”  The answering machine disappointed us, “We are always closed on Tuesdays.”  A stroll behind the stretch of exclusion led us to an open spring in which we attempted to soak our feet, but at 140 degrees we opted to absorb the rising steam instead.  Veronika’s heart was set upon spending time in a thermal bath so we aquiecesed to remain

Dipping, or rather trying to dip in a hot spring.

another night. We spend the rest of the day hiking and calibrating to the soft energies of the Arkansas mountains. Everything there is soft, the people, the air, even the gentle slopes of the hills gentley delivered us to the safety of their hills.  We rebelliously ate dinner on a stage in the national park’s camping ground meant only for the use of patrons. Later, we would sneak back into the park to sleep under the cover of trees as opposed to the walmart parking lot and at 12:30 AM a disgruntled police officer roused us.  His flashlight and demeanor were obtrusive as I fumbled around for the keys.  He asked us condescending questions about our being blind to the “register for a campsite” sign.  My explaination was that we weren’t in a campsite, only in a parking space and there was no sign for that.  Nevertheless we relocated to a side street down town and slept until 8 am, where we jumped at every passing truck fearing the approach of the morning meter maid. 

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!"

We stopped in Oklahoma City for dinner, a treat we spontaneously allowed ourselves, even if just a cup of rice and beans somewhere. La Luna authentic Mexican resteraunt wisked us to a table and immediately fed us chips and salsa so by the time we realized this place was out of our price range we’d been forced into commitment.  At the moment I considered the possibility of splitting a meal my attention was drawn to the fine print at the bottom of the menu stating “if you intend to share a meal a 4.95 surcharge and 18% gratuity will be added automatically to your bill.  The feeling of this place was grumpy, rushed and defensive.  We ate quietly while a table of high maintenance young women primped themselves with cell phones in hand and gave their waitress a hard time. 

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.

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

So much magic happened while I was in town, and I’ve digressed so far from the Healing Tour themed entries that I must condense what’s left of Florida to a list.  I do feel however the events that took place are all monumental to the trip’s manifestation, my personal growth and my faith in the universal abundance so are justified to make an appearance.

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.

Of all this I reconsider and laugh.  Everything did work out perfectly all at the last possible minute when all seemed hopeless and I gave up trying to force it to work.   Why, I wonder, does everything need to happen in that fashion?   I have faith I promise! Perhaps all the chaos has come and cleared the way for a seamless jaunt around the U.S. of A.

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!

Chi Town Part I

Windy city, but so warm it is tonight! I am sitting in a giant concrete box, unfinished walls are torn, half painted and revealing their electric veins.  The florescent lights are humming soft and lightly, sounding a tink with each subtle blink.   We rode down the service elevator for scraps of wood to paint. My attention remained on the vanishing feeling as we watched the shaft lengthen above the chain-link ceiling.  The doors stuck, delaying our ascension, not terribly confidence inducing, but I’m assured there are only 3 short flights below.  Seated and blogging safely upstairs occasionally a siren wails, half as often as the L rattles the rail racing by a nearby window.   I have always taken comfort in the sound of a distant train, the wheels scraping along the metal rails and vibrating the glass of the buildings like the wake of a speedboat. There it is again! I look up each time but my view is sadly blocked by another mountain of stacked living and selling. We make our way through the grid-like maze of blocked controlled chaos, each street fanning to the right like a flashlight through the dark as we whizz past city block after city block after continuous monotonous city block. People above people below people, cars decorating every inch of dirty curb, bicyclists obliviously careening their paths beside us, man on machine by man in machines- the closeness of tragedy unsettles me and I turn my eyes up- the gleam of the topsides of buildings sparkle inspiringly above, a somewhat misleading indication of life below in the Chicago city streets.  “762 ROAD DEATHS THIS YEAR” Flashed on light signs entering the downtown area.

Veronika and Jeremy primed the pieces of wood we found discarded downstairs and back in the studio spray paint cans are being prepared for expulsion.  The studio space doesn’t have the intense Asheville creative flow power, but the light is good and Jeremy’s art is stacked everywhere. With some planning and artistic output this place will reflect his and his partner, Justin Pauly's themes.  From what I’ve encountered of his work I find him to be abstract, contrasting and intuitive.   Unlikely characters connect in a cosmic threading into reality like the golden OM patterned background underneath an octopus wrapped in and around a human skull that I am faced with now.

The artwork of Jeremy Palumbo

Veronika is excited to learn the art of spray, Jeremy itching to complete his project due tomorrow of a gothic chick- the commissioners ex girlfriend depicted in an angelic manner in a flattering condition, and I type away into the night- our creative forces combusting against and accelerating beside one another.

*******

From Massachusetts one night before….

Gung-Ho, ready to go, wiped the bittersweet tears from my eyes as I would need to input google maps to lead us out of the town I’ve left weeping many a time.  The emotional stirring and stagnation left a heaviness in my heart and on my eyelids, and we were not out of the state yet when we pulled over to snooze.   I set the alarm for 5, an ambitious move I know, and “dismiss” was selected at the hour of truth and waking…. And going back to sleep.   I would toss every 15 minutes with nagging piriformis pain and leg numbness.  Veronika slumbered, curled up under her coat in the drivers seat noiseless and motionless.  At 730 we unfolded in our seats and just got moving.  Our travel time from Massachusetts promised a solid 14 hour drive that was bound to put us in Chi Town at ten PM.  Recalibrating directions from updated locations as we grew near revealed we would need to be more conscious of our time spent getting gas, washing up and feeding, as our ETA ballooned far past ten PM and our shoulders sunk at the notion of 90 extra seated and boxed in minutes.  However, a miracle in West Indiana we had not expected or accounted for! We rolled into the next time zone and an hour suddenly appeared!  Our hearts raced and we sing songed many cheerful “we made it safely to our next city and we’re gonna have a blast while we’re here now let us the fuck out!” songs.  Emerging from the bridge the vastness of the city’s stretch amazed us.  Chicago is big. Huge. Outdoes Boston and New York by a long shot.  It feels loomier, older, dirtier.  It could be the flat geographical positioning that reveals the city’s distant edges giving its appearance of enormity, a sprawl of public display, privacy evicted. Yet you are alone.  In a sea of millions, no one gives a shit. You are invisible. However, our smile to smile back ratio is vastly greater than that of Ohio.  We wondered which cities were warmer, considering we come (now) from Asheville where people not only smile but connect, recognize you on a deep level or at the very least acknowledge you. Cleveland left something to be desired, and we would go nowhere near Toledo.  We stopped at a taco bell for bean hard shell tacos.  

Veronika charging up for the road

We giggled while saging ourselves in the parking lot. It was cold, windy and generally shitty feeling all around. There wasn’t much to revel in, the drive was long, straight and flat like Florida, but something about the road in Ohio that makes you suddenly realize you’re going 90MPH and jack the breaks. If the air is this depressing and the roads catapulting outwardly, I’d not like to encounter the law.  Especially considering our questionable cargo. 

We considered ourselves lucky and with perfect timing, the foliage in MA through upstate New York and even into the evil vortex that is Ohio, transcended the space around it.  It was a living, breathing oneness of color and design.  We swept past New York’s bright yellows and oranges, Carolina creepers painted the trunks with an upwardly spiraling green to orange then red, and the leaves exploded outwardly in gold and sienna.  Pennsylvania, the nip we traversed of its peak, was the sudden descent from bright hot vividness to warm reds.  Ohio revealed the deeper reds, mahogany and purple. Even the brown and death belonged to the beautiful canvas of fall transition.  All this as we chased the sunset west, the colors of the trees a sunset in itself, the seeping away of life from leaf and sky, drawn out for us in a melodrama of dark falling. “Death is so beautiful,” Veronika noted cooing. I had just been relieved of the responsibility of the drive and lost myself in the pages with pen, or facebook for blackberry, her observation lifted my attention and I remembered while driving wondering how the hell she could be on her phone while autumn seduced all around us, I with no choice but to watch the passing show.  I chuckle to myself and scroll on. 

14 hours takes no time at all. My theory is that long stretches of time on the road shrink.  Time isn’t linear, never feels the same. For example, we were in the RAV 4 for 24 hours (including stops and sleep time) and we have now been in Chicago 24 hours. When comparing the two sections of travel side by side, large chunks of time seem to be missing, though there’s no conversation, nap or traffic jam omitted from memory.  I may as well have been here in Chicago in the company of Veronika and her metaphysical artsy buddy for the last three weeks and I could have been holding my maid of honor bouquet beside my childhood best friend last month. 

I’m quite fond of the between city portions. Its just the two of us, calling the shots, getting it all out, meditating, manifesting, munching, smoking, saging, singing, sitting quietly, in reverence, regarding the other politely, but spending time within; reflecting.  Sometimes, in our silences, one will offer a link of thought worth sharing, or in need of speculation, expansion or validation.  We are not shy of the truth, if we disagree it makes no difference, no judgment is made; always acceptance and respect.  It is our safe bubble amidst an occasionally mean world.  We have encountered the loftiest of kindnesses and the depths of unconscious and uncalled for attacks.

Veronika about to drop some ink and splay!

I took a break from writing to snap some pictures of Veronika and Jeremy working on their board.  She was dropping ink in generous globs around a circular pattern she’d stenciled earlier. Jeremy had been teaching her technique all night as I heard from the corner of my ear, and is now showing her how to puff properly to create a splayed fanning of paint outwardly from the center. I giggled uncontrollably, one of the shots made it look like she was trying to suck on something tiny.  Conversations always turn penile with us, most notably so at three AM.  I returned to the lap top that can’t be unplugged, lest you lose everything you’ve been working on the last 5 hours.  I collected their things for them at 5am to help expedite the home-to-sleep process.  Their creative energy was casually rolling to a stop but I’d passed out in my chair and knew I was on the inevitable downward spiral to total bitchiness. 

Jeremy lives with three roommates, who are all welcoming, on a range of “we’re not bothering her at all, perhaps she’ll grow to like us even” to “I missed you SO much while I was gone today!” They are artistic, one hoops even, and Jeremy is a lightworker.  Sydney gave me a collapsible hula hoop! Just handed it over because I said I loved it.   She also let Veronika pick one from the pile. I feel more welcome in Chicago….

Hippy Happiness

Spontaneous meditation broke out, each of us with a crystal to the third eye.  Our experiences, though separate, were intensified by the others’. Later, Jeremy confides in me his visions of celestial beings and grid like visuals.  For some reason he felt I was a safe person to confide in and I opened up to him about the lights I see and the things I experienced as a child.  When two people meet who’ve had a similar experience… Its like you were both abducted by aliens but you have an incredible time while on the ship and you are taught in an instant how to be happy all the time. You return home and excitedly report what you saw, felt and now know. At a certain point you realize your story is not being taken well.  Resistance has spread across your loved one’s face and it is clear immediately they will not accept your experience as truth. It is not possible! Outside the safety zone of what is seen, felt, smelled tangibly on earth is the great Unknown. Like hearing for the first time the world is round after a lifetime of believing it is flat.  It will either rock your very existence to the core challenging everything you thought you knew to be fact or well you kind of shutdown your imagination and deny anything like that could ever happen, it isn’t true and “ill just stick to my blissful ignorance, thank you very much.”

Imagine the heartbreak of seeing the darknesses in all the lives of your loved ones, knowing it’s so simple to have everything you want.  But its not allowed.  You can't force people to heal.  That’s the special part of being human: Free Will.  We can choose to heal or to not.  Veronika and I plant seeds, and if they take root we water them.  If they don’t, the soil wasn’t ready.

When I meet people like Jeremy, it is a reminder I'm on the right path and that I'm not alone.  It’s the comfort of “coming home” I felt when I met Veronika and the other hostel kids.