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.

Why Wait?

October 11th-October 16th 2012

Why wait? You can start your trip now.  Novemeber 1^st seemed distant, although the last minute delay in start date was a big relief as October proved planned, the immovable kind, obligatory and blessed.  Joyful at times at others sorrowful.  I traveled with rideshares to MA and VT and back for nuptials, deliverance and grief.

In North Carolina on October 11^th Veronika received guidance that we needn’t wait to get on the road, we could start immediately. So the next day she accompanied me back up north to Massachusetts and we hit the road running.  The entire adventure had been set in motion by months…. Years…. A lifetime’s manifestations.  The very notebook I scrawl in is proof you create your own path to arrive at the destinations you believe in. We never questioned whether we were going, it was always going to happen. Our desire for it and innumerable other benevolent occasions is what attracted us to one another.

This trek, my experience and preconceived conceptions of it were originally expected in February 2012, ending at a wedding in Vegas with a group of individuals who passive aggressively excluded me every chance they had, unless of course they be high on cocaine in which case I’m hot and “the best thing that’s ever happened to Shane.”  Well the final blow off in a long series of consistent broken dreams, the trip was all but forgotten. Miraculously, surrendering to the law of attraction, my on again/sort of off again partner manifests enough cash to fly to Vegas to celebrate the sanctity of marriage with coke and hookers.  Needless to say I drove north.  In a forest off 95 in GA I met Veronika, on Valentines day.

She was living and working at “the Hostel in the Forest” a community lifestyle priding itself on self sustaining features such as an organic vegetable garden, compost system and chickens- lots of chickens. Flocks of chickens.  People living and working together in an easy harmony you just don’t see in any urban setting.  Guests are given a tree house, delicious dinner, fresh eggs are up for grabs in the kitchen that you are welcome to use any time.  This is the place that changes your life in an earth shattering, heart breaking way.  You can’t leave the same, you are cleansed, encouraged, you emerge. Veronika had certainly. Her light drew my attention immediately. She wore a sweater with a tear, thick plastic glasses (like mine) and long thick curls tumbled around her, halfway down her back.  She had grandmother energy, warm, kind, listening intently. There was a knowing between us and recognition right away. I felt this from everyone there, that is, the residents of the forest. I was the only guest that frigid weekend.  I first discovered Veronika lived in Orlando, just blocks from me, when not in residence in the commune.  From there we immediately made our link, her ex boyfriend and current friend of mine.  

Its 8 months later and we’re creeping through Connecticut on 95 in Norwalk inching towards our first stop- Travis’s house.  Early womanhood northern road trips to CT and NH on the weekends were taken with Travis in a casually romantic arrangement. Winding through the white mountains in his red mx6, blasting Free bird until summer ended and we rambled on... and set one another free. But Travis and I remained friends over the last ten years

The smell of his house is so loud you hear reggae music wafting up from the basement.  Tiny eyes peek out of small and random frames throughout the purple walls. Travis? A father?  In her 9 years we have not met so it may not be so. 

At the head of the table Travis appeared to be a man of a harem, or so he wished.  He was subtly trying to impress Veronika, but over gluten-free pasta and a variety of meats in sauce he was so delighted to make us we got lost in stories from the past.   He reloaded our mason jar and showed us to our beds.  It was the second best night of sleep in my life- second only to the first stop at Travis’s the previous weekend.

In the morning we rolled on through the rain to my least favorite state thus far, Rhode Island.  I may have sped.  I was delighted not to need directions any more.  I took the time to note Veronika’s take on our travels, worried she may not appear to have much of a voice- only my experience of her experiencing this experience.  My highschool English teacher, Ms. Allegrezza, just had a kitten.

This is what I managed to squeeze from my road tired, good spirited friend. “My ass hurts and so does the back of my heel halfway up through the back of my calf.  I’ve learned I like to stay in the middle lane so crazy people can just go around me.  It’s a happy medium.” She stopped and thought a minute. “12 dollars in tolls sucked! But NY was cool.” I remembered NY the night before and wondered if I should have tackled the city behind the wheel as I’d intended.  She did beautifully, in her middle lane, while crazy people whizzed around us. “I want to take pictures, and you do the blogging.”  I’m glad she rolls down the window before she farts.   A man would wait to see if it smelled, then ventilate the space, maybe.

“This is great practice, you know?  A dry run before we go west.  We can plan, calculate, learn to minimize spending.”  So here we took a break to create a list of must-stops, the mileage and estimated time between cities, the people with whom we could stay when we arrived and allotted rough outlines of time to spend in each place.  We meditated first, agreeing to meditate before descending upon each check point, recalibrating before each city.

We didn’t include the drive back to the Blue Ridge or the work week in Florida, another dry run trip we’ve done several times.  We began our schedule with the hostel.

Novemeber 2-5^th Hostel in the Forest in Brunswick, GA 782 miles and 13 hours to Little Rock, AK.  882 miles and 14 hours Albequerque, NM.  350 miles and 6 hours to Sedona AZ. 462 miles, 8 hours to San Diego. 121 miles and 2 hours to Los Angeles.  295 miles and 5 hours to Big Sur.  141 miles and 3 hours to San Fransisco. 290 miles and 5 hours to Mt Shasta. 260 miles 5 hours to Eugene OR. 111 miles and 2 hours to Portland OR.  173  miles and 2 hours to Seattle. 860 miles and 14 hours to Jackson Hole, WY.  527 miles and 9 hours to Denver, CO.  then we have 1837 miles a full 32 hours of driving to get back to Orlando.

Our “plan” and I use that word lightly, is to spend a few hours, a day or a few days in each place.  We intend to work along the way.  Our “dry run” to Massachusetts would be the calmative factor for Veronika’s logical and reasoning side.   She spoke often on her concerns for fundage.  I see fewer obstacles when money is involved. Life has shown many times over that money works itself out when you’re working in alignment with your soul path.  And this trip is divinely guided and inspired. 

Exactly one person booked a massage with me while in New England but after her session she inquired about my readings. I took the opportunity to introduce her to Veronika and we spent some time reading her, encouraging the beginning of this new journey.  I told her we’d come back the following morning to clear the space and do some Reiki.  As it would turn out I had no free time that Sunday as I was devoted to the affairs of a best friend’s wedding I was barely a part of for many reasons and with accompanying heart ache.  So I sent Veronika. 

Michelle is a type A mom with a dance studio and a long list of guilt driven activities.  She gives more than she has in an attempt to lessen her guilt and as a result has literally run herself ragged.  Her dog was recently injured and she’s now set up a bed on the floor by the crate in the guestroom, needless to say she needed her massage! She was open to all we had to share with her and was excited to have us return.  Veronika reported a heavy resistance from the father and husband, Jack. Lana, the daughter of 16 exclaimed her hands were tingling after receiving Reiki! My hands lit up like that before I was first attuned to the Reiki Energies, too.  It’s exciting to me that a teenager is interested in the healing arts, the younger you start the easier it is to learn, just like language.

The experience left us both feeling a refreshed sense of purpose and worthiness.   It dawned on us that evening, if we remain open minded and pay attention we will encounter abundance and serve our mission on this our Healing Tour.  We worked to fund our trip as manifested!

We’d rolled into town, as aforementioned, with abundance of our own, and stopped to share with Vicki, my sister’s best friend, homeschooling mother of 5 and partaking enthusiast.  She greeted us at the door, her cheeks bright and eyes as twinkling and drawing as always.  She grabbed me for a hug, “and what might that be?” She asked knowingly, slyly, referring to the magical mason jar nestled in my sweater. Three toeheads were present, blinking, warming to recognition of “auntie”. They’re my nieces’’ and nephews’ closest friends and so hear about “auntie” all the time, so to them I was born with that name. Even though they, too, have an auntie.  We hit the garage where Boomer the slightly stupid and ridiculously friendly Rottweiler leapt up the steps to love on us.  Sonny the Rat Terrier sat, unhappily nearby.  The puppy that outweighs him by 100 lbs, gets all the attention these days. I motioned for him to come.

Three cups of tea later Vicki had shared with us her adventures in Chi town, filled me in on her mom’s health, friends’ drama, that’s become her own, and we revisited the week before when we’d helped Amy bring Calvin Laurance into the world. A Blake child finally named for me! Vicki, Sam and I had waited on Amy hand and foot that night.  I twisted and contorted over my sister, massaging and sending Reiki, slipping undetected from her path each time she adjusted.  Vicki lit and moved candles around as I did, so as not to light my hair aflame.  Glow sticks illuminated the water green, Vicki captured the most beautiful moments of our lives on film.  “Its not just anyone who would sit in a tub of amniotic fluid with me…” Amy mentioned, and it slowly dawned on me that I’d been sitting in a tub of amniotic fluid all night. 

Here, in Vicki’s garage, I first became aware of Veronika’s quiet.  A new place with a woman who speaks a hundred miles an hour- she would soon learn this is the way people communicate here, you wait for a breath and interject- It occurred to me there may be much, much more silence.

More twinkling blue eyes surrounded in outrageously blonde hair peered joyfully from the window as we left Vicki’s. 

Food was, of course, abundant at my sister Amy’s house.  In fact, a text from her asked, “where are you???” and I responded with a picture of myself grilling egg and vegan cheese gluten free sandwiches on her stove.  Her family is fed a gluten and dairy free menu so we were showered with tasty food we could both eat! The kids were delighted with Veronika; Mya stole away with her any chance she could get.  They surrounded her in the kitchen in awe of her crystals so unlike the polished and raw stones they are aware of.  Two year old ginger Sawyer “oooohed” at all of them and was in severe danger of being eaten! She patiently followed everyone’s beckoning, stories and games.  Amy and I included her in incense time in the bathroom.  We discussed the likelihood of including details like incense time into the blog.  We decided subtle hints and name changes would be appropriate.  The hospitality of my sister’s family humbled me, a place on earth I will always be welcome.

I see myself through the eyes of these I moved away from and I feel guilt, I want to always be with them but am dragged on out to the world.

It was a completely different experience having Veronika with me among the homes of family and friends.  She reminds me of my growth since I’ve been away, which is the very thing our friendship brings forth and I adore it.  She keeps me true to myself, whereas at home I tend to slip into old patterns that no longer serve me.  That being said, I was forced, vibrationally, to realize and release these patterns, habits… even people.

She was so graceful in the face of adversity.  I have always been confronted with its ugliness throughout life and it was not my first time at the rodeo.  However, I did not ever expect it from the women I considered close enough to me to be sisters. 

They were awful.  It was the evening of the bachelorette party, one no one had any intention at all in planning.  Weeks before I had suggested a few things, at the very least we get together. I was met with immediate difficulty, negativity and rudeness.  The number one argument was “its too short of notice.”  I was stunned… we were only given three weeks notice for the wedding!

When the day arrived finally, I had Veronika with me. In the next hour they would go from excited and chattering to biting and sarcastic, exclusive and nasty.  Two things were apparent, that we were not welcome and no one was going to admit it.  So we sat quietly, finding our own table as the one available had only enough room for… well everyone but us.  Even the bride, my best friend of 20-some-odd years, took the Karaoke mic, sang a song meant to be a duet for us. She would not slide her chair when I attempted to sit back down.

Veronika exclaimed “I’m ready if you are dude, I don’t have to stay here for this.”  My guilt held me there a bit longer, until ruder, nastier things were said and done.  Then I was ready.

I fell asleep angrily, after an hour or two of considering the night’s occurrences, visualizing responses that would have satisfied the most clogged of throat chakras.  I just don’t live like that anymore.  I don’t understand behavior that intentionally hurt others.  Blame it on mass hysteria I suppose. I awoke with the beginnings of a cold.

I ached to speak to the bride regarding this madness, but decided to hold back, like I did on her birthday years ago, knowing my boyfriend and I were on the outs, but not wanting to spoil her fun then, and I loyally swallowed my pride this day, too.

Things had calmed down by the next day; people seemed preoccupied with their own hangovers to give any more undeserved shit.  Despite everything, Veronika joined in the preparations and final wedding details.

A private conversation with the bride concluded, I was, in fact, the point or at least a point of contention, bore of misunderstandings, assumptions and just plain bitchy women.  It occurred to me at the moment, and I reflect now, all the people I have always loved have stayed the same.  But I have changed so much, far beyond that of their standards on acceptable appearance, that I am no longer part of them. Or most of my friends for that matter. 

I may add more about the awesome wedding, the one bridesmaid who wasn’t acting like a complete jerk and the time I spent that day with my high school sweetheart, then again, maybe I wont. I just needed to get the fuck out of town after that. So I woke Riley and Griffin for tear streaked, loved filled goodbyes, Held onto Amy so long and hard she would feel my arms for weeks to come and ease the sorrow losing a little sister brings, and we pushed out.

“Its over,” I said, “the trips for everyone else. Now its all about us.”  I was unsure about Chicago, but after what I put Veronika through, I couldn’t bear to say no.