Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Deep Thoughts In Honor of the Winter Solstice 2014

Tomorrow we say goodbye to the shortening of the days for this year. Apollo will ride his chariot higher and higher into the sky from tomorrow until the summer of 2015.

The beautiful little blue drop of mist we call our planetary home will continue commuting around its golden star, in this backwater suburb of the Milky Way galactic city, as it has always done...

I usually experience this time of year from my home state of Maine. I have been through so many other places in such a short time recently--and have enjoyed their beauty and good people (some of whom are now like family to me). But do I miss my Pine Tree State.

Today, for some reason I miss her more than usual.

As I lay awake in bed last night, I thought about her rocky coastline. If stretched out straight, the wrinkled, coves and bays from Kittery to Eastport would reach from Maine to California. The waves pound against her granite shores; the two of them (the rocks and the waves) in an ancient and joyful contest for supremacy. Each makes the other more beautiful with every rise and fall of the tide. In the end though, the water always wins.

Her coastal plain and my hometown of Yarmouth came into to my mind's eye view.

I remembered riding down to Merrill Memorial Library, when I was just a tiny guy, with my little sister, in the back of my mom's rickshaw--homemade by my dad, in the early 1970's.

We passed by the Town Landing Road on Bayview Street, before heading over the highway bridge. Then down the road to the center of town and the big brick building filled with books.

It was summer, late afternoon. We went to the children's section and my mom pulled out "Blueberries for Sal" and "Make Way for Ducklings" (Robert McCloskey's classics). They were innocent stories for a more innocent time in my life. Just seeing their illustrations today at Google Images brought back a feeling that was almost to powerful for me to handle.

I recalled getting older and partying out in the fields of North Yarmouth, Cumberland and Pownal with an awful lot of you folks! You know who you are. And MAN did we have fun. Fires in sandpits; driving up and down Main Street, by 7/11, avoiding Yarmouth's finest. Drinking beer, bought with fake ID's, on Cousin's Island Beach.

I remember having my teenage heart broken upon learning that my girlfriend and best friend had betrayed me. I walked all night down Route 88. I laid down in a ditch hoping the rain would simply wash me away. When it didn't, I swept and mopped up the pieces of myself that were still salvageable and went home. The first of many, many times that were to come.

The rough, huge mountains of western Maine, so tall they can be seen from the coast, were there - last night - in my sentimental-travels.

Picking apples, going to fairs... Every fall I still get that "back to school" feeling and think about my Yarmouth home.

Winter's starkness, the pinks and orange sunsets over vast fields of sparkling new fallen snow. Riding the snowmobiles to the Muddy Rudder for lunch... This all made me smile in the dark.

I remembered the profound silence of winter nights, after light fluffy snow had blanketed the earth below. The air was so cold and dry that the color of each star in the sky could be perceived, like candy sprinkles on a chocolate Christmas cookie. The sky was so clear that sometimes I used to feel like I was drifting in space.

There were Christmas parties, candlelight services, big flamboyant dinners with friends and schoolmates. All my adolescent mind could ever think about at the time was how pretty the girls all looked, dressed up in their finest clothes, with their rosy cheeks, and how nice it would be to just sit and hold one of them in front of a fire, while the blizzard blew outside.

And, I was fortunate to actually do that a few times; enough to REALLY miss those days now--days when everything was still brand new.

Some say "it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." But in the middle of life, looking back to those days and then at myself in the mirror now, I'm not so sure. It might have been better not to be able to remember. My personal jury is still out on that one.

How the rust does grow on the seasons of life as the years pass away. How the special things of the holidays become slightly less special as they are seen so many times or defiled by money concerns. How the songs of joy - though just as strongly resounding - are so often muted by their own repetition. Such is my experience. I hope others can constantly feel reinvigorated each year--I sincerely do hope that.

Considering all of this, I felt a lump in my throat, here in this motel bed, last night.

I asked the ceiling: "What AM I doing?"

Tomorrow morning in Portland, Maine the sun will rise at 7:11 am. Eight hours and 55 minutes later it will set at 4:06 pm.

Here in Conway, Arkansas the sun will rise only one minute later, at 7:12 am. But it will stay up for 55 minutes longer than it does in Maine, setting at 5:01 pm.

The world is round.

The difference in the latitudes of places is not very apparent most of the time here in the lower 48 states. But it IS still perceivable.

When we travel with the intention of returning to the place we left from, we don't have to go all the way around the whole world to do it of course. Even a zig-zagging pathway from coast to coast and a plane flight back to the original place, IS circular in its own way. It is how we get aROUND.

In a similar way, the world aROUND us is but a metaphor for a Reality where ALL is actually just one Thing. We leave our original place and then we return to it.

We creatures are a metaphor for the spirit cells in a "body" who are ALL actually just parts of one Creator.

The fingers on your keyboard or the ones holding your tablet or phone are not you. They are simply the highest current evolutionary perception you can handle about the parts that make up your SELF.

Janis Joplin once said that she and her band-mates were talking on the tour bus about what a "day" is. They concluded that all "days" are "...just same damn day, man!"

At the top of the world night is turned into day, without beginning or end. Viewed from above the North Pole there is equal parts day and night at every time and on every date. These labels for the natural passage of time are simply concepts we humans have devised to break up our own misunderstanding into moments that our evolutionary minds can then better handle for keeping track through the use of artificial systems.

Set assumptions are a way that we try to freeze the concepts we can't fully swallow into edible-understandable chunks. Winter in the northern hemisphere is cold for many of us, yet it is the point in the earth's elliptical orbit around the sun when the planet is CLOSEST to our star. Who would have thought? Who even tries to think past their assumptions? Well, maybe more and more people, every single day...

A location in space is a point defined by three dimensions, all of which are at 90 degree angles to each other. A specific time is a point that is attempting to be defined within a succession of passing moments, and can similarly be thought of as existing at a 90 degree angle to space. PLACE might be considered the combination of these four dimensions.

The three dimensions of space are easy to conceptualize when viewing things around us. People assume time is not visible, but in fact it's affect on what we see, plainly shows its presence.

Every single "thing" in your field of vision is the product of photons (light particles) being either reflected or projected from objects and arriving at your eye at different times. None of these times are NOW. NONE.

In other words, the light you see from your screen is coming in from a little ways back in the past. The window beyond? Further in the past. The tree across the street, the moon in the sky, the stars beyond, and so on? You are seeing them as they WERE, further and further back into the past. YET, you (and I) usually assume it is all happening NOW.

Even your perception of NOW is in the past. It takes several milliseconds for your senses to turn outside world data into an integrated experience for you, and another few milliseconds for you to make sense of it. In a certain way, we live entirely in the past.

None of this is what we usually ASSUME to be true. Yet... It is true.

Why am I talking about all of this metaphysical stuff? Well! I'm glad you asked.

As I've mentioned here a few times, I believe - I actually KNOW - that some new kind of force (what I have named, for lack of a better title, the "New Advent") IS about to unfold for everyone on this planet.

It is waiting patiently for a time, a space, a PLACE where it can present itself. Right now it is looking out through my eyes - and yours - with a kind of mathematical analysis (if you will) of what we are each doing individually, and then doing collectively.

I think we have reached the current pinnacle of what can be accomplished to bring ourselves material comfort, while still being at the same deficit of moral understanding that we can't seem to make up for. This is an imbalance that can not be cured by faster computers, more fuel efficient cars, better medicines, nor carbon taxes.

We have done this amazing amount of mechanical and physical work, not for the oft-jaded explanation that it is all for greed and sloth. NO! Instead, it is because we are desperate to find a state of peace and love, of social justice, of HARMONY. For thousands of years now, we have looked for a better world first on a drawing table, then on a factory floor and now in debt-based (THING-based) global economy. We are thing-fetishists. Everyone of us is, including myself.

But WE are not THINGS. Better things can never make better people. These ever-improving technical advances WILL be a wonderful environment for a more enlightened and spiritual world of Thinking, Speaking and Acting humans WHEN we are able to simply slow down, stop shopping for a few moments; stop making our love of shiny objects replace our love for everyone around us.

It is my opinion that people who say they hate other people are not evil. They are simply not allowing themselves to KNOW those people. If they knew them they would probably learn to like them, maybe even love them.

And, in turn, if the people who felt the hatred of others, could feel that those others were now trying to know them, they might be willing to develop a common relationship based on trust. To give (without the expectation of getting anything back) is to love.

I'm not trying to preach this stuff. We've all heard it before. Usually though, it comes from a GROUP mentality or ideology, with little strings and agendas attached. "To find out more, buy my book!" "Join our church!" "Read the philosophies of..." "Order today!"

But wait there's more!

Separate groups, while being perfectly benign, are NEVER EVER going to have THE answer. We humans in this material world are TWO things, ultimately: (1) Individuals and (2) One World. The grouping of three of us, or a billion of us, still represents an incomplete mechanism for answers to flow out to ALL of us.

There are many good groups. There are even a few truly and extraordinarily GREAT groups! But there is no one BEST group. And there never will be one, unless that "group" includes every single human being.

Now, I'm not a complete idiot. I'm not so into some strange self-appointed mission that I've lost touch with all reason. I KNOW that what I'm saying is inherently an IDEAL.

To speak about such things as global transformation - without the need for a religious, political or scientific group's control - is just crazy talk! Isn't it?

Yet...

I believe the New Advent WILL do this very thing, completely unaffiliated with any HUMAN tradition, ideation, ideology, or other "ism."

How could I possibly even suggest such a thing and not be laughed right off the nearest cliff?

Because, I believe in the super-conscious mind that we are all sharing. The over-soul. It is *not* a sub-conscious mind.

I've said that each of us has a Spark inside us. These Sparks maintain a web of constant and unbroken intercommunication. At least that is what mine is telling me right this second. They, after all, are made of the same substance, the same Fire, the same Light.

This New Advent will come LITERALLY from the "Bottom Up"; from the Inside...out.

It won't come from "leaders." It won't be explained by "experts." There will be no press conference at the NASA Space Center of leading scientists who will explain it all to us with calculus equations on their white board. Nor, will the interfaith community of top religious leaders meet at the Vatican to pet our little heads and tell us what is happening within our own minds. Nope.

WE WILL TELL THEM.

We aren't going to suddenly become wonderful loving people. Not at all. But we WILL see the way, be given the free will choice to explore that option in whatever manner is being seen by each of us--within ourselves.

Or not???

I may be a complete and stark-raving lunatic who has tricked you into caring about something that is completely unreal; playing upon your deepest and most altruistic wishes for yourself and the world, just to hear himself talk. Believe me, I wonder that too sometimes.

So... YAH! Talk about a voice crying out from the wilderness!! Or, in this case, a cheap motel room in Conway, Arkansas.

Let me just complete my metaphor and tie this all up with a pretty pink bow, before they break down my door and haul me back to the rubber room...

Tomorrow, on the shortest day, maybe we can see the lengthening daylight of each succeeding day to come as a symbol for the growth of the Light of Love in our hearts.

I think on average the day length increases at a rate of something like 2 minutes a day, until the summer solstice on June 21, 2015?

Maybe every day we can take two minutes to question why we are angry at certain other people. Just for the hell of it! For the sheer fun of it! Like a challenge. Like running a marathon. You get the idea.

We can still be angry with them if we want. Just try again later when you think you can beat your last score for challenging yourself at this. It'll be fun.

But, maybe, we can also look at their pictures for a second without wanting to throw darts at them? They have eyes that cry and smile just like we do. They have blemishes and crooked teeth just like we do.

Maybe we can Google their names and see what they have done in life that wasn't all THAT bad?

Maybe we can ask around and find out what their childhoods were like? Why are they such jerks? Usually there IS a reason. They were once innocent children going to the library with their mamas just like we were.

Maybe we can get to know them, just a tiny bit better. Don't be afraid to fail at this activity. Gosh! Don't we fail anyway by never even trying? You can't fail more by trying than not trying.

When the two minutes is up, we fix ourselves a Hot Pocket and settle down to watch the game. [Warning: Hot Pockets are hot. Please use caution!]

I suspect that if a few dozen of us remembered to try to do that even every now and then, good things would begin to happen in our lives. And that isn't even some astrological prediction. I think it is a hard cold fact.

I am going to try to reach out to some of the people I have had a real issue with in the last few years.

I WILL practice what I'm "preaching."

Honestly? I don't WANT to do it. In fact, I'll probably procrastinate for a while. But whenever I'm lying in bed (or in my case a wet tent in the leaves) I will remember that ultimately I DO want to see a greater Love on this world. I believe it can still happen. And I want to fix some of the pain that I myself have caused the people who are just PEOPLE for cryin'-out-loud, not really "enemies."

When I finally get around to stepping up to that plate, and you do too, the New Advent WILL begin.

LOVE to ALL!

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 51 - Branson, MO - My Background

Here, on the eve of my departure, I've been feeling very sentimental. I am perhaps too deep a thinker for my own good. And, I am WAY too deep a feeler for it. In a way I wish I could change this about myself but at the same time it makes me who I am--granted, that may be unfortunate.

Nevertheless, I thought it might be a good idea to tell - hopefully, briefly, ha! - just a little bit about myself to those new people who are just now getting to know me. This post will remain private--for friends here only, until my book comes out sometime next year.

I worked on the next video most of the afternoon (the one of Glenn and my tour of the New Life Compound), added some improvements to my tent and wiped it down and organized my pack. I kept running into technical issues with the video, so it may be a little while before I get that out to you.

Tonight, since I hadn't eaten all day and was feeling kind of weak, I walked a few doors down to Godfather's Pizza where they have a good buffet (pizza, salad, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, etc.)--and a good price too. I paid and sat down.

I simply took in - absorbed - all that was going on around me for a while. There were people of every kind enjoying themselves, laughing, helping their kids choose what to get, milling about, kindly getting out of each other's way in the narrow spaces between the tables and the food counters. It was typical Missouri (at least what I've seen of it). The men were large, manly but gentle. The women were attractive, smart but friendly. The children were well-behaved, inquisitive but happy.

There were a couple single people like myself, sitting alone enjoying their meals. I have been to buffets where I have truly felt sorry for people eating alone, yet these folks simply looked like they were catching a meal and then perhaps heading out to enjoy the night. It occurred to me - for just a second - that *I* might be the one who looks pathetic; maybe in need of a friend. But little could people know just how many friends I have to share my days with--right here, in all of you. Still, I am a bit of a loner. I really prefer it most of the time. I wouldn't be able to write if I could have these days of solo contemplation. In fact, it is HOW I can even write at all.
Anyway, my stomach told me to get up and make plate.

While I ate my mind began to swim deeply back into the past...

I am a polymath (look it up if you want?). I have not only worn many, many hats, but I have tried to learn as much about each of those hats as possible. I've been a musician, artist, photographer, graphic designer, newspaper and other business owner, publisher, banker, bankruptcy specialist, personal financial consultant, personal care giver to mentally disabled people, botanist and rare plant grower, entheogenic advocate, I studied quantum mechanics and cosmology, and even taught myself calculus and analytic geometry (with the help of my mother--a former math teacher)... Many things.  But always, I was a writer; maybe because I am naturally a philosopher at heart--not that its done me much good! ;-)

I grew up a relatively happy little kid until I was about ten years old, in Yarmouth, Maine. Family issues and other situations then began to drag me down. Because I was ambitious about wanting to express myself in any way possible, even my long periods of subsequent depression and growing self-hatred wouldn't stop me from tenaciously trying new ways to be heard. I felt I had something to say to the world but I saw myself as a complete failure at doing it. No one really cared. And I really didn't blame them. I became an absolute expert in ACTING happy, but - really until this journey started in October of this year - sadly, I just wanted to be dead.

I hated everything after decades of sinking down further and further. I loved the Spark and I knew He/She/It loved me. I'd always felt it there in my mind--in my soul, but I felt utterly unworthy of being in this world. Needless to say, I have also been self destructive every now and then.

I guess I was hoping something might do the job of killing me, since I was too much of a coward (I thought) to do the act myself. I want to be exceedingly clear one thing: My death wish was not because of some lack of faith in God. I was a very strong believer. It was instead an unmatched lack of love for myself - a black, seething, unquenchable self-loathing. That is important to remember.

The stress of my jobs, and my inability to lessen that boiling pressure almost accomplished my sick goal. I suffered a heart attack in 2006 and - as I've talked about here a few times - I had several "visions" while close to death, in the hospital. I won't get into them in this essay, but I'm quite happy to talk about them later if anyone is interested.

The inflammation of my right coronary artery, and subsequent blockage, was not do to drugs, alcohol or bad diet, but due directly to being highly stressed out. After long consultations with the doctor who did the stent surgery on me, he plainly said as much: "You need to find a way not to let your problems not hurt you physically...IF you want to live."

When I was in the hospital I grew even more depressed. I wasn't dead yet, but I also was now seemingly confined to an even worse fate--being stuck with a weakened heart. (In my music if you ever hear me mention "broken heart" that is what I refer to--along with being a metaphor for what CAUSED that issue of course.)

I remember one day there, looking out the window at the thousands of cars going by on the highway - people on their way home from work, just doing their thing - and wondering if I'd ever be free enough to join them again. Even a life of playing the human-created "game" of modern society was preferable to being in a hospital hooked up to tubes, shitting in a bed pan, stuck with needles and dealing with a healthcare system that didn't give a hoot what happened to me.

As an example of this healthcare, I was completely ignored (forgotten about) for two days there. NO doctor came to see me, nor check on my condition. When my cardiologist (the guy who had saved my life) arrived after those two days and heard that I'd been neglected, I actually saw his face turn from white, to red, to purple, with extreme anger. He looked like he might have a heart attack himself! He quietly asked the attending doctor to step outside the room for a moment, and then I heard one of the loudest, most intense dressing-downs I have ever heard. He walked back in, made sure my clothes were available in the closet and said calmly, "Don't worry, you'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

When I got back to my apartment in Gorham, Maine, it was cold and everything was exactly as I'd left it; like an archaeological site, rediscovered. My poor cats had been wandering around for five days outside and inside; their only human contact being the daily feeding by my landlady. They didn't really even act like they were glad to see me. I think they were. But they didn't really trust that I might not just walk out the door again and simply never return. This had a bigger impact upon me than you might think.

I sat for a while, contemplating my sorry existence. I got stir crazy after a few days and asked to go back to work early--a stupid decision in hindsight. For a few more years I worked there and then at another job selling federally mandated bankruptcy exams. Again I ACTED happy, and was promoted twice until I was a supervisor over a couple dozen specialists.

Being a supervisor meant drinking that awful cup of mandatory back-stabbing, that is required in many businesses to betray my own friends there in order to please management. My heart rebelled against me nearly every day. I was just another piece of the problem in society.

When I complained about it, I was warned about not being a "team player" with the other supervisors. Then, when I discovered that my manager was planning to stab ME in the back (beginning the bloodsucking process of forcing me to quit) - I found a list of all my corporate "sins" on her desk one day - I simply went home and never went back. Quitting that job was the best thing I could have ever done for my heart at the time. Immediately I felt better.

But the stress continued to rise again as I tried to fit into the "game" without an income commensurate with an expensive apartment, my family's expectations for what I "should" be doing with my life, etc. All the time I grew to despise this "game" more and more. Eventually, as I'd walked out of that job, I walked out of my life as a "game player."

I literally piled as much stuff as I could on my bicycle and left through the back door, never to return. You can read about my first adventures on the street in my iwallk.blogspot.com blog by starting at the "Introduction Why Iwallk" post. Turned out, it was a "practice walk" for what I'm doing now.

I had to placed my cats in the hands of a wonderful friend. One of them got sick and died. I never saw her again. The other - Buddy - I was able to get back and he and I lived together for the last three years, until temporarily being cared for by my sister Deb? while I do my crazy stuff out here. I miss him very much, but he is perfectly happy and that makes me feel better about it.

After several months of walking around southern Maine, I found a place to settle down again with Buddy, in Buxton, Maine. I got back into music again and recorded two albums with a drummer friend of mine. I had to move out of the Buxton situation in 2013, and lived for a while sleeping on the dirty, flea infested floor of my drummer's house (with his extremely ignorant wife) for several months in Casco, Maine, before moving to a camper in Saco, Maine on my dad's property (he did not live there, but came nearly every day to do so-called "work").

That became a nightmare. The drama of that situation is still too fresh and raw in my mind to get into right now. But, be assured, it will all be told about in the fullness of time.

When things finally became intolerable there, with the help of the Spark, I formulated the plan that I am now following. Doing what I'm doing now had been a growing concept ever since I left my Gorham apartment. It was my "Plan B" option, in case everything ever went to hell. If I hadn't had Buddy I would have done this way back in 2009 when I left my supervisor job.

But, as I've said before, EVERYTHING happens for a reason and in its own time. It wasn't until I arrived in Boston and made the fateful decision to simply begin walking no matter what, that I realized just how extensive my unconscious training had been for this journey.

I know now that during all those years of suffering I was being prepared for the most important thing I would ever do: THIS.

I had learned to be able to work or sleep at any time of the day. I had learned to live on one or less meals a day if necessary. I had learned live with very little--and frankly felt better that way. I had learned to write more clearly and expressively. I had trained my body to walk very long distances, nearly every day, for the last three years. I had learned to deal with the cold and the extreme elements. I had built up a small band of people who liked what I wrote, in several blogs (many of you are among them). But, most of all, I'd learned to trust and rely on the Spark to lead me; to surrender my own will to its will.

Through, bitterly cold, winter nights (some as cold as -22 F) last year, surrounded by four feet of snow, when I was trying to make 4 gallons of propane heat last a month, eating my one food stamp meal a day, walking 12 miles a day--even in driving snow, reading veraciously every philosophical, scientific and comparative religious thing I could devour, and CONSTANTLY writing, I was actually being *trained*.

I wasn't very happy - at least whenever my dad was around - but my physical, mental and spiritual muscles were being toned and prepared. If I had only known the full extent of the Plan for me, I keep thinking that maybe I would have been more satisfied with this training. But that thinking is WRONG. Completely wrong.

IF I had known what I was about to do - that which I now am doing - I think I would have become complacent, self-satisfied, overly confident, and honestly...I don't think I would have ever *actually* have done it.

It took a lifetime of mental anguish, emotional pain, struggling for answers, being poor, being hungry...just simply never being satisfied...to find the answer to all of my prayers: THIS.

My mind slowly returned to my meal tonight with an appreciation and familiar love for the Spark; its wisdom, cleverness, perfect timing and most of all for its love of me. With this love flowing out from the Inside I have learned - finally learned - to actually love myself. THAT is my greatest accomplishment so far. My ego had to completely die for my spirit to be heard. I was always afraid to pray for myself. I felt I didn't deserve it and that doing so would corrupt me and be an insult to the Universe.

But I broke down at the lowest point, just before I had to leave Saco, and I said, within myself, to the Spark, something very close to: "I want to Live. I want be Your instrument. But I am so sad, so tired, so filled with wanting to die. Please help me. Please, please help me. I know I should only pray for others, but I NEED help for myself. I see the blackness beginning to surround me again. The trap maker is overjoyed in the fact that my leg is caught in his vice. He drags me toward the pit. I have spent so many years believing that it might be for the best. But I want to do whatever I have to to escape the pit, to find happiness--like when I was child. Let me be your child again. Not MY will but YOURS be done."

I sat for a long time in my camper waiting for an answer to my prayer. I heard nothing. But, my body was filled with warm shivers, the kind that radiate down the spine. I wasn't sure if my prayer made it to its Target.

It took my own effort in buying that Amtrak ticket from Portland to Boston, and being tempted one LAST time, by a cold, uncomfortable - almost unbearable - night in the rain, and then choosing to walk out into the complete unknown, for the final answer to come-in, loud and clear.

If I were to put it into human words it would sound something like (and I'll do my best to describe this, since it wasn't in words, and hopefully I won't cheapen it in the process)...

"I am pleased with you. You not only passed my tests, but you passed your own tests. I will walk inside you while you walk along this road. I will send an unseen companion to be with you and give you strength. You will have to work hard--harder than you ever have, but if you do, I will work even harder to make sure you succeed. You are my son. I love you."

And, so, that is the summation of 46 years and how I got to sit in this motel room in Branson, Missouri, HAPPY, truly happy; with the happiness of a child about to go out and "play" tomorrow, at my favorite activity. :)

I thank you for letting me indulge in this essay. What selfish pleasure could be better than talking about one's self and having people actually read it? The blessings are manifold.

The time is NOW. Someday I know my hour will have passed by. My usefulness to the world will have run its course. But, for now, I am sure that I am in a partnership with the Prime Mover. These days will be the sunshine of my human life. YOU and my Spark have made it possible.

Thank you.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 50 - Branson, MO - Clarifying the Philosophy

[Originally posted on Facebook.]

I woke up from my nap at about midnight. And, for the heck of it, I pulled out the Gideons Bible in the bed stand and opened it for the first time in perhaps over a decade. My eyes fell on Psalm 30...

* * * * * * *

A Psalm and Song at the dedication of the House of David
I will extol thee, O LORD; for thou hast lifted me up, and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me.
O LORD my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me.
O LORD, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave: thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.
Sing unto the LORD, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.
For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
And in my prosperity I said, I shall never be moved.
LORD, by thy favour thou hast made my mountain to stand strong: thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled.
I cried to thee, O LORD; and unto the LORD I made supplication.
What profit is there in my blood, when I go down to the pit? Shall the dust praise thee? shall it declare thy truth?
Hear, O LORD, and have mercy upon me: LORD, be thou my helper.
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness;
To the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give thanks unto thee for ever.

* * * * * * *

Now, before I go back to bed for a few hours, I'd like to say something about religion and spirituality, since the subject has come up many times here in Missouri (being the most Christian of the places I have wallked through).

I take a great risk by doing this, for many obvious reasons, not the least of which is that some of my strongest supporters have VERY intense feelings and opinions about these subjects. But, I feel that I should make a comment on them so that the people I have recently met, and those I am about to meet, more clearly understand my very Personal view. If this thread goes overboard with negativity BELIEVE ME I will pull it immediately off of this timeline.

Anyway, here goes...

I read the entire New Testament when I was only about 8 to 10 years old. And some of it I read several times.

What impressed me about it was not Christianity as a faith--not at all. And, though I appreciated having the story of Jesus given by the Bible, it was not the Bible itself that I learned to devote my thoughts toward.

Instead, it was Jesus the person (be he God or Man). His hyper-focus on his mission; his ability to stand unfazed by his critics; his absolute selflessness; and most of all how he loved his friends and this world so entirely that he was willing to be nailed to a tree for it. That was pretty much all. And for a little kid like me, it was enough.

I want to say that I am not a label. In other words, I am not a Christian, Jesusonian,  Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Jew, Agnostic nor Atheist, etc.

THESE are labels.

If other people want to wear ANY of these labels I fully support that. I think belief systems of any kind are the only TRUE and natural human right we have.

I DO believe in what many people would call God. I'm not shy about admitting that fact. But I would NEVER...EVER...expect anyone to believe in the same things nor in the same way that I believe. THAT - in my humble opinion - IS the problem that separates us from each other--that is: expecting others to believe what we as individuals believe, and then to look down upon people who don't.

I listened carefully the other day to a conversation when I was at McDonald's in Salem. A young "Christian" man was having a conversation with an older "Jewish" man. They were very kind to each other and were careful to not offend each other in this short exchange.

The Christian - who seemed a bit uneducated, or perhaps slightly too circumscribed by his religious education - said he wanted to rent a closed store downtown and turn it into a coffee house and Christian reading room. The Jewish man - who seemed highly educated and very well spoken - said that was a "great idea!" and his tone was very supportive.

He paused a moment diplomatically and then said, "Maybe even a Hebrew and Christian reading room?"

The Christian man looked at him suddenly and said, "Well, I don't know much about Hebraic writing. Jesus is my Lord and Savior."

The Jewish man, still being diplomatic and with excellent timing, said "Well, Jesus was great man even for we Jews."

The Christian man replied, "He is God." To which the Jewish man (and I turned to look at him) simply smiled and nodded. I knew that his nod was not one of agreement but, rather one of wise understanding.

The Jewish man then changed the subject, commenting on the current war-fad of the year, the battles with Isil in the Middle East, perhaps something they might both find common ground on. And they did.

They both agreed that Islam was the scourge of our time and that they should all be killed. I almost gasped out loud.

Here were two "religious" men, dressed in their labels and arrogantly defying one of their common Ten Commandments: Thou shalt not kill.

But it didn't stop there.

The Jewish man then spoke about the Pope and Catholicism, remarking upon the child-sex scandals in that church and what a travesty they were. He also commented on how the lack of Papal support for birth control kept the so-called "Third World" in chains of poverty and ignorance.

The Christian man said, "Catholics aren't Christians." This time I almost laughed out loud. I imagined what the people in Washington, MO, a largely Catholic town where I had just spent two weeks would say about that comment.

The Jewish man simply smiled and did the same exact nod.

Can you see by this example, just what I mean by what separates us?

Therefore, let me say that I honor the Yahweh-God of Judiasm, the Jesus-God of Evangelistic Christianity, The God of other Protestant denominations, the Trinity-God ("sancta trinitas unus deus" - Holy Trinity, One God) of Catholicism and most of the rest of Christianity, and the Jesusonian God of the my Urantia Book friends and the Alah-One God of Islam.

I also honor the many Gods of Hinduism--as they are ruled by Brahman, the Nirvana of Buddhism, the Life Force of Universalist Unitarianism, the Universe of Pantheism, the Natural World of humanism, the Uncertain Source Love of Agnosticism and even the Human Love of Atheism. Heck, as a geek I even honor the Force of Star Wars! ;-)

If I have left out any social religions, I deeply apologize.

But ***I*** believe in ONLY my personal Spark within, accepting that every one of us has this same Spark (even atheists can call it "the self" and not capitalize that word if they want of course) and its Personal Central Source (I ask their forgiveness for my capitalization of those words). I don't label it when I think about it. I don't name it when I consult it. And, I don't need other people to believe in it for my own happiness and satisfaction with living. I will avoid telling them about it unless asked (except in the rare example of this little essay).

When I think back to my early Bible studies, I remember that Jesus' greatest "social" message to his friends and followers was actually a PERSONAL one: "The Kingdom of God is WITHIN YOU," and when asked about this kingdom by Pilate, Jesus replied: "My Kingdom is not OF this world." Even Pilate - one of the greatest enemies of Christian tradition - appreciated THAT.

There is no way to write what I have written above and remain non-hypocritical in, at least, *someone's* eyes. But I have mentioned some of this before and I wanted to clarify my views again. My method of explaining this is not complete by any standard. And I genuinely hope to evolve it and become better at delivering it in less than a few thousand words (you know me by now, and that distinct handicap of mine!). I wrote out the Old Testament verses above because they mean something to me PERSONALLY. Very much, actually.

Nevertheless, Iwallk for ALL people. I love them ALL. I do not judge people by their belief systems. I am interested in these systems. And I am happy to hear about them as long as they are not being pushed down my throat.

I am positively phobic of having people want to adopt mine. Do Not Do It, Please.

It would be impossible anyway, because we can ONLY have what we believe inside our own individual souls be our Guide--or in our "selves" if some of you don't believe in souls.

I hope to have answered some of what has been asked of me in this regard, and I sincerely appreciate you taking it as ONLY my view, so that you may better understand what motivates and inspires me.

MY THREE PURPOSES

1. Most of what I am trying to do on this mission - on this journey to find the new and Real America - is a social and cultural one. In that way it is exclusively for YOU--ALL OF YOU and anyone who wants to come along with me. My friends!

2. The secondary effect of all of this wallking and writing, communing with ALL whom I come in contact with, is an experiential growth in what I have so-often called my own soul. As you have heard me say time and time again: I want to learn to wear my soul on the outside. I WILL wear my soul. And if I am successful, you WILL actually "see" my soul--with your own soul--or self.

3. And finally, the tertiary effect, and one that I only fantasize and speculate about: I hope and yes, pray, that through LOVE in Action, a New Advent (an event that will quicken spiritual perception - being meant here as non-socially religious understanding) will Spark on the outside whatever commonality in morals that each of us holds on the inside - the Greatest Part of our selves: our desire to love and support each other - bringing us back to being the ONE thing that connects us as we are; as a species.

One Race--the Human kind.

One Family--the loving and trusting kind.

One Planet--the peaceful, clean, healthy and beautiful kind.

See? These are ALL ONE THING.

When any of these three numbered purposes begin to become more apparent - apparent to YOU and not only to me - I will have accomplished my mission.

The Spark will have caught on.

Until then? IWALLK.

Love to ALL!

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 49 - Branson, MO - The Passing of Phoenix Wallker

[Originally posted on Facebook.]

I have some very sad news to give you all...

Phoenix Wallker, the brave dog who brought so many people together, gave me two new best friends and showed what it means to fight for life, is being gently put to sleep, due to more extensive injuries than were known. Let us honor him as he becomes one with the Light...

He will never be forgotten by THIS Wallker. I will think of him every time Iwallk, from now until I depart this world. For me he has become the symbol for how we can Truly LIVE in the style of the New Advent to come.

It matters not how long we survive, only that we remain **Awake and Alive** while we're doing it.

Sometimes even an animal can have more Power to influence people than any human being could have to influence another.

In the last few days we witnessed this Power.

LOVE in Action.

May the sun shine brightly and a warm wind blow across the spot where I found you, my big boy... Goodbye.

Thank you all for the love you shared, and especially Rita? for her unmatched devotion to animals and people.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 48 - Houston, MO - New Life

BREAKFAST

Glenn knocked on the guest bedroom door at about 8:30 am and asked me if I was ready. I was. I'd taken a shower, swallowed my blood pressure pill and stuffed my backpack. The blanket I laid over Phoenix still smelled a little bit like him. I know this sounds gross perhaps, but I don't think I will wash it for a little while. I use it as a pillow when sleeping outside and I want to feel like I'm still close to him.

I brought my stuff out through the driveway door and met Glenn there. Throwing it in the back of the truck I climbed in and buckled up. As far as I knew he was going to give me a ride to McDonald's where I could catch up with writing, then walk on from there. As far as *he* knew we were about to have an interesting day and I was going to spend another night. We hadn't discussed any of this with each other in any solid way.

As we turned out of his road onto Rt. 17 he asked what I like to eat for breakfast. I paused for a moment and then said, "Oh, the usual, maybe an omelette." He said nothing more about breakfast as we talked more about the town. I noticed that we drove by McDonald's and headed out to The Eatin' Place, located on 1450 CW Harry Blvd (hours: Monday - Saturday, 6 am - 8 pm and Sunday 6 am to 3 pm, phone: 967-0272), right there in Houston. We parked and he led me in to the little diner-style restaurant. Inside were what I assumed to be the regular patrons. He said hi to each person as we found our way to a booth by the window.

A nice waitress walked up and poured us some coffee. He knew exactly what he wanted and I chose the sausage and cheese omelette with home fries and a biscuit. He got two eggs over easy, toast, bacon (I think?), biscuits and gravy (a dish available at every restaurant I've seen in Missouri, even McDonald's--and not something that is found in Maine).

Waiting for our food, we talked much about business. He told me more about selling cars and other investments he had made over the years, including an easement on the hospital road that he had quite a time selling. He mentioned his 248 acre farm just outside of town that he had had big plans for but was reluctantly now looking to sell.

The price is $510,000, which is $2,056 an acre--a STEAL for such good land. The land is even more desirable because of the roads he bulldozed all around it, the brush and trees he cleared, the miles of high quality fence that he installed and the literally millions of tons of rock and stone that exists on it. The rock alone could be sold for hundreds of thousands of dollars if the right market was developed. But like any of us, he can't do EVERYTHING. He already does as much as he can possibly handle. And the land sits waiting for his or someone's attention.

The breakfast arrived and we dug in. My eggs were perfect. There was cheese in the omelette with the tasty sausage, and then another piece of cheese draped over the outside, just for good measure. The hash browns were cooked just like I like them, crispy and brown on the outside and well cooked on the inside, not too chewy. The biscuit - served with real butter - was gorgeous. It was large, moist and fluffy, but held together well when I heaped butter on it. It took me four cuts to eat the whole thing.
Glenn said, "I'll take ya out to farm after we leave here and drive ya around." This sounded good to me. I'm always into seeing rural land - as I had had the privilege of doing with RhonnaLeigh's land out in Monroe County a week and a half before.

THE FARM LAND

We finished up and Glenn paid, of course. We hopped in the truck and took off down to the road leading out of town. Only a few miles went by when we arrived at his road off to the right, one that he had offered to smooth out and maintain for the county. It was nice and flat, well packed and easy to drive down. We went a little way and then took a right up to a very large double sided cattle gate; big enough to have a large truck go out one side while a large truck goes in the other side.

Now, big rocks are a bit of a passion for Glenn. He's kind of crazy for them. The night before, when we visited the Bark Plaza Pet Hotel and Tastc Shelter, he showed me several very large rocks that were transported over from his property here. One naturally looks like both a St. Barnard's head and a buffalo. They weren't shaped by hand they simply looked a certain way so he used them. All I can say about those rocks is that they must have been a challenge to transport, weighing several tons each. He also had a stone wall constructed behind the pet hotel that utilized many rocks weighing over a ton (2,000+ lbs).

Now I got to see where those rocks came from. There is a vein of limestone and other kinds of rock running right through his property. With plenty more rock available, one could make some good money excavating it.

We drove all around the many winding roads. Deer frequently are found lying in the tall grass of certain spots Glenn knows well. We drove past a large 25 acre valley that Glenn plans to turn into a lake. He wants to erect a dam. It would only take a few days to fill the area, and when it's done it would be upwards of 30 feet deep. Populating it with fish would be easy if the pond in his yard is any indication. There, he has thousands of fish, some as large as 50 lbs.

All around the property are small fields and groves of trees. It must be beautiful in the summer time. The property would make a great campground or church camp. I could see a New Englander saving up extra money and buying it as a resort, hunting ground or big retirement retreat.

When the tour of the land was done, he told me we should go check out the house project that the New Life community was working on. I agreed and we headed out and down the road to the convergence of the Piney Rivers. On the way there, we passed over one of the highest elevations in the area. I could see down into the rolling, storybook-like valleys of fields, hills, farms and woods. It was quite impressive.

THE HOUSE AND THE STONE

When we got to the New Life house "the Russians" were working hard on the patio stones. I also took lots of pictures of their other work. They have a very characteristic style to their architectural forms. They do a kind of dry stone work that really captures the color and shape of the rocks they use. They are masters of masonry. The house is flanked with large stone arches and squared-off columns.
We went inside and saw that they'd already done the floors and walls, highlighted with wide marble tiles in the bathrooms, fat molding around the edges of the ceilings and iridescent small tile work that I really loved in the kitchen. Their attention to detail spared no space. This is something we would see later when we visited their compound. In the house - which used to be an army barracks - between the rooms they had cut bricks in half and made arches around the doorways, highlighted by elevated keystones in the centers, giving a kind of Old World quality to the interior.

When we returned out into the front yard one of the workers led me down the back steps to the river below so that I could film it all. The steps were made of large uncut rocks. He told me that the idea was to make it look like the stairway had always been there. And it really looked that way. A wide wall ran the length of the stairs and huge blocks made up each step. Trees that were jutting beside these stairs were allowed to grow up right next to them, as the wall ended where each tree grew and began again afterward.

Part way down the stairway was a separate set of stairs that divided off and ran down to another part of the river. At the base was a thirty foot, completely flat area of rock formation where people could just jump off into the clean river if they wanted. The river - at the point where it passed the house - was about ten feet deep, and I could easily see the bottom through the crystal clear water.
The task had been a momentous one, but these guys were completely equal to the work they'd done. They were young, strong men; men with a real purpose. They fit stone together in an organic way, finding and fitting each piece not by planning, but by artistic sense. The art of their labor was fantastically intricate. Touring this fine structure and its associated yard was a real treat for me.
For twenty years or so, I'd dreamed of building a stone house. Now, after seeing what was possible, I think I might revisit the idea when I return to Maine. My property plan could easily be modified to replace the wooden cottage with stone. And, now having been inspired by New Life's designs, I think I would do something much like what they did, not only for the cottage (please see my SelfSustainingProperty.blogspot.com blog) but for the landscaping as well; integrating thick stone walls, paths, steps, patios and planters.

While we were preparing to leave and drive to the New Life compound, a young gentleman named Alex (former leader of the New Life project there in Missouri, a Russian Jew with a thirteen-year complete recovery success story) showed up with his associate, Stan, a very intelligent and mild mannered young man who would serve as Alex's expert interpreter for the remainder of our visit that day.

Glenn talked out some business with Alex - who did speak fairly good English when he had to - and then we all got in our vehicles and headed off to the New Life compound.

It was a relatively short drive. And along the way Glenn slowed down to point out a VERY large boulder (on the order of twenty tons!) on the side of the road; one that he'd had his eye for a long time. He'd formulating ways that he might transport it, but was still trying to figure out if it exceeded the weight limit of the Missouri road system. It was one big mother of a rock. And, through the edges of the woods line he pointed out a whole vein of similar sized rocks of the same kind. The "Russians" (as Glenn called them) were patiently waiting behind Glenn's truck for us to get moving again which we presently did.

NEW LIFE USA

Turning into the road that led to the New Life compound and driving to the front gate I saw more great land. New Life USA had chosen a great tract on a hillside location to build their compound.
After we drove through the gate and visually cleared by Andrey, the current security man on duty and - as I would later discover - bee keeper, we parked in front of the main building. Alex told me that they had only purchased the property about eight years ago, and when they began constructing the buildings for it only one small wooden structure stood there. In that time they had quarried and moved stone to many different areas of the property. The work on buildings coincided with the work on the landscaping. They have been adding and expanding ever since.

We first walked down near the guard/gate house, and there at the bottom of the stairway was a 30 foot diameter circle of ancient stone. They had crafted a compass star into it with very cleverly honed darker pieces (the arrows of the directions, and sub-directions). Beside it was a pretty little spring-fed pond, with water clearer than the river had been. Beyond was another branch of the Piney River, bordered on either side by an annual flood plain varying in width from several yards to about thirty yards.

Glenn knew this land as well as New Life did, having been there during some of the most important stages of development. He cleared land and made several ponds on the property with his bulldozer. He'd met these folks a few years before and had been a regular visitor and consultant there many, many times. He'd attended their church meeting, seen them witness for each other, watched them have fun and play music. It was obvious to me that they had a deep respect for this local man who had taken such a caring interest in their project and been so helpful in building this place. And, he was warmly fond of them, having known most of the graduates and workers.

Men and women were given the chance to get clean - for free - by working in the program and its associated ministry. It is a fourteen month program of strict work and fellowship. No smoking is allowed there, no cell phones either. The temptation to begin using again is just simply too strong to risk allowing these things to take place. Not all participants are successfully reformed. But the ones who are make outstanding citizens; some going back to Russia and its neighboring states and some remaining here in the US. Alex himself is married with children and trying to become a US citizen. We could use such capable, intelligent, hardworking and upright people like him here. And, I hope to see more of them stay.

We walked back up the small hill and entered the main building. It was cozy, with couches on the left side of the room for relaxing and taking breaks. A small PA system and mixing board stood at the ready for their entertainment purposes. In the hallway leading down to the restrooms were six large photo collages utterly filled with pictures of the dozens of participants, their visiting families and many children. Glenn spent a long time pointing out and naming people he knew. The Russians helped him a bit with pronunciation, but he was quite familiar with each one, describing their personalities and where they were now.

We checked out the kitchen where the cook was preparing a taco salad and other items for lunch. The group struggles to get enough protein and other food items. Glenn provided several turkeys and all the side dishes for this last Thanksgiving meal, something the group really appreciated and devoured joyfully. He has also brought many deer during hunting season and contribute food whenever he can. People can't work if they can't eat. It would be nice to see MUCH more US money flowing into this organization to support the good work they do for the men and women who are part of this program, so that they might not have to worry about such basic needs as food. They would be self-sufficient if they could just get ahead. Part of this growth has to do with related industries and manufacturing done in the compound. One of these growing practices is a very successful aquaculture program. And that is what we visited next.

Our small group made its way along the path and up to the greenhouse where we met Dustin, its keeper and gardener. Dustin and I hit it off immediately. My fondness and experience with growing plants fit right into his experience with the closed cycle of the fish-to-plants-to-fish loop he had perfected. As we strolled through the many plants and substantial fish tanks, he explained the process. The fish (tilapia, in this case, a fast growing and tasty species that can provide a great amount of protein) essentially poops in the highly-aerated water of the tanks. This matter falls to the bottom and is drawn out and into the irrigation system. The fishy water is pumped up and flooded for short periods into the extensive trays of seedlings and adult plants (including carrots, tomatoes, peas, radishes and other vegetables).

The plants clean the water and produce a kind of green-colored bacteria that separates out nitrogen (an element that plants can readily utilize to grow quickly). This natural filtering system allows the water to then be reused by the fish. Three growth stages of fish are constantly kept. The fries (baby fish) are in standard home-style glass aquariums. Were they to be introduced into the big tanks they would be immediately consumed by the adult fish. There is another couple of tanks where mid sized fish (about six to eight inches long) grow and become strong enough to swim with the adults. Tilapia are omnivores (eating both plant and animal matter), but they really prefer the food pellets that Dustin is constantly scooping into their tanks. they never seem to be satisfied with what they've already eaten and ravenously much every pellet that is available. Some of the adults were quite large (up to eighteen inches long and some nearly ten pounds).

The air was thick and humid, warm and tropical feeling. not much electricity was used. The heat was from a big wood furnace, and the multitude of large windows allowed plenty of light energy to penetrate the structure. The building itself was about thirty feet by forty feet, with lower edges and a higher central roof section that had adjustable windows able to be opened and closed to regulate air temperature and freshness.

I had seen vertical tomato plants before at Pine Land Farms in New Gloucester, Maine, and Dustin's were on their way to the ceiling. Tomato plants really can be grown like vines. They can reach heights of fifteen feet or more. It is an efficient way to grow them, especially in a greenhouse like the one we were in. Please stay tuned for a video of all of this (as well as the other areas of the compound). I could have stayed and worked there with Dustin - who had taught himself how to do his job - all day. I found the process fascinating and now that I've seen it up close, I believe I would be able to reproduce it on my own future property. It is just one more ecologically sound and nutritionally rich way to have both meat protein and all the benefits of vegetables. Even in a Maine winter I believe this system could be maximized to last indefinitely. Self sustaining food with a perpetually efficient production loop, and no waste.

I really was becoming fantastically impressed with what these guys were doing here. We said goodbye to Dustin and hopped into our vehicles to drive out past the fields to the bee keeping area. Now THIS reminded me of all the charm one might associate with traditional Eastern European culture. Inside a sprawling and fabricated gateway sat thirty beehive boxes. The Russians call them "families."

Stepping inside the gate we walked up to the cute, highly decorative and detailed little house where we met Andrey again (the guard we saw when we drove in). He unlocked the door and we all stepped in. Here was another process I'd only ever read about or seen in videos. Now I could see it up close and speak with an expert.

With Stan interpreting, Andrey explained the various aspects of honey production. In the spring, in order to give the bees something to adhere their wax and honeycomb to, ten inch by fourteen inch wooden frames with tight metal wires spaced threaded through them and spaced out at about two inches are prepared with flower stems weaved in between. Not many are needed as the bees will do the work of reinforcement, building their wax combs across the entire frame. Andrey said that they were switching over to metal wire from nylon because they discovered that they could run a small electric current through the wire, creating enough heat to let the combs literally melt off. I though this was extraordinarily ingenious.

Bees are much like the people nation states in their behavior between their families. Of the thirty families on this property, ten had gone to war with each other, each family wiping out another, then turning to fight the subsequent victors of other battles, until they had all obliterated each other. Interesting isn't it? Mutually Assured Destruction (M.A.D.). Remember those days? What made this especially poignant and deliciously ironic was the fact that a free Russian was standing here - in America - and telling me of these futile and population decimating honey bee struggles. Andrey smiled, with his kind eyes ablaze after. I smiled back, fully appreciating this story with all of it connotations. The compound produces enough honey to sell. And, apparently it is of a very, very high quality.

Saying goodbye to Andrey and the bees, we drove back to the women's and visitors dorm. It was temporarily vacant at that time, so Stan and I were able to take a quick look at the rooms. They were nice, comfortable and large. He showed me the laundry room which had a wall mural painted by some of the women. He also showed me a small classroom with desks like a high school might have and the children's playroom where the last group to be there had left a few uplifting messages on the white board (shown in a picture I took, now in my Manifest Destiny Photo album here at Facebook). The visit to this building was a short one. While we talked outside for a little while, Glenn pointed up at the roof which had been tar tiled with two different colored tiles, giving it an almost camouflaged appearance. "They use what they can get. They had two sets of different tiles and they used them." Again, no waste. A building that looked like a storage shed was similarly constructed with multi-colored metal roof-like panels. I didn't think it looked recycled. I thought it just looked artistic. It was probably meant to be both.

Last on our tour of the New Life compound was the sauna (or "banya" in Russian). Down by the far side of the river stood a small wooden building with a richly paneled interior fireplace room. The builders had made everything from the panels to the fireplace and mantle, to the highly decorative steel and stone wall. In the very back was a steam room entirely boarded in the traditional style. The stone patio led around back to the firewood pile and the door to the stove. firewood is burned to heat the smooth stones and water is ladled onto the hot surfaces of the stones to produce steam. Russians have a long tradition of bath houses and banyas stretching back to pre-Roman Empire days. It seemed both fitting and a requirement that they had one on the property. Alex, Stan and Glenn told me that on Sundays (their only day of rest) they would gather at the banya to relax and socialize. The idea is to get as hot as possible and then to run out onto the big stone terrace and jump into the cold river. I could just picture the scene from their descriptions.

THE JOURNEY *HERE*

We stood and talked for a while there outside the building; three men who were already good friends and this stranger (me), who now considered them all as my friends. I was overwhelmed, *positively*. I peered back at the building proudly standing on their hillside and turned over the experiences of the day in mind. How else would I have ever known that a place like this even existed, had I not decided to walk to Houston the day before, slept by a cow pasture, found an injured dog, stopped Jack (the driver who called the shelter), met Rita (its President), had her introduce me to her husband, Glenn, toured the town, visited the very shelter where that dog had received such kindness and care, stayed with these two wonderful people overnight, and met a group of recovering Russians? It was the kind of thing you can't even conjure up as fiction. I think it would be - literally - unbelievable if it didn't actually happen. But, it DID happen.

This all started in Boston. I had stood in a rainy doorway, unable to sleep or even sit down for four hours, unconvinced that what I was trying to do would even be possible. I remember very well being cold and soaked to the bone, stooped over my precious backpack, and thinking...

Who exactly AM I? What could I possibly be attempting to do? I want to get right back on that train and go home... But... I can't. There is no home to go back to. I am stuck, alone. No one knows exactly where I am. Besides two members of my family and a handful of friends, no one really cares about me. Am I going to die? Why was I ever even born? Has my life been just a tragedy? Spark--where are you??

Then, the next day, pulling all that I am or have ever been together, for one last time; when my sanity was at the edge of the pit and slipping over and into it--with my soul chained to the dead weight of the darkness below, I made a Free Will Choice--the most important one of my entire life.
I began to simply wallk. I laid my very life on the road that my feet were touching. And said to the Spark: I surrender myself to You. It was at that moment that the chain was loosed. My mind cleared. I felt strengthened and completely permeated with a supernatural confidence. It was only then, from within, that I heard: I AM HERE.

Sometimes when you lose everything, you are actually gaining...Everything.

Love to ALL.

[Please note that there are dozens and dozens of photos of this experiences, plus videos, at my Facebook pages. I will try to add more pictures here when I can. Please Friend me at Facebook for more!]

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 47 - Houston, MO - Glenn and Rita Romines

Around this time last night I received a PM from Rita Romines (President of Bark Plaza Pet Hotel and Tastc Shelter) that her husband, Glenn Romines wanted to meet me. She said he'd be here (at McDonald's) in two minutes.

He arrived and told me to throw my stuff in the back of his red Ford pickup. I complied, and he spirited me off to Spring Garden a Chinese restaurant he rents out at 1030 South Sam Houston Boulevard, here in Houston.

He insisted that I try the Walnut Shrimp. They made up an order and brought it out while we talked. It was sweet and delicious. Good recommendation if you're ever in the area.

Glenn told me that he is a local business owner (please see his Ford and Lincoln Dealership link below), and has lived here for nearly his entire life. I would discover that he is actually is a very prominent member of the town, contributing to dozens of projects and participating in countless events. As I would watch him hauling out his flip phone over the duration of the evening it became apparent that he knew how to get things done. "No" was an answer he joyfully, yet firmly, wouldn't accept from people.

I told him about how my journey began, where I had been and what it was turning into. As with most people whom I share this story with personally, he had to think a bit about what I was saying.

I still don't have a set-explanation. I've tweaked it and changed it to fit the evolving circumstances in the last couple of months. Most people have the same exact reaction to my lifestyle while out here on the road...

They can't seem to wrap their minds around the idea that I mostly sleep outside "in THIS weather!" They nearly always say, "you aren't sleeping outside TONIGHT are you? It is WAY too cold!" I typically remind them that I'm from *Maine* where we had four feet of snow on the ground last winter and the temps would drop to as low as -22 below 0 F. They think for a moment and then slowly nod, still not convinced about my penchant for sleeping on roadsides.

They tell me that I'm crazy. I have heard that at least 653 times. wink emoticon Then they ask about the walking. "Walking from Maine to where? California??" I usually let them know that I haven't walked the whole way. I tell them about the states I have *mostly* walked through, etc., and that I've taken some fairly substantial train rides on Amtrak. I think the fact that I've made it this far (nearly 1,200 miles) says to Missourians (at least) that somehow I may have found a system that works for me.

Then comes the "Why don't you hitchhike? Why don't you ride a bike? Why didn't you leave in the spring rather than the fall? Why don't you set things up with friends ahead of time? Why, why, why?" On and on...

Glenn probably had a similar thought process about it all, but instead of doing what I expected, he calmly listened and smiled, occasionally raising his eyebrows, but not overreacting at all. This was nice. He has teased me a bit since we've gotten to know each other better, but he seems to have gotten the concept more readily than most folks.

After we got all of that out of the way, he just said - plainly and authoritatively - one thing: "Well, you're not gonna sleep outside in Houston, Missouri."

That was pretty much it. I knew that he wouldn't be swayed from this position. So, I bit my tongue and accepted what would be a very generous and warm night inside, courtesy of him and his very dear wife.

Glenn is a very sharp guy. I could tell he'd already worked out in his head what we were going to do that night, before he even hinted at a plan. Right before we left he said, "I'm gonna show ya some things tonight that I think you're gonna find pretty interesting."

We finished up eating, he paid for the meal, said goodbye to some of the other patrons and we went back out to his truck, got in and buckled up. We headed back to his house to talk with Rita before starting out on the Houston tour. We approached his property via Route 17. On both sides of the long, well-lit driveway were large tracts of lawn. This land had been in his family for many years and we passed his sister's house before driving through two stone columns and on to his yard proper.

Rita came out to meet us and I got to see this kind woman who was working so tirelessly, even tenaciously, to get the dog that I found off to a place where he could receive the proper medical attention that he needed. Glenn explained to her that we were going to take a little tour of Houston and that we'd be back before too long.

We turned around and began driving back out through the gate and he pointed out where his large pond was. Riding with him down to it, I saw an expansive body of water about the size of two football fields, and according to Glenn, filled with thousands of fish. There was a tidy gazebo that he'd had built and many tables and chairs on the grass around it. It was an area he frequently held parties for the town at. One of these gala events was for the 4th of July, when he had several kegs of beer, two pigs roasting and even fireworks.

Knowing we had a lot of ground yet to cover, he turned around again and drove back up the steep hill to the driveway. He pointed out places where deer would come through, and then we saw several walk by. At the end of the driveway we got back on the main road, but headed deeper into the center of town.

His pride in the town was palpable and I could see as we ventured on that the town's improvement and growth were his passions. He showed me a space that had once been a run down area, but was now a nice grassy park. We turned around a bend and he described that the town had once been burned to the ground - every structure included, except one - when the Union and Confederate soldiers were camped there and had skirmishes, back in 1864. Apparently both sides had been responsible for the fire.

Houston was a major stopping place during the American Civil War because the conjunction of several rivers made it ideal for setting up camp. He told me that one single house survived the blaze and that he would bring me out to where it still stood. Along the way we passed church after church, denomination after denomination. We saw the new local jail building; an impressive structure with elevators and a very clean look about it, as judged from the outside.

We passed the schools, fire station, a bank his uncle had founded, an old style movie theater and many other buildings that he knew the complete history of. In fact, there was not a single structure that I recall seeing that he did not know the story behind. His own influence was deeply embedded in much of what we passed.

We reached the part of town where the historic and lone house that survived that awful fire stood. It was down a somewhat dark road and separated from the major part of the downtown area. When we got to it I saw a medium sized stucco faced house that hadn't been changed all that much since the days of the Civil War. he said there were still bullet holes throughout it from that time.

Turning around again and driving back down toward the edge of town, he pointed out his Methodist church and slowed as we past and he explained that his mother had designed the large stained glass windows at either end. The next day he showed me them in the daylight and they were very impressive. They had installed them in reverse by accident (back in front and front in back), but because of this the sunlight would project a brilliant cross image into the sanctuary.

Speeding up again a bit we past his mother's house, a large, white four-column mansion style structure (I believe it was at 312 King Street?). Then shortly after we past another large Victorian mansion, with a very interesting architectural feature that made the central tower face diagonally across the front of the house.

Heading further on we went by the local airport which was extensive enough to land a very large plane. I would learn that Glenn was a pilot once and used to both hunt and even fly from place to place to sell cars, which he became exceedingly good at, having done it now for over 50 years!

The night was pressing on and we had visited many of the sites that a traveler like myself would never have gotten to see or hear the descriptions and histories of if he/she had not met such a knowledgeable and involved resident. This kept making me feel thankful again and again for how things just seemed to work out so fortuitously.

On the way back to the house we stopped by Rita's labor of love, The Animal Shelter of Texas County (TASTC) and Bark Plaza Pet Hotel. * [Please see note at the bottom.]

We parked, got out and Glenn unlocked the front door of the pet hotel. The waiting room there was very inviting, large, incredibly neat and filled with charming pet treats and children's books.

Front Desk of the Bark Plaza Hotel

Along the walls were poster sized, professionally produced pictures of the actual rescued pets from the shelter (located just across the yard). We stepped into the exercise area, partitioned by white movable picket fences. It was a large room, almost auditorium-sized. Along the walls, stood well-appointed, open-faced pet rooms. Each had its own custom fabricated gate; with bars just close enough together that no dog could ever bit a hand that got too close. But they were airy enough to easily view the pets, even for small children.

There were soft beds in each open room, and there was a back door to each that led directly outside where they could get fresh air and do their doggy business. At the face of each extended wall (that could be seen over by adults), stood a street style lamp, giving the appearance of the French Quarter of New Orleans, when the overhead lights were turned off.

Through glass doors at the side was the cat room. It it struck me as especially nice for feline friends. About maybe eight cats were free to climb around of stands, laze around on soft cat beds and walk in and out of the heated part of the room to the outside where a screened in room there allowed them to run around and play with each other, feeling like they were outdoors, but with the safe impression that at anytime they could scoot right back inside.

At other pet hotels that I have seen, the cats are all caged up, sometimes under glaring florescent lights in smelly rooms. NONE of this was true for this cat hotel. They all milled about without any conflict between them. The ones who wanted privacy simply crawled up into their beds and hung out above the cat party. Even I would leave my cat there if I were living somewhere in Texas county and needed a first rate 4 Star hotel for him to enjoy having a break from me.

The place was extremely clean. It had not even the slightest hint of odor. This is do to a high tech filtration system that used ultraviolet light to kill germs while the fans continuously circulated and filter the air, mixing it with fresh air.

We then locked up and walked over to the shelter building. It was a bit louder as one might image with dogs who had been abandoned and lost. But they were fortunate to have a loving staff during the day to care for them and large rooms to jump around in.

The puppy room was adorable and would steal any one's heart away. There were six or seven little pups who eagerly came to greet us. they hopped over each other and tripped around carelessly.

The cats were calm and looked expectant. Each drew you in with its eyes, like cats do. All of these animals are adoptable and waiting for YOU to come and take them home. Please take a leisurely browse through my pictures and (soon) videos available on this timeline or at their associated websites, with links also available on my profile page.

We locked up the shelter and headed back to the truck. Since Glenn and Rita lived right up the street it took no time to get home. We got back to their house and started down the driveway as we had done earlier in the evening, toward the dark area where the pond sat beyond the edge of the grassy hill. And there lay two does staring into our headlights with out batting their little eyelashes, and not moving at all.

It was such an image of nighttime tranquility. The house was nicely lit from within by indirect lamps, shining through the windows. He drove to the bottom part of the driveway and told me to unload my gear by the back door of the guestroom. I did, and we circled back up to the front door to park.

Inside, Rita met us at the door and led us into the kitchen. The couple has four rescued dogs of their own and they greeted us. Rita was on the phone, still arranging rides and appointments for the dog I found and really having quite a bit of success. She also doesn't take "no" for an answer!

Glenn showed my around their house. It was a wide-open space where the kitchen led into a dining area and then around a corner into the living room. Soft carpets and low light bathed the floors. Huge beams rescued from an old railway warehouse strongly supported the high ceilings and intricate curves of the walls. An immense brick fireplace gave the feeling of being in a lodge on a mountainside, which in some ways was very similar to the way their house was situated on the hillside, snug and private.

Going back into the kitchen, Glenn got busy scooping out some delicious vanilla ice cream. He pulled a big piece of coconut cream pie out from under its glass rest place and slid it on to a plate, pushing both in front of me. I usually some discomfort with such extreme generosity, but they made me feel like a family member who had come home to visit. And I had just met only hours earlier!
I couldn't resist the sweet hospitality of a fine dessert with these folks and dug into my treat, loving every bite. We fooled around with the internet, discussed more about what each of us did with our lives, our histories and our ambitions and philosophies about life. It was a true blessing and I have only rarely experienced such a warm and friendly time with strangers-now-friends.

Eventually it was time to break up the meeting and go to bed. Glenn led me down to a wide hotel-suite quality guestroom that I thought would have made a great master bedroom, or maybe even a small house. The big soft bed was loaded with pillows. Rural scenery graced the walls. The bathroom was stocked with a jet-tub and a separate shower, two sinks and a towel waiting on the edge of the vanity.

To have gone from sleeping on wet leaves in a sagging tent in 35 F air, with the constant chance of wild animal encounters the night before to THIS, was... well... almost miraculous. I went online to check out the final night's posts here at FB, and the shut down the laptop and climbed into bed. I slept better than I have in a long time.

I didn't know exactly what was going to happen the next day. But I had a funny feeling Glenn knew perfectly well. I DID know it would likely be filled with more inspiration and adventure and I would not be disappointed!

[* Note: There are many pictures and videos of TASTC and Bark Plaza Pet Hotel on my Facebook profile pages. Please Friend me there for more!]

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 46 - Texas County and Houston, MO - Phoenix Wallker

I woke up to the sound of my watch alarm at 5:30 am. There was a definite dread for me as I contemplated how I would get out of this sleep spot, and past the yellow truck guy. I shouldn't have worried, it turned out fine.

Pack up went very well. I am truly proud of myself for becoming a real expert at this camping and sleeping thing. Each time I do it I find ways to make it more efficient. I did it in under a half hour this time--I think my fastest yet.

I found a path directly to the highway and even though the guy could have seen me, apparently he didn't. I began my 10 or so mile slog under ANOTHER overcast sky. There was a straightaway for what I guessed would be about two miles. As I often do I converted the kilometers that my pedometer watch records into miles for an estimate, then converted the rest of the trip. One of the pop tunes I'd heard so frequently at the many restaurants I'd visited was looping in my brain: "Call Me Maybe." I like the song now and was trying to remember the lyrics.

A few huge semi-trucks passed by. I noticed that the flat beds didn't move out of the way but the box trucks usually did. When I was almost to the hill that I'd gauged, I was a bit pinned against a guardrail as I crossed a small bridge over another dried up river. Just ahead was a large cliff on the left.
I approached it, thinking about what I was going to write about when I finally arrived in Houston. And, up ahead was the answer.

I saw a dark object in the ditch and thought it might be another road kill. The day before I'd walked by countless armadillos, turtles, opossums, deer and even a coyote. But this shaped moved. I halted immediately, and looked forward intensely.

It was definitely a canine of some sort. It's large head watched me. I thought for sure I was going to have a run-in finally with one of the coyotes that had been on my mind these last couple of days, but it was far too large.

I called out and it tried in vane to get up and walk, but it became very obvious that it couldn't. I walked faster toward it and noticed it was a large dog - about 80 pounds - fluffy, with German shepherd markings, mixed with some meatier breed.

His ears went back in a friendly way as I talked to him. I could see that his hind quarters were collapsed in the wet ditch. His front left paw was obviously broken. He whimpered as he tried to move. I ran over and down the grass to him. I was heartbroken to see such a beautiful creature in such distress with no one there to help. I pet him and scratched behind his ears. His large brown eyes stayed focused on my gaze and we had an understanding that I would not leave until he was helped.
I ran back up to the side of the road and tried to flag three cars down. Their drivers literally looked the other way as they passed. I went back over and comforted the dog again. I told him he was going to be OK and that I'd find help. We were their on the rocky ground, in the middle of nowhere.

Later People on Facebook named him Phoenix Wallker

I went back up the bank and saw a mid-sized white truck approaching from the direction I had been walking (north), but in the opposite lane. I waved my walking stick in the air and pointed toward the dog in the ditch. This time the break lights went on as the truck pulled over. Out walked a good looking, gray-haired man, a flight vest on and a navy blue jumpsuit, with a winged-badge.
He saw the dog and immediately began to speak. He said he'd seen the dog's eyes last night along this way and had gone back looking for him, but was unable to locate him. It was more than coincidence that this same caring man would be "brought" back to do what he'd intended to do last night, though he just happened to be coming back from work.

We both agreed that this was not a good situation. The dog had been laying in muddy ditch, filled with sharp rocks for more than 12 hours, through a cold night. The thought was terrible to contemplate. We determined that both hind legs were either dislocated or broken and the left leg was certainly broken.

Thankfully this guy - Jack Hines (an EMT helicopter pilot based in Salem, MO) - knew the Texas County Sheriff. I was just thrilled that he knew how to get help. He tried the state troopers numbers, but they were busy dealing with something else. He tirelessly phoned person after person. In between calls he mentioned that the county had a a no-kill shelter and thought they would be amenable to picking up the dog.

Jack Hines - Hero with a Cellphone

As he worked to find help, I comforted and pet the dog, who would not release eye contact with me. I definitely made a connection with this poor animal that I will never forget.

Jack and I talked about whether we should move him out of the water. But this was a BIG dog. I attempted to lay him sideways against me and he cried out in pain, so I stopped. His ears kept going back letting me know that he didn't blame me for the pain. Jack continued to work furiously to find someone.

I told him that no matter what, I was going to stay there with the dog until help came even if it took all day. Jack looked at me and I could see that he felt the same way. Eventually he got the number to Tastc Shelter and they agreed to send a van out from just outside of Houston. Jack and I both sighed with relief.

I pulled up dry tall grass, folded it and began to put it under the dogs legs trying to raise him out of the water, or at least make a softer surface. Understandably it took a while for the van to get there. Jack went back to his truck and shut it off across the road. While he was doing that, I removed my blanket and placed it over the dog, who sniffed at it and accepted the extra warmth. With some pathetic resignation, the dog laid his head down on the rocky ground as jack and I worked.

I remembered that I had a bag of beef jerky in my pack and took it out. The dog, hearing plastic bag being opened, perked up - as any dog would - and he cocked his head. I offered him a piece. He seemed to have forgotten about eating until I did that. Then he gladly chomped the tasty meat and looked up for more. I gave him about a dozen pieces, but was afraid to give him too much, for fear that he'd begin to get more energy and hurt himself trying to get up.

By that time a ranger drove by and turned around to investigate. He was a young guy, pleasant, and a transplant from New Mexico (I can't remember his name). Once he knew the shelter had sent a vehicle, he took off. Only minutes later the white TASTC van pulled up. Two woman got out and assessed the situation. It was determined that a blanket would be the best way to move the dog.
They opened the back and brought a blanket over. They slipped it under the dog who looked nervous. It took all four of us (jack in front, one of the women on each side, holding the blanket and me lifting the dog's rear) to get him into the van, into a large kennel cage they had fully prepared. The dog was in considerable pain and cried loudly. Still, he accepted what we were doing, and as I got his hind all the way into the cage, I reached out and pulled his face close to mine. He licked me and I knew he was saying thank you. He appreciated all us, I just knew it.

Jack offered me a ride the rest of the way into Houston to McDonald's--where I currently sit, writing this. Immediately the shelter posted the dog's picture on Facebook. I will be adding pictures and a video of this encounter shortly. I haven't stopped writing for the last three hours and need to get some food.

Let me return for one last time to what I said in the earlier part of these three posts...

EVERYTHING happens for a Reason.

The decisions I've made in the last two days set me up to find this dog. He may not even survive - though god, I hope and pray he does--he's certainly in the best hands he can be! - but he brought together five caring individuals who might never have met without him. He enriched our lives by reminding us WHY we live. I think Jack and I will stay in contact, meaning I made another friend of this journey.

Jack was fated to eventually find this dog he'd seen last night. He went by at exactly the right time to do that. He had the contacts and ability (having a cell phone, unlike me!) to get the ball rolling and to accomplish his mission. He possessed a kind and sympathetic heart that would not let him give up until help was found and delivered. He helped ME as well as that dog, because I had no way to do anything but comfort the animal.

Those who stubbornly believe that all the relationships and events that happen around us are due to sheer chance; that good or bad "accidents" alone can account for the results that hold up the pillars of Reality, are cheating themselves out of being TRULY Alive.

They, too, are good people - nearly all people are good - but most are still asleep. Whether they wake up or not, the Universe will continue to be Intentional. It will continue to USE us to discover how we can better learn to love each other and let that love overflow across all creation, even to the teeming multitudes of other creatures who make this world beautiful and worth living in.

If I can bring anything to the waking-up process, I hope it will be something that works just well-enough for me to personally find a more evolved attitude for my own role on this planet, while offering the hints necessary for others to do the same.

I told you a while back that I almost died and that I did see the Other Side. In that Light was the completion of my current mission. It is everywhere all the time. I see it becoming re-ignited in my own life. And, soon, I believe it will fill every shadow here on earth, at least long enough for us to change our ways, and create a wonderful future that our great grandchildren can look back and say they were proud of us for making.

If we stay the same as we are now, there will be more global wars, worse ones; there will be more violence between the minority of humans who consider them the authorities and the billions of people who actually give them that authority; there will be skies of gray, waters that catch on fire, air that stings the lungs.

And - because I'm in a dramatic mood right now - I want to give that coming Light a name: The New Advent. I will use this term again in the future--be assured. I am sure now that I am here to announce it. I am one of many who are yet to come.

You are among them. Stop for a moment, look up from your screen and look forward into the distance... Here it comes!

In this holiday season let us make what is usually a commercial travesty into a Human Family Gathering of all faiths, Even those without faith. We ARE One.

It only takes our acceptance to bring us back together. To love is to give.

Just give all the time...

LOVE in Action!