Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 92 - Fullerton, CA - Patrick McNelly

Reaching California

I actually slept on the Amtrak Texas Eagle for about 3 hours on the way to Los Angeles, where I was to connect to the Surfliner to Fullerton. I had a reserved seat from Tucson and it was much more comfortable than my other overnight trips. When you reserve a seat on an overnight train, often you get both seats and they are set far apart from the ones in front and in back. In my case, I only had the wall of the car in front of me. Unfortunately, that also meant hearing people frequently come through the loud door as they moved between cars. But like anything, you get used to it. And, as the evening wore on there was less activity so it wasn't too bad.

I'd forgotten to set my watch back by one time zone, so I woke at 3:30 am thinking it was 4:30 am. That fixed, I tried to go back to sleep but was too excited by the prospect of reaching this mythical land--the Golden State.

Of course it was still dark when we got to LA (about 5:30 am), so I couldn't see much of the city on the way in. Train tracks are usually lined with industrial manufacturers, warehouses, shipping lots and other business that either use the freight trains or aren't bothered by the sound of the railroad. So just about every town or city I've entered by train looks a little bit dumpy from the passenger's perspective. Such was the case with the approach to LA's Union Station. We passed strip clubs, a million small markets, one warehouse that had to have been half a mile square and dozens of trucking and shipping facilities.

The train stopped and I deboarded. I walked down the long siding to the gate and then up through the immense halls of Union Station.

Tunnel to the Gate Union Station, LA

Journey to the Main Hall

Outside Union Station, LA

Forty five minutes went by in a flash and I was on the Surfliner and headed south east to Fullerton. The sun rose shortly after and I was treated to my first California morning.

We were delayed just west of Fullerton by a freight train that was changing out one of its cars. Unlike the Superliners (double decker trains that travel very long distances) the smaller regional trains have WiFi. So I was actually able to PM back and forth with my friend Patrick McNelly, who was planning to pick me up at the Fullerton Station.

These smaller trains with WiFi also have a neat feature that shows you a web page of where your train is at any time along its route. It didn't take long for me to realize how short a trip it was from LA to Fullerton.

We finally arrived a bit late, but I had told Patrick it would be much later. So I just sat outside the station in the morning sun and drank it all in. Patrick finally called to me from the other side of the track and I walked over the short bridge and met this man who I'd been friends with online for more than a decade.

Meeting at Fullerton Station

We climbed in his truck and he took me out for breakfast at a place called, Monkey Business Cafe. This place is much more than a cafe. It calls itself a "non-profit social enterprise." It does some amazing things for the community...

Monkey Business Café Workforce Development Program 

At Monkey Business Café we are giving teenagers and young adults an opportunity to be employed in a business learning environment. Our program is designed for a six (6) month commitment, where they learn the skills necessary to be a productive employee in the workforce, as well as a self-sufficient adult.
Participants work one-on-one with a job coach to foster a pathway to success that includes work experience, employability skills, and living skills. 

Description of Workforce Development Program 

The goal of the program is to help  at-risk youth and young adults, by giving them the services necessary to enable them to reach their goals and dreams.  Services include but are not limited to:

• Planning – Creating a vision for self-sufficiency and developing a plan to make it come alive.  All consumers are assessed so that an individual service plan can be implemented for each consumer to best meet their strengths and interests.

• Advocacy – Assisting in the understanding of resources available in the community and encouraging each person to utilize resources to meet individual goals.

• Hands on experience – Assessing obstacles for employment and implementing rehabilitation services to overcome such barriers, while providing employment in an actual business setting.  At the end of the six (6) month program, each client will have a bank account, resume, work experience and job placement in the community. 

• Case Management – Locating, coordinating, and monitoring community resources, benefits, and entitlements.

The food was delicious. I ordered a SoCal Omelette (an omelette with three kinds of cheese and bacon, covered with strips of avocado, whole wheat toast and very tasty home fries). We drank our "coffee with a conscience" and got to know each other a bit better.

Patrick worked in Fullerton until his retirement about one and a half years ago. He rose through the ranks becoming the Principle Staff Analyst for the Orange County Sanitation District. Before that he was a photo analyst in the US Army. He worked hard during his life and raised two (now adult) children. 

He is also an award winning poet, under the name "Will Patrick." This is a poem he wrote that resonates deeply with me...

A Necklace of Galaxies 

The magnolias are not in flower now
but the bees drone
in the golden rain
on this hill
of October blooms. 

They seek no elusive nectar here.
These places spin among
many other closer stars. 

The waters warm the children.
We brace for winter storms.
Piers tremble in the tide, surfspun 

Sheltered in cautious symmetry,
we align with distant planets
in other conjunctions
on distant shores. 

Victor talks about cobras.
I sift the castings to remove the rocks.
Occasionally I find a gem among them. 

I seek solace in the ancient sun.
I sing of paradise.
I wear a necklace of galaxies.
I live in eternity here. 

© Will Patrick

Courtesy of The Writing Forum

But it was hard to choose among his work to post here. Different pieces are perfect for different times and places. I urge people to check out his writing at the link above.

Patrick is a warm, very brilliant and easygoing guy. I will have more to say in the future about just what a difference it makes to meet someone you've only known online, in person. Adding the 3rd and 4th dimensions to a relationship has value beyond measure. I had already thought extremely highly of him, but he is ten times what I'd presumed. He has supported me in so many significant ways over the last ten years that I have lost count. I have nothing but pure brotherly love for the guy.   

We talked a bit about our shared Cosmic Philosophy. He is the online manager of a forum which discusses such things. In fact, that is how I first met him. We see things very similarly and it was easy to talk to him about the "Bigger picture." 

We finished and climbed back into the truck. He offered to drive me around the hills overlooking the city. So we drove up through some of the most lush neighborhoods I'd ever seen. Every house was packed to the brim with a huge variety of plant species. Basically just about anything grows there.

There were some great views of the mountains. Mount Baldy Peak was majestic in the distance, tipped with snow. We sat there looking at it and talking about the plants we'd seen, and knowing my deep interest in botany, he suggested we go to the Fullerton Arboretum. On the way to the arboretum he described how the land it is on used to be a citrus farm. Man! It isn't any more.

We parked in front of the open gate, got out and entered the webbing of small paths that led all around the area. The plants are kept in sections that reflect different parts of the world (here is a great interactive map). It was extraordinarily beautiful and I took far too many pictures to post here but below are a few of my favorites...

Waterfall

Plantains (Banana Trees)

Plants for Sale to Support the Arboretum

Huge Flower Spike

Prickly Pears

Agave

Snowy Egret

College Ornithology Class

Rain Forest Tree Root System

Bird of Paradise Plant

Mallard Ducks Munching Algae

Patrick knew the scientific and/or common names for most of what we saw. We walked around for quite a long time but still didn't see it all. If I lived there I would probably go at least once a week. Fullerton is doing some great things. Projects like this really highlight that.

We got a little tired and decided to head back to Patrick's house to relax. He showed me into his very comfortable and inviting home and asked me if I wanted to go out back and have a beer. What do you think I said?

We sat at his patio table drinking a bottle of Rustic Rye IPA, brewed right in town. He has a large aloe plant - Aloe ciliaris (climbing aloe) - in the middle of the yard. And he has a cactus - a night blooming cereus - that produces these flowers...

Photo by Patrick McNelly

He pointed out the plants he had. His lime tree - a Bearss Lime (Citrus latifolia) - is stuffed full of fruit. He got up and walked over to another tree, called a Brush Cherry and picked a handful of red berries. They were about the consistency of cranberries, slightly larger, but juicier. He said they can be made into a good jam.

Patrick is also an expert on composting with worm castings. He gets a most superior grade of rich compost in this way. Here are the little guys...

Photo by Patrick McNelly

We were really enjoying ourselves and I asked him if I could see the lap dulcimer that he made. He went inside and brought it out. What an instrument! I'd never played one before. He played it a bit and I got the idea of why the frets are spaced as they are. It essentially lets you play all the major notes in a key (in this case D). I played it for a while myself and got lost in the sound. He went back in and grabbed his acoustic guitar. And we jammed there in the sun, me on guitar him on dulcimer. I even had the good sense to record it. We improvised some very slow and interesting things--a little loose but patterns emerged. If you want to hear part of what we played click the following link...

Fullerton Afternoon

We had another beer and talked pretty deeply about each of our lives, our Philosophy, his time in the army and my journey across the US. It was fitting in so many ways that I would end the coast to coast leg here with Patrick. 

We decided that we would go downtown to his favorite pub, Bootlegger's Brewery, and have a couple of beers from the source of our afternoon imbibement. When we got there we walked in and he introduced me to some of his friends. Young and old, male and female, Patrick gets along with everyone. We got a couple more of the Rustics and sat to discuss the next day and the next trip north.

Photo by Patrick McNelly

Bootlegger's Brewery - Wearing Patrick's Hat

Pat's Friend Jim - Bootlegger's Brewery

We talked with the people at the table, especially a guy named Jim. I also got some advice about whether I should go to places in between the LA area and the Bay area. By the end of our time at Bootlegger's I was pretty sure that I wanted to skip the middle part of the state (at least on this trip).

We got back to Patrick's at a respectable hour, then went each to our own room. I had planned to write and work, but I was so exhausted from not sleeping much the night before and the whirlwind of things we did that day, that I laid down on the bed with the laptop and simply passed out.

The next day was just as beautiful as the day before. That's how it is there practically all the time. The Santa Ana winds were picking up though. We decided to drive over to Huntington Beach to take my symbolic wallk in the Pacific.

On the way over the wind really got whipping. Palms and leaves were blowing all over the road, and the taller palm trees would bend and then right themselves. We arrived at a very empty but immense white sand beach. We parked and I felt funny, as if it had all (my cross-country journey) gone by way too quickly. Nevertheless, fate picked this day for a wade in the ocean.

Rebaptized by the Pacific Ocean, through the Feet 

Photos by Patrick McNelly

I felt ocean water on my feet for the first time since last summer in Maine. It was decidedly warmer--though most Californians might call it cold. I stood there and thanked the Spark for guiding me to California, and for letting me experience so many adventures along the way. 

It is truly a profound experience to see the sun rise over an ocean in the east and three months later to see it set over one in the west. My mind was filled to bursting with emotions at the same time that it was tangled up in thoughts about the present and the future. Looking back, I saw myself sleeping in the woods, in fields in deserts. The further west I came the more I had to choose motels. But, I'm not a purist about actually walking or camping. That was not what this journey happened for. It was about the personal challenge, and the interpersonal relationships that were built or maintained along the way.

I also tried to carry a message as I moved westward about a New Time soon to come, when inside ourselves we would be strengthened. This strengthening would lock us all together as American brothers and sisters as we have never been before. I have no idea whether it made sense to anyone besides myself. But I HAD to exclaim it. The journey required it of me. And I'm glad I sang this song.

We drove back into town to Patrick's and had another chance to sit outside for a while, before I bought a room for the night and planned the West Coast part of this trip. Patrick recited poetry (some very relevant) and read me passages form his own journal, written in his twenties. I was shocked at how similarly we wrote and thought. 

Eventually it was time to leave, and Patrick helped me find a motel right down the street. It was the perfect place to get to the train station the next day.

I will never forget my time with Patrick, nor his gentle introduction to the state of California. The state is so mind blowing, so astonishing in so many ways, that he was the best person to first be in touch with here. I know in the next couple of months that I can always take comfort in the memory of sitting in his backyard with the sun pouring down and playing the music that let our souls enjoy a little time on the outside of ourselves. It will be my "happy place" when new problems arise in the future.

* * * * * * *

I think many people consider that I must be done with my journey. But such is not the case. It will not be completed until I spend time in Oregon and Washington. There is much more for me to go through. I am worried that interest is waning in this last stretch. The adventure is not over! There will be things that happen that none of us have anticipated. The end is near, but it is not yet here. Thanks very much again for wallking beside me and keeping up with this project. You and the Facebook friends I have literally made it possible. It is not something I did. It is something WE did. I'm so fortunate. I don't take it for granted.

Please, if you'd like to make a donation or contribution click the PayPal "Donate" button at the top right side of this blog page. I appreciate anything you can give, even if it is moral support. Also please friend me at Facebook if you haven't already, to see a vast collection of pictures and videos that are not on this blog. 

Love to All!

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 89 - Tucson, AZ - Tests of Darkness 2

The walk to town seemed longer than usual. I stopped in at McDonald's and bought a drink, but didn't have much to post so I just looked around Google for Tucson sites I hadn't seen yet. I saw the Botanical Gardens, and for some stupid reason I thought they'd be free. I also looked up the Ascension Cafe's location, thinking I might pop in there and check it out. They were far away but I had nothing better to do that day than walk and take pictures, so I refilled my drink once and left with it.

The plan was to walk all the way up Ajo to Alvernon, then head north until I got to the general area where the Botanical Gardens were. Ajo was a LONG slog. My right foot had started to develop blisters the day before and now they were growing. But I kept walking. There was nothing else to do.

Finally at about noon I got to Alvernon. The very first thing I noticed was that it was a very busy highway, with ta da!, NO sidewalks. I began my even longer hike up that disaster of a road. There were several bridges where I had to run over to the middle island to cross or I would have faced 60 mph cars and large trucks going by. After each bridge the middle island turned into round field-like stones about the size of softballs. I could not walk them, so I ran back over to the side, where it was smaller rough sharp stones. I took several pictures of the many crosses that popped up where people had been killed. These mini, private monuments were all over the place in Tucson.

Roadside Cross

I stopped under a tree to take a rest. I know I was hurting my feet, but I'd come too far to go back now. I figured I might be able to find a place to spend the night over by the Air Force base or something. It was a dumb idea. It never would have worked, way too open.

By about 2:30 pm I reached Swan Street and headed down towards the Botanical Gardens. I got there at about 3:00 pm. I walked in like a sweaty homeless guy, because, well...that's what I was. The very young woman behind the counter wouldn't look at me, although no one else was in there. So I said, "Um excuse me..."

She looked up and then gave me the elevator look, and asked "Like can I like *help* you?"

I felt like a fool for even asking. Hell, I felt like a fool anyway. "Is there an admission fee?"

"Yeah, it's like $8.00." She smiled, knowing I couldn't afford it.
I bit my tongue and thanked her. I heard her say, "Have a nice day sir," as I walked back out and sat down on the bench.

I was thirsty, dirty, sweaty and hungry. I walked around trying to remember where Ascension Cafe might be. I asked a couple people and they'd never heard of it. By the time I really needed a rest again the Burger King on Grant Street appeared. Hope! And I could get a drink, maybe a small burger, and use the WiFi to find the quickest way back. I ordered my burger, which WAS small. And I waited on the drink since there was a K across the street where I could buy a $0.79 32 oz drink.

I sat down and took off my pack and vest, pulled the laptop out and tried repeatedly to get online. After a few restarts and trying other nearby signals--something that never works, I walked up to the counter and asked if the WiFi was working. The girl at the register said "No, it hasn't worked for days."

I told her I'd spent the last of my money to buy something there so I could use the WiFi. A very overweight security guard watched me with a suspicious and unsmiling gaze. These restaurants out here have rent-a-cops who sit around discouraging ruffians like myself from causing "problems."

Another woman walked up and said that there was nothing they could do to help me and that it wasn't their problem. I felt the beast rising from its dungeon, but swallowed it down again. "Well I'd like a comment card so I can mention that your restaurant advertises WiFi but doesn't actually have it." She rolled out a receipt and showed my the online comments address. I just said, "I'm not happy."

I turned around, went back put all my stuff back on and walked on what were now two sore feet out the door. I stopped in the parking lot and examined the web address on the receipt. As I did, the fat security guard came out and told me I was trespassing on *his* property and needed to leave. We had a pleasant little conversation...NOT. I didn't lose my temper but I took the opportunity to out argue his logic, which wasn't hard.

He threatened to fine me $250 dollars and said he'd love to call the police. I left without further comment. I was now not a happy camper. I walked across the street and bought my 32 oz drink. And came back outside to the parking lot just as the sun was sinking below the western mountains, where my campsite sat, empty, and the Old Man stood...maybe a little lonely. There was no way in hell I was going to make it back there.

I pulled out my compass and took the nearest eastward running street. Can't remember which one. I was beginning to limp. The pack felt like I was carrying that security guard on my back. Darkness was soaking in again. My ups and downs were turning into downs.

I walked as if in a dream. My pack weight bothered me. My shoulders hurt, but my feet were killing me. These new boots were tough enough to keep stones out, but there souls were showing themselves to be very thin. Every small stone jabbed my blisters. The limping was getting more pronounced. But I had about 8 miles to go across town to get back near Ajo.

Side street after side street passed. I waited dozens and dozens of times for walk signs to turn on. Here in Tucson you WAIT for the crosswalks to be free of traffic. There is no J walking; not because it is illegal (which it is) but because you risk serious injury or death by crossing. The cars are very good about letting people cross where they are allowed to, but generally will not slow down if you are crossing illegally.

The sweat was pouring down my face and dripping onto my dirty jeans and the sidewalk in front of me. I greedily drank my large lemonade until there was nothing but ice. Eating ice then became a ritual to follow every minute or so. I hadn't even pissed all day. I had no need to, I was essentially doing that through my head...which I guess makes my a piss head.

I slowed significantly while passing over Broadway and reached the University of Arizona area. I had no idea where I was going now. The sun was my usual gauge, but it was gone. The darkness was everywhere. I pulled out the compass and consulted it so many times that it lived in the front pocket of my jeans for the rest of the night. It worked well.

All I wanted now was to get near Ajo. Someway I made it near a fast moving highway called Parkway. I heard what sounded like a plane, I found out later it must have been a freight train. It was behind a large wall across the highway to my left. I was now limping my right leg painfully. Every step was felt. If I could only sit down and treat the blisters (in other words cut them open and drain them, that relieves the pain) I know I'd feel better. If you feel sharp pains - like the pain of a cut - on the soles of your feet they are un-popped blisters. I had dealt with them so many times on this trip that I could easily recognize them.

But this was the worst pain I'd felt yet. I just couldn't stop though. Before long the left foot began to blister up and I was limping both feet, trying to use the between-step relief to outweigh the pain of the foot stepping down. This didn't work particularly well.

Beside the blisters my feet themselves were aching from over use. I looked at my pedometer, it read 33 km (20 miles) since I'd left McDonald's that morning. I remembered that I had a bus map in my back pocket and looked up my location. It was not to scale--only a schematic diagram. And not every street is listed, only the major ones that applied to the routes. But it helped. I kept sitting down and resting every chance I got. But whenever a police car drove by they would slow down and stare at me. A few times they waived me on.

It is a kind of hell to be unable to even sit down at night in a city. It's happened too many times to recount. Everyone becomes suspicious of everyone else. The other walkers and the homeless are always looking over their shoulders.

I drained the last of the Camelback after the ice in my drink was gone. I'd stumbled (literally) into some side streets that were a maze of different directions. While walking down one of them the next and most powerful test of darkness occurred...

I'd reached about the midpoint of the block. It was just another of the endless tiny houses. People were driving way too fast. About 25 feet up the road two pit-mixed dogs - one golden and one black - ran into the street. They jutted back and forth not knowing where to go. They did stick together though. The bigger golden dog kept nudging the smaller black dog, herding it toward the sidewalk.

I walked past them but kept an eye on them, by turning around and walking backwards. A few cars slowed down. One guy pulled over and blocked traffic in one direction. He opened his door to make his car appear larger. I stopped and began to walk back.

The dogs ran around dizzy from all the action. The guy ran out in the road and grabbed the golden dog by the collar, forcing him into his car and then closing the doors. I began to run back toward the black dog who, now without his leader, was going crazy, running in and out of the road. I yelled out to the guy, "Are these your dogs?"

He yelled back, "No!" I ran toward the still-open lane to grab the black dog. And I had a strange chill flow through my body. I knew he was in big trouble. Cars continued to fly through the open lane, not even slowing down. The dog was missed, then barely missed. I could see what the dog couldn't see, another pair of headlights barreling toward his direction.

He was on the sidewalk looking back and forth. I heard a voice calling him. It must have been his owner. He looked out across the road...and ran.
I screamed "NO!!!"

The headlights that had been approaching slammed into him with such a force that I will never ever forget the sound. It was plastic, booming like a base drum but also shattering...

I couldn't help myself, yelled, "FUCK!!"...

The car that hit him stepped on the gas and sped away into the night, never slowing down.

The dog was dragged about 50 feet down the road. I knew what was next...
The inevitable sound of its crying and whining filled the air; another sound I won't forget. I jumped into the free lane and stopped the next oncoming vehicle. It was a young lady who slowly pulled over.

The guy who had taken the golden dog into his car ran over and held traffic off as I jogged up the road to the black dog. He was trying to get up and whimpering badly. I knelt down and told him to stay, scratching his neck. I told him he was a good boy. His shock was palpable the front right leg was obviously broken. There was blood flowing out of his nose and all over my left hand which I kept wiping on my jeans. I reached down the back of his spine and felt a bump just above his rear. His lower back was broken.

Sprinter

The young woman who stopped pulled up next to the dog and got out. By this time all traffic had stopped. The guy who got the other dog into his car walked up. While I tried to comfort the black dog, the woman - who happened to work at a vet clinic - examined the animal. She used her cellphone flash to illuminate the scene.

The guy was furiously calling numbers looking for information about nearby emergency animal hospitals. The neighbors were gathering around in a small circle just outside of us. Finally a young man and his mother and little brother drove up alongside. I checked the collar for tags. There were none. I heard the other guy ask if this was the young guy's dog. He said yes. He said that both dogs had jumped the fence "again." He explained it was actually his little brother's dog.
The little brother - about 5 years old - sat with no shirt on, wrapped in a blanket on the back seat with a lost look in his eyes behind big thick glasses. It was obvious he'd never been through this kind of thing before.

Looking up from the dog the young woman sighed. The dog tried again to get up. We tried to stop him, but didn't want to upset him. He almost sat, but with my hand under him rolled over onto his other side. On the other side we saw scrape marks all over him.

Thinking I might be able to use my Missouri connection for advice if necessary I stood up and took a quick picture and video of the dog, who we now learned was named "Sprinter." The young woman explained that the way it worked with expensive procedures like this family was about to face - with a dog that was lose on the street - is that they either pay for it right then at the hospital, or they relinquish all rights to the dog, the state pays for it, and they are never allowed to have contact with the dog again.

I knelt back down and kept rubbing Sprinter's neck and petting him. He had lost control of his bowls when he was hit and smelled strongly of poop. That added more sensations of just how desperate things were. The guy with us on the street told the younger man to put something down on the seat, since the dog was still bleeding from his nose, mouth, shoulders, back and back legs.

The young woman texted a bunch of different people and posted to Facebook. I've never really watched someone text so quickly. It was amazing. She found an animal hospital on the edge of town and called them. She explained the situation. She looked up and told the mother in the front seat that the animal hospital had said exactly what she had said earlier.

The little boy just looked straight ahead, almost catatonic. The dim lights of the car interior shown out upon the road and the blackness - the darkness - of the night filled every outer nook. The surrounding houses were gone from view. Sprinter's eyes moved back and forth watching all that was happening around him. We knew he would come out of shock soon and begin to panic.

The young woman and I decided that it was time to move the dog into the back seat of the car. She told the mother to move the little boy to the front seat, which she did. We weren't really sure the best way to pick up the dog. I decided to let her direct me. She gently began to raise sprinter's chest and told me to pick up his rear end. He let out a few cries as we worked to get him into the car, but he was very good and didn't fight or try to bite us. He KNEW we were there to help. And I was satisfied that we didn't cause him more pain by carrying him.

The young woman couldn't quite push him in all the way I told her that if she could get his front legs in and then pull the towel as I pushed the rest of him in we could fit him all of the way. We did this and it worked. She took the extra towel and draped it over him. I really began to admire her greatly.

The older guy was at the front window talking to the little kid. He told him Sprinter would be be OK and that he should be strong for his dog. The big brother was mostly speechless the whole time. He just stood there and watched everything. The mother was crying, but holding her composure. The little boy sat and stared forward.

When Sprinter was in the car and the woman had the directions for the animal hospital, the young woman counseled her saying, "You guys have to reach back and say nice things to Sprinter. He will feel your fear if you get upset. Do you understand?" The woman nodded. The older guy shut the back door.

I put my hand on the older guy's shoulder and told him he'd done a great thing that night. He reached out and put his arm around me, thanking me. I laid my hand on the young woman's back and said, "Thank you for your quick thinking and leadership. This would have been much worse without you." She looked at me with red eyes and thanked me for also helping.

Asking these two people for names etc, seemed inappropriate. We had been a smooth-working team. Each of us found our proper place by instinct alone. No one designated responsibilities or bossed people around. We simply KNEW what to do. Our Sparks were temporarily united, something like the entangled particles of quantum physics. Our thoughts became simultaneous, synced like a fiber optic connect between computers. We were - for a short time - of ONE MIND.

Once again a group Americans - a group of humans - faced with tragedy and chaos pulled themselves together--fueled by the Will to Act, worked through an extremely stressful event, did what was necessary in an emergency and learned lesson about life that could not have been understood in any other way.

I knew the dog was doomed from the moment I knelt down beside him. His injuries were far too extensive to save him. But I was learning something about this kind of tragedy - having seen it twice now in the last two months - the suffering of an animal who faces death is terrible to witness; sometimes unbearably so. But in doing as much as possible to make that passing less painful, meanings and values are added to the growth of the helping soul.

If one can view things this way, the soul migrates through another layer on its way to the outside of the person. I believe (but you certainly don't have to) - the material identity of the human-animal creature is slowly replaced by a more permanent "substance," one that even might be able to survive physical death.

But none of that philosophizing was on my mind as I walked down that dark street away from the scene of another seemingly senseless tragedy. No. At that moment I hated Tucson. I said out loud, "If I never come back here it will be too soon." I liked the people very much, especially the ones I just worked with. But I was tired of the city itself, with its limitless tiny houses, vastly long sidewalk-less streets, homeless children and adults, trash-lined highways and relatively high prices.

Now with the crying of the dog echoing in my brain, I began to doubt...

It was all too much; the foot pain, shoulder pain, lack of food and water, having no money, being lost at night in *another* city, the callousness of the driver who hit Sprinter, the reality that a kid was going to lose his dog and the trauma he had already gone through in the process, being told I was trespassing just because I complained about WiFi, not even getting to see the Botanical Gardens after walking many miles to get there, the foolishness at even taking AOG seriously in the first place and wasting my time trying to find their cafe. TOO much!

Why did I have to be there for the thing I can't stand the most--animals in pain? I sat in the pitch black park and asked, "Is THIS the Purpose of my journey?"

Begging for money all the time and feelings of guilt about it found their way into the thought process. "What I do doesn't seem to even come close to being equal to what people have given me. Maybe I am a fraud? Maybe there is NO Purpose at all? I keep blabbing about these intuitions of optimism about a New future. *I* know they are Real to me, but only a few other people even dare to comment on them. I don't blame all the others for not doing so! It all sounds like crazy talk! If this blabbing isn't real outside of myself, is it even entertaining enough to be good fiction?"

I thought not.

I got up and started walking again. My feet were beyond sore and blistered now. They were getting numb, burning on the inside. I reached a bike trail that led along another fast moving highway. It was completely lacking streetlights. My thirst was undeniable at this point. I HAD to get some water. I promised myself I would stop at the next store and ask them for a cup of water. Who could possibly deny a thirsty person water? It was the oldest personal request in all of history. For one human being to give another thirsty traveler a drink of water was practically part of our DNA as a species.

I reached a dark tunnel with no light shining through from the other side. I'd come this far, I had no fear about going through it. I didn't even remember that I had the brightest LED light in the world, one bright enough to stop a herd of deer in Missouri, located in the pocket of my back pack. By I wasn't thinking straight.

I entered it and simply kept going for maybe a hundred feet. Finally a dim glow appeared in front of me, where I saw the figure of a man walking in towards me. We walked by each other and said nothing. I have to admit that I DID look back over my shoulder and saw him look over his shoulder. I was out of the tunnel and emerged near an area called South Park. Passing by closed antiques store fronts and a small cafe, I got to Euclid Street. Of course it wasn't on my bus map. I needed to find one that was.

So I just kept going. I had to walk across some rubble in a low profile planter. It felt like broken glass under my feet. This was pure torture. And I was doing it to myself. Then I felt it. A few of the blisters in my right sole popped. For a moment, that does hurt more than the blisters themselves, yet THAT pain is the indication that relief is ahead. It didn't take long to feel that the pressure of the liquid under my skin was gone. It was a good kind of pain; one that felt like at least *some* healing was on the way. I know this is all gross as hell, and I'm sorry for it, but it IS a fact, it is important, and needs to be recorded. The wetness of the blisters soaked the bottom of my sock. Basically, I was just as disgusting as I possibly could be now. Hoorah!

In my mind was the broken glass of a million negative thoughts smashing each other into smaller and smaller pieces. I was used to the Spark handing me an "out" when things got too rough. In truth it had ALWAYS done that. But it sat apparently dormant in the shattered mind.

I eventually saw a large green sign, the kind that rests over the center of intersections on major roads here. My heart dropped to a new depth. It said Broadway Blvd. That was three miles from where I needed to be. Somehow the bike trail had circled around and brought me backwards by at least a mile. I simply could not believe my eyes. The sign for the street I had just stepped on to said Park Ave.

I looked on the bus map. And there was Park. It ran all the way east to Ajo. All I had to do was walk straight and I would eventually be where I wanted to be. I bucked up, swallowed hard and began to move forward. Immediately there was a 7/11. I walked in and asked for a water. The unsmiling attendant handed me a small styrofoam cup and pointed to the soda machine's water dispenser. My hand was shaking and I accidentally poured Dr. Pepper in as he watched me like a hawk. I poured it out and then did the same fucking thing again. If I'd kept what I'd poured I would have had a soda. But that would have violated the principles of our little unspoken agreement. I was to only receive water, even if it cost him a soda. Such is the logic of charity giving sometimes. I poured out the second amount of Dr. Pepper, finally getting it "right" and poured my damn water into my damn little cup. I thanked him as modestly as possible and he sneered at me, continuing to say nothing as I left.

All in all, I was happy to quench my dry throat. I felt its coldness all the way down to my stomach. While walking might excrete water as sweat, drinking water stops sweat, by cooling the body. I sat and enjoyed the first pleasurable feeling in hours. I realized though that if I sat too long I would freeze up and no longer be able to move at all.

Up I went like a nine month and two weeks, pregnant woman with a baby bump on the *back*. And as the night would have it, walked down the wrong street! I saw Euclid again and realized I'd made a mistake. I sat at a bus stop bench there trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong. I was genuinely becoming dangerously confused. Looking up and trying to get better bearings I saw a police car across from me in a parking lot. The buses had stopped maybe an hour earlier and pedestrians are not aloud to loiter on the bus benches. He slowly moved to the edge of the road, like a shark sensing blood in the water. Honestly, I didn't care. If he were to pull up I'd ask him for directions. I always had a story ready, even when I had lost my own ass in the middle of a city late at night.

He moved out into the street and drove passed me without looking. I looked like shit. I had my walking stick strapped to my backpack, like a dangerous weapon, I had a pool of sweat on the ground below me and literally blood on my hands. Figures, though, he drove right by. Is ANYTHING predictable in this world any more?

I realized what I did wrong with the current street. After leaving 7/11 I walked down the wrong street at the intersection. The outside signs are the same on all sides. Rookie error. I'd only gone about a block anyway, so I got up and walked back correcting the error.

After what seemed to be an eternity, through crosswalks and lights that needed to cycle twice through before letting me cross, by gangs of young teenagers whose voices hadn't even changed yet--riding their bikes at midnight on a MONDAY night, past cops who watched every move I made, I ventured on. I could have been walking on bare bone by that time. The overriding need to find a place to spend the night safely and privately overwhelmed all other urges. I just knew I would find one. At least the Spark was placing that one card on the mental table.

I came under the highway overpass on Park Ave. And saw two of my always-welcome signs, McDonald's AND Motel 6. I knew this area was the end of that day's journey. I checked out the location and there were several motels around, restaurants and a convenience store. I went into the Arco gas station, noticing there was a large gravel parking lot in back, with thick bushes behind it, and then went in and asked for a water. They handed my the same size foam cup. That must be the standard corporate offer for thirsting vagabonds: 8 oz of water measured exactly.

The women were much kinder there and let me take two helping in the store and one for the road. I was feeling much better after drinking the water. I walked discreetly around the edge of the store and the across the parking lot and back beyond the shining lights at the front of the store, into the shadows. I easily found a spot concealed by thick bushes to conceal myself, There was even a soda crate to sit on. I loosened the pack and let it rest on the sand. The army vest came off and it met the sand as well.

I sat there for quite some time looking at the motel signs. I played over the nights events in mind. The time was nearing 2:00 am. I suddenly remembered my last 2 oz of vodka and fished it out. Adding it to my ice water, I enjoyed a bit of relaxation, before deciding to roll out the tarp and sleeping bag.

Refuge

I couldn't believe it. I was camping right in the middle of the city. Darkness had haunted me all day and night., testing my steel. I was ready to give in any time during those daylight hours, fully and unconditionally. But my circumstances kept causing me to keeping forging forward, *through* obstacles--not around them.

I sucked on my little vodka bottle until it was gone. And then I climbed in to the sleeping bag for a very deep and dreamless sleep.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 88 - Tucson, AZ - Tests of Darkness 1

I awoke to the sound of coyotes yipping and whining in the distance. Another siren made its way down the highway which caused local dogs to howl and bark where they were chained outside about half a mile away. The dream was obvious in its meaning. I didn't know if it realistically reflected the way Gabriel is in real life, but it made my decision easy for me. I wasn't going there. I didn't need it, and they didn't need me. I had been leaning away from the idea. Now the choice was final.
I got up, slipped on my shoes and walked around a bit. Then I slid back into the sleeping bag and quickly fell asleep again. I slept without dreams that I could remember until about 5:30 am. I got up, peed and went back to sleep.

* * * * * * *

This time I had a very vivid dream about going to a hotel. There I met a beautiful, young woman in a simple red dress. We were at the hotel bar. She asked me what I was doing in California. I told her my story. I found her very attractive. The bar band began playing a slow Eagle's tune, I think it was "Peaceful Easy Feeling." And I asked her to dance.

Above the roof of the patio were palm trees blowing in a light breeze. A tiny sliver of moon hung in darkening sky.

I looked down into her face and she smiled with her large brown eyes. We walked over to the door so we could leave the bar and it was locked. I looked at her and we both laughed. I seemed to recognize her suddenly. I know I've seen her face before, but I could not place it. I tried the door again and it seemed to be welded shut.

A strange and cold feeling came over me. Behind me I heard her soft feminine voice whisper at first "Welcome..." Then it turned into a man's deep growl, "...to the Hotel California."

* * * * * * *

I woke and sat up and the same time, unzipping the sleeping bag automatically. I couldn't believe I'd fallen for turning song into a dream! I just laughed my ass off.

The sun was almost above the mountains in the east. And I did the pack up, slowly. There was no rush. I took a few more pictures and secured my backpack. For a moment I just stood there looking back and forth at Explorer Trail which went down either side. If I walked west I'd have to go down the cliff I climbed up the afternoon before. If I walked east I saw that the trail (shown in my video recently posted) curved around toward the road. I took it. It was a much easier hike and would make a better way to come back up that night.

The Hotel California dream popped into my head again. And I chuckled to myself as I gingerly stepped from rock to rock. I replayed the guitar solo at the end over and over again in my head. Then it occurred to me that there might actually be a metaphor there, if I were to indulge in some pessimistic fiction.

Maybe the state of California IS that hotel? Maybe I'm going to somehow be trapped there? "You can check out but you can never leave." The thought left as soon as it arrived and I continued toward the trail terminus on to Route 86, and walked east back to Tucson.

I walked the 3.5 miles or so back to the McDonald's that I'd left the evening 14 hours earlier. I bought a refillable drink. I was now down to about $5.00. I spent quite a few hours there working--about six. They were very patient with me, like McDonald's always is. I got all of my shots of Downtown Tucson and the desert night on Facebook.

At about 3:00 pm I did one last refill of the drink and walked out and over to Food City (a local grocery store). I scoured the meat department for something in the $2.00 range and found some pork; four small strips.

I wasn't quite sure how I was going to cook them. I wanted a skewer of some sort, but they only came in packs of four, for $6.00. I had planned all along to use the rest of a tiny bottle of hot sauce I'd bought about a week before as seasoning. I remembered seeing a metal screen along the trail that morning and conceived the idea of folding it over with the meat inside. I also remembered seeing a metal fork on the side of the highway. I would have to walk up the right side of the road to find it again. But it would make a perfect handle. It was a plan!

I checked my Camelbak and found it about half full. That would be fine. When I walked around the corner of the store to get back out to Ajo Highway (Route 86) something caught my eye. It was an unopened 1/2 pint bottle of Popov Vodka. I bent down and snagged that sucker! I examined it closely. The cap seal was unbroken. I looked back and forth like a thief, then slipped it into my back pocket. I even had the olives I found earlier to make a couple martinis!

I considered myself the most fortunate homeless guy in Tucson! I had water and lemonade. I could have a martini, cook up my meat, watch the desert sunset and sleep under the stars, in peace.

I walked the 4 miles or so back down the highway to the entrance of the trails. It was a bit of a climb up the hill to the campsite. I was sweating again quite a bit by the time I got there.

The first order of business was to get the tarp down. That out of the way, I cut the bottom off of a water bottle I'd picked up along the way to use as a cocktail "glass." With motel soap and Camelbak water I washed it out and made myself a drink. Best drink I have ever had I think.

Free Martinis

I took more pictures of the second sunset I'd seen there.

Tucson Mountain Park Sunset

And when the stars began to emerge I lit my fire, slathered the meat with hot sauce and left it there to marinate, while the flames burned down to a coal bed. It took a while to braze the outside. Then I made damn sure to cook it long enough to get the insides white (all pictures are at Facebook, including my grill rig). By that time I'd had about three small drinks and was saving the last one for right before bed. I felt fantastic!

Desert Meal - Pork Strips

I couldn't really sit down. There were no rocks around big enough to sit on. So I paced and thought, glad I didn't have the backpack on. I had learned that Monday (the next day) was a bank holiday and that I would have a whole other day and night to wait before being able to withdraw any money. This bummed me out a bit. I reached in and took out my wallet. It had a $1.00 bill in there. In my pocket I found almost $2.00 in change. This was going to be a rough one.

I got in the sleeping bag around 9:30 pm, forgetting my last drink. When I laid my head down on the rolled up blanket that I use as a pillow, I noticed a strange sound in ground that I had also noticed the night before. It was like a very slow heart beat mixed with a sound not unlike a large object being moved across a hollow wooden floor. It was rhythmic and never changed its frequency or rate. It was as if inside the mountain a very large machine was running. One long sound and then one short one, over and over.

It was hypnotizing and it put me asleep. I slept very well but didn't have any significant dreams that I could recall, except one. It was just a simple image of standing on a beach watching waves come in. The temperature when I got up in the middle of the night to pee was really warm. Soft breezes were blowing up each side of the hill alternately. And the foot end of the tarp was flapping occasionally.
When I awoke in the morning and started the pack up process, I dreaded the day to come. There was darkness still there, even after the dawn...

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 87 - Tucson, AZ - Meeting the "Old Man"

I was actually here for an afternoon and spent the night in a motel. But I will start with the next day...

I was left again for a weekend with no money. There was no wiggling out of the situation. I had $8.75 to last what turned out to be four days and three nights. So I decided to distract myself as best I could. I've been in what I call "starvation mode" before. After the first day it gets much easier. Eating actually makes you hungry later. Not eating doesn't. For short periods of time, this is not a bad thing. But it should be remembered that those short periods of time should not occur too often--if that makes sense? There are many advantages to not eating when you wallk. One is not having to use a bathroom. smile emoticon

After leaving the Howard Johnson's, I decided to take my good friend Jeff's advice and start walking north up Congress. It didn't take long to get to the Downtown area. There one can find the "Tortoise Trail" (a blue line that takes the tourist around all the historic sites--similar to Boston's red "Freedom Trail" going up through the North End).

I did it all, man! And I took the pictures now posted. I was carrying my full pack and was sweating pretty heavily by noon. I stopped at a Circle K (know as "The K" here) and noticed they had a 32 ounce drink for only $0.79. I bought one and lugged its enormousness with me around more of the city. When the drink was gone (lemonade in this case) I ate the remaining ice for about an hour. This is a good way to hydrate. The good thing about sweating a lot is that one doesn't need to pee very often. This is really true as I would find out in the next few days.

Still, I was tired and needed to rest. I stopped in the park where the Poncho Villa statue is. There, I got my first taste of Tucson's large number of homeless people. There were young men in the park wandering aimlessly. A few watched me like stray dogs, wondering if I was moving into their "territory." A few more guys were sitting on the adjacent wall with huge bags and backpacks. Under an overpass were the blankets, clothing and junk food wrappers of those who had spent many nights there. It was sad to see stuffed animals. I felt better about my plan to find a place in the desert, where I could be alone and not hear the continuous sound of traffic. I hear it anyway all the time as you might imagine.

After being in Phoenix, Tucson was at first a disappointing place. And that's really saying something, considering that Phoenix has some pretty rough spots of its own. At least there though, most of the grass was green, the palm trees were well trimmed I only saw a few homeless folks. But Tucson is a whole other thing. It is dustier, dirtier and ALL the streets are lined with trash. There are many streets without sidewalks--something that really gets to me after a while. The grass is yellow, overgrown and unmowed. What sidewalks had cracks and were often buckled--with "warning" considerately painted on the parts that were especially bad. The Tucson Downtown has less big buildings than Portland, Maine. There is some truly great southwestern architecture though. Tucson has played a rich part in American history--one that should not be neglected by the rest of the country.

The real shortcomings of the city didn't show up until a couple days later. But so also did its most redeeming value. For now, I only thought - as I sat there in the beautiful, but sad, park - that Tucson must have very little money. It does its best with what it has. The bus system in particular is efficient and reliable. Good thing too, since most of the lower income people use it every day (as with most cities). Here in Tucson though it is a real requirement. Walking the five to ten mile stretches from one side of town to the other can be brutal, as I would discover. And this is January. I can't imagine July.

I tapped the last few pieces of ice down into my mouth and tossed the tub-sized foam cup in the trash can. My shoulders and back felt better. They had been bothering my up to that point. I did my characteristic lurch forward a few times and then stood up. On ventures around a city it is best to keep the walking stick collapsed and attached to the side of the pack. Though it can help with alleviating stress on my shoulders it really is for outside city limits and off road hiking.

It was about 1:30 pm now and the thought started to tap on my brain that I still needed to double check my route to the trail system west of the city. Google is pretty good with distances but I wanted a street view of the entrance to the trails to get a better idea of the elevations I'd be dealing with. I've become exceptionally good at km to mile to km conversions--my pedometer displays only kilometers. Google said that the trails were about two miles (3.2 km) outside of city limits off of Highway 86 which runs out of the southeastern part of the city.

I walked south back down Congress toward the last night's motel. I like to stick to routes I already know before trying new ones. The night before, I noticed that from the southwestern side of Tucson there were numerous streets running directly east, where I needed to go. That is a merciful thing about these Southwestern states, most have grid layouts.

I took several dead ends before I found 10th Street. I walked way down that street moving almost due east. I passed block after block of tiny pink, white and rose-colored houses, some with smoke coming out that smelled like pork. A few people stared at me, but it wasn't because of the hiking gear, but just because I was a new white face (getting redder with sun) in the neighborhood. EVERY man I walked past said hello. Every woman smiled. There wasn't even the hint of aggression or rejection. This was the Tucson I would later realize I had come to See.

Eventually, after about six km (about 4 miles) I came to Ajo Way (Ajo Highway). And, right there at the corner was a McDonald's. I smiled.

I stopped in and got a drink (they are all $1.00, with free refills for the duration of the stay). I hauled out the laptop and fired its dusty ass up--something I always hold my breath for. This Toshiba Satellite - despite being rather heavy - has been a workhorse computer like no other. It has its sick days, but generally speaking it is super reliable and tough as steel.

I got online easily, touched base with you all and posted some pictures. Then I carefully re-checked my bearings for the hike out of town. I was happily surprised to see that Ajo Highway WAS Route 86! I just needed to head west and I'd find my much anticipated sleep spot.

It was nearing 4:00 pm. I still had a good 1.5 hours until sundown. It takes me about an hour to walk three miles with the pack. McDonald's was located about four miles from the trails. It was time to leave. I had no idea what to expect in the desert. But one thing was for sure: It would be a brand new experience.

As Iwallked down Ajo I thought much. I was tired after the ten miles of walking around the city. I'd had a good night's sleep (the bed at the motel was especially comfortable); didn't dream much, but slept well. As I often do, I replayed the last three months of events over in my head. I sometimes think it is unbelievable how much I've seen. But I recalled that it DID happen. I guess that's why I take so many pictures and videos. I need to prove to myself that I actually am doing what I set out to do. I have noticed that for the last month or so when I wake up in the morning it takes a while for me to figure out exactly where I am. Definite sign of constantly traveling.

I relived Boston, then South Boston, Southwestern Massachusetts, Rhode Island--my new friends there and the "Transformation," Connecticut, Pennsylvania--and new friends there, the train ride to Chicago--and all of that city's majesty, then Missouri--with the strange set-up of events there; all my old and wonderful new friends, then the frustrating diversion into Arkansas, the adventures of the bus ride and then seemingly-unending train ride over Christmas Eve and Christmas, the educational experience of New Mexico--getting to meet more online friends in person for the first time, and now Arizona and my recent passage through Flagstaff, beautiful Sedona, meeting my great friends in Phoenix and my now I was approaching my first night sleeping in a desert.

Overall, I felt more spiritually awake than when I left Maine, more physically experienced, more in awe of what I feel has been asked of me, more certain of the coming of a Great event, but much much less confident in my little human animal-self--the regular old "me" that I live with every day. I felt that what I am doing is less in my own hands now.

Ironically though, I have the growing sense of unseen protection and support. I feel that has grown. I - especially at night outside - feel that a group of "beings" surrounds me, camps with me, WALLKS with me. I have become of interest to them, or so I wish. OR, I am completely self-deluded and should seek the nearest mental health service center.

On the road as the sun touched the tallest peaks of the surrounding mountains, I wished almost desperately that my sense of unseen teamwork would somehow be confirmed for me; just to give a little touch of strength; to let me know I was on the right Path. On that night - in splendid isolation - I would try to make direct contact...

I knew I had come too far on Route 86 when I began to see houses creep into view up ahead. Google showed that there was only about a two mile stretch where the wilderness could be accessed between the edges of settlements. THIS was the time to venture north off the road. I looked carefully both ways since I was on the left side of a four lane highway and needed to cross. When only a few cars were coming I made my dash.

There was a small dried up gully on the other side of the road when I got there. The ground was really rough, with sharp rocks of every size. I took a breath as if diving into deep water and hopped down into the ditch. I had the walking stick extended now, since hiking out of town, and I'm glad I did. It was hard going from place to place while trying to avoid the smaller cactuses. I knew that a face plant into one of them would spell disaster. I wanted to keep my eyes and my pretty little smile as long as I could. Moving slowly was an absolute requirement. The sound of the highway slowly began to recede behind me as the incline grew in front of me.

I reached a cliff-like area that has precarious natural stairway to step up. So I began to climb. The larger rocks were deeply cracked and one of them split and fell away beneath me, causing me to briefly fall forward and grab onto a higher step. I nearly always keep the strap of the walking stick around my wrist, but not this time. It began to slip out of my hand, but I caught it by the foam rubber located just below the handle. I had to laugh to out loud.

The painstaking climb up the cliff, sweating my ass off, was one of those memories that will stick clearly with me for the rest of my life. It was dangerous and exciting. It reminded me of the feeling I used to get at the beginning of this journey when I would go through a scary physical challenge - just making it - and then be filled with the desire for more challenges. That hadn't happened for a while.

At the top of the cliff I found what I later learned was called "Explorer Trail." I headed east up a rather steep hill toward a very large cactus. It seemed like a marker for me somehow. The Spark flashed a definite consent for this idea.

When I got to the top I was certain that this was where I would camp. The ground was level and relatively free of the golf ball sized stones that I didn't need under my rib cage while I slept. There was a power line running down the trail on either side of the ridge. I thought this was a bit unfortunate scenery-wise, but the guy wire for the wooden power pole ran at a high angle right over the flattest part of the clearing--perfect to attach a tent to.

I had a short inner debate with myself as to whether a tent was even needed. The night was likely to be cool - not cold - and for once I was actually legitimately allowed to camp, so there was no big risk of being discovered and asked to leave. Besides, no cop in his right mind would sacrifice the chance to stop a speeder on the highway in order to climb up what I had just climbed up and move me out of there!

It was, in a word, *Perfect*. I decided against the tent, knowing that if I folded the tarp in half it would better smooth out the sand under me as a base. Since I didn't need my fleece jacket, and after laying out the tarp, I carefully folded the sleeves of the jacket under and laid it down as an extra layer of padding. I did secure one grommet of the tarp to the guy wire, so that it wouldn't move during the night or be flapping around if a breeze came up. There are pictures of all of this here at Facebook.

While trying to hang my Romines Dealership hat on the spines of a baby saguaro, I simultaneously stuck my left lower leg and the middle finger of my left hand with the spikes of a jumping cholla (usually small and viciously appointed with mid-sized spines).

Jumping Cholla

Simple Tarp and Coat to Put the Sleeping Bag On

I reached down to my leg and discovered that the three spines had easily passed through my pant leg and thick socks into my flesh. I pulled two out with no issue, but the third was much smaller and broke off at the base, leaving a tip that - though I attempted to dig it out later - is still there. My finger was fine. Not enough muscle tissue to embed. But it bled like crazy. It dripped on my jeans. Little did I know yet that it would be joined by the blood of another creature in a couple of days...

The pack was resting on the sand and I took a big haul off the Camelbak canteen. I always put my left hand on the bulge of it to gauge how fast it is being depleted. I crudely measured that I drank about 1/4 of it (10 oz).
I felt good.

The sun was now behind the purple western mountains and the wispy clouds were painted with fluorescent orange, tipped with glowing pink highlights. The distant highway shown with the car lights of hundreds of people going home for the day or out for the night. In places like this, one really gets the sense that the world is working working pretty much like it should. It was the realization of my formerly spoken-of dream. I watched the world from afar. And....it was good. It is a GOOD world. I am happy to be alive in it.

The shadows settled in and the lighted tips of the saguaros saw their day end as they have for so long. The large cactus I named the "Old Man" had probably seen over 50,000 sunsets. Stop to think about that.

As Civil War soldiers headed across this land, the Old Man watched over them. Maybe one of them stopped up here and looked at him when he was just a baby. To have been present during the growth pains of this great nation was an energy that flowed out of the Old Man...and into my soul. Now he stands as best he can. Birds have made nests in him. His spines at the base are gone. The water barely makes it to his extremities. But he is proud and so very tall and straight. He is the sentinel of the mountain where he is slowly dying. He is the watcher of world--the noble father of the desert. And he would watch over me as I slept that night.

Just for a dry run I decided to build a fire. I planned to spend the last of my money on some meat the next day to cook up here at the campsite. There was no problem finding wood on the thirsty trees. A camper always must be vigilant with fire. But the spaces in between bushes and other plants was wide enough that there was little risk of it getting out of control. I found a good open spot and cleared two concentric circles of softball sized rocks just to make sure. In the center I made a bed of tiny twigs and then placed larger sticks on top of them. Short arm-thickness wood was placed along side to burn for a coal bed.

I had no problem lighting the fire it flared up immediately--ambitiously. Within an hour or so I had my coal bed and stood there warming up beside it. Then I walked back down to the path and found myself pacing back and forth. It was only about 7:00 pm and I wasn't ready to sleep. I looked up at Orion then over at the Big Dipper. I found the North Star and peered out in the direction of Maine. I imagined myself being lifted up high enough to see the curvature of the earth. Somewher e in the Northeast was my home state. People were settled in for the night, perhaps beside fires of their own. It was time to try communicating with my unseen team...

I stood as solemnly as I could there on the rocky path. I raised my arms to the space above me and said loudly, "Here I am. I've done what you have asked. Would you show yourselves? I know you are there. I can feel your presence but I desire to see you. Would you please meet with me?"

I felt a warm shiver. It was the Spark. It was telling me to look without my material eyes. I tried. I tried so hard. I could *feel* not only a few presences but hundreds. They "stood" in circles moving out from my location, across the desert vistas. But I *saw* nothing. I knew that *they* knew how desperately I wanted to actually SEE even a glimpse; a ray of light, a form of some kind. But there was nothing to behold.

Yet... I felt the Spark tell me that it wasn't time yet. The invisible ones empathized with my human need to see. But it was important that the time be right. I couldn't force it. I couldn't even beg for it. It suddenly occurred to me that the Spark was right. I felt humbled and foolish for trying. I looked down in disappointment. I was disappointed by not getting my wish, but I was more disappointed in myself for trying to achieve what was not yet mine to have.
I scraped the barren sand with my boot. I felt the hardness of the ground beneath my feet. Then I looked over at the Old Man silhouetted against the fading of the day...

And I was Strengthened. I perceived that I was truly Loved from both above and below. A single word penetrated my consciousness. It filled my soul like with its energizing Power: "Patience."

Day - and night - one was winding up. I was hungry. I dug through every pocket of the pack and found a small bottle of green olives from a salad I made in Sedona. I ate a couple, but they made me thirsty, and water was at a premium. I checked my food pocket on the vest and found some wrappers, and voila!, the last half of a bag of chocolate covered raisins. I devoured them and burned the wrappers in the dying coals of the fire.

I unzipped the sleeping bag and crawled in at about 9:00 pm. It always warms up quickly. It is quite an amazing thing. It can protect down to just below 20 F. It keeps heat in and forces moisture out and it is thin enough to fit in the bottom pocket of my backpack (about the size of a small loaf of bread).
The ground was hard, but there were no rocks sticking into me. It was Saturday night and in the western town of Drexel Heights below police and ambulance sirens blared out their warning songs. They raced between Drexel Heights and Tucson, up and down Route 86.

I concentrated on the idea of going to Avalon Organic Gardens (I'll call it AOG for short). I had not had a very successful email exchange with either their shuttle or main office. Frankly, what I felt I was getting for my $155.00 was really just a bunch of hype. I might have been wrong but that's how I felt at the time.

They do have a very successful self-sustaining model for their community. But the community itself - though filled with smiling, shiny happy people - was not the kind of thing that I was interested in for future low income housing plans. It is formed around a "Spiritual Leader" named Gabriel.

They have a restaurant in Tucson called the Ascension Cafe--a vegetarian, gluten free and vegan establishment priced on the higher end of the scale (one bowl of soup can run you $14.00). It has dozens of 5 star reviews from several different online sites. Many were written by tourists and local Tucson residents.
I like that Ascension Cafe food is supplied by AOG and other local sources exclusively. THAT is a truly progressive way to do business. It is staffed by AOG members.

To outward appearances, the members of AOG live in perpetual joy. No socializing conflicts are ever present at least in the Facebook community. But nothing in this world is ever perfect. That's for sure.

It was with all of this in mind that I began to slip into unconsciousness, and began to dream. I rarely ever dream about things that I am currently doing or concerned with but this was this night was the exception...

* * * * * * *

In the dream I was visiting Gabriel (leader of AOG) at his personal residence. His wife Niann led me in graciously. She was sweet and warmhearted. I sat down in a very nicely appointed room to wait for the man himself.

After some time and light chatting with Niann, Gabriel entered and smiled widely. I rose and shook his hand. He asked me to sit and sat down opposite of where I was. Gabriel has black eyes; piercing, yet - at least as I perceived in this dream - insecure, almost frightened.

He's a fairly good looking man. Actually he has a hairline somewhat like I do when my hair is down. Thank you, thank you... As we made some small talk I began to notice that there were mirrors everywhere in the room.

He looked down at the table--also a mirror, and without missing a beat, glanced up again and over my shoulder at Niann, saying nothing to her. She got up, walked over to a cabinet and got out a small black velvet box, handing it to him gently.

He nodded to her. She sat back down. He had not broken his train of thought, and asked me about my journey. As I spoke, he reached down to the velvet box and slowly opened it. I thought that this might be a gift for me, or some treasured relic he wanted to show me. But, instead, he pulled out a pair of brilliantly polished golden tweezers. I stammered a bit in my recounting of the trip across country, distracted by this strange behavior. It tried not to show my reaction and continued to speak, now a bit irritated that he didn't even seem to be listening.

He raised the golden tweezers to his right eyebrow, all the while looking down at the mirrored table, and plucked one stray hair. I stopped talking. He didn't even notice. Niann cleared her throat and his eyes rose to meet mine. I smiled, thanked them both for their time, turned and walked out the door.

As I shut it I looked back around at them, Niann waved, but Gabriel never looked up again.

* * * * * * *

[See Next Posts for Days Two and Three.]