I woke about 30 seconds before my watch alarm sounded. The sides of the tarp-tent had become saturated and were sagging in. Because they touched the sleeping bag, its entire outside was soaked. Amazingly though, the inside was not. There was still a light tapping of rain on the outside. This meant I would - again - have to put everything away, wet.
My only hope was that I could get a room on this coming night. As I mentioned in the last post, it was to be well below freezing by them. Not to be overly dramatic, but it was kind of a life and death situation. When it comes to life and death (maybe because of my former life) I wouldn't even think of looking for a shelter. Frankly, I'd just rather die of exposure. It would make so many more points.
Whatever. I slithered out of the tarp-tent and disattached the lines from the trees. In the light rain, I folded it all up, after stowing my wet sleeping bag and trying to keep the contents of the pack as dry as possible.
In the dark I threw the pack over my back and stumbled down the cemetery paths to Washington Pike, where I snuck back out and up toward McDonald's. I had no money, but if I was able to get online I should be able to see that funds had transferred to my business savings. Then I could finally have some money to make decisions with.
I entered the McDonald's and went straight to the side area where I wouldn't be obvious. Then I pulled out the laptop from its plastic bag and got online. There was nothing transferred through. I guessed it was just too early. I was sitting there. With a 50 pound pack next to me, wet, a laptop that barely worked, looking for funds that might or might not show up, I felt exactly like second hand trash.
Nothing that I'd done in the last month should have worked. And, knowing that, nothing I was doing now should work either. There was no reason at all why it would. In a purely mechanical, humanistic, materialistic universe of pure chance and cold happenstance, my laptop should have failed. The restaurant should have kicked me out, the funds should have been delayed even longer, the temperature should have plummeted beyond what a human could endure.
I was sweating now, not because I was hot, or had the cold sweats, but simply because I was uncomfortable, embarrassed, trying to hide, anxious about everything, had uncontrolled high blood pressure, was becoming steadily less confident about myself, this stupid journey, and the universe in general.
Then it happened. At 8:30 am, suddenly my savings account jumped from $21.70 to $128.70! I almost slid out of my seat. I'd slept in two cemeteries, eaten one meal in the last 48 hours, risked being thrown out of McDonald's, and probably taken 10 years off my own life with anxiety. And now? I had something to work with. I have to say though, that, in the back of my mind, I wondered: was this the reason to live? A hundred dollars? What kind of lowest denominator was life based around, where starving, sleeping in the rain, being at risk of social ostracization at every moment made this sudden fortune worth all of my 46 years?
I left and went to the Irving Station where I withdrew $120. It was kind of like a general store, having everything one might need in between these far flung Pennsylvania towns. My soaked feet had dissolved the gel insoles I'd bought weeks ago. I found a new pair for a reasonable price and bought them. Then, I immediately returned to the McDonald's, bought a coffee, and settled back at my table.
Philosophy might be useful in some circumstances, but at this point, I just wanted to keep pushing forward. I set about searching for a motel room that would be supercheap and nearby. And, I got online to thank those who had donated enough to pull me out of the pit.
As I worked away on it all, and the grey sky turned slightly lighter, and the rain stopped as the temperature fell a guy walking into McDonald's and paced back and forth. He looked desperate for something. I tried to keep a low profile, in my social anxiety, hoping he wouldn't talk to me.
I thought about the last night. It wasn't too bad. As far as helping with temperature, the tent really did wonders. It had to have been a good ten degrees warmer in there than outside; something I will definitely remember for camping in the snow (as long as there is no rain involved).
The guy who'd walked in earlier seemed frantic now. He walked up and asked me if I had a cellphone. I didn't (probably the only man in a hundred mile radius who had no phone), What I did have was Google Voice. It is a way to call through my Gmail account anywhere in the country for free. It was never the best reception and frequently cut off, losing the signal and needing to be rebooted. But in emergency situations it did work. I offered that, as I had nothing else to offer. And, we got to talking...
Billy Hayes - Boilermaker
He was a 32 year old guy named after the Billy Hayes character from Midnight Express. He had been sleeping in his truck the last few nights. He is a professional Boilermaker (metal fabricator).
We hit it off immediately. I noticed he was very wise for his age and highly intelligent. He had been through an awful lot and we shared the same kind of philosophies (and other interests).
His phone was out of minutes and he was stuck with no money to refill it. So I let him use Google Voice to contact a family member for help later on this day,
I had a feeling he and I were going to be good buds someday. He inherited land in West Virginia (where he grew up) and at some point I'd like to visit him if he ends up down there again. He has similar aspirations of building a self-sustaining cabin.
I realized, vaguely, that there are Reasons why I am out here, now, in this place (insert wherever I am into that statement). We did not meet by coincidence--we both knew that for sure.
The trenches were muddy and wet. The trees were bare and stripped of their beauty. The sky was gray and filled with the tears of angels from a child's fairy tale. What do they cry for? I think they cry for us humans; maybe because we have not yet fully realized how deeply we have fallen from our own highest standards.
To sleep in that mud, below those trees, under the gentle tears of children's angels is the most alive I have ever been. There was nothing comfortable on the outside now for me.
But inside myself is a Springtime of promise, welcoming me to a place where the Light is so intense it casts no shadows. It pounds against the darkness of the doors we have sealed shut. It pounds and pounds. It fills every nook--every hole on its side, trying to pass through to the darkness.
NOW is the time when little cracks are finally starting to make their way through that rotten wood. They are beginning to fall upon the others who look upward and inward, despite the struggle and pain of human existence. The people who share the bottom of the world with me, because they have nothing else to share, seem to be the first ones to glimpse this Light. So strange, isn't it?
I believe (and I don't expect anyone else to if they are too busy) that it is the low in stature, the ones clothed in only skin and bone, the ones who never feel comfort, that will be emboldened, strengthened, fed, clothed, comforted, FIRST.
And, with that, the formerly sealed doors will burst open and we will ALL have the answer to creating a future that - as yet - is not available to us in this current state.
WE must solve our problems. No one will do it for us. But as I had been learning to partner with the Spark, and thus, finding peace of mind, so shall we as a race find our Real selves. Many are doing this at the same time I am, in some way or another.
If you want to, stop for a moment today, close your eyes and simply clear your mind of outside concerns for just one minute. In that silent, churning, brownness behind closed lids, is the door. I think you will know what I mean when you imagine it. What you do with that knowledge is up to you. Every one of us deserves the dignity of using our own varied and separate belief systems and worldviews to decide upon an action. I can't suggest an approach. I am only here to report on the bottom.
I will tell you that *I* have chosen to find a way to open it all up for myself, personally.
Now I ask you to simply follow my adventures through it. See what happens. That is perfectly safe for you; as it should be. When I am done reporting what I find (with you along for the wallk) and the project is complete, something wonderful is going to descend upon us all. I really don't know what that thing will be. But I DO KNOW it will happen. I am out here willing to stake my very life on it.
I guess I am in a serious mood. But my heart is filled with "the peace that passes all understanding." I don't like being uncomfortable all of the time or beholden to others for all I am doing...not at all. It makes my habit-filled mind feel guilty. But I can't stop what I'm doing now. The thought never crosses my mind anymore to stop. I got the feeling Billy felt this way too.
For me, getting to Missouri would be a major step toward the Southwest. I feel that, with my faster travels through to Chicago, my work in the East will have been completed.
I meditated for a long time the night before upon whether I have done enough - experienced enough - as the life of a homeless person. I am willing to go on in this way here in the eastern half of the nation, until I reach the western half of the nation.
Then, after this closed-eye contemplation, I stopped and simply quieted myself. I very distinctly knew after a few moments that it is not my job to be an ascetic, for the simple sake of suffering, enduring the experience (remembering that last night was another test of endurance). It is time to go west. The snapshot provided by the people I've met; the friends I've made, and the discoveries I've experienced, must be satiating whomever or whatever was wallking beside me--unseen.
I say all of this personal stuff only as a comment on my own state of mind, not as a thing that anyone else should believe. I just think it is historically important to me to be honest about what is driving me.
Billy got through to his mother, whom he planned to catch up with in Ohio. We had a complete and meaningful goodbye. He left and ventured on.
I - for the first time - reserved a room. it was to be at the Knights Inn, just down the street. When I felt as though I had used up every last second of McDonald's I headed across the road and over the Knight's Inn. The Indian gentleman at the desk had no qualms about taking cash. And, my now-quite expired Maine ID didn't even raise his eyebrow.
I paid, and carried my precious key card to the outside door of my room. Inserting it and then entering, I felt almost lightheaded by the good fortune of being able to rest like a human being again. It had only been a couple days since my last room, but if felt like a month.
Once I could take off my backpack and just rest for a moment, I made a mental note about what I could get to eat that night, then headed back out to the same Irving to buy some dinner. when I returned, I was set for the night...
Changing out my insoles.
That light spot in the heal of my right boot is a piece of gravel.
The boots were wearing away.
The dinner of princes...okay, maybe more like paupers.
My cocktail for the night.
At least I have style!
When my food was gone, and I'd worked online for a while longer, sleep began to overtake me. My eyelids grew quite heavy. I shut off all the lights and got undressed. For the heck of it, I went to the door to see what it was like outside. when I opened the door a super-frigid breeze blew in. somehow the universe had conspired to keep me out of the freeze on this night. All I could do was close the door, walk to the bed and turn in under the covers. I closed my eyes and gave thanks for all that had kept me alive. Then I fell asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.