A Living Magazine - Day 21 - Recovery and a Pink Flower

My eyes opened after about 15 minutes of listening to a mocking bird in the tree beside me. I felt sick. The events of the day before came flowing back, parading themselves before my inner eyes and ears. I groaned out loud.

Lying there until I could pull my focus back on reality, I got up, packed up and started my daily walk down Cypress. The $2.49 left on my card was burning a hole in my wallet. I needed a coffee. McDonald's was the obvious choice, leaving me another dollar or so for later...

Trinity on a tabletop.

Of course, I couldn't use my laptop as it had run out of power the night before. I sat and sipped, and listened to the old timers discuss old times.

Then, one of them began talking about marijuana. A couple who were among the group of senior citizens, started in with the traditional and now-erroneous stereotypes about the brain-cell killing, DNA ruining, aspects and the "spaced-out smokers" of the stuff. 

The man who had brought up the subject waited patiently for them to finish their demonizations. Then, he told the group a story...

Some years back a young guy on his street used to be passed out every morning by the stop sign. The elder gentleman would go over and nudge the guy - who stunk of vodka - to see if he was OK. Usually, after seeing some sign of life, he would relax and move on.

Then, after the new decriminalization and medical laws went into effect, the young man was no longer on the grass each morning. It was a mystery where he had gone.

One day, about mid-afternoon, the young man came to the elder's door. Upon answering, the latter saw the former's new clothes, a nice haircut and clean shave. He'd come to the man's door to thank him for caring enough to check him each morning months before. 

Apparently, the young man had seen a psychiatrist and promised to stop drinking if he would be given a prescription for medical marijuana. Surprisingly, the young man had never even been interested in weed, which is probably why the doctor felt more comfortable prescribing it.

Smoking it had given him insight into himself--he saw himself from the outside for the first time--as other's had, and saw the waste his young life had become. This first time experiencing the benefits of this "new" medicine, helped transform him. He had no more cravings for alcohol. He had the prospect of a job at the recycling center, and was applying for a subsidized apartment.

According to the gray-haired story teller, this made a very big impact on both the young man and himself. He said he would never again assume that marijuana was completely bad. The others were silent for a long time. Then, bravely, the woman in the couple who had trashed the idea of marijuana as anything but evil, said, "You know, that does makes me think..." The rest of the group nodded, variously sipping their coffee respectfully.

This conversation moved me... I almost teared up. I'd been witness to so many awful feelings the day before, that to see this one situation where older folks were open-minded and humble enough to learn something new, impacted me profoundly. I will not soon forget it.

I left for the post office, which opened at 9:00 am, taking this shot before stepping on to the sidewalk. Sometimes physical texture can speak to me. This time it did. Can you hear it too?

Stucco in Brown and Gray...for those with inner ears to hear.

I had drawn up a clear address for forwarding and had it printed at the FedEx store with pocket change. I had made the train reservation for Monday early morning, and changing the destination to Klamath Falls the day before, rather than Ashland, since a bus would have been required to take me from Klamath Falls to Ashland anyway, meant I needed to get this information to the post office, post-haste. My dearest desire was to get to Oregon and truly BEGIN my work... 

Skipping the pleading I'd done the day before to the USPS gods this time, I waited for the post office to open and was the first one through the door and to the counter.

A clerk named Ruth patiently looked in every nook and cranny for my packages. In a rambling and unfocused way I attempted to get her caught up on my situation. She said the woman I spoke with the day before had not left the note she made for forwarding and no packages had arrived.

This bothered me, but in a way it was fortunate. I didn't need the old information about forwarding to Ashland floating around out here. I handed Ruth the updated address. She said she would make every attempt to forward the package above the typical Change of Address procedures. This was very generous of her. She told me about the "black hole" phenomenon I mentioned in my last post, and said that their supervisor was a stickler for following the rules to the letter. But, they would sometimes be able to work around him. She said she would try.

Before I left, satisfied that Ruth was my go-to person there, she told me she would try to update me on Tuesday by leaving a message on my Google Voice number about what the status of my items was. This was a hugely appreciated offer. She also told me to come back before 3:00 pm (it was Saturday and they closed at that hour), if anything changed. I thanked her and walked back out into a cooler day than the one before.

Now, it was off to the library to charge my laptop and check in online. Walking by the post office planter, I glimpsed a peach pit that had been completely picked over by ants. I could really see the relation to almonds in its shape, the textures spoke again...

Peachy Keen

I was caught off guard, when passing by a coffee shop with a piece of furniture very similar to Livermore-Steve's. There must have been some kind of story there to how both had ended up obtaining these unusual pieces, but I don't give a single care as to what it was. Neat stuff though...

The library was quiet and I settled in for the three hours it would take to charge the laptop. Getting online was not the same as the day before. As usual, no one had emailed me. But, I opened up Blogger and saw that twice as many people had read each of my last three posts, per day, than had on each prior post, up to that point. I raised an eyebrow.

A few modest, but sorely-needed and greatly appreciated, donations then arrived from some true believers. Could things be turning around?

After the power of the Nextbook was fully restored, it occurred to me that if I found a similar rate to the Monday train ticket, but on Wednesday, I could receive the packages, whether they came on Monday or Tuesday and would not have to deal with the uncertainty of the forwarding process. 

Sure enough after pulling up the Amtrak site, leaving at the same early hour on Wednesday, was a train for only $6.00 more. I felt the other eyebrow instinctually rise. This was good. It meant 3 more days and two nights in Redding, but I could have been some place worse. I DID count my blessings. My nest spot had been an unusually good find, and I couldn't see any reason why I wouldn't be able to use it two more times.

I closed the laptop, grabbed my backpack and went out to a library picnic table. There, I called Amtrak and spoke with Elaine, a very helpful Amtrak agent. She set me up, transferring the ticket easily. It would certainly be worth $6.00 and even three days more here, to avoid the chaos of the postal "black hole."

Like a formulaic comedy, I rushed back to the post office arriving at 2:30. I asked for Ruth, but another woman who had helped me a bit each of the times I'd been there before stepped up to help again. I simply told her I was able to postpone my train and stick around to get the packages early the next week. I also requested that the paper I'd written up (shown above and delivered in the morning) be destroyed so that there was no possibility of a forwarding mishap.

She went back and took care of that. Returning to me, and saying everything should be all set, was the nicest thing I'd heard in 3 days. 

I left, feeling the dopamine-rush of a rising mood. I went to CVS, where they sold my favorite Arizona Mango juice for half price, and celebrated my new found fortune with a sweet and satisfying drink. Even the area around me, didn't dampen my spirits at that moment...   

America the Beautiful.

I saw another bush-sized fruit that tasted vaguely like a crab apple. No idea what is was, but would be interested if anyone out there has a clue? 

Mini Apples?

Now I wanted my underwear and wipes from Walmart, using these new donations. It takes a secure man to admit he uses wipes. (That's supposed to be humor.) On the way, I noticed that my turquoise and silver ring from Gallup, New Mexico had a chip taken out of it--probably from the last day's adventures...

For a strange moment or two, a long-passed memory popped into my mind. It was during the first journey (please see the Odyssey series here at IWALLK). I had been sitting on a rock at Cape Elizabeth Maine's Fort Williams Park. The container ships passed into the mouth of the harbor, and the little sail boats bobbed in their wakes. I had been at an emotional crossroads at that time too, having just learned that one of my cats had been put to sleep by her temporary care-taker. I listened to George Harrison's "All Things Must Pass." Even my ring, it seemed, would not last...

I bought my items at Walmart, and stopped by a Carl Jr's for a much needed meal. The guys in there were super-friendly and I talked to the manager for a while - a 6' 8" tattoo-covered gentle giant - with needle burn-holes all over his arms from his own time in hell--now well-over.

He said he'd decided to work that day, because he was afraid the heat wave would continue. Now that it hadn't, he learned his buddies were biking to Shasta Lake to have a BBQ and smoke weed all day. "It figures!!" he laughed. He was lighthearted about it all; a truly good and fully recovered guy. As I finished my burger, I heard him talking to his employees, taking the time to thank them sincerely for each thing they did. He let one guy who had opened up the restaurant in the early morning go an hour before his shift ended, telling him he would adjust the hours to give him his normal time. And before the lucky guy left, he again, told him how much he appreciated his hard work and energy. Then, in an extraordinary act of kindness he turned and ordered everyone to the counter. With the grace only certain leaders possess, he thanked each person individually and recounted all the helpful things they had cooperated on that day. I was sitting there with wide eyes, not even chewing what was in my mouth.

I was the only customer there. McDonald's (which shared a wall with Carl Jr's) was packed. The best workers aren't always at the most successful businesses. But I will testify before all of the Universe, here and now, that on this day, I'd seen the best.

Usually, I will mention my project when I get into long talks with people, but something made me just want to socialize without the awkwardness of making it a working moment. I'm glad I did. And, although I know his name, the identity of the manager shall remain in my mind only, and not in these pages. Be it reasonable or not, some things deserve the dignity of simply remain True, without advertising.

It was a different world inside me that I carried back to the nest that evening. The enormity of the emotional heights I'd started this journey with, and the subsequent pits I'd experienced the day before, was permitted by my subconsciousness to finally be felt.

At the small ditch near the cemetery I'd visited the day before, the glowing pink blossoms of a flower seemed to say to me, "There may be pain in your life - even profound suffering and mental anguish - but we flowers will always be here to brighten your vision and fill you with just enough of a brief flash of heaven, to keep you going whenever you're ready to see us."

The Spark, sent a shiver down my spine in agreement. And.. I wept just a tiny bit; releasing the last of the last day's pressure into the aether. I had finally "let it go"...

Eternity in a little pink flower. 

Taken on the hill at the intersection of Cypress and Victor.

I had been expanding the time I stayed in the field each morning; testing to see how secure the spot would be in the daylight. Now I was going to head in just at sunset, about an hour earlier than usual. It was a risk, but one I was willing to take to simply relax, meditate and prepare for whatever the next adventures would be. 

After dark, I lay on my back and watched the high clouds drift across the infinity of the star field. I smiled as the shape of a white horse passed by in amazing detail. It's angle even changed as if the perspective had shifted to watch it running away into the peace of the realms above the purple night. I imagined it running on and on, forevermore.

I slept peacefully... or so I thought...