A Living Magazine - Day 281 - Homecoming - Dinwiddie to Petersburg

After a night of rain, I woke in the morning to find a glowing patch of orange on my tent wall. After so much moisture, it was such a welcome sign. I packed up. This was a deep woods and I'd half-expected to be visited by some kind of large creature, but none were interested apparently.

Instead, it was one of the smallest creatures that caught my attention. Just outside the top of the tent screen was a shiny black spider with small red markings on her back. Having just looked up spiders of Virginia, I knew it was a black widow. She had made her cobweb over night and was set up for dining on breakfast should something wander up to her happy new home.

She was smaller than I'd expected. I tried to make a video of her, but my batteries were too dead for a filming. Usually the batteries will recover enough for pictures after about a half hour. And, I tried several times to get pictures, but the camera wouldn't stay on long enough. I would need an hour or so for the batteries to come back to a limited life. Even then, I have to take the picture, then shut the camera off immediately in order to shoot again.

When I removed the rain fly, I tapped her onto the leaves and she hobbled off somewhere. I lost track of her by the time I was walking out of the woods, but I wasn't worried. The chances she would want to deal with me were slim. Sometimes you just have let probability assure you...

About an an hour and a half into the walk to Petersburg, I passed by this...

Overboard perhaps, but cute.

Notice the confederate flag.

Rivals.

For such a long walk, I found Petersburg to be unremarkable. Yes, it had some historic sites and was important during the Civil War, but in general it was a bit dirty, rundown, with a fair amount of street people out in front of the stores--all black. I was begged for the first time since starting this Homecoming part of the Journey. I gave him the $0.75 change from my Gatorade.

I found the library easily, as it was located right along Route 1. And I finally got online. My laptop was so dead I couldn't even turn it on until the charge reached a certain point. In my apparent fantasy-laden world where everything revolves around my blog and people are waiting with baited breath to hear from me, I expected to see all kinds of messages and concerned posts on my Facebook wall.

Instead, there was absolutely nothing. I think there were a few likes on a post I left before losing contact for five days. I know I shouldn't have been upset by this lack of concern, but it really got to me for a while. I wondered why I do anything at all. I was angry, frankly, and hurt. I'd been through a wringer of rain, dog attacks, twenty miles a day of walking, some very rough camping spots, indifferent drivers, and infrequent meals...for what, exactly?

I had to get up and go outside for a moment. The disappointment was seeping through me. I was almost shaking. Had I been overestimating just how much people cared? Had I been fooled by the illusion of interest simply because I'd been online nearly every day for seventeen months?

I paced around feeling sorry for myself, and foolish for my unrealistic expectations. When I cooled down a bit and went back inside, I saw that my good friends Frank and Vicky had sent several emails to see if I was okay. This made me feel much better. It was nice to see that someone actually did care enough to look for me each day. Had they not been doing that, I realized that I could have had a broken ankle or been trapped for a week without the slightest concern from my readers. This was a huge reality check for me. I realized with stunning and cold clarity  just how alone I really was out here.

Honestly, I thought it hit home just how fickle and shallow a public audience can be. If I'm not constantly entertaining them or holding their attention, they yawn and check the other channels. I was terribly depressed by this. I wanted to lash out. But, I'm not totally stupid, and the many hands that feed me would not understand why I might bite them. Instead, I bit my own tongue. From that moment on, I vowed never to expect any worries about my condition. What I was doing was a privilege for ME. It was my honor and joy to serve my readers. It was not their responsibility to do, feel or worry about anything that I face. I have chosen this life and now I must rely entirely on myself to get through it.

Frank suggested that we formulate an emergency plan. And, together with my sister, Deb, we now have a system in place to handle things if I am in a similar situation and more than five days have gone by.

I tell you readers all of this, because it is the tough and sincere truth. I want to deliver a clear idea about how I feel, deal, overreact, over expect, over-fantasize my own importance, these things are part of what is helping my soul migrate from its normal human resting place inside me, outward where it can be seen and scrutinized. Though I may not be satisfied with myself, nor how this project is failing to achieve the attention I have believed it deserves, I do have a strong faith that people in the future - near or far - WILL discover its usefulness as an historical examination of America from the street level. It is a highly detailed snapshot of life on this planet at this time.

That was what I had originally meant it to be. As an historian myself, I have always longed for such an autobiographical account by a common human being. I am now providing that for people who will discover it and truly appreciate just how valuable a source of information it has been. I am no longer going to get caught up in the futility of wanting to be famous for it, nor being recognized in the press. It is for the future, and secondarily it is for the passing interest and light entertainment of those who enjoy the ritual of reading it as it happens.

All of my life I have wanted to do something that would allow my voice to be heard in the biggest way possible. I had spent much time studying the way that movements in history suddenly catch fire and sweep across the world. I've always acutely been empathic. I have deeply felt the pain, suffering, injustice and heartbreak of the world. There was nothing - since I was a child - that would ever hold me back from trying to address these things and express ideas about how to solve them.

When I was little guy and wasn't doing well in school, my mother had a conference with the principle of the Intermediate School in Yarmouth, Maine, my hometown. While they both acknowledged that I simply wasn't trying hard enough in school, he told her that he thought I might still do great things in my life. When she related this story to me, I told her that is what I had always known about myself.

Now that my life is at least half over, and nothing has materialized to suggest that this latent "greatness" will ever come to be, I thought perhaps these Journeys would be my long-sought redemptive efforts. I know now that they probably won't be. And, I will spend my off hours reconciling this with my once-dreamy outlook for my life for the rest of this Journey, until I step on Portland, Maine soil.

Thenceforth, I will simply continue to try to help the world as best I can. I am willing to let my own personal and fondest dreams pass away in order to give my greatest efforts toward easing someone's pain, suffering, injustice or heartache. If I can be taking my last breaths and know for sure, that I did indeed help someone to find a great portion of healing, I will be able to pass into the Light with the peace of mind I have never been able to find during these four or five decades.

I worked until dark and then took off to find a sleep spot by the highway. I took a wrong street and had to turn around after about a half mile. My feet were especially sore. The left heel was not doing well, and my left knee was hurting too. I think the two were related. My one and only mission now was to get that tent set up and float away into my sleeping world.

I found the spot and climbed down a very steep hill. In the culverted location, where several concrete drainways met to run under the highway, I found an very rough landscape, filled with dead trees, branches and small shrubs that had been cut off about ten inches high. Were I to fall on one I would have been impaled. Not desiring to have that be my fate after such a disappointing day, I stepped very carefully, exploring every part for a level and clean place. There just weren't any.

Before climbing back out, I tried one last area at the northern point of the land. There was a fallen tree and I took a chance by passing through its branches. There, I found a nice grassy spot at the base of a huge light pole that wasn't shining. Cars zoomed above me in three directions, as I lay my tarps out to dry in the cool breezy air.

Exhausted and feeling personally defeated while waiting for the tarps to dry, I paced extensively around communing with the Spark. I talked openly to it, asking it questions and listening for answers. As usual there was no clear response. I complained bitterly for a while. I asked it why I should not be able to feel the satisfaction of all that I was doing. Was I not working hard enough? Did I somehow not deserve it? Was there something more that I could do to increase the exposure of this blog? Nothing.

When I'd been through all possible channels of communication, I gave up and assembled the tent. It was a beautiful night and the stars were bright, despite my location within the city. I felt awful. restless and downcast I took some pictures of the tent to distract myself...  

When I looked at my watch the time was 10:09 p.m. It was later than I usually turn in, and I knew I needed sleep to face the next day with anything resembling sanity. Standing, facing the tent flap, I closed my eyes and simply said, "What should I do?"

Then an immense warmth flooded down my spine. I saw an image of myself in that intersection in Greenville, South Carolina with my hands on the hood of the distracted driver who almost ran me over while talking on her cellphone. I noticed just how still everyone around me was as I stopped traffic with my voice. Then I saw the attacking dog who had just days before cowered before the force of my roar. I knew that both of these instances were the direct manifestations of the Spark's action in the material world. I felt the profound and infinite power of the spiritual Light in my mind (one that is in each of our minds). And, for a moment, I forgot my troubles from the day and remembered just how blessed I was to be in close partnership with such a Force.

I was but a child, a tiny mayfly, a piece of dust tossed about in a gentle wind. I was nothing. I was only made real by the presence of the Spark. And, for the third time on this Journey I distinctly heard the words, "Keep walking forward and you will FLY." I was ashamed to have been so distraught over concerns about myself. Then came the words, "I AM with you."

I said, "I know... I'm sorry that I forget."

More sensations like warm water being poured down through the inside of my back made me shiver and in my mind I heard something like, "You have already earned your reward. Now complete MY work." I opened my eyes suddenly and looked down at my feet. They were glowing. I blinked and the glow was gone. Surely an illusion caused by a fatigued mind. But it meant something very dear to me--even as simply a symbol. I can still see what it looked like.

Without much more thinking, I just climbed into the tent, into the sleeping bag, and fell asleep immediately.