A Living Magazine - Homecoming - Epilogue 2 - Days of the Portland Commute

In the days following my return to Maine, the most important task was to complete the Travel Report, which would detail all the days of the preceding year. Since I worked every day, then every day would have to be accounted for. This was a much longer task than it needed to be.

Although all the days are listed in the blog, foolishly, I did not list the corresponding day of the week. This combined with the fact that no post was published on the same day it describes (some, being published many days after their associated days), made matching the posts to days of the week particularly difficult. There are probably still errors in it, but for now, it is as close to accurate as I could do. It took a good seven days to complete it. Here it is...

A LIVING MAGAZINE AND HOMECOMING 

June 21, 2015 to June 21, 2016

TRAVEL RECORD

Feel free to download the PDF above (choose "download" at he top right of the page). Each daily post is linked to the numbers running down the far right column (1-367). It was a quite trip to go back through each post again.

I worked in a variety of different places around the South Portland and Portland areas, including Starbucks on Congress Street, the Portland Public Library, and even Congress Square Park on one day...

Bought lunch at my favorite place on Congress Street: Sun Oriental Market.

The whole lunch was less than $6.00, a great option for budget-minded folks.

Ate at Congress Square Park. The park even has free Wi-Fi!

I've also used the South Portland Public Library and Deb's dining room table a couple of times. The string of great weather that started in Eastern Massachusetts for me has lasted - with only a couple minor interruptions - through the last two weeks. Storms blew up on a couple afternoons and rain is usually short-lived.

On one of my walks back over the Casco Bay Bridge to South Portland from Portland, I saw this guy...

Looks pretty comfortable. No idea if it was a nap or a camp site.

The sight caused me to consider how Portland is with respect to street life compared to the other New England towns and cities. Anecdotally, I have seen more "panning" (holding signs on the side walk or at intersections) and "sitters" (folks with no place to go during the day, sitting along the streets), than any other city except for Boston. Even Cambridge and Arlington (where I spent the final days of this Journey) wasn't as obviously homeless as Portland, Maine.

Compared with when I left, I'd say Portland is slightly better off, but that is a guess. What I've learned from the very many other cities and towns I've seen is that though there are many homeless folks out there, very few of them are actually shelterless. In the South, Midwest and West, missions take care of most people, in the Northeast it is shelters. The people who truly have no where to sleep are often mentally disabled or mentally ill. Very few of them choose to sleep in doorways or on park benches.

I think the same could be said of the Portland population of street people. Let's define street people in this context as those without a house or apartment, and without a job. They usually have a place to sleep, but no private space to call their own. What I have tried to emphasize in this blog is that, were these people able to find camp sites or even sleep spots as I did over 280 times in the last year, I think they could enjoy a more meaningful and private experience. In most cases that I have observed, people consider themselves permanent residents of the street and are not interested in finding privacy.

These folks have mostly given up the idea of having private time, or they simply enjoy being around the other people in their community. They truly do have a community--complete with romances, disputes, financial dealings, partnerships, social obligations, and plenty of drama. That is their normal existence, in the same way that people who pay rent or mortgages and hold down steady jobs have romances, disputes, financial dealings, partnerships, social obligations, and plenty of drama.

Interestingly, the street people seem to have even more drama. My hypothesis for this is that they are in positions to have more problems societally, socially, interpersonally and personally because of the nature of their lifestyles. They are simply more at risk for these things. But additionally, I think that they enjoy the distractions of this drama, though they might never admit it.

I have shown throughout the last year, that a person with a regular source of income, who wants to enjoy a more dignified life, complete with privacy and less drama could save money by sleeping outside and working during the day. If rent for an apartment is $800 a month (let's say), then in ten months $8,000 could be saved toward a mortgage, land, security deposit on an apartment, etc...

It can be done without "living" on the street, nor submitting to that community. Being without a home does not need to be a "problem" at all. People who are able to be organized and judicial about living for a temporary amount of time in a Nomadic way could certainly find an exciting and rewarding way to live. Younger people would probably benefit the most from this kind of thing. Thankfully, there will soon be a manual published as a guide to this by...oh, you know who. Ha!

I continued on across the bridge...

On the next day, I headed back into Portland to work again. This time I walked up State Street to Longfellow Square...

State Street Congregational Church.

The Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Monument.

I did as much work as I could at Starbucks and then headed back to South Portland, but first enjoying a bit of summer salsa...

Party in Congress Square.

Bummer.

The next three shots show a tanker moored way out on the island side of Casco Bay, off Portland's Eastern Promenade...

Look at the left hand side for a small red dot on the horizon.

Closer.

She's pretty large! Notice that the ship is empty, floating far above the waterline.

It was still fairly early evening. I wanted to go and see if an old private spot I'd discovered was still around. I headed down through the Knightville section of South Portland to Thomas Knight Park. In 2011 I'd spend many days around that area, exploring. I even used the spot in question as the location for my character, Chance, in the very short story, Chance in Plain Sight. Now I was back and eager to see if it had changed...

Looking down the embankment.

Chess tables under the bridge.

When no one was around, I stepped over the granite wall and made my way down the embankment, then across the rocks along the water's edge to the place...

It wasn't bad. All the wood I'd stored there was still standing against the trees that shelter the spot. It isn't large enough for a tent (although it might be excavate-able for such a purpose). I would keep it in mind as a possible sleep spot.

The next day I worked most of the day at Deb's...

Later, I needed a break and headed into downtown South Portland. I bought some discount sandwich meat ends (which I would pay a different kind of price for), then on my way back, I saw a small break in the bushes along the path across from the Armory and Fire Station. I snuck in to find a whole bunch of possibilities for sleep spots. It was an ideal area in so many ways. There were multiple natural barriers to the actual spot I settled on. Yet, it is quite nice, being sheltered under a small but full elm tree, and best of all abuts a 300 foot stretch of beach, facing the Fore River and the West End of Portland across that river--it is the sunset direction. Strangely, there were no places around the small cove where people would be able to see down to my beach, except for the parking lot of a small car dealership and repair shop...

I was very psyched to find a relatively safe and private spot so close to the center of South Portland. It was only a mile away from Deb's, half a mile from the Mill Creek Park area (which had my bank, the grocery stores, and library near it), and only about two miles from downtown Portland. It was a major score, one that I wished I'd known about or thought to look for back in 2011.

Now I had a spot to use when I was done at Deb's (around July 14th), and a base of operations for whenever I was in the Portland area. I drew all kinds of messages and symbols in the sand as I thought about all that was coming up...

A diagram of the US, with my pathway around it.

The shape of the overall path I took for the last 20 months

resembles an infinity symbol (hard to see here).

It took another couple of days to complete the Travel Record. There was some rain, and I had finally run out of money from not writing here at the blog. My plan is to spend the next two weeks (July 1-14, 2016) helping Deb take care of the house and Buddy (our three-legged cat) while she is in Germany.

I write this on the last day of June. The day before, we brought Buddy into the vet for a recheck. He is in very bad shape. There is probably cancer in his tongue, he drools constantly, and he can't clean himself. This is a really hard thing to watch as he has always been very fastidious. For some reason (probably because he is a fighter and has an unusually strong desire to survive) he still has a strong appetite. But he is losing weight, regardless of how much he eats. He is nearing the end of his life. Deb and her kids have been so supportive for him and love him dearly, as do I of course (I took care of him from 2003 to 2014, when Deb took over, allowing me to go on my cross country adventures).

I'd always wanted to see him again of course, but was skeptical in the last couple of months. It was just another circle being completed to be with him after I'd returned to Maine. It will be a truly sad day when he is finally laid to rest. 

The visit to the vet cost all the rest of my money, and now - just like I knew would happen - I am back in Maine and unable to eat. So, I will continue to publish here at the blog, planning the Maine Journey (the next Journey) and ask that if you are still enjoying the blog, awaiting the next Journey, and are able to send a few dollars to help me eat, it certainly would be appreciated. It is turning into another period of hunger.

Thank you!

A Living Magazine - Homecoming - Epilogue 1 - First Full Day Home

Just a quick post-Journey look at my first full day back in Maine. I was sleeping at my sister Deb's place in South Portland, Maine. Many readers aren't aware that my first time on the streets occurred here in the South Portland and Portland area five years ago (2011), and can be read about under the Odyssey Journey here at the blog (if you're interested, start here).

As I walked around this place that seemed so large and sometimes intimidating back in 2011, I was struck by how small it really is compared to what I'd walked in other parts of the country. And dark streets that seemed rough five years ago, were almost laughably benign now. 

Distances like the walk from Deb's house to Mill Creek Park in South Portland (1.5 miles) seemed onerous back then. They are hardly noticeable now. Hills that I dreaded each day back then, I don't even feel now. The longest walk I did during the Odyssey Journey was 15 miles. On both the Manifest Destiny and Living Magazine Journeys I pulled a few 35 mile days. Walking 20 miles a day for 5 days was a regular distance during the 100 mile trek through Virginia.

Now I was back here where it all began. And, I felt like I'd returned to my kindergarten classroom, viewing the little desks and familiar chalkboard writing. But there is a new writing on the Wall. This Wall had grown up. 

There is nothing here in Maine now that intimidates me. I can truly say that I've seen it all. My Journeying habits are still strong. I keep track of internet hot spots here as I had all across the country. I look in every nook and cranny for possible sleep spots. And, there are plenty. I never would have imagined five years ago how easy it would have been to simply camp out.

I spent some time at the South Portland Public Library, while a brief thunderstorm passed over, then rolled out to sea. Then around 8:00 p.m., I walked back through Mill Creek Park. That park has an incredibly spiritual significance to me. It was my Bodhi Tree; my private place of rest and peace in the summer of 2011, with it's gazebo, pink and white water lilies, ducks and pleasant benches. I took pictures of it on this day, but my SD card failed again. I will take some more shots of it later. I reformatted the card so that I could capture the sunset from my favorite evening spot...

Panoramic evening across the Fore River.

Complete with a sunset over the mud flats... 

When I got back to Deb's I finally opened all the mail I'd sent back to Maine in the last 20 months and organized it. Definitely a sentimental little wallk down American Memory Lane...

On the left is general memorabilia. On the right are maps, menus and brochures.

All my fortunes.

On the left are little nick nacks. On the right are seeds: a coffee bean from the

Botanic Garden in Washington DC, A hazelnut from Oregon,

passion flower seeds from California, and in the plastic--opium poppy seeds from Oregon.

On the right are hotel receipts. On the left are train and bus tickets.

Hoping for business expense tax deductions.

On the left is my last boot warmer and tent manual.

On the right is my front page story from the Gaston Gazette.

I was surprised at how few things I really had left from the Journey. They all fit easily in a Priority Mail box. My friend Sheryl had also sent a box containing my Manifest Destiny utility vest, fleece coat, blanket, and Camelbak. That's it. The one thing I wish I had sent back was my walking stick (instead, I'd donated it to Goodwill in Portland, Oregon).

It was pretty late when I was done. I went to bed with Buddy lying next to me.

A Living Magazine - Day 367 - Homecoming - Finding Everything

Drip...drip....

I checked my watch: 4:18 a.m. My first thought was to put the fly on. But that would have been silly since I would simply have to pack it and the tent away wet in another hour or so. I said, "I'm outta here!"

Pack up took less than ten minutes, and I was on Route 2 heading north to Mass Avenue. The rain was light at this point. It was almost evaporating as quickly as it was hitting...but not quite. The only thing I'm ever worried about when I walk in the rain is that the computer will get wet. Didn't seem like it would be an issue on this morning.

I thought about so many things as I made the wet two hour trek to North Station. Seeing this near the Harvard Plaza, reminded me of my last few days...

I was soaked from rain and sweat when I arrived at the station. It took precisely two hours. It was 6:26 a.m. I was pretty tired and a bit peckish again. The first thing I did was venture into North Station's only mensroom. What a friggin' dump! This restroom was singularly the worst train station bathroom I'd ever seen--and if you've read this blog over the last year, you'll know that that is really saying something.

For a station as large as North is, owned and operated by TD Bank (with over $242 billion in assets, and additional $202 billion at any one time in deposits--being the 11th largest bank in America), with over 120 thousand travelers a day, serving the 6th largest commuter system in the nation, you'd think the restroom would at least be usable. But this neglected embarrassment has only three stalls, all with broken latches, and four urinals, always in use. On this day, one of the stalls was "out of order." Are...you...serious?

In another, a junky was camped out there fixing himself a little morning refreshment. That left the handicapped stall. I walked in to find the toilet seat had been twisted and was drooping off to one side. It was covered with flush water from the overly intense flush. A puddle of piss surrounded the base of the toilet itself. The entire bathroom reeked like a combination of human shit and rotten fish. I HAD to go. So, I cleaned everything as best I could, and put my backpack against the unlockable door to keep it closed. While doing my thing, the junky spazzed out and kicked his bag of cotton balls into my stall. I kicked them back.

His friend was outside the stalls talking to him. "Joey you're gonna let me touch it this time, right? Not just let me look at it but really touch it?"

"Arngnogloporturon..." slurred the junky, nodding off from within his stinking shit-smeared sanctuary.

I could not for the life of me figuring out what the hell these two guys were talking about. And, for godsakes, why would I want to? But I was forced to listen...

"Cos, um, cos, like lasstime you promised, but you reneged, ya fockin faggot."

"Aaanooh...mmmsorreee...."

"I got really sad, bub... Sad. I wis so depressed I hadda go home n'play with myself fa two fockin houwiz."

I finished quickly...

"Run...da...I...knowed...canhepp it...saw....sorry...touched it."

"You fockin bettah fockin mean it dis time...this... Wait, way.... My fockin phone... way... Hello? Hello? Fock! Who dah hell? Hung up..."

"Wassss...wah...wasss, ha, ha! fick, cocksockah, ha, ha, ha..." came the voice from the stall.

"That was you wasn't it? Call me and hanged up, you fockin... Doon't do dat shit, bub. Serial. I'm waiting for a call from my grammy..."

And this went on, even as I walked by the dude on the way to the sink, where I had to put my hands under the electric foam soap dispenser 16 times to get a quarter-sized dab of soap. Then I tried to wash my hands under the faucet. It was one of those that you have to push the knob and it slowly comes up shutting off, except that this one wasn't slow. It just turned off about one second after releasing the knob. This forces you to just hold the knob down with one hand, while rinsing the other, and then reverse them--essentially handling the dirty sink knob until the soap is gone, slightly defeating the whole purpose.

When I'd gone through the motions, it was time to dry my hands. I went over to the one hand dryer. and put my hands under it to turn it on. The friggin thing was so loud that it sounded like an airplane had landed inside the station. The air pressed my flesh into the bones and I could barely hold my hands up to it. And the air was cold! Yet... I could smell the faint odor of plastic burning at the top of the dryer.

Like I said, worst train station bathroom ever.

I had to take a pee later and asked the officer who was hitting on a girl in a blue dress if that was the only restroom. He said it was. And, I said, "Dude, that's worst I've ever seen."

He just nodded, and then said, "Yah, I wouldn't exactly eat my lunch in theyah." That was an unnecessary image. Shit.

I was able to publish a post while I waited. I also posted the following at Facebook to express just how significant this day was for me...

* * *

This is the day! I'm at North Station, and quite fittingly I walked here for six miles in the rain. Ha! It wasn't too bad though. I'm dirty, I'm smelly, I'm tired, I'm a bit sickly, I'm a bit crazier...but at least I'm still here. What else can I say, but THANK YOU ALL!

What an adventure we've had! Good and bad, happy and sad, sunrises and sunsets, two oceans, great lakes, mountains, deserts, swamps, plains, feasting and fasting, sun and rain and snow, injuries, coyotes, dogs, cats, spiders, birds, squirrels...tens of thousands of faces, millions of cars, dozens of trains and buses, hundreds of new friends, cities, towns, villages, and wilderness, 8,000 miles of waking dreams!

What experience could be more fulfilling, more dangerous, more exciting, more difficult, more lonesome, or, most of all, more revealing. It was a revelation of me to myself, of me to you, of you to me, of us to the world, and the world to us.

Parts of me will always be thirsty in Tucson, sleeping 50 feet from the train tracks in Memphis or watching a train travel through the sky in Spokane, walking endlessly through the vast Midwest, or being completely out of touch with you through a hundred miles of Virginia, and visiting with, Debra, Paul, Mike, Bill, Kim, Jeff, Carl, RhonnaLeigh, Glenn, Rita, Frank Vicky, Marc, Christine, Patrick, Steve, Sheryl, David, Lyn, Susanne, Ellen, Allyson, Dart, Jan, Fay, James, Jeff, Natalie, Spencer, Cynthia, Melinda, and many others...

And, where do I sit now? Where do we sit...truly sit? There may have been an Alpha, but Omega? Not a chance. Things are built and eventually all of those things fall apart. People are born and die. Some are remembered and most are forgotten. But no, there is no Omega--there is no end. The truth, beauty, and goodness of the Universe will keep creating something out of nothing, complexifying, experiencing, evolving, expanding, forever and ever and ever...

We are here, along for part of the ride--the Wallk. Maybe it will be a few years, maybe we will be invited to the Everlasting Party. Only the Sparks know. And it is their collective will to tell us just a little bit at a time. All we need to do is have the will to TRY to listen. Just trying is good enough.

"If you keep walking forward, you WILL fly."

All it takes is LOVE and...wearing your soul on the outside.

😊

* * *

The place was filling up fast with commuter train travelers. Occasionally, an Amtrak train would pull in from western Massachusetts, or New York, New Hampshire or Maine. But it was mostly T traffic. Finally it got close to my train's arrival. Train 683 was due at 11:25 a.m. It is an exclusively north running regional train run by Amtrak, called the Downeaster. I tried to lookup the exact number of trains in the Downeaster rolling stock (the name for train engines and sections--kind of like a "fleet"). But I know there are at least four trains. I've ridden three of them.

Here is a video of what it is like when a couple of commuter trains come in, then what the board looked like less than ten minutes before my train arrived...

At exactly 11:25 a.m. Train 683 pulled up to the siding, and then they let us know it was Track 8. Everyone heading to Portland scampered around grabbing their bags, kids, and coffees, then ran through the automatic doors and out onto the siding. We walked quickly along the length of the train. The conductors make it seem like they'd be perfectly satisfied to leave you there, even if the door closed and caught only your shoe. But in reality this artificial haste that they whip up is combined with a careful accounting of everyone on the siding.

However, that is not when they look at your tickets. In a procedure that always seemed backward to me, they let everyone on the train and then after you're on your way, they come by and scan tickets. Out west I saw a guy who had gotten on the wrong train, and this wasn't discovered until about 20 minutes into the trip, when the slow moving conductor finally went by to scan tickets. "Ooo... Kansas City, huh? I think you're really going to enjoy Santa Fe!" Ha! Yet, there were no such issues on this day...  

Edge of the Science Museum passes out of sight.

Looking forward.

All Portland passengers we in the same car. We had the run of the place, because there were only about ten people. Most were younger than I. Two Millennials sat directly in front of me, and I listened to their conversation.

They both had dreadlocks. His were longer than hers. They spoke very well. By that, I mean there wasn't a lot of irritating, pretentious, trendy, urban dictionary terms and such. They were actually just friends, not romantic. They were part of a traveling group, complete with big backpacks, sleeping bags, etc. The group consisted of these two folks and four others who sat further behind me.

I was unable to determine their mission, nor why they were going to Maine. 

It was a very pleasant trip, as Amtrak usually is. Riding their trains has been one of my favorite activities in the last two years. To my mind - and perhaps others would disagree - this is the best way to travel regionally. It is less expensive that driving or flying. It is fast, usually quite comfortable. There is plenty of overpriced food and drinks available, and hell, the fact that most people never think of it as an option, leaves plenty of room for the smart folks who do choose it--like me! Ha!

I started pinging my location on Facebook after passing into Maine. It was very exciting to me. I was pushing through a twenty month dream and back into the wakeful land of my youth and adulthood, where I'd spent 45 years.

I had butterflies in my stomach. When we stopped in Saco (the last place I'd lived before leaving in 2014) I just had to get a shot of the station. I'd walked around this place so many times back then, wishing I could afford a ticket out of my discomfiture and deeply depressing days. Now, here I was returning from a fantasy adventure I would not have imagined myself starting, never mind finishing... 

The Saco train station.

I had no idea what awaited me. My depression, hunger, uncertainty and general dishevelment in the last few weeks had left me with very low expectations. I really thought I was coming home to an indifferent place, where the people who had followed my adventures would then yawn and move on to the next shiny thing that passed by. This isn't to belittle your interest, my dear readers, only to tell of my delusional frame of mind. Ten minutes later, we pulled into Old Orchard Beach...

The OOB train station.

Now we were close. I felt like my mind was spinning. I could almost imagine passing out. To everyone who had remained in this Pine Tree State, it was just another day in Paradise. To me, it was as if I were Theseus finding my way out of the Minotaur's Labyrinth. I'd somehow found the string I'd dropped, and pulling on it, made my way back into the place I knew best.

Our final destination, Portland, Maine was announced. I thought that I might wiggle right out of my skin, from anticipation. It was the terminus for this particular train, which would be headed directly back to Boston. So, everyone had to deboard. It rolled slowly as it approached the last three miles of track. Old box cars could be seen, junked off at the side of an unused track. Graffiti-tagged, windowless buildings, slowly flickered their art by my window, as if it were the lens of a movie projector.

Then I saw it. The low brick and marble buildings of Forest City, the jewel resting between two hills, jutting out into Maine's queen haven, Casco Bay, like a stocking foot, soaking up her high tides, and wringing out into her low tides. The sun was high and the sharp breezes skimmed across the green waters surrounding Thompson Point. The fields of lush young grass nesting Portland International Airport's runways, seemed to bow toward me. My home. It had waited for me.

We rolled to a stop and everyone was itching to get out into the Maine air. The conductors and siding attendants walked from car to car to make sure no southerly passengers had accidentally ended up north of their destination. And then door openned. My emotions were.............indescribable....  

When I walked through the doors of the station and looked around, honestly, I did not recognize the three people sitting right there at the bench, until my sister Deb, said, "Hi Chuck! Welcome home." I was astounded at how much taller my niece and nephew had gotten. Kid years move quickly. These two incredible kids came right up and gave me a giant hug. I hugged them then Deb, and we walked out to the car. I had always imagined myself kissing the ground. But I knew that was just superfluous romanticism. Maine didn't need a kiss, but it sure gave one.

The trees were soft, the air thick, but moving, golden light reflected off all of the ordinary things I knew so well. It was like returning to childhood. Very honestly, it was like being given the chance to start over again; to relieve life, with a better understanding about how to handle it. I was changed, but Maine was the same.

We went back to Deb's house. I finally got a chance to see my old cat, Buddy. He had looked better. His old three-legged body was starting to pull him down. He is THE most amazing animal I've ever know. His spirit and stoicism is almost supernatural. He has been beaten down by life so many times, but refuses to give in. Fate will have to steal his existence, because he is never ever going to agree to relinquish it. Another circle had been completed. Now at least I could be around during his golden days.

Deb and I talked for quite a while. We were supposed to be getting down the Whole Foods restaurant to meet my brother in law around 4:00 p.m.

I desperately needed a shave and a shower. That also took longer than I thought it would. Somehow though, we pulled it all together and got to the restaurant on time. We went in and got a table outside, then realizing the wind was going to bug us, we slipped back inside to a table along the windows.

Just then, a high school friend and reader of this blog, Shelley walked right up to the table. I hadn't seen her in nearly 30 years! It turned out that this gathering was actually her idea to begin with. And more people were invited. Amazingly, she had driven well over an hour to get down to Portland. How do I even describe how generous and thoughtful that was?

After some great conversation and catching up, another friend, Amy, also from high school walked in. How cool was this? Not only was I back and enjoying my state, but I was also being reunited with friends I'd known when I was just a kid.

Then Rick my brother in law showed up. It was great to see him. One of the coolest people I know. He happens to be an popular and very talented local artist, with a fascinating, novel and unusual style that is difficult to explain, and needs to be seen. [See his page here: Rick Hamilton Art]

We all had a good old talk, and then another high school friend walked up. It was Todd! I think it had been even longer since I'd seen him. He was in the class that graduated before mine. Wow! Just wow!!

It was a great time. Other people were invited, but this was a Tuesday afternoon. I think it was just too much for some folks. Unlike me, nearly every one of my friends or the people I grew up with have families. Nevertheless, I was touched that people would care enough to do these things, to make these efforts to choose to act upon their love. And, I was quite sure I would have the chance to see plenty of other people soon enough.

Amy had to leave due to a full schedule. And Rick took the kids back to Deb's place. This left four of us...

L to R: Shelley, Deb, Alex and Todd.

We hung out for a while longer and then went our separate ways. I hoped people had a good time. I wasn't expecting this, and it felt like a great start to my time back here.

Deb and I got back to her place and talked for a few more hours. She is a person I could talk to for days and days without getting tired. But I think *I* can tire her out. She had to work the next day and went to bed.

I stayed up for a while fixing loose ends on the blog. Buddy walked in slowly. It was obvious when I'd seen him earlier that he fully remembered and recognized his old Pappa. Now he looked up at me in the way I'd seen so many times in the eleven years we lived together. He wanted to come up on my lap. I gently reached down and picked him up, noticing how light he had become. He purred with that little wheeze he always used to get when he was happy and content. It sounds like a high humming "...mmmm..." His eyes were half-open, and mine were reaching the half-closed point. 

It was time to say goodbye to the rest of America. Twenty seven other states - my homes away from home - lay somewhere on that western horizon. The brilliant full moon was rising as I viewed it from indoors for the first time in months. The little warm body stretched out on my lap was the truest sign that I was indeed home. 

I didn't think there would still be anything here for me. I expected nothing. I'd left it all and seen America--really, honestly and completely experienced it. And with each step of my return journey, I'd looked back at Maine and seen nothing. I'd been so hungry and frustrated in these last few weeks. I'd had nothing. But, to the joy of my soul, as it has begun to appear on the outside, I did complete my Journey. I had accomplished what I had left California only dreaming of. And, instead of nothing, the void had been filled.

I had returned...to find.......EVERYTHING.

A Living Magazine - Day 366 - Homecoming - Arlington: Break Fast

I woke up and read the rest of my book, then packed up and headed back to Dunkin Donuts. I was very desperate now. I asked the woman behind the counter if I could transfer some money so I'd be able to buy a coffee. She said it was no problem.

I had to wait for about 25 minutes for the computer to charge enough to turn on. when it finally did, I got right on line and went to PayPal. I set up the transfer..... And it went through! Holy moly, was I a happy urban camper! I bought my coffee and was back in business. And, the first order of business was to get something to eat. I left after getting online and touching base with you folks...

Sextuplet taxi.

I went back to Panera and bought a Greek salad and broccoli and cheddar soup. It was good and not too expensive. Just nice to eat again. I know this might be TMI, but the only advantage of not eating for a couple days is that I hadn't had to use the toilet. My stomach felt bloated when I was done. Staying for the rest of the day to get caught up, I did not leave until sunset. This would be my very last night on the road for a while. I would be returning to Maine the next day... 

A quirky pub I passed each day and night.

At the sleep spot all was peaceful. I didn't even hear the cars going by anymore. After so many days walking on the roads and highways, and so many nights sleeping beside them, traffic was really just part of the air around me, like a wind that picked up and slowed down, but was always present...

The moon was full and on the horizon just before I crawled into the tent. Technically, it was the first day of summer. Intellicast said there would be rain starting early the next morning. I planned to get up at 5:00 a.m. for the two hour walk into Boston. It turned out that I would be leaving much sooner. I fell asleep relishing the last night of this Journey.

A Living Magazine - Day 365 - Homecoming - Arlington: The Little Things

I woke after a good sleep, presuming I would be unable to do anything again (what turned out to be a correct presumption). I was exceptionally confident in the security of my sleep spot. So, I decided to read my book for a few hours in the tent. It was about 6:30 a.m. I read until about 10:30 a.m. Then, I thought I should go and at least give one college try to transfer the money, if I could.

I packed up and when I got to Dunkin Donuts, I snuck to the patio and pulled out my tablet, it was dead! Somehow, I hadn't shut it down properly. I dumped an F bomb from the fuselage of my teeth-grinding mouth, then took a deep breath. I had to remind myself that I wasn't planning to have money on this day anyway. Here is what I saw over and over again...

I did decide to try reformating a different SD card in my camera, and it worked. There was one glimmer of hope for actually charging the tablet and getting online--a library. I knew I had seen Cambridge Public Library on the map right near Harvard. Finding it couldn't be that hard, right?

I set off, technology-less. I could at least appreciate the weather. Best stretch for months. Cambridge is a really great place. If one even had a little bit of steady income, one could really enjoy this town. Even broke, it wasn't bad. It is close enough to Boston to make the city accessible by bike or foot, yet free of all the evil mojo that can occur in The City. Plus, it has Harvard, with all of it's amenities. Every college town has a lot of cafés, restaurants, bars, libraries, book stores, and other places that intellectual nerd-types like yours truly can get into. 

If I were to live in the greater Boston area, it would most certainly be here in Cambridge. I think I could make a lot of friends too, as long as I could hide the fact that I sleep under a tree. Ha!

I have a totally different impression of Western New England. And, now, I have a new appreciation for the beauty and culture of Eastern New England. I will tell you one thing. This Journey has given me places where I could escape to if I ever needed to, all over the nation. It has also given me the skills to survive, as long as I can obtain about $10-20 per day. I know how to deal with weather, environment, animals, people, etc. I aim to write about all of this in a condensed form (probably my first book will be a manual for teaching people all of these skills). Hell, just knowing where you can sleep privately and safely in the cities and towns of 28 states is worth something!

I thought about all of this as I passed the Porter section of town and onward to Cambridge Common. There I took a break to really think about where the library would be. I knew it was somewhere east of Harvard Yard, on a street that began with B. Something also told me I had been near it when I passed through The Plaza, on my way into Boston a few days earlier. It was settled. I went to the Plaza first, to sniff out the street...

Under the tent they were setting up for something. It was the end of the year, and I think it may have been an ice cream party, because of all the whipped cream cans being distributed; unless they were for a collective nitrous oxide hit. Ha! 

Then I saw it. Broadway! Yes! Sometimes, folks, it really is the little things. It took very little time to make it to the library. But by the time I got there it was already 4:50 p.m. The library closed at 5:00 p.m. I plugged in, but the computer was too dead. It began charging, but showed a red line. There wasn't enough juice to even turn it on.

I was thirsty and kept two bottles to fill in case I came across a drinking fountain. Thankfully, this library had a beautiful, luscious and ice cold fountain. First I filled myself, then the two bottles. The water in my mouth, down my throat, and cooling my stomach was just like diving into a clear pool. I felt like I was swimming inside out. See? The little things.

There was a strange and old fashioned sense coming over me. No computer, so I read. No map, so I used my instincts and sense of direction. No car, so I walked. No money for a flavored drink, so I had water. No food, so... well, that could have been a bit more updated. All the while, simplicity - even when forced upon me - made life more real. It wasn't just about appreciating what I had left after losing nearly everything I needed. Frankly, I've never really bought into that hyper-optimism shit; thinking that the absolute lowest common denominator is good enough. "Well, I may be paralyzed, blind, deaf, and dumb, but at least I can still breath!" I think that's a stupid strategy for feeling better.

When you're fucked, you're fucked. Just admit it to yourself and have your way with the denial and anger that accompany such despair. That is the way out of the pit. When all is known to be lost, only then can you truly release your mind and find peace within your mind. It isn't the losing, it's the knowing. And, finally, it is the acceptance. For me personally, that is the only path to acceptance.

I learned that when I knew there was nothing left for me in Maine twenty months before. I remembered it when I chose to walk out of North Station into the rainy Boston afternoon. I remembered it when I had to walk a hundred miles through the Virginia wilderness, and now I was remembering it again. 

We struggle to build things that will last as long as possible. And, we only re-realize they won't last when we lose them, even though we have always lost them. NoTHING lasts. Nothing. Only the soul can last. It is not really a thing. It is an embryonic person. It is the future me, the future you. By trying to wear my soul on the outside, I am attempting live as my future self, NOW.

So, you may not believe in such things. And, that is just as good! To me, that is your soul, your choice, the only true freedom you have. That I may believe in the everlasting life of my soul after this broken body falls away, you must necessarily be allowed to believe that you are only your body, and the present must be good enough for you. How wonderful to be alive, and to have that choice!

There need not be fancy rules and regulations. The choice is ultimately not a big one at all. See? The little things. The simple things. But letting go of disappointment, does not equal letting go of choice itself. The truly dead are the ones who refuse to choose. For a "believer" like me, the soul of the refuser is missing out on the full experience of being alive--if not missing altogether.

Perhaps the Spark helps us forget to appreciate how much we've lost, in order to allow the choice of remembering how to start over again? Before my life was put back together again (having the ability to access my money, for a start), I did appreciate. I truly did. It was time to walk back toward the sleep spot... 

O...kay... savethedirt.com.

This was kind of cool to see. And semi affordable.

There isn't much more to say about this day. I walked back by the utility box and looked for a snack. There were none. But it was okay. It was okay.

After setting up the tent I made this video...

My air lantern had charged up under the bright sun during the day, and I read my book by LED, until it dimmed and shut off. Then, I fell asleep. 

A Living Magazine - Day 364 - Homecoming - Arlington: The Din of Erebus

I walked barefoot through a place where the ground was a glistening-wet, black, rubbery-cold membrane. It squished up between my toes, but wouldn't stick to my feet. I couldn't see anything at all but the occasional glint of light from some unseen source reflecting off the strange surface under my feet.

Far off - so far off as to be barely audible - it sounded like a man was giving a speech to an immense audience, but all I could hear was the reverberation and not the words themselves. The sounds were twisting, gnarled, dissonant remnants of a loud voice. I had the impression that the ceiling was vaulted and far above me. I seemed to be below an amphitheater of some kind.

I felt good, but there was something in the back of mind simultaneously dancing on the tip of my tongue. And, I was in between these two points struggling to figure out what it was. The distant voice faded a bit. I just kept walking. There was no place to sit. Suddenly a hot wind blasted over me, followed by a roar--as if a million people had screamed at once. And, the distant voice began again, and got louder as I made my way forward. He was yelling... What was he yelling about--angry and also proud, somehow both at once?

I noticed that I couldn't back up. It wasn't that there was a wall behind me, but more like there wasn't anything at all behind me. No space, no time, no turning around. Damn! I wished I could remember whatever was nagging at me. I knew it was something incredibly important.

Ahead, there was a glow. The undulating ground solidified into a glossy black floor.  The floor reflected giant windows and the space opened as I passed through a pure-black marble archway. Now I could hear the voice, low and monstrously loud, rumbling throughout the building.

The windows were stained glass and all distorted, sending prismatic colors in every direction. I tried to stand on my toes and make out the shapes on the other side of them. A dark form - I swear it looked like the shadow man ^{[1, 2]} - opened the small doors that were at the very bottom of two gigantic doors separating this great hall from the other side.

And, I walked through them. As far as I could see in every direction, stadium seating was piled so high that I estimated it to be a mile to the top rows--the cheap seats.

The ground was covered by a hard glossy, mirror-like surface. But it was more like a two way mirror, because light would shine out from below me, making holographic-like flames appear, then images of plants and other objects. These images were in 3-D but I could walk right through them. They were made entirely of light.

Then I figured it out. The images were synced to the speaker's words and actions, as he stood on a stage at the center of all of this. He would nod in one direction and an image would appear there, and then over there, etc... I felt like I knew this place, but also as though I'd forgotten about it. Looking up, the sky was blue but also shimmering with golden rays that came from all directions at once. There was no sun. There didn't need to be one. It was perfectly bright enough.

The speaker began talking again, and for the first time I heard his tremendous voice unfiltered by walls, but couldn't understand what he was saying. He was so loud I felt my eardrums push inward. I looked toward the center of the venue and saw that he was a very large man, maybe 20 feet tall, dressed waist-down in pure white. Walking closer, quickly now, I saw that his hands were chained, each to a pole off stage.

I couldn't believe it! From the position of his hands, down by, but held away from, his sides, his legs together, and the chains that ran up to head-level off to each side, he formed my Nomadic symbol!

Something like this.

The symbol.

He stopped talking and looked down at me. The crowd fell silent. Then what sounded like a mile-wide horn far above us all, sounded three times. And with each time, a circle formed in the images of the light around the stage. Three concentric circles had been created by the three blasts and I was just outside of the largest.

Then a blinding flash very much like I had seen and described in this blog on several other occasions ^{[1, 2, 3]} buried everything in a shadowless light.

* * * * * * *

I opened my eyes and found myself in my little tent by the side of Route 2, on the border of Arlington and Cambridge. I guessed that I needed to be taken far away from my troubles here. I was happy to have seen whatever the hell it was that I saw in that dream. But it scared me, because it was so real and so different from all I was facing in the so-called "real world" lately.

I sat up and noticed that the hernia pain was much-lessened. Now all I could think about was getting to Dunkin Donuts and checking to see if I could transfer money at PayPal. I was quite hungry and still frustrated, yet it helped me to have slept.

I got to Dunkin Donuts and immediately checked PayPal. The fucking error was still there! My blood pressure rose and the sweat began again. I had my coffee. That would be the last thing I'd buy for the next two days. I called PayPal and this time the signal was clear.

I'll spare you the initial details, but after 45 minutes, 30 of them on hold, and asking to be transferred to a supervisor (a friendly, if hardly understandable young Asian woman, named "Miah"--they farm out their customer service to an "overseas location") the facts came out. This wasn't just an issue with my account, as I had been told the day before. The "system" was down. After - I swear - 60 times of telling me robotically "Again, Missa Wall, we ah so sahhy for da inconveenian," whenever I asked if someone there had the authority to just manually transfer the funds or advance me the amount, I tried a different take.

I wasn't angry with her at all--just with this gigantic company that would not tell either of us what was going on. While I had her ear, I told her I used to have a very similar job. I'd worked through the Y2K situation in a bank call center. But that was nothing compared to how many times the system used to crash and we'd have to deal with customers like me.

She laughed a bit. I calmly told her I was in Boston and I'd had no food for the last day and a half. That was why when she said "sorry for the inconvenience" so many times, "inconvenience" sounded so awful, petty and ironic. That she couldn't even say whether the problem would be fixed by the next day or the day after, was crushingly uncertain.

I asked her whether this conversation was being recorded. She said it was. I said, "Who would be responsible if, because I don't have access to my only funds, something happened to me here on the mean streets of this city?" She said nothing. What could she say?

I'd been there at Dunkin Donuts for hours, seemingly arguing on the phone, and was occasionally getting the fuzzy eyeball from the staff. I needed to move on. Since I had no money to buy anything to eat or drink, and now couldn't work online, I was completely dead in the water. You may recall that my last SD card also died, so I couldn't even take photos. I let poor Miah off the hook to face the next irate customer. There was nothing else either of us could do.

I walked out into the bright day, and headed east toward Harvard. I decided that this would be an ideal day to get caught up reading On the Road. So, that's what I did.

I sat at Cambridge Common on a park bench, reading for the next five hours. The novel was really getting good. The farther one reads, the better Kerouac's writing becomes. I kept finding incredible phrases that he invents and so many parallel experiences with my own Journeys. I didn't just kill time. Now, as Kerouac says, "I knew time." Dig it?

I actually began to get chilly in the growing shadows of the late afternoon. The wind was blowing hard every now and then. My hunger had abated for most of the afternoon, but my stomach decided to try again. I walked back to my part of town and stopped by the patio of the Dunkin Donuts to try my luck at PayPal. Not knowing if anything had changed, it became a Schrodinger's Cat. I set up the transfer and said, over and over again, "Is the cat dead, or alive...dead, or alive...?" The goddamn cat was still dead. Ugh!

Where I turn onto Route 2 from Mass Avenue, there are always between one and three panners working that intersection. I pass them each morning and evening on my commute and say hello. They each choose a direction and when the light is red they hold up rickety cardboard signs and slowly walk between the cars--their captive audience. I have not yet once seen someone actually give them any money. But it must happen, or they wouldn't be there every day. It is the only intersection I've seen this happening at in this part of the Boston area.

The reason I mention this is, because every evening on the utility box adjacent to the intersection, someone leaves bottled water, granola bars and other snacks. Sometimes there are coins left there too. Most of the time, no one eats all the stuff and it ends up falling over the side onto the ground. The city hasn't learned to put a trash can there yet.

I was quite hungry myself by the time I got to Mass and 2, and the panners were gone to the shelter for the night. There were several granola bars on the utility box, and I grabbed one, but left a handful of pennies (all I had left). I ate it on the way to the sleep spot, and After not eating anything for over 24 hours, it really felt good to have something in my stomach. I felt an easing of my anxiety.

When I got to the sleep spot, I used the very simplest setup for the tent--two tent poles in the tent, with no tarp under. It was still pretty early, so I climbed in and read more of my book. My eyes were straining a bit, and I remembered I had the air lantern from Melinda. Pulling it out and setting it up, I was able to read for another two hours after dark, finally shutting it off around 11:30 p.m. and going to sleep.