Part 4: On The Road (again)

Now on the highway, the journey has officially begun. I turn to the classic country station, just in case they are playing it like they did for Kobe, but they are not, so I put in Willie Nelson's Greatest Hits, and skip to track 16. Every journey should begin with this song.

On the road again
Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin' music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again
On the road again
Goin' places that I've never been
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again.

I pop an orange Spree. It was given to me Thursday night by a friend who had bought it for his girlfriend as a 1/2 birthday gift, only to have her break up with him that very night, refusing his gift, and giving no reason. That was not the only gift of his she threw away that night, and it was her loss, in so many ways. Friend, I recommend you take a trip like I am about to describe. And I hope you move to your island in the sun, like the radio told us when I dropped you off.

On the road again
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
We're the best of friends
Insisting that the world be turnin' our way
And our way
Is on the road again
Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin' music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again

As I eat the orange spree, I think to myself, "damn, this spree is good." Spree is one of those classic candies that you could make your trademark candy. You know how certain people, like a grandparent or a good friend, always have a specific brand of candy and they always share. I remember when my grandmother died. At the viewing, in another room of the funeral home, someone else's grandmother was also in an open casket. As she lay there sleeping, she had an open pack of pink Bubblicious in her hand. The funeral director explained that the lady had always carried that brand of gum for her grandkids. What an homage. I loved it: having fun, even in the coffin.

On the road again
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
We're the best of friends
Insisting that the world be turnin' our way
And our way
Is on the road again

My friend Dana's trademark is Tea Tree Toothpicks. Every time I see her, she has them and she always shares. She gave me a whole box last time she came through town. I pull one out and work the bits of peach from earlier. My mind is wandering. The road trip is working.

Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin' music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again
And I can't wait to get on the road again

I am singing On the Road Again so intensely that I almost miss the exit to Country Club Drive / AZ-87, "the Beeline Highway" to Payson.

Part 3: No Use for Time

From the movie, Easy Rider.

5/22 ~ 9:49 am
In the parking lot of Osco, the radio played Speed of Sound by Coldplay. I noted the words “How long am I going to stand with my head in the sand.” I ate a peach.

My wife had taken the digital camera to CA, and I would be taking pictures the old fashioned way. Expensive! I was not too upset about it though: I had a feeling that the quality of these pictures would be worth it. As I write this, they are not yet developed. We will see tonight. Ahhh the anticipation. What do those three plastic spindles hold?

10:01
As I leave the store, three girl scouts are emptying a book donation bin. It is refreshing to see the forces of good at work this Saturday morning. I debate whether or not to take a picture, but I am too shy to ask, and I sometimes feel creepy taking pictures of people without their permission. I get in the car. Norah Jones brings peace with a song that I cannot find the name of. I noted the words “Do you?”

10:07
As I wait at the light to get on US-60, I am singing at the top of my lungs with Bono and the Edge .

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don’t have to go it alone

And it’s you when I look in the mirror
And it’s you when I don’t pick up the phone
Sometimes you can’t make it on your own

Full lyrics

I take off my watch and toss it on the backseat floor while waiting for the light to change; a lesson I learned from Peter Fonda in Easy Rider. I am no longer bound by time.

Part 2: The Soundtrack Begins

5/22 ~ 9:30am
I had stayed up late last night packing the car and scrapped the idea of leaving at sunrise. It was a good thought, a nice metaphor, but I needed the sleep. I woke up at 8:30, but did not hit the road until an hour later. Though I had packed the car in advance, I still had some errands to run. Feeling anxious because I was leaving later than intended, I was a bit frazzled.

I started the car and turned on the radio. I shit you not, I immediately heard the words "Looking out on the road, but I’m runnin behind." It was the beginning of a song by Jackson Browne called Running on Empty. The full lyrics are here.

Damn if the Universe did not pick the perfect song for the moment. The words "Running into the sun, but I’m running behind" were especially poignant, for I was pointing my car east to an ascending sun, and one reason for the trip was that lately I feel like I am running out of time to point my life in a more fulfilling direction, more in line with my spirit.

Next came "Hard to Handle", by the Black Crowes and it had me in a better mood. I now had the window rolled down and was slapping the outside of my door like a real badass. My spirits were high, for though it was Saturday morning and I was running errands, I took joy in the fact that these were not your normal Saturday morning errands: not your milk and produce.

First stop, fuel. On my way to the station, driving south on Price, waiting at the light at Apache, I saw a woman my age standing on the sidewalk. She looked to be about six months pregnant, and was wearing a traveler’s backpack. I tried to imagine what journey she was on. Unfortunately, by the look in her eyes and the place she was waiting, I feared for the path she was heading down and I wished I could take her out of the sun and out of her misery, help her see how beautiful she is.

9:38
At the gas station, I splurged and bought what to my knowledge is the best gasoline that money can buy: Chevron Supreme with Techron. As I was washing what would be my second camera lens (my windshield), the woman next to me was speaking Spanish to her man. I appreciated the fact that I live in a city with many Spanish speakers, especially Spanish speaking women. My car ate up the gas and left the station with some serious attitude. I whispered a quiet Adios as I pulled out from the station.

"Anywhere you go, I’ll follow you down" sang the Gin Blossoms, a product of my hometown Tempe. Was this Tempe bidding me bon voyage?

One last stop to grab camera batteries and film and I would be on my way.

Part 1: A Journey into Itself

For much of the year, Phoenix, Arizona is a desert paradise. For a few months though, it can be hell. I woke up Saturday morning (5/22) with an escape plan: a solo road trip painting a triangle on the heart of this geologically diverse state. Though Phoenix was beginning a day well on its way to reaching 108 degrees (42 C), I was headed North, where the higher elevations yield cooler temperatures, shade, and flowing spring water.

Cooler weather was not the only treasure I sought. A good friend of mine, with whom I usually discuss ideas beyond the three dimensional, had the idea of taking a sort of spiritual retreat. She is a connector of several of us who are all actively pursuing a spiritual journey of discovery to explore and expand our consciousness. Luckily, our first retreat will be in AZ, and I am in charge of site selection. My wife had left for California on business and I decided to pack up the car with a sleeping bag, a camera, a notepad, some books, my guitar, and a list of potential sites to check out for the retreat. A clear objective. At least that is what I told everyone.

Deep down though, in the heart of my intent, was a slightly less rational reason. I was beginning a journey into itself: my destination was the path to it.

When taking such journeys, it is important to remain flexible. I knew which general direction I would point the car, but had no itinerary of when or where I would stop, or what I would do when I got there. This preferred method of travel is rooted in my childhood, and a vacation I took with my Dad and Sister to Colorado. We knew we were going to Colorado, but that was about as detailed as the plan was. The point is to make it an adventure rather than a tour. I learned from my dad that all you need is a map and a marker, the rest takes care of itself.

One of the best parts about road trips is the music. I prefer to use the radio as opposed to CDs, letting the journey pick its own soundtrack. I like to think that the Universe brings forth the perfect song for the moment, and that belief would be confirmed over and over again on this trip.

Correction

The Journey Begins at 9:00 am.

Exploring Thy Backyard

The journey begins 5/21/05, 5:24am, sunrise.

The Route
Tempe - Payson 80 miles / 1:31
Payson - Jerome 82 miles / 2:07
Jerome - Sedona 28 miles / :44
Sedona - Tempe 131 miles / 2:13

Weather
Tempe: 108 / 81 (Record highs expected)
Payson: 95 / 56 (Remember long underwear)
Jerome: 100 / 63
Sedona: 98 / 63
Tempe: (Forget underwear)

Destination
Nature, the Self, the UNknown.

Saturday Eve
May return home (The stars say unlikely)
Plan A: Offer to work at the Healing Center of AZ in exchange for a spot under the stars, a tour, and a chat.
Plan B: Camp in Sedona, Oak Creek, or in the forest above Oak Creek Cayon.

Objectives
Explore. Breathe. Listen. Think. Sing. Write. Play. Swim. Hike. Climb. Jam. Stretch. Wonder. Wander.

Life is Parrots and Passion

For Mother's Day, I went to see the movie The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill with my Mom and Sister. It is a beautiful movie about a beautiful man named Mark Bittner and how he came to know a wild flock of Parrots in San Francisco. I am still trying to process the lessons I came away from the movie with - there were so many.

There were themes of passion reminiscent of the orchid thief in Adaptation. There is one point in the film where he tells about how he used to downplay his love for the parrots when speaking to others. Then one of the parrots died and he felt the utter devastation that one feels when one loses a loved one. From that point he decided he could no longer hide or be ashamed of his love for the parrots for fear of being labeled "eccentric." There is something touching and moving about knowing someone who is true to thy self.

Everywhere I look lately, there is a synchronicity in the movies I see, the people I meet, the Bill Clinton speech I watched for an hour on CSPAN on Friday night when I randomly turned on the TV as I was brewing some "Sweet Dreams" tea, driving from my Mom's Saturday morning after borrowing her ladder (oops, forgot to tell you :) and seeing the traffic of bloated SUVs and mini-vans on there way to the stores to consume some more, talking with my wife... everywhere I look I see reasons to shift priorities away from money and materialism and toward those things that bring a palpable surge of energy from my gut to my brain to my heart and tear ducts: loving people, art, music, and ending suffering.

In the movie, Mark also did a good job of articulating his realization of the oneness of all things. He spoke of a metaphor he heard from a S.F. Zenster who saw a waterfall in Yosemite and saw a metaphor for that oneness. As the water flows toward the edge of the cliff, it is one: a stream. As the water falls over the cliff it is many: drops. When the water lands it is one again: a stream. Our lives are the period when we are falling as drops. When this life ends, we return to the stream, the oneness.

What makes life fun
is enjoying the fall
and exploring the experience
of being a drop
while knowing the stream
together, with you all

Thoreau's Journal: 06-May-1854

Thoreau's Journal: 06-May-1854

All that a man has to say or do that can possibly concern mankind, is in some shape or other to tell the story of his love, -- to sing; and, if he is fortunate and keeps alive, he will be forever in love. This alone is to be alive to the extremities. It is a pity that this divine creature should ever suffer from cold feet; a still greater pity that the coldness so often reaches to his heart. I look over the report of the doings of a scientific association and am surprised that there is so little life to be reported; I am put off with a parcel of dry technical terms. Anything living is easily and naturally expressed in popular language. I cannot help suspecting that the life of these learned professors has been almost as inhuman and wooden as a rain-gauge or self-registering magnetic machine. They communicate no fact which rises to the temperature of blood-heat. It doesn't amount to one rhyme.

~~~~~~
For more, see Henry in the cotu kin links to the left.


Reminds me of Whitman...


When I heard the Learn'd Astronomer

When I heard the learn'd astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and
measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much
applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

-- Walt Whitman

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