Day 3 Journey Journal

I left Seguin just before 7 under a darkling sky, heavily overcast. The land was so green I expected dancing leprechauns. After a hearty lunch (!) at Waffle House, the rain squalls practically washed me back down the road as I pulled through running water so deep I was hydroplaning. Of course it was between concrete barriers, but I planted my li’l car right over the white bumps passing for a traffic lane & checked to see if I had any oars aboard. I did not even care a whit about the traffic behind. I needed the middle so as not to wash up against the barriers.

The Kreuger book lasted until Lafayette, LA as the story twisted & corkscrewed around relationships, situations, descriptions. It was fascinating altogether.

I decided today was a day I could really use breakfast, so I dialed up restaurants on the Garmin. What? No Denny’s? Is this from the Mandela Effect when the name changed from Denney’s to Denny’s? I cannot bring myself to Subway for breakfast, just not that kind of gal. So I hit the road on Hyland’s Calm & wintergreen mints & stayed happy.

I try to fill up at the half-tank mark cuz distances between services can be long. In a quest for gas, I left the highway at Schulenberg  (“Halfway to Everywhere!”) looking for a Shell station & found an Exxon. I’m still mad at them for the Exxon Valdez incident but I know it’s a good gasoline, so I pulled into a small station with premium @ $3.99, a total bargain at $1 less than everywhere else. Next door to the quicki-mart was a tiny donut shop with breakfast burritos so I ate there for $2.50 & picked up two packets of salt for the next meal. A total treat!

I was a bit surprised to see Louisiana names pop up since there was not even a sign that said “Welcome” or “You’re now in LA”. The shape of the road sign backgrounds changed from the star to a klutzy boot & the names went from Texan to French.

So, here’s the real grit on the smooth finish. I arrived in Lafayette & pulled into a parking lot with a dollar general type store for a place setting. Well, I got a butter knife out of it. Every woman had a headwrap. They looked to me like giant sweat bands. It was uniform. I thought living in Nashville was Deep South but guess not this deep. A whole different culture. The roads & turns around this complex were confusing & fast-traveled – it took me 30 minutes to cross the street & drive the block to the Baymont for my reservation. When I saw the huge black iron fence around the Baymont, I switched to second thoughts. When I asked the hotel clerk if my car would be safe in the parking lot, he shrugged. “Why don’t you go see the room, so you know where to park to watch your car?” he advised & handed me the key to 324. I stood at the door to the room looking vainly at the teardrop shaped lock with no slot, wondering where to put the key. Seriously, I’m not in the 21st century yet…the maid came down & smiled kindly as she held up the key to the teardrop & the lock disengaged.

I walked in, looked out the window, looked around the room, walked out & asked for a refund. The clerk asked why. “I don’t like it!” I said putting on my best impression of a bulldog (not a far stretch for this face.)

“Why?” he asked again, “I want to know for, you know, quality control, so I know what to tell the manager” Which tiny Indian man walked out of the back office at that moment & said, “Refund her.” I cannot tell you with good descriptors nor could I explain to him & when I insisted, I said “women’s intuition – my gut does NOT like that room.” Besides, how’m I going to guard my car from the third floor if a troop of robbers make it over the 6’ black iron fence with spikes – did I mention the spikes?

I peeled out of there & headed for the next town, about 34 miles up the road & had to circle to three places. At the Quality Inn, the man in front of me drawled how his colleague had checked out because of the bugs in the room at which point I left a bit of rubber from my new sneakers peeling out of there. LaQuinta had an opening at 7:30 (this was 4 p.m.), so no go, but they let me use a super-clean restroom.

I found a Studio6, a bare bones, super-efficient, sleek, we-thought-of-everything + an ironing board/iron. It is super! Clean! Efficient! OMG, I write this sitting in the laundry room as I’ve sweated through even the clothes I didn’t yet wear. They have giant luggage trolley for my five separate bags plus the computer gear I cart in at every stop. I ran a cool bath & sat gratefully in it. (All the water outside of T or C has been silky.)Temps are way high & humidity at least ten degrees higher. (Hence headwraps?)

Now a dramatic storm gathers itself outside as I sit on the bed typing away. A fella outside just put on a jacket so it’s cooling down. The television came on all by itself once I got settled in & I will unplug it if it tries that again.

I may be far too parochial to travel well. But I’m tenacious & that helps. I am also totally blessed to get to where I’m going & have some humor about it all. And I’m not out of Altoids yet. The kudzu is abundant everywhere & I’m in for the night except I’d better get quarters out of the car before the skies reopen.

Love to all –

Stormy highway
Looking East

Trains & Motels

There is still a romance about awakening to train horns from a distance, a music from the rails so long as one is not up close to them. That one drawn-out note & then a steady rumble of passage. Life was simpler traveling when one could afford a ticket.

I see the occasional pedestrian on the highway – it seems Texas does not forbid this everywhere as other places with their “NO!” signs at each entrance. The men I’ve seen (only two) are sunbaked, dark of visage, carrying only a little. They probably had nothing to begin with but have picked up small items along their treks. I zip by with a fleeting regret that I cannot help them. My car has no room & I have no faith of escaping unscathed by encounter.

Today is push day – close to 400 miles, fifty over my self-imposed daily limit. I am no longer hypnotized by the driving after that distance as the scope & speed & sheer volume of vehicles brings on an adrenaline rush that sustains itself as I try to see everywhere all at once. Exits fly by like jumping fleas – signs up, signs gone elsewhere: I blinked. I am thankful for those way-up-high signs & familiar logos. They give me a point to circle in upon.

This is my first drive across the lower portion of the States. Route I-10 cross states I have never been to with Louisiana & Florida (unless I count one brief church rally encounter with Jacksonville in the latter.)

It is a marathon of focus, a test of feathering brakes & hitting the gas, watching for patterns. I keep an eye on the Freightliners, the Kenilworths, the box trucks; if they change lanes I check to see if I’ve room to do the same cuz something is in the way. I eye auto carriers suspiciously for anything about to fall off – as if. So, there’s a predictive element here, a series of judgment calls changing momentarily. I feel as though I should be donning goggles, slapping driving gloves against my thigh as I settle in the car. Instead, I put a white-light bubble around the Volt, my Sparkle Plenty car. I draw it clockwise all the way around, over & under & then I settle it inside with me. I draw Reiki symbols, an old ritual for safety & grace. I am entering an arena of sorts & I am ready, as prepared as I can be.

Motel rooms are to sprawl in tho I have “areas” – all electronics on the cabinet with the TV (which remains untouched.) My suitcase is slung on the king-size bed – it seems there are no luggage holders anymore. Motel rooms are the final resting places of ironing boards & irons & I wonder if these just get dusted as it’s likely no one uses them. I’m not sure there are even fabrics that will take to ironing anymore. My wrinkles hang out with body heat (sure wish that worked for my face!)

By evening, I am gathering stuff into piles again for easy scoop-up in the morning. The soaps are back in the ditty bag, handy shelves emptied so all is on a surface for visibility. Anything not used is piled in the suitcase for fold’n’sort at departure. Instead of checking under the bed these days, one must look at all the plugs for chargers.

The privacy of a room after a day on the road is grand & well-deserved! On arrival, I close the darkening drapes & turn on the lights which creates a cave of my own.

The coffee is unpalatable for the most part but there’s a mystery about it of whether this cup will be any good. I think some suppliers grind corn into the mix, tastes are so strange but, hey, I’ve been brewing the same stuff for years & I am not in my element anymore. In fact, I will need to now create this as I go.

Travel is still exciting whether for adventure, life changes or sightseeing. I can be more fearful if I choose but anything going wrong would be a fireworks display on the road, it is a gambler’s dream of statistical extremes. My faith is secure as it would be an arrival at destination, whether in Florida or anywhere else more heavenly.

I make a prayer of every encounter since that’s what works for me.

Blessings to everyone on the road today. Stay out of each other’s ways, stray not from approved paths, let us each & everyone arrive alive-o. For me, another motel to stretch out in…not that I need much room. Just some plugs, a fridge & safety to close my eyes & know my Blessings on each temporary homecoming.


Once upon a time, high up in the Sandias outside of Albuquerque, I sat comfortably in my van, in sunshine, while ten yards in front of me a solid wall of snow slanted down, making the rattling, that sliding sound as when there are so many snowflakes they bump into each other.

Today I prowl indoors, couch to kitchen to couch again. To go outside is to venture into a marshmallow clasp of heat, clingy, smoky, stinging if you are driving with your arm out the car window.  The apartment is sealed up, the swamp cooler refining & wetting the air.

Tonight I walk outside to the grasp of smoke long tired even of itself, yet still pouring upward, the smoke of a forest being transformed from earth to ash. It is an exhaustive fire. It is not going to sleep for the night. It’s an irresistible heat, sustained, defensive & bullying. Smoke nestles down in the bowl of the town, a cloud from a distance, yet seemingly clear from within it.

The breaking mornings are coolest; a shifting night breeze has peeled off the smoke & the air seems moist in the absence of that forged heat.

Indelible summer arrives.  

Covid Heart

A short bout with Omicron has left me with heart flutters, a strange appetite for sugar & hotdogs with mustard only, for doughy rolls & canned food. What the hell is this? How could a virus change my organs? I am more timid, less allowing, rigid too. This outcome is definitely not of nature which has never forced itself against me so, obscene in overture, slippery smiles & tentacles snapping, reaching to snare my unwary parts.

I must be more conscious now. I defy these symptoms with salads, with rice crackers. I tell my heart, “Wait a mo'” while I fix a coffee to test the boundaries of its beats. I defy this new normal & create yet another unmoved by terror of failure. My past is already satiated & complacent. It is only the present with which I struggle.

I surge forward & upward, escaping the snaky holds. I will not cower before another man’s creation. I will not surrender if there is aught in me to continue the fight. Nothing not of God will enter me, control me, devour me.


The fear in my heart pulls in the edges, isolates me

Protects itself, its waves recede;

The open beach left exposed is flat, empty,

Bubbles sink & dry, harden, their

Moisture drained. The winds begin a wail

Whip up frenzy

Heart cowers more, sinking deeper into self

Crusts over so little more can enter

Stung by sand whipped

Almost mooing, my heart remains bovine.

One morning, the winds will still

thinking me cowed…

The tides return; the memory retreats, That moment

I leap, anticipating its return, I leap

To an understanding – that knowledge that I have

Shown fear my future

& frightened it away.

Begone, Fear! You have no power here!

The vast engines of energy gear up with a roar

Stunned, my little self finds a vision larger to inhabit

Hastens there, slamming doors behind

That fear may not follow.

In the new light of being unafraid

Emerged from fear’s long shadow

I create again

I move again forward

I gather all about me

In triumph

Heart emerges in fanfare, confetti, parade!

I am healed. Unblemished. Ready.

Becalmed by Light

Only I can turn poverty into reality. Where is my real wealth? I am spotting it in so many places now. Is this my Nesara? My recognition of self & other’s worth? Yes, certainly.

I no longer need put up with what I felt that way about. I no longer need to feel anyone is not nourishing me, nor wishing me well, even if misunderstood in their reality. Yesterday I said hello to four strangers sitting in the wine bar, each with a long-stem glass in right hand, poised around a face… these faces looked up at me, the ruder intruder burgeoning in to wish all well! Here’s the scoop: I was looking for a lovely friend, the owner; not only that, but I had cleaned the very chairs on which they were snobbing. I mopped the floors under their single-foot-legs-crossed poses.

I laughed to consider they would consider me a “rube” or whatever they call hill-people-strangers these days. Rube is the most polite…

I rejoiced in the sharp sunset light, the long, long shadows fanning the street. I celebrated the memory of living in this town, of being in many of the houses. I reveled in the thought that I had cleaned the entire Lady of Guadalupe R.C. church entirely on my own, reliving my childhood effectively, this time with permission to touch.

It was a very releasing day, yesterday. Empowering.

At the end of it, I wanted only to be in my own home, put away from everyone. After the time “home alone,” & plague, I am still sensitive of others nearby. Literally sensitive. My skin feels them & I am no longer accustomed to being seen.

Poverty is not living as well as I think I want to. Yet it isn’t giving things up either or, rather, seems to me to be. Until I have a recognition like yesterday’s, a review of/in the light, an attention-caller to what was my reality only four years ago.

Perhaps it has always been only change which is familiar. I am willing to change, but I want to do it my way, in my own time, in answer to my own questions. I’ve had enough freedom & done things my way pretty much. Is that not an untold wealth as valuable as any chest of rubies in a sea-cave?

Post No Bills

Attach nothing to this life.

this life is nothing in & of itself.

I’ve been doing it for maybe longer than you

all I’ve learned is I no longer want to be a particle

but a wave.

What do the words mean anymore?

I understand when I say them, I’m posting the wrong message

the one that these go for in this time.

I’m not talking them in today’s terms, though.

I gave up the moving forward & am taking a u-turn.

I need to have my today re-couched in yesterday.

And not just any yesterday, but a specific, focused, energetic of a yesterday.

the one where words had definition, & borders amongst themselves, & meanings.

I speak them that way at times.

I’m zooming in on my past, doing a close-up on who I was; with who I Am

aligning the two.

Once I got that, I’ll bring in who I want to be.

Life’s Little Potato Peeler

I like the analogy of being a whittler, of tiny shaves & curls of wood

tickling down to feather at my feet.

i like the idea that there might be a beginner spirit in the wood

waiting to get out, to sit on the shelf

to move among the thrift stores of the world.

I know at times, I do this with my life.

My pen makes a great tool; the sharpest knife ever,

that, & my words.

Each memory I consign to the forest floor

will blow into someone else’s tale.

Message from my Guardians

Dear R,

Good Godly morning! Are you enjoying our Great Life Adventure these days?

Oh yes indeed, beloved, believing Carol – indeed – word & deed – we help you to enact the Script authored so long ago in festive planning. All your Team is here, present for the ending…this ending – as we were for your first steps into it.

We watched you step forward toward darkness, laughing, singing, waving at us. You were walking into a Void as all-encompassing as the sea & you have been surfacing ever since. We smoothed the parts of the bottom you could not see as blankness & blackness closed over.

We filled your pockets with grace & waybread. We blessed your waterskin. We warned off the predators who would have devoured you, even as we picked off seaweed tangled in your hair. We summoned warmer currents to steer you into. We were not anxious, but more than once, we held hands to send you strength as you faltered or turned blindly about wishing a way either onward or out of it.

We knew how precious your life would become to others; smiled when you were surprised by their recognition. Many cheered quietly on this side of the veil. We pushed through when you suffered from lack. We lit up colors when all went gray. We sent these, plus cards & flowers & clouds & all manner of tokens large & small in acknowledgement of your efforts.

It was never only me, Child, it was always us creating in harmony for you. Look at what you have valued to bring this far: seashells, poems, pictures, stories & memories, feelings, hopes, dreams. We fastened fins to your feet & water wings to your shoulders, all the while transmitting to that tiny point on your head as a prayer antenna tuned to us.

We’ve pulled, pushed, propelled you forward. Now you approach the farther shore. Not for nothing do the old songs call of crossing River Jordan, poling the Styx, parting the waters. You’re not dry yet, but we await with warmed towels & hot coffee!

So, keep it up, dearest, most blessed Child. You are our vanguard to earthly plans there on the earth plane. Stay oriented to the stars you so stubbornly sleep through, being a creature of morning Light so long.

We wait, each time you sleep, to see you once more. You regale us with tales of 3D life & your keen observations thereof. And we so enjoy these. You left Here to discover & record these tales. These are the reason we let you go, to bring them back to us in style & smooth delivery. And, darlin’, you make us laugh!

There’s a bunch of us here who gather for your nightly appearances – we pop popcorn & plot your arrival trajectory, arranging our wings to fashion your stage. Sometimes you bring us sad tales of shipwrecks. Other times – and mostly these of late – you bring jokes & delight & rueful observations. When we laugh, you find feathers.

You salt our wisdom in seasoning & flavor both. You shake off sorrows like a dog does water & your beginnings & endings are only a mystery to you. We trust you to find safe harbors as you wander. We encourage you forward always, always, always.

We’ve watched & encouraged the schools of fish you swim among. When needed, we’ve helped you flee in bereavement & often, joy at new freedoms to explore. You see these situations as endings; we see them as new tides of circumstance & flows of opportunity for strength & well-being.

You’re a surprise & a delight. Your scars glisten in rainbow colors. You break the water frequently now as laughter lifts you from banal 3D with its weather wars & inept attempts to keep you subsurface. Don’t believe in these, Carol, but believe forever in us for you are our brave explorer, dishing up reality as we never expected.

We lift you in such a loving energy – a Gulf Stream of pure grace. You have navigational tools now, a compass & sextant & barrels of fresh water to tap at need.

Don’t ever doubt us! We won’t fail to hold you up. We will never let you go & tho you think it, you can’t even begin to imagine forever, dear one. It is not beyond our skills to keep candles burning underwater, watch for these. Your every laugh lights another match. Your tidal pull is our tidal lock to fix you more firmly upon the way we show you to live.

We wonder at your growth on so many levels of this water world… each a call to be unlimited.

We’re absolutely breathless for the next installment! Popcorn is in the pot, butter on the stovetop, fresh cheese by the grater. You’re a delicious one indeed & our love is what we have to offer in return.

Take this with the delight in which it’s offered & sing Hosanna to everyone in your sea. Permit your thoughts to flourish. You’ve mastered the dark now. The shore awaits as do we.



Stairstep Miracles

In Taos, I walked a dirt road where many stones were heart-shaped. The end of the road was a heavy bar gate tattooed with “No Trespassing! Reservation Land” signs. I believe it was what is left of the Tiwa reservation. Originally, the Taos Puebloan people owned the land, allowing others to live nearby, build their small houses & stay. Now the Reservation is contracted as they seemingly sell edges of it for million dollar homes while fencing off the rest. I totally grok the “No Trespassing” signs. They have been trespassed upon quite enough.

There was a magpie flitting from yard to yard: remarkably colorful for being just black and white. Gambels Quail called liquidly from the sage, thrashers curried the yard.

A huge tree shaded the sun passing by.

Beautiful art everywhere.

Shady places downtown to rest.

Truth on mild display.

Mouth-watering food at Michaels.

Breakfast Burrito Smothered Green

Yard art.

Bees were a constant & the silence I so sought was based on their soothing hum. (I can go anywhere & bees will come to land on me. Taos was no exception.) I’m glad to refer myself as Carol B, not Carol Elephant! When they landed on my glasses I got the close-up. They investigated my pen, my books, my water bottle, hovering just to set up a sound track to “get busy!”

There were moments, however … as in any spiritual endeavor, doubt & phantoms come to haunt, to be dissolved into the confidence of prayer. I chanted my way through these & felt victorious to do so. Resolution came easily when I pushed through with not allowing it to frighten me, contract me, put me into a barred corner & poke me with old fears. Hallelujah!

A great retreat & time away for me, this Taos trip turned up to be. I was able to cull out many affirmative prayers to add to my personal resources. I experienced blessing upon blessing with a wonderful view.

Love to all –



I recently spent days in a place where scents were forbidden. Since my world includes incense, essential oil diffusion, sage burning, lots of patchouli & Somali Rose every day – to the point where opening my clothes closet is a bouquet drifting out, I was perplexed. How long could a shampoo with rosemary destroy peace of mind? (I know about allergies, I just don’t have any.)

My teabags became a problem, ginger heavily owning the air. I kept these on the bathroom windowsill & made sure the window stayed closed.

Scents are an important part of my day. Who doesn’t like passing the burger joint at midday for an appetite perk? I remember on the Boardwalk, the owners would roll up the shelter door & toss onions on the grill. Soon heads would turn, bathing-suit-clad people would drift up from the beach & line up for food & drinks. It was a no-miss situation.

I was really pleased to get home where I could light up the joss sticks, push the diffuser buttons after pouring in Spiritual Healing blend, or peppermint or wintergreen. “Ah! I breathed. “Home sweetly Home!”

Your One Wild Life

Poet Mary Oliver asks,

“What will you do with your one wild life?”

So I came to thinking about how un-wild my life had become

As it lived, how it loved, why it closed doors so quietly

          sometimes the people being closed out did not even know.

I came to no life-altering conclusions save the one that altered it first:

Whose life has ever been theirs?

          Knowing that set me up to understand there were many Masters to serve, some I chose my own self. There were also Those who chose me.

          Now one by one, I begin the Divestiture

The Departure. The Conclusion Protocol ~ ah! (As many flowery ways to say “die” as flowers on a grave!)

Life deepened on me. I ripened from seed to nut to blossom to fruit.

Now to firewood? To blaze along a horizon between worlds?

Someone told me, “Don’t worry about it.” I never heard the “don’t.”

Until I stopped saying it to myself as I no longer did worry.

I lived rightly. I bowed my head in all the right places.

          Remember, I had no manuals, only instincts & the Baltimore Catechism.

Betimes I was feral myself, I tasted of earth all over, and salt.

Is this the Wildness she speaks? Is it enough? I can’t care now for it is what was.

I walked the outer fringes of two worlds many times, perhaps always do.

I lived both vicarious & victorious; all life alluded to this me.

I made familiar choices until I chose to venture around that.

I was given to make it up as I went along, imagination my only tool.

Carol Borsello      10/15/21

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