Before the Cat Died


Tisanes of my own making:

I still say coming forward for others

Is more than my own reality

The vague blur of expired lenses

Less keen than real perceptions

The radiation of my Chernobyl life

Pulsing in the machinery.

My heart decides its own measure

Diverging from the body’s hosting.

Finding that  hidden doorway,

I sit shivering in shiva for myself.

Once held so closely to my chest

Now put aside in contemplation

Of The Other.

Yet this is current reality

My clickbait body

To which I return each morning

While sliding down the ropes of immortality.

I land with a jar of bones & teeth

In the town of not-enough & nevermore

The boundaries of why bother

Tightening their borderline personalities.

Will I mist to shadow

Transmogrify to barbered edges?

Shredding & shedding humanity for the Divine

The nature at central core

Patiently emergent.

Shall I pick my way through minefields

Fraught with memory, unbounded, unleashed, unremembered?

Does it matter?

As one among many

Unmanned by the sheer topography –

Of this experiential life,

Once glossed by heaven

This blank page

Forever scribbled now

Crossed out

A mess of blots & misspellings

A dictionary of what not to do.

My mind off to the side

While heart seeks another drummer.

Of all the doorways along the

Corridor of Eternity

Of all the tiger or the lady decisions

Shall I find forgiveness only in salvation’s selection?


The channels of perception


Repelling static for clarity

I fight free of the physical

For the liminal of heaven

Washed by words

Scarred by sayings

I glisten at tidal edges

Will love refashion & reconstitute

Who I shall be?

Will crass materialism win over

Incandescent immortality?

I wander fields of inquiry

When answers are only found

Along the horizon.

Like babies

Cats keep their own timelines

Pulled to the watered-silk moon

An insistence upon awakening

Shedding sleep like virgin’s tears

Of awakening to a man sleeping alongside;

To single digits on the clock

From sleep to not-sleep

A bleary coming-to

I cross & recross that boundary

Between morphia & the mangle.

Her plumed tail floats last out the door

Her existential nature of query

Draws no worry in the night

She only wants to walk about in it.

I’m hardly awake & worry catches

Me up in headlong rush

Enough! These thoughts need brighter light to think

I drift upon the couch, ticking time

In decisions.

Pain is a slowed-down travel companion

A discernment rushed into decision

A refocus upon the means to journey

Through to the promise of arrivals.

Darkness to light

The words ride a tunnel into the light.

The night

Picks its way among gardens & highways

Taking cities by storm

Bringing the brace of salt & bitters

To a candy life

Too sweet to manage alone

I reach to friends who break taffy edges

I savor them as only perceptions

Of spice to be stirred into the stew.

Broken Like Mercury

The pieces of my life forever flow

In reuniting

Yet every bubble reflective of itself


A balm to unhealed wounds.

I put my hands into the word-soup of life

Pulling out the same-same over & over

Putting them to a picture

Moving along sure edges,

Fitted to an

Other-where of perception.

Indentured abandon

Not yet an adventure

But simply a promise

That all will be new:

That all will be well.

Finished: the Night

Apace with poems

A toe-thorned cat asleep nearby

She purrs to hear me wake

Welcomed to morning

By her expectations.

The numbers on the clock-face

Are liquids soon abandoned

For the solid day

Soon abandoned by the sun’s

Hearty sibilance for the stutter of rain

My erratic heart abandons rhythm

In errata of timing: I am asymmetrical

Wondering will it also abandon me?

I have left off the lid on fear

Once contained

I pull the braided measure

To watch it unravel.

There is none but this now

I have survived to this hour

This night

Only me speaking

One hand clapping

The applause of a universe

Knowing no appendages

But only self-regard.

Will I close one eye to eternity

Or decide to have no body

But only a wing & wonder?

Unexplored, lost joy recovered

That relay of open gates

A call to angels to attend me

A sustenance of grace attendant

To continuing on

Bodiless as a naked soul.

None to greet me in dystopian Paradise

A chair in a corner

A pen & pad

To rewrite me into another life.

Death Is An Invisibility Cloak

Life recedes behind me

A memory before a dream:

A place where God looks up from His desk

Adjusting His glasses

Laying down the Book of Life He writes

To say, “Oh, there you are!

How was it?

Again, why did I create you?

When  you passed, a thousand drums went dumb.

Come here, my girl, tell me all & that you wrote what you lived:

The banal & the miraculous…

Do you remember all the times you touched My face in passing?”

I will cross the room in laughter,

“Father! I made it! It was extraordinary!

However did You think of it all?”

I will be whispering for all eternity

Now penned in heaven

Awaiting Your words.

There Were No Clocks

As I drew my last breath

Released in a rattle: there

Was no time left to record,

Only words scattered on the floor

Of my mind.

It was all for You, after all

And I’m not sorry for the mistakes

Or falling from grace to land on my face

In the mangle of years.

Searching only for the

Exit, the entrance,

Knowing neither right nor wrong

Would enter anywhere beyond this realm

The physical of living too well

While overdressed & compliant with survival.

I bought life, spending all that I had

I hand You my purse, empty of only Love’s royal return.



I wonder why I lived in such a hardscrabble place as T or C now. Perhaps cuz I didn’t know it was such. It filled all needs for some time. I had forgotten (or perhaps never had access to) the option to stay anywhere else without pulling down a salary when I’d rather stay retired.

I feel I’m living that cliche, “died & gone to heaven,” though I’m still very present here.

The environs are restful on all levels: the greenery is peaceful & seductive to unused-for-years portions of my mind. The bare-bones landscape of the desert, the crunch of boots on grit, breathing dust in battering winds are all interesting & strangely beautiful. I know I can survive there well. Being here is literally moving from ground floor to the penthouse with no stairs or elevators involved.

The softness of the land is softening me too. It cushions all corners; my eyes rest & are absorbed by the verdance rather than bounced off glare.

I’m active in the same geographic square as in T or C. The places I frequent are within a couple of miles in radius to home. The bank, walking, a wild assortment of stores from “Beads!” to “Axe-Throwing” are nearby. My new Unity is about 2.5 miles & I may serve there at will. Beauty is everywhere in the neatly-ordered neighborhoods, brilliant flowers, tall palm trees, clear lawns, pastel homes… a “Wow!” which is not a loud whistle, but an under-breath sigh. So far, there have been no flaying winds of dust forced upon me.

I found it an inconvenience to drive so fast, so far & land on a holiday weekend. I was ready to continue the giddy-up, to check in immediately on practicalities of re-establishment. Now I see it was a blessing to blinker out of the fast lane & coast to the curb; a feather plucked from high winds to land trembling aground. What I perceived as restrictions have come to actually be a preparation, a kind of “Whoa, Girl! Slow this whole thing down!”

I was primed for the passing lane & now am parked, absorbing an orientation. I am taking notice of taking heart.

Of course all around still moves at speed & few obey speed limits already set up a bit from my usual, 40 from 25 mph. But streets are wide, well-marked & notably lined for expediency. Warnings & signals & ease of u-turns (always a feature for me!)

Today I slide from neutral into gear. I’ll open a bank account, maybe get to a library branch, talk with a gym about membership, contact an eye doctor. The list I’ve carefully pecked out on the phone’s memo pad is about to go live, check, check, check.

I am so grateful! My basket of blessings is filling while leaving room for so many more!


Five days later, 1900 miles on car trip counter – no signs for Sarasota until 7 miles out of town.

First impressions: commercial sprawl; old trying to look new with spiffy add-ons; traffic sincere about getting to the next red light as quickly as possible. Hope my NM plate saves me some harassment. Beautiful birdsongs, many water birds about. Pastel is the State Color.

In search of: Sprouts, library, MVD info & all stuff like that. Won’t take long. Must find storage baskets for little stuff I put into boxes, like 15 bottles of essential oils, etc.

Lined up: Volunteer position at literacy council, service at Unity this Sunday.

House is spacious & full of light. Warmish for me, but I’ve been isolated in air conditioned spaces some while now. I’ll adjust. Development is lookalike homes, better know your street or have a turquoise chair out front!

Everyone has been so generous with me. My turn to offer this to others.

Thanks for following along – a short one today & no photo. Couldn’t get them all to load yesterday either.

Thank you times eleven.



Day 5 Journey Journal

I can tell Florida is a real tourist state – not just a pass-through. It’s apparent in the quality of even the less expensive places I’m staying. The Baymont last night was so solidly constructed I heard nothing & I was across from the elevator by the breezeway. The a/c unit was quiet, unlike the industrial hum of the others, the coffee excellent & plentiful in the room & the TV did not come on by itself.

Today’s unit is in a Super8 in Lake City, my last stop before Finding Georgi tomorrow! Another 300 miles to Sarasota &  my new home!

Here, my room is on a lovely courtyard with a pool & palm trees. Breakfast is at 6:30 & a free dinner is served at 5. Tonight is pork loin. Free dinner? Free dinner!! And I bet they even offer it with silverware!

I’m getting good at trundling what I want in the room atop my $5 wheelie bag which has been slowly losing pieces, a strap here, a handle there. Is this a signal to stop traveling awhile?

The trip was uneventful. The Weeble-People in buzzcars gave way to misanthropes in bus-sized SUV’s. Well, these do require their own lane plus the half-lane Sparkle occupies. They also were still twisted enough to want to sift her tailpipe emissions far too closely until we finished passing & moved over. I waited at the motel for about an hour as I was early on arrival, today being my short travel day. Turns out I was waiting for the pet room. When I told them I’d given the kitty away, I got a room immediately & a lot of sad looks & “awwww’s.” I cannot bring myself to tell strangers what happened to my Dream. Why create more heartache in the world?

I did think of trying to actually find Lake City & buy a postcard or a dolphin keychain … for about five minutes. I’d rather sip weak coffee in the Super8 lobby than go exploring. Maybe another time. I’ll have Sarasota to explore soon. This room is quite large & I’ve lived in much tinier studios in T/C. I could prob’ly get a decent Cotton-Eyed Joe going along the hall to the bath. The bedspreads & carpets in these motels are awarded to the Ugliest Possible Color Choices available on the market today. Bedspreads of olive & lime atop carpets of brown/brown, tan, beige & gray stripes being the most popular. The bathtubs are slick as goose ____ with no handholds. Cold water is tepid, the walls a cross between hospital green & hospital yellow. But they are all squeaky-clean & the towels folded to pass muster on a Marine base.

I am down to one book to read, good thing I’m almost arrived! I doubt there’s WIFI in the house where I’ll be so likely I’ll head to the library for that every once in awhile. Time to be a friend & hang out & plan days together. And I think I’ll get a flip phone instead of the android with its unreliable-to-impossible services.

I’ve passed the point of no return many miles ago. I am launched well &  truly into a new phase of my life. My friends have proven super-supportive of this exciting endeavor & I am filled with gratitude of the highest measure!

Come visit me!


Day 4 Journey Journal

Today I finished off Louisana (leaving spooky Lafayette far away) & crossed Mississippi & Alabama, which states could afford “Welcome!” signs. The landscape was even greener if possible & kudzu not draped over the local wildlife.

Florida. I remember Florida drivers being so slow to get behind one was a cause for loud groans from everyone in the car. Well, times have changed. The highways now harbor a coterie of low-slung, neon-color cars with black-rimmed lights whose drivers live for the thrill of doing 70 in the 40’ space between them & the next car in front.

I watched this go on from the slow lane where I was still doing the limit… gasping to almost witness three collisions today alone. The windows are tinted at about 80% & I picture Weebles driving, madly shifting gears with evil grins. Maybe they get extra tickets to turn in for plastic combs if they can run a tractor-trailer off the road. I saw more than one 73 footer shimmy like my sister Kate as these devils of derring-do slammed in front with a bandanna to polish the chrome bumpers.

A good 90% of the truckers are polite & many hang back but boy they are like bull-ring livestock when in a hurry. These also follow a creed that if they can get close enough the energy field will push the car out of the way. However, I learned to drive in New Jersey & have lived in New Mexico where every car is larger than mine plus my third mate was a trucker himself. I’m not afraid. I can be dead on the road anywhere tho not a fatalist. It would be spectacular for them to scoop up my Volt for a hood ornament & save me gas, too. And I’m doing just over the limit if in the passing lane anyway – the lane next to the staties parked in the median, yeh? I move over as soon as I can & figure they left all road manners on the counter when they picked up their CDLs. If they’re that late, they should have started as early as I did. Bleah! Road bullies all.

Today I didn’t chant in Hindi. Today I simply prayed James Dillet Freeman’s Prayer for Protection through two of the three states. The CD didn’t work well from Disc 2 on, so I finally put in Train & shouted the lyrics out loud while slapping my legs to stay awake. It worked, but I sure needed the restroom at every stop!

Florida has discovered speed! I think I preferred the grannys in surf wagons pushing pedals to see which one worked to make it go.

It’s so humid here the bathroom floor is slippery. Shuffling works. Fortunately my flipflops have traction.

I am enjoying the accents & realized today I will never fit in if it comes down to speaking twang

This motel has the first plugged-in clock I’ve seen. Perhaps it’s a state thing, but all the other places I stayed either had no clocks or had put them under the bed unplugged. Just sayin’.

One more night on the road before arrival. I had a lovely stop in Mississippi at a rest area which was lush & green (I know I keep harping on the green, please forgive.) It has been over four years since I spent time under trees!

I am not a good travel-tourist. What I want to take pics of strobes by with just a glimpse. I cannot fumble for the phone, the camera app, etc. So the photos of this trip will be just a couple at rest stops. Mississippi has the prettiest I’ve been in, today’s was a park with a pet walk area, a people walk area, nicely tiled restrooms all spacious & cool. And their vending machines were stocked & worked (tho I’m still watching for the by now twice-baked cheese crackers.) The nice thing is the food carrier gets lighter every day. I still have Biscochitos, in case you’re wondering.

Today was simply a speed day. I think I passed a point where the ground started tilting downward, things got to moving so fast. I’m not a go Granny go gal in the best of times. I have a 4-cylinder Volt carrying a decent load. I think if these drivers hit the drive-in, they’d demand the movie be on fast forward.

I am in Crestview, FL where the bathroom floor is misted in humidity & there are few handholds to grab. I’m attaching some pics of my parkland rest stop & one of me which fully features my moustache… I got a look at that one & rooted around in the back for a razor to shave. It’s hellishly colorful to be spayed down to testosterone level in a humid climate. Of course I cut my thumb.

300 more miles to go. Palm trees. Swimming pools which haven’t been used since Covid years & bearing signs “No Refunds!” I’ve got the room next to the elevator but at least not on the freeway. If there were a storm, the sidewalks would sizzle & steam. Had a cool rinse & it’s time for my Arrival Coffee since all of you are caught up on the uber-zoom situation here in the east.

Please continue your prayers for safe arrivals & loving reunions!!

Sleep well in peace as I dream of jake brakes…


A Tree
A different tree with a droid trashcan admirer
Moustache Me

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.

Day 2 Journey

From the beautiful green surroundings of Fort Stockton, TX to the highly commercial Seguin, TX, the roads are long & complex, braiding in an all-for-one fashion where route signs pop up & layer over one another.

Texas was a highly militarized zone, according to the forts listed on every other exit. Now wind turbine farms line upraised mesas like the feathered headdresses in old cowboy movies, eerie & huge. Distance from the road does not lessen their menace. I avert my eyes & watch for another car somewhere along the stretch of beautiful Texas countryside. I drive I-10 at 75 while the speed limit is 80. As in most things Texas, the limit exceeds my wish for speed, set as it is at 80. The cars I see approaching in the mirrors pass by me fast – little old me who thought 40 was too fast on the street where I lived in T or C.

My Volt performs valiantly. We hustle East as though magnetized to the bold & glaring sun. I move through discs 3 to 8 on the book on CD in the player, This Tender Land, by William Kent Kreuger. It’s one long drive to Seguin. In all that distance, there was only one sign for the city at one complicated turn.

Basically, I follow 10 but this braids with county roads, frontage roads, street crossings & signs of numbing complexity. My GPS provides a steady instructional chatter: BE in one of the two left lanes, BE in the right lane, like the Highway Guru she is. I am her faithful follower.

I’ve driven the roads in America before, but do not ever remember the amount of recap tire treads littering either side. Orange barrels hold space much-needed for trucks which barrel along like hippos, swinging to either side of the traffic lanes at times. I always pass trucks with a prayer & while pressing pedal to the metal. To even glance at these seems a challenge I am unwilling to take. Trust in the Lord but get past fast.

The drivers are polite to me, allowing lane changes graciously with far more ease than big-city counterparts. No one hovers in my mirrors. I am thankful!

The heat is tremendous. If I stop at a rest site, I am careful to not touch the car other than to open the door. The morning started with a delightful overcast but as I traveled, this burned off. I am wearing a sweat band, even in the a/c comfort of my Volt.

America is in no way prepared for the electric car. I’ve come over 600 miles without noting one electric charging station, not even where I’ve stayed overnight. If we give up gasoline production, the roads will be an endless procession of stalled cars – quite a dystopian ending to Henry Ford’s dream.

I stop frequently for breaks. Texas has many rest stops, many picnic areas, lots of opportunities to break up road monotony. Exits are well-marked. Each section of grass growing in the median has its own mower. I cannot imagine the road care needed for this gigantic state. Over 600 miles & I am not close to Louisiana yet, with Houston & Beaumont still to come. I think I’m past San Antonio.

I am not being a tourist. On the road, I’m a fiend for getting where I want to go. This trip I am stopping only as needed & sometimes allowing a break at a pull-out where I emerge, breathe, smell grass (heady after years in dun desert).

Somewhere along the way the time changed & jumped an hour ahead. I was confused until I decided all the devices are wrong & I’d get to where I was going when I got there.

I pray my way across the state & will continue to do so. In heavy, speeding traffic with just enough room for me to slip under the truck mirrors, I chant a Hindu mantra as this keeps me calm & focused regardless of the intensity of traffic swirling & skirling all around.

I know all prayers go to God & indeed, count upon this mercy. No steering with two fingers here; I’m holding the wheel at 2 & 10 steadily, watching the miles count down on the GPS until arrival.

It has been an intense & heady day. I leave the road early because I’ve put in all the mileage I can take. I ignore restaurants for my own simple salads & wish I’d packed a place setting where I remembered I put one. Eating everything with a spoon is as intriguing as eating everything with a fork – I’m taking turns with whatever implement surfaces. The plastic knife already broke but the edge can still stab the cheese, I’ve found.

Ah! I’m seeing the USA in my Chevrolet, America is asking me to call …


The biggest distraction of all is stuff, especially the bigger, better, faster, more stuff. I understand that we need things….a coffeemaker, a car. Obviously, we must wear clothing & shoes. Even with shoes for walking we need a car to get anywhere outside of the immediate surroundings. To leave the village is an accomplishment of no meager portent. If the village cannot support us comfortably, if that bugbite of travel needs to be scratched so the itchy fluid spreads through our systems, we go, simply to assuage it. The comfort zone becomes more comfortable in the rearview mirror instead of the windshield.

Spending a life accumulating stuff is worthwhile until it no longer rewards but impinges. I have done the mostly impossible for so many: once again sold off or given away 95% of mine. Wherever I go, I will again begin gathering more. What I leave behind will be received or purchased & circulated. My bits of energy & DNA move into another household to affect the individual who needed more. I am become that “more” as a means of showing self-love. However, my “less” is my way of showing self-love. Can you follow that?

Stuff is convenient. I love having a washer/dryer, yet some very intriguing interactions for me have happened in laundromats. I’m sure there were great conversations taking place on the banks of rivers everywhere as folk slapped fabrics against rocks in that vain attempt to remove the stuff we didn’t want to carry along. I cannot carry these appliances off in my car on a journey, so I trust in rivers & rocks.

With all that I acquire comes obligation such as the need for cleanliness with every bit, or at least the need for some tampering. Food needs to be cooked, households need to be tended…my words need to go out into the world carrying observations & insights, entertainment & exposition. Perhaps these will influence enough perceptions to even end the need for stuff! Hmm, not likely, but valid.

I let it all go once the decision is made to do so. I hang up the phone where I’ve made plans to travel, looking around & an immediate fierce need to be free of everything arises. Then I can get different stuff!

O Lord, spare me from this need. Bring me austerity & understanding that a coffeemaker cannot burble enlightenment, but the ritual of making it, sipping it, the enlightenment of enjoying it, can bring me to a stillness where I can perceive a glimpse of it out there.

Putting on my shoes urges me to walk on in discovery. The car beckons departures & arrivals both to new destinations & familiar. For example,  how many times have I returned from the desert to the ocean & the reverse?

Some are rich enough to assure their stuff can remain in place while they come & go. I need to turn it out for pennies on my dollars to lighten the needs for this living journey wherein I gather my being for expression, spinning value from experience. I cannot keep two households, so I invest in only the one where I am in the moment.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to live my best life not in a sole focus of getting. It is to find that extreme of balance where I have enough, need little more & can divest investments with clarity & ease. My asset base is in thinking, spending my wealth is the means of this word exchange: I write while you read. I spin a whole cloth of perception for your expenditure (or keeping.)

May heaven bless these connudra. May my balance stay intact or at least keep up a flow attempting that. For as long as I need a coffeemaker to spin tales, may the “sins” requiring this acquisition be forgiven so long as it births inspiration & excellence for myself & others.

May my ideas be blessing, illumination, expressions of the divinity which seeks the more of new vistas, the inspiration of other environments. May my thoughts entwine & urge, soothe & offer whatever is ‘needed’ to my readers for whom the weave of these is that whole cloth I talked about above & perhaps the nourishment of their souls.

The original seeking for me has always been God. I return again & again to the release of what is for what will be next. For me, it has always been the journey & not so much the arrival.

I follow a plan I didn’t even know I’d made & perhaps I did not. I’m a minion, bringing about the will of Creation with every article, participle, verb & noun.

Read on my friends, share this difference, this refinement of offering with me! Have fun here…learn, hopefully marvel, consider & share as I have with you.

ISO Tomorrow

When young, being old is inconceivable although being “older” more desirable since there is a perception of freedom. In my day, children weren’t so closely guarded tho rather more closely guided. What a difference a couple of letters make.

My upcoming cross-country journey won’t be an outburst of fast food, rather I’m carrying my own as much as possible or obtaining something healthier along the way. It will mean nights of sleeping in “strange beds” as opposed to my familiar futon upstairs which I’ve already abandoned for the couch downstairs, trying to be in the same room as my dying cat. I am already practicing, yeh?

After the initial burst of utter rightness about relocating (I said to myself, “Wow! Everything in this room must go!” as I hung up the phone after making the arrangements. It was exciting!) I switched on & off. I did not give up the thought that letting go of possessions making my life more comfortable was the right one for me in the moment. I did roll through some fear tunnels where it was dark & full of slippery images: “You’re too old for this.” “You don’t know what you’re getting into” And then the litany of “What if’s??” all needed to be ripped out by the root until the journey became the only reality possible.

There has been much shocked reaction to “You will own nothing and be happy.” The two seem mutually exclusive in a society bent on acquisition to stave off evolution. But my blood remembers lifetimes spent owning nothing – some in poverty, some in spiritual commitment. Owning nothing means looking inward for entertainment, for learning dependence on others is not weakness, but rather an exultation on the strength of having friends, of the kindness of strangers manifesting & of the interesting experiment of austerity. This attitude has set me outside many perceptions where owning it all brings joy. For me, it meant more cleaning. I have always stood outside the corral of public opinion, sometimes waiting to get in but lately just walking around the edges.

As with walking a dog past fenced-in canines, the noise level is savage. The container dogs howl & yip at freedom enjoyed by others, carrying on as though their tails have been ripped off. The uncontained dog is an existential threat to their ways…an awakening when the dream is all they know. The unknown is to be feared.

I don’t perceive myself as a threat to others but I join many on the road now as a threat to the “system,” a way of life increasingly unsatisfactory. I mind less now having only three or four outfits, with the “decent” one, the Sunday best suit, hanging way back in the closet unworn. It was always a sign of material wealth to have a full wardrobe & vary outfits each day. I used to be like that but realize now it was an effort to fit in & assure acceptance. To be wearing the same clothes over & over – even though clean each time – was detrimental to image. Um, just not much caring about image anymore. No makeup, goofy hair, porky shape all equal a relaxation of the rules comprising my chain-link yard. From where I once barked at others, I now pace to the gate to undo the latch.

Thus the journey becomes the arrival.

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