Category Archives: My True Life

Oct3

Water and Electricity

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It was my first summer at the Bridge, long before the guy in the laundromat asked me if I went there often.

One hot day, a guy with a guitar showed up and sat down just beyond the sidewalk across the street from the vendors. The guy started playing his guitar and singing enthusiastically. He wasn’t very good, but I believe in supporting people who try. I asked my friend Mateo if he knew the guy; Mateo told me no.

The guy was playing what radio stations call “classic rock,” and I said I’d just about have to give him a dollar if he played something by the Grateful Dead. I didn’t have many dollars in those days, but I had even less music in my life, hardly ever the Grateful Dead.

On the way to the restroom, I stopped to talk to the guy.

Do you know anything by the Grateful Dead? I asked him.

He looked at me, and I thought oh, no because he had crazy eyes. I can’t explain what made them crazy. Maybe they didn’t focus right. They just didn’t look the way people’s eyes normally look. I knew he was not someone I could handle in my life at the moment.

He started talking really fast. He didn’t have any Grateful Dead songs in this book, but he thought he had one in his other book, it was in the car, he had a car, it was parked up at the rest area, if it started raining, he was going to put his guitar in the car because rain was the enemy of the guitar, he had water and electricity out at his place.

At that point he took a breath, and I said ok, see you later, and steered well clear of him when I came back down from the restroom.

That was the best pick up line anyone has ever used on me. Water and electricity. Ha! It didn’t work (even though I was homeless at the time and didn’t have water or electricity, much less a place), but it was a great line.

Is that how you guys pick up women in New Mexico? I asked Mateo. By offering water and electricity?

It turns out that Mateo did know who the guy was. He was the guy who’d come to the Bridge before to play guitar and sing badly, curse loudly at tourists, and stalk women. I knew those eyes were crazy.

Sep28

Little Van Lost

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While I was house and pet sitting for C. in Austin in December of 2012, there was some excitement with my van.

When I got home from Christmas supper, there was nowhere to park the van on the block where I was staying while house sitting, so I parked it around the corner. I didn’t drive the next day, so I just left it where it was, hoping that when I did drive it again, I would be able to park closer to the house when I returned.

Around three o’clock in the  afternoon on the second day after Christmas, I decided to go out, drive to the post office and then the auto parts store to get some oil for Old Betsy (the van) who burns up the stuff fairly quickly.

When I turned the corner, I didn’t see the van, but I thought I would see it as I got closer. I got closer, but no van. Then I realized it was gone. Finding the van gone is one of my biggest fears. Not only will I lose my home if I lose my van, I’ll lose all my stuff too. I started panicking. Where did it go?

I started looking for no parking signs, but there were none. I started knocking on doors, wondering if there was some parking code the people in the neighborhood knew about. Did someone call and have the van towed because it had been parked on their block for a day and a half? Maybe at least someone would know how to find the van if it had been towed. But no one answered the doors.

I saw a woman turn and walk down a nearby alley and started running after her, yelling, “Excuse me.” She didn’t live in the neighborhood, just came over to walk, so she had no idea about the parking situation, but she agreed with me that if I were in a no parking zone (or a no parking on Wednesday zone) there should be a sign.

Right about then, I looked at the street and realized the edge of the road had been torn up in preparation for some kind of road repair. Then I remembered vaguely that this morning when I was walking the dog and we turned the opposite way down the alley, I had heard a bunch of noise, as if some sort of road construction (destruction) was going on.

I looked down the street and way at the other end I saw some heavy machinery. I started walking briskly (half running, really) toward a city streets truck. When I got to the truck and started frantically explaining I thought my van had been towed, the driver man was very nice. He said, “You walked all the way from Tom Green?” (That’s the name of the street I was staying on.) He said it as if I had walked six miles, but i couldn’t have gone more than six blocks. He offered to drive me back. I was trying to make him understand that my van was GONE, but then I realized he was telling me it was just moved. Not impounded. Just moved. Maybe just around the block. He asked me if I had looked for it on Tom Green. I hadn’t, but I assured him that if it had just been moved, if it had not been impounded, I would find it. “You saved my life!” I told him. I had been imagining impound fees, tow fees, being hundreds of dollars in debt to the city of Austin. But thankfully, no, it had just been moved and was parked on Tom Green, one block from where I was staying.

Betsy had herself an adventure.

Sep27

Ecstatic Posture Meditation

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The following piece is a recounting of real and true events that happened to me while I was staying with friends who own an inn in rural North Carolina. I wrote about the events within the first couple of hours after they happened.

I participated in an ecstatic posture meditation with five other people on the occasion of the full moon/lunar eclipse of November 28, 2012. The other people participating included T and Te, my hosts at the Inn, and three women I met tonight, M (described to me by T as a “shamaness”), Db, and Da. I had drunk two cups of coffee (with sugar, cocoa powder, and half & half) earlier in the day, but had otherwise consumed no drugs.

We started the evening sitting around an outdoor fire together. A cedar smudge stick was passed around, and we each passed the cedar smoke around our bodies in purification. While we did this, M described a ceremony we could each do with sticks. Each person could choose two sticks. (T showed us where to find sticks under some bushes near the park.) Into one stick, we would “blow” things we wanted to get rid of or to honor lessons we had learned. We would then burn the stick completely to release what we no longer wanted or needed. Into the other stick we would “blow” the things we wanted to replace what we had gotten rid of.

After gathering sticks, T said we should be smudged more seriously/completely. He went around the circle and to each of us in turn, swirled the cedar smoke around us, using large brown feathers to move the smoke. He smudged our front sides first, then we turned around, and he smudged our backs. After T smudged all of us, Da smudged him.

When the smudging was complete, T passed around a glass jar filled with cornmeal and instructed us each to take some of the cornmeal into our hands. Db asked if we should throw it into the fire. T said we would sprinkle some of it onto the ground as we opened the ceremony, invoking the four directions in turn. We started facing east and T said a few words, calling on the spirits of the east (including a mention of creativity) to join us. We then turned south, and T invited the spirits of the south (including mention of the midday sun) to join us. We then turned west, and T called the spirits of the west to join us. Finally we faced north, and T called the spirits of the north to join us. I sprinkled cornmeal on the ground as we faced each direction. (I didn’t realize we were going to invoke spirits of the fire and earth as well, and didn’t have any cornmeal to offer them.) We got on our knees and put our hands on the ground when T invited the spirits of the earth to join us.

Once we were again seated, M poured olive oil on the fire to make it friendly as she spoke words to the anaconda, mother jaguar, and hummingbird (and maybe other animals I don’t remember.) She then showed us the Pachamama stick, and instructed us to think about what we wanted for all of humanity. I thought of generosity, love, and understanding for all people and from all people. She said it took two people to put the Pachamama stick in the fire, so she and Te put it in together. (This was symbolic. Although it was a good size stick, it was not too large for one person to handle)

It was then time for each of us to put our two sticks into the fire. M explained that as each of us knelt before the fire, someone else should watch the kneeler’s back, as being down by the fire put us in a vulnerable position. She got down by the fire while Te stooped behind her and protected her back. M scooped the fire’s smoke toward herself, then blew on her first stick and put it in the fire. After the first stick was in the fire, she blew on her second stick, then put it in the fire. M and Te then switched positions, and Te did as M had done.

I was sitting next to Te, so when she was done, it was my turn. Te protected my back while I knelt by the fire. First I fanned smoke toward my body. Next, I blew on the first stick. With each puff of air, I silently thought of something I wanted to let go of. I thought about letting go of fear and greed. I thought about letting go of all the negativity surrounding the recent end of my long-term relationship. I thought about letting go of pettiness. I thought about letting go of other things. It seems like I was blowing on that stick for a long time, but I can’t remember everything I decided to let go of. After I thought about all the things I wanted to let go of, I put the stick into the fire. I blew on the second stick each time I silently thought of things I wanted to take the place of what I had let go of. I thought about embracing generosity and love, joy, patience and acceptance. Again, I can’t remember everything I thought about as I blew on the stick. When I finished thinking of positives I want in my life, I put the stick in the fire.

T was next, and Te motioned me to go behind him and protect his back. I wasn’t sure she meant me, but she specifically got my attention and motioned for me to go to T. I felt awkward and a little silly doing this, but I stood behind him uncomfortably while he burned his sticks.

When everyone had put her/his sticks in the fire, T said he wanted to read aloud something he had read on the internet today. He went inside and got his laptop and then read a piece about the significance of today’s full moon and lunar eclipse. One thing the report mentioned was quartz crystals in Arkansas and Brazil. After he finished reading, I said I just so happened to have a pocket full of Arkansas quartz. (I had filled one of the pockets of my jacket with quartz, knowing I would meet people I hadn’t yet given crystals to.) The women were very excited. M immediately asked if they came from Mt. Ida and was even more excited when I said they had. (She was last there in the late 90s.) I gave pieces to M, Db, and Da. M asked if she could have two pieces, and I of course told her yes. I then told everyone how I had ended up mining quartz with Mr. Carolina and Little T before coming here and how blessed I was to be able to mine quartz with them. I also mentioned the large quartz cluster we got at the mine that I gave to T and Te. (This was the first time I said to them that I was giving it to them.) T said we would be going inside to the room with the large cluster.

We moved inside and sat on couches or in chairs. I sat on a couch facing west with M to my left. I took my jacket and my scarf off and placed them to my right. The smallest dog curled up on top of some throw pillows to my right. Te and T were moving around the house trying to find a book with instructions for different postures, but couldn’t find one (although it seemed as if they own several). Da needed to leave fairly early as she had to get her son to the airport  in the morning, and M had time constraints due to work, so T decided he could lead the meditation without a book. He knew a posture we could use, but did not remember the name of it.

We were instructed to sit with our knees and feet hip width apart with our feet flat on the floor. We were told to place our hands on our knees, tilt slightly forward at the waist, keep our heads up, and close our eyes. T had a rattle (possibly made from a gourd) and he said we were to concentrate on the sound of the rattle as he shook it. He said the meditation would last fifteen minutes.

T started shaking the rattle, and I listened to the sound and tried to keep my mind clear of mundane distractions. Immediately, I felt the essential part of me (my spirit/soul/energy/the essential me-ness) grow light and try to separate from my body. I felt my usual fear and resistance, but tried to just relax into the feeling of that essential part leaving and remember that I was safe. My head felt very light, as if my spirit/soul/energy/essential me-ness was lifting out of the top of my head. Then I felt as if I were shrinking, as if the world were very large, vast, and I was shrinking into a mere speck of dust. (I’ve experience this feeling since I was a very little child, at least since I was three or four. This only happened at night, when I was lying in bed in the dark. It was as if first my room, then the whole world was expanding, while at the same time I was shrinking into nothingness. This feeling always scared me very badly, and I always tried my hardest to pull myself out of the feeling as quickly as possible. The feeling was sometimes associated with the shadow the night light in my room cast on the ceiling.)

At first I had a glimmer of being in a tent or a yurt, as if I were a nomadic woman, maybe Mongolian. The color I associated with being inside the tent was purple or lavender. Definitely lavender, lighter than purple. It was if the light or the very air were that color. I had long straight dark hair and brown skin, buy I couldn’t tell what I was wearing or what I was doing. Then I had a sense of mountains, as if I were living near mountains, but I didn’t exactly see them.

Then the sensation changed to one of growing, expanding. I got larger and larger and larger and stronger and stronger and stronger. I was so big! And I knew I was a mountain. I was enormous, massive, solid, part of the earth. I knew I had snow on top of me, and kept paying attention to the top of my head, trying to decide if it felt cold. I could no longer particularly feel my hands on my knees or my feet on the ground or my butt on the couch. I could just feel I was really really big and taking up so much space. I had a fleeting thought that I was Mt. Shasta, but mostly I had no thoughts at all, just the feeling of my vast expansiveness and my heaviness. And again, I got the sense of lavender light everywhere. I couldn’t so much see the lavender light as sense it, just know it was there. I was so happy. I was filled with joy. I had a HUGE smile on my rock face. Intermittently throughout the meditation, surges of energy would course through my body, and my muscles would jerk, mostly my shoulders and arms tensing, then rapidly releasing the tension.

The whole time I could hear the rattle. I never lost awareness of the rattle.

After some time, I became the slightest bit aware of my usual physical body. I still felt big and mountainous, but I also had an awareness that my usual physical body was growing tired of sitting in the same position for all this time. I wondered how much time had passed, if the 15 minutes were almost over. Not long after that, T stopped shaking the rattle, and the room was silent. I realized I was back in my usual body, that I was no longer a mountain. I opened my eyes and felt at peace and relaxed.

T had each of us in turn say a few words about how we were feeling at the moment. I said I had a new understanding of myself and the earth. I said I felt amazing.

M left the room to change clothes. I hugged Db and Da good-bye. Te and T and I went out on the deck to look at the moon. We could see it to the east, through the trees. T told me that that rattle turns off the left brain. I wanted to tell M good-bye, but I sensed that Te and T wanted me to go, so I said I was going to my room. Terry took me downstairs and gave me some scones. Until I got to my room, I felt normal and fine.

When I got back to my room, I started freaking out. I just wanted to turn on the television or music with words and pretend that I had not just turned into a mountain. I forced myself to focus on what had happened by texting Mr. Carolina. I wrote, “Just did ecstatic posture meditation w/ 5 other people. I was a mountain. Seriously. Please understand this. I think you & L are the only ones who would. Love!” In an immediate second text I wrote, “I was HUGE & solid & purple & had snow on my mountain head. I expanded & got bigger & bigger. & had huge smile on my mountain face. Oh geez, it really happened.”

Mr. Carolina texted back immediately and wrote, “You can be a mountain or what ever you wont [sic] to with out anyone sometimes it helps to have other people but you can do anything by yourself”

I texted him again, “Yes. One person was shaking rattle to turn off right brain [I meant left brain]. Sitting in specific posture to connect w/ ancestors. I’m a little freaked out. [I] was totally gone & I was something else entirely, not even animal, but totally alive. Was not expecting something like this & last time [I] was totally gone, it was so horrible. But this was good! Trying to keep experiences separate & not freak out b/c one thing reminds me of another. I was so strong & solid this time. & snowy.”

He texted again, “I believe you,” then commented on a text I sent him yesterday asking him if he was an angel. “…the way I see it is we can all be angels to someone sometime when they need it.”

I was crying by that time, really overcome by what had happened, but also feeling better that I had connected with someone I care about and love so much and told him about my experience. I texted him again, “You really are the best. Thank you. I think there are bolts of energy shooting out of my head.” [I was not exaggerating or speaking in metaphors. I really felt energy shooting out of my head.] “Most people in my life would think I just went bat shit crazy.”

He texted back, “ Haha I hear ya been called bat shit crazy a few manytimes [sic].” Then he wrote again, “You are the best I wish I was there.”

I sent one more message and said, “Thank you so much for saying that. I wish you were here too. Nothing this wonderful has ever happened to me & I wish you & L were here so we could talk about it.”

At that point, I put on some music with no words and heated some food, then ate, and drank some water. I was really hesitant about writing this down, really resistant, even as I knew I should have started writing the moment I walked in the door. I just wasn’t ready to deal with the experience that quickly.

It’s been over three hours since we finished the meditation, and I can still feel energy rising out of the top of my head. When I stop writing and pay attention to my head, I feel energy rising up and out of me, but can feel it with my hands too when I put them on top of my head. Part of me wants to turn on TV and zone out, but I think I am better off lying down in bed with my meditation stones and seeing what happens.

I wish I had held onto the piece of alabaster Mr. Carolina gave me during the meditation or at least asked my angels for protection and guidance before we started, but I had no expectation of anything like this happening. The best I hoped for was to be able to sit still during the meditation and keep my mind halfway quiet.

To learn more about ecstatic posture meditation, go here: http://www.cuyamungueinstitute.com and here: http://www.ecstatictrance.com/.

Sep10

Go to the Poor People

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If you’re in trouble, or hurt or need–go to the poor people. They’re the only ones that’ll help–the only ones.”

–John Steinbeck

I agree with Mr. Steinbeck on this one. When I was on the road with nothing–no food, no money, no gas–it was often the people who seemed poor who helped me. I was always touched when people who seemed to have very little shared what they did have with me.

One day I got an object lesson in the generosity of the poor and the stinginess of the rich.

I was in Bakersfield, California (population approximately 350,000) with Mr. Carolina, Lil C, and the Okie. I was flying a sign that read “Traveling, Broke & Hungry” at the main Wal-Mart exit. We were trying to get money for some dinner and enough gas to at least get out of town.

I’d been standing there with my sign for a while when I saw a Hummer approaching the exit. No one in a Hummer had ever given me so much as a dime before, so I resigned myself to getting nothing from this driver. But a miracle happened! The Hummer stopped next to me, and the passenger side window slid down. I could see the woman in the driver’s seat rummaging in her purse. She pulled out a bill and leaned across the seat to hand it to me out of the passenger window. I reached for the bill, and there was a moment when both my benefactor and I had our hands on it.

We realized at the same moment that the bill was a twenty. I let out a little noise of joy, and the woman let out a little noise of consternation. Just as I was saying, Oh! Thank you!, the woman pulled the bill out of my hand. Apparently the woman driving the vehicle that cost at least $30,000 new could not afford to give away $20. She ended up giving me $5, and I was grateful for it, although not as grateful as I would have been for that $20 bill I’d briefly had my fingers on.

Some time later, a young guy road up behind me on a bicycle. He asked me about my sign. I told him my friends and I were trying to get out of Bakersfield, trying to get out of California, heading to Oklahoma so one the the friends could get home in time for his mother’s birthday, all of which was true. I told him the four of us were hoping to get some money to buy some dinner and gasoline.

The young man reached into his pocket and pulled out two or three crumpled $1 bills and handed them to me. I thanked him, knowing this was probably quite a generous contribution from someone getting around on a bicycle. I watched him ride off, then turn the bike around and ride back to me.

You know what, he said, you should just take all the money I have in my pockets.

He pulled out a few more crumpled $1 bills. In all, I think he gave me $7.

After I thanked him again, he told me he was giving me the money in Jesus’ name. He told me he felt very fortunate to have a job and his bicycle, things he’d gotten through Jesus, and he felt like Jesus would want him to give me all the money in his pockets.

I felt like I had just witnessed a Biblical parable. The rich lady driving the Hummer had a $20 bill, but decided after I had my hand on it that she needed it more than I did. The poor boy riding a bicycle, however, saw my need as greater than his, so he emptied his pockets and gave the contents to me.

I don’t think Mr. Steinbeck would have been surprised.

 

Sep8

Pulled Over

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The events in today’s post happened several weeks after the events of yesterday’s post, in August 2015.

I got pulled over by a cop on the way back to my campground after my day off in Babylon. The funny thing is that I know the cop! It was Officer S., my co-worker’s neighbor. Officer S. is a sheriff’s deputy, and I’ve talked to him in my campground and in the parking lot. He’s always been very nice and polite to me, but the bottom line is, he’s still a cop.

We passed each other going in opposite directions on the road up the mountain, and when I looked over, I thought There goes Officer S. in his sheriff’s department truck. The next thing I knew, the sheriff’s department truck was coming up behind me like a bat out of hell with the lights flashing. I thought he must have just gotten an emergency call to head in the direction I was going.

I pulled off the road, into a turn-out, expecting him to pass me, but he pulled in behind me. WTF?!?!? I wasn’t speeding. I wasn’t driving weird.

I wasn’t scared because I hadn’t been doing anything wrong. I hadn’t been drinking (I haven’t had an alcoholic drink in over two years), and there were no guns or drugs in the van. But I sure as hell was wondering why he was pulling me over.

I turned off my music and sat with my hands on the steering wheel. I didn’t want him to think I was digging around for a gun while I was digging around for my license and registration and insurance card. I figured I could dig around after I told him what I was digging for.

When he walked up to the driver’s side of the van, I told him through the small side window that the main window doesn’t roll down and asked if I should open the door. He assented by reaching to open the door himself. When the door opened and he saw me, he looked sheepish and said he thought I was someone else.

I thought, Yeah, Alfonso Gonzalez, but I didn’t say that aloud.

Turns out he thought I was someone else other than Alfonso Gonzalez. He thought I was some other little gal in a van. He thought I was some crazy lady (he made the swirling finger next to his ear sign), some lady who’d told him her van (with Illinois plates) was in storage in Babylon. He thought she’d taken her Illinois plates off the van and put on New Mexico plates. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed when he realized he’d pulled over the wrong little gal.

He asked me where I was heading, and I must have given him a strange look because he said, Oh, the campground, just as I said the name of my campground.

I asked if he wanted to see anything (meaning license, registration, insurance card, but I should probably rephrase the question in the future because I realized after I said it that it might sound like a come-on line). He said no, which was good, as I don’t think he had any probable cause to pull me over, since I wasn’t the little gal he thought I was.

I guess now I’m one of the locals who knows the cops.

Sep7

Cop Knock

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The events in today’s post happened several weeks ago, in July 2015.

On Sunday afternoon, I’d headed for Babylon as soon as my shift at the parking lot ended. I typically want to get to civilization as soon as possible when my time off starts, but by the time I complete my descent into the parched heat, I usually wonder why I thought leaving the mountain was a good idea.

This Sunday was hot too, so I stayed in the coffee shop as long as I could. After it closed, I found the temperature hadn’t dropped much, so I walked aimlessly through Target for a while. But soon that store was closing too, and unless I wanted to waste some time (and money!) in Denny’s, there was no place else for me to go. Besides, I was tired and needed as much sleep as I could steal from this desert night. So I drove my van to the 24/7 supermarket and found a decent spot to park.

I don’t sleep well in the heat. I sleep best when the air’s a little cold, and I can snuggle under a pile of blankets and never get warm enough to kick them off in the night. I knew this was not going to be a night of good sleep, but I figured if I could catch a few hours of shut-eye, I’d be ok the next day.

The last time I looked at my watch it was 11:30. I must have dozed off because I was suddenly jerked awake by knocking on the van.

Who is it? I asked loudly (and probably gruffly too).

The dreadful reply: Sheriff’s department.

Oh fuck! I didn’t have any guns or drugs in the van, so I knew I was ok on those fronts, but I couldn’t imagine any good reason a representative of the sheriff’s department would be knocking on my door in the middle of the night.

I peeked out the curtain, and sure enough, a very young man dressed in cop clothes was standing next to my van.

I said One moment or Just a minute and started fumbling in the weak parking lot light filtering through my curtains to find my glasses and some clothes to put on. Once I was dressed and could see, I moved the curtain so the cop could talk to me through the window.

Here’s the story he laid on me: He was looking for Alfonso Gonzalez, who lived in a van just like the one I was in. He asked if Alfonso Gonzalez were in the van with me.

I don’t know anyone named Alfonso Gonzalez, and there sure as hell was no one in there with me. So I told the deputy that Alfonso Gonzalez was definitely NOT in the van.

Of course, then the cop wanted to see for himself. He said if I’d just open the door and allow him to look inside and see that no one was with me, he’d be on his way because all he was interested in was finding Alfonso Gonzalez. I wanted the whole interaction over as soon as possible, so I agreed to let him look inside my van home.

I opened the door and stepped out onto the warm asphalt, barefoot and wearing a skirt with the elastic pulled up over my breasts, strapless sundress style. The cop shined his flashlight into the van and must have immediately seen that I had been in there alone.

But then the liar started questioning me! Of course, he wrote all my answers in his little notebook.

What was my name? When was my birthday? Did I have any outstanding warrants? Had I missed any court dates?

I answered his questions despite the fogginess of my sleepy brain. I didn’t feel like I had much choice in the matter. I was in a parking lot in the middle of the night, and I didn’t have a lawyer to call. Would he find an excuse to take me to jail if I didn’t answer his questions? If he took me to jail, would my van be impounded? If my van were impounded, would I lose all of my belongings and owe a bunch of money to the court system? I answered his questions.

I don’t remember now if I volunteered the information in hopes of making myself look respectable or if I answered a direct question, but I told him I was down from the mountain where I worked as a camp host. I said I had to get supplies in the morning, then I would be on my way out of town.

You can guess where his questions went from there. What company did I work for? What town did I work in? (That was a particularly difficult one for my sleep addled mind, since I don’t work anywhere near a town. I’m near a couple of small communities, but I’m miles from any real town.) I think he even asked me my boss’ name. I answered his questions.

Then he started asking me about the license plate on the van. He asked if my registration was current. I told him my registration didn’t expire until the end of August (which he would have already known if he’d looked at the sticker on my plate), but added that in fact I had just paid to update the registration and was waiting for the new sticker to get to me. He said he had run my plate number, and it wasn’t in the system. I don’t understand how a legally registered vehicle (which my van is) wouldn’t be in the system, but that’s what he said. So then he asked to see my registration if I had it handy. (I’m sure he was hoping I didn’t have it handy so he’d have a reason to ticket me for the infraction.)

As I was digging around for the registration, he asked me how long I’d been in California. I said I’d arrived at the end of April. He told me I needed to register my van in California since I was residing in the state now.

I tried to tell him I wasn’t residing in California, that I don’t have a residence in California, but he said it looked to him like I was residing in my van. True enough. I didn’t think to say my job is temporary or seasonal. I didn’t think to say that as soon as I’m laid off, I’ll be high-tailing it out of California. I don’t think any of that mattered to him. I think he figured since he hadn’t gotten Alfonso Gonzalez, he’d try to find some reason to harass me.

I’m aware of the concept of California Uber Alles, but I wasn’t aware that like the Borg, the state wants to assimilate anyone who enters its domain.

 

Thankfully, my good sense kicked in (or maybe I just woke up), and I decided arguing with the cop was not going to make my situation better. I just shut up and handed him the van’s registration paperwork.

He went back to his car (which he had parked behind my van, blocking me in) to run my information. I guess everything checked out because when he came back, he returned my paperwork and didn’t ask to search the van, and he didn’t haul me off to jail. He did tell me that I should transfer my registration because the CHP (California Highway Patrol—you know, CHiPs…Ponch and Jon…bad 80s television…)

 

is very strict about people living in California while their vehicles are registered in another state.

After he left, I locked my doors, closed my curtains, and crawled back into my bed. In addition to the heat, I had adrenaline coursing through my body. I was awake for at least another two hours, wondering if the deputy had called CHP, if more cops were on the way, if my van would be impounded and I’d lose all of my possessions (again). I finally dozed a little and was less worried about the CHP and the prospect of losing my van in the light of day.

Since that night, I haven’t been bothered by any cops looking for Alfonso Gonzalez.

And it may be superstitious, but I don’t sleep in that parking lot anymore.

Aug22

Give the Best You’ve Got: A Lesson in Giving from NeoTribal The Gathering

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As NeoTribal The Gathering was winding down, I thought I should give some little thank you gift to Ms. Reiki in appreciation for all the work she’d put into making the festival happen. I grabbed one of my bigger chunks of rose quartz and walked towards her camp.

I’d picked up a nice piece of rose quartz, but it wasn’t a fantastic piece of rose quartz. I still had several pieces from the 1/3 full bucket of South Dakota rose quartz I’d gotten for a good price at a Colorado gem and mineral show. I’d sold and given away a lot of those stones and had more than made my money back. Giving a piece of what I had left was not a sacrifice.

I went up to Ms. Reiki and said a few little words: Thank you. Blah blah. Appreciate. Blah blah. For you, and gave her the stone. She was excited and thanked me, reached onto her table and picked up a piece of rose quartz larger and cooler than the one I’d just given her. She handed the stone to me and said it was for me! She said she knew it was time to pass it on, and she wanted me to have it!

I was touched. And dumbstruck. And I felt like an asshole.

I’d given her something nice, but basically extra, and she turned around and bestowed upon me something really special and beautiful. I knew I should have given her something better, but it was too late. If I came back to her with a nicer gift, it would have looked as if I were trying to show her up.

This is the piece of rose quartz that Ms. Reiki gave me. (Photo by me)

This is the piece of rose quartz that Ms. Reiki gave me. (Photo by me)

It wasn’t too long, though, before I got to give my best.

I’d packed up all my merchandise, taken down my tent, and hauled everything except my big tub of rocks to my van. That tub of rocks is heavy! I knew it would take me forever to carry it to the van alone, and I’d probably hurt myself in the process. I thought earlier that I’d offer one of the guys who’d been hanging out in the grass next to my area a $5 ammonite to help me move the rocks, but by the time I was ready to make my offer, they’d wandered off.

I looked around and saw a young fellow I’d sold a couple of stones to earlier in the weekend. He’d bought a piece of malachite from Bisbee and another green/blue shiny rock I’d never heard of before from Mexico. He’s fastened them to his hood (like the hood of a cape or cloak, but without the robe part). He came back to my both to show me how it looked when he had finished the project. It had turned out really cool, and he seemed like a nice guy.

I asked him if he’d help me carry my box of rocks, didn’t mention any kind of exchange or payment, and he said yes. We hauled the box up to the van, and in the moment before he turned to leave, I reached into the rock box and pulled out one of my biggest, nicest, iridescent ammonites. I handed it to him, told him it was for him, and thanked him for his help.

He freaked out! He was so pleased with the ammonite. He threw his arms around me, thanked me, then bounded off to show it to his friend.

I think maybe I got it right that time.

The piece of rose quartz that Ms. Reiki gave me is the one I passed on to the woman who’d recently had open heart surgery. I wrote about the woman and the rock here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/?s=i+know+you+understand.

Aug20

NeoTribal The Gathering: The People Next Door

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I arrived at the site of NeoTribal The Gathering by 8am. Later that morning, two women arrived and set up right the fuck next to me. The weird part is that they didn’t talk to me, didn’t say hello, much less we realize we are way closer to you than is normal or polite, but we are trying to utilize the shade, or whatever their reasoning was. They just set up their sleeping tent right next to my tent and went on with their lives.

The second thing they did to piss me off was tie a bag of trash to the leg of my pop up tent, again with no communication. At some point I moved my canvas bags I had stored in that corner and found a grocery store bag of trash tied there. I didn’t tie the bag of trash there, and I doubt someone walked over from some other area to tie on that bag of trash.  Who thinks it’s ok to tie trash to the tent of someone they’ve never even spoken to? Who does that?

I heard through the grapevine that the older (in her mid to late 60s) of the two women was a Native American Shaman and a Reiki Master. People were saying her name as if she were someone really special. I don’t think she was special enough to be allowed to tie her trash wherever she wanted. But maybe the other woman was the trash bag lady.

The second woman was younger, probably in her 40s, and was selling orgonite pieces that she and a relative had made.

If you don’t know what orgonite pieces are, don’t feel bad. I’d never heard of them until Sweet L gave me one during our Autumn 2012 Tour. According to http://www.soul-guidance.com/orgonite/#What%20is%20orgonite,

Orgonite is a mixture of catalyzed fiberglass resin with metal shavings, particles or powders, poured into molds. It is said to attract aetheric energy similarly to Reich’s accumulators. Some people also add a couple of crystals to the mixture for their ability to make the energy more coherent or to enhance the working the the orgonite. Thus orgonite basically is a substance which functions as a self-driven, continuously-operating, highly efficient energy transmutation device, drawing in negative life energy and transmuting it into positive energy. The resin in orgonite shrinks during the curing process, permanently squeezing the quartz crystal inside which creates a well-known piezoelectric effect inside the crystal, meaning its end-points become polarized electrically, this apparently causes it to function more effectively as a positive energy generator. Although crystals improve the function of orgonite, they are not necessary for the orgonite to work.

     Anyone can build these devices with easy to find materials. Orgonite is simply a mix (approx. 50/50 ratio) of metal and resin (polyester, urethane or epoxy). It can be poured into all kinds of shapes: pyramids, cones, disks, cylinders and pendants, to name a few. Some people use it to combat pollution and cell tower radiation. Others use it for clearing or purifying energies in their houses, or to enhance the growth of plants in their garden. It seems to work also really well in various kinds of  spiritual healing work. Energy sensitive people have given me various comments on how orgonite affected them. They have shown me that it really does work. You can also interact with it and use it for specific purposes.

I overheard the orgonite woman telling a potential customer that she was “a money magnet.” How nice for you, I said in my head in a snarky tone of thought. Who says that? Ok, a Wall Street tycoon, maybe. Who says that at a spiritual and healing gathering?

The third thing they did to piss me off was to hang out in the tiny area between my tent and theirs late into the night (and I don’t mean at 8:30) on Saturday. Couldn’t they have hung out on the other side of their tent? Couldn’t they have hung out at someone else’s tent? They weren’t being rowdy, but there was talking, and it did disturb me.

The older woman considered herself an intuitive healer, I guess, because she was doing tarot card readings throughout the weekend. She didn’t seem to realize (or maybe she just didn’t care) that she had her table parked so close to my tent that not only was there no space to walk between the two, but I could hear every word she and her client were saying. So much for privacy.

The first thing I overheard that I thought was worth writing down was a client saying that when she dances, “I’m trying to tap into the life force of the universe.” I’m going to keep my comments about that one to myself, because when the woman uttered those words, she probably did not realize that there was a snarky blogger in the tent next door hearing (and possibly noting) every word she said. (Although as close as her intuitive healer had her sitting to that tent, she probably should have thought to whisper.)

The second thing I overheard (and then pulled out my notebook and wrote down verbatim) was something the “healer” said to a different client. The client was very upset, crying, seemed to feel as if she had no real path in life, was just kind of stumbling around from one adventure to another. (I can relate, honey, I really can.) The woman also seemed to be feeling and taking on a lot of pain from other spirits and wanting to help those others heal. (I can relate to that too.) In addition to whatever else the “healer” said (I swear, I was not sitting there trying to listen), what I heard her clearly tell the client was “Release all concepts that you should be anything but what you are.”

Really? All concepts? I get accepting oneself as one is. I get forgiving oneself for what one has done in the past. But releasing ALL concepts that one should be ANYTHING but what one is? That seems like a little much.

I mean, should murders, rapists, and Dick Chaney release all concepts that they should be anything but what they are? Should I just accept that sometimes I am a snarky asshole and never try to do better? (Perhaps my father long ago released all concepts that he should be anything but what his is…which is a guy who thinks he’s funny when he makes jokes at other people’s expense. He is, in fact, an asshole.)

Shouldn’t we want to be better than who we are at the moment? Shouldn’t we want to be kinder, more loving, more compassionate? Maybe the Dalai Lam gets to release the concept that he should be anything but what he is, but the rest of us? I don’t know. I’m skeptical that it’s a good idea for the rest of us.

The way I know I should be something other than what I am? When I left the gathering, I untied that bag of trash from my tent tent leg and left it in front of the neighbor’s tent. It was childish, I know. A mature person would have just walked it over to a trash can. A better person would not have held a grudge. Next time I’m faced with a similar situation, I’ll work on being something different from what I actually am.

Aug19

NeoTribal the Gathering: You Kids Get Off My Lawn

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It was early in the morning; the air was still cool. Children were running around the festival, fed recently enough to have lots of energy, not yet sapped by the heat. I heard the sounds of their voices change as they ran through the Healing Garden.

Then the voices seemed to congregate in one place. I heard the door of a Porta Potty slam repeatedly, as well as what sounded like thumping on its walls. I walked to the front of my vending area and saw a group (five? six?) of kids standing in front of one of the portable toilets. There was more slamming of the door and general squealing of children.

I walked over calmly. The kids looked at me skeptically. I spoke in a low voice and said to them that the Porta Potty was not a place to play. I asked them if they could find another place to play.

They started talking over each other, trying to explain what had been going on. One boy said he hadn’t been playing, he’d been trying to use the restroom, and the other kids had been kicking the walls of the Porta-John while he was in there!

I again requested they find another place to play, and added, We’re all going to be sad if that porta potty gets tipped over.

Especially me if I’m in there, the boy added.

The kids wandered away, and I went back to my jewelry and my shiny rocks.

Aug18

NeoTribal The Gathering: Mukunda

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I was in my vending space when a little tiny person toddled in. The bit of hair fluff he had was white blond, and his eyes were huge and blue. He smiled and laughed and his mom followed him in.

We chatted a bit, and I said I thought her little friend was cute. (I try not to assume an adult and kid in public together are parent and child, although in this case they were.) I asked his name, and she said, Mukunda.

She explained breathlessly that it’s one of the names of Krishna and added that she and the kid’s dad named him Makunda Ram Das. I didn’t say anything more than Oh! while nodding and smiling.

According to https://krishnasmercy.wordpress.com/2010/06/22/mukunda/, [o]ne of Lord Krishna’s names is Mukunda, meaning “one who grants liberation”. According to Wikipedia,“Ram Dass is an American spiritual teacher and the author of the seminal[2][3] 1971 book Be Here Now.”

 

I will admit right here: I didn’t know much about the followers of Krishna. I thought they wore robes and handed out flowers while asking for donations. (Do I have totally 1977 ideas about the followers of Krishna?) This woman and her husband (whom I met later) looked and acted like other mainstream early 21st century white people. This couple certainly looked more “normal” than most of the other people at the festival: no visible tattoos, no dreadlocks, no tie dye, the man was clean shaven and wore shorts and a t-shirt, the woman did not have on a flowy skirt or flowers in her hair. Maybe followers of Krishna blend in now and I didn’t get the memo. If I had guessed a religion for this little family, I’d have speculated Mormon or maybe Lutheran.

I’m not even trying to be snarky here. I just think it’s a little weird to give your kid one of Krishna’s names if Krishna isn’t your deity.

Maybe I’m the asshole for assuming the family does not hold Krishna in a religious place of honor. (My dad always said, When you assume, you make an ass of you and me.) Now that I have internet access, I Googled “do followers of Krishna dress a certain way?” and found “An introduction on how to be a devotee of Krishna.” According to that website,

The devotees you may have seen distributing books like Bhagavad-Gita, or chanting the Hare Krishna Mantra with traditional Indian instruments, or dancing and chanting dressed in traditional Indian robes, are for the most part full-time monks of the Hare Krishna movement. The vast majority of Krishna devotees, however, live and work in the general community, practicing Krishna consciousness in their homes and may sometimes visit Krishna temples for inspiration and prayer.

Oh. I guess I am the asshole. My apologies. I was holding 1977 ideas about the followers of Krisha. Now I see that it’s quite likely that Mukunda’s parents are devotees of Krishna. I should have just asked, but sometimes my brain is quick to jump to conclusions and slow to ask polite, well-meaning questions.