Future Memories

I have happened upon a town, separated from the world by trees and valleys. In awe of the magic here that is woven into the fabric of its existence. I feel at peace here. I parked the bus and before exploring, I was determined to fix the rocky seat I have been sitting on for many days now. As I crouch down to replace the bolt that has stripped I notice a small, leatherbound black book wedged there. I put it aside, vowing to read it after my exploration. I exit the bus and see a man sitting in a parking lot on a beach chair. I feel compelled to meet him. He has an air about him. A knowing that radiates from his person. And he looks like Jesus. He greets me as if he has been waiting for me to arrive. He tells me I must walk down Honeysuckle Ln. There is something for me there. And so I go.

The lane is canopied by trees, sun sprinkling through. I see a man. He is sitting in a pasture surrounded by animals. They have encircled him and he is laughing as if they are having a conversation. When he feels me approach he beckons for me to join him. I, too, laugh. The joy is contagious, although I do not know what has provoked it. He asks me where I have come from. I tell him of my journey….

In the spring of last year I felt a compulsion to follow the road wherever it might lead. I discarded my belongings and, armed with my compass for joy and some camping gear, set off. My homes became secret spots I found by following birds or intuition. I came upon a woman in Missouri. She too had traveled in this way. She was moved to give me the school bus she had used in her journey. It had all the comforts of home, with the freedom to follow my heart. My journey continued.

I was a few miles from the Wyoming/Idaho border and the heat was suffocating. I saw a billboard for 75 cent ice cream cones, and decided it would be a lovely treat. When I pulled over the sign that reigned high above read Little America Travel Center. Just when I was about to leave a young man approached. He said he needed to get to Plumas National Forest for a music festival and could I give him a ride. At the time it appeared that he was requesting a favor, but over the next seven days of my journey I realized that he was really giving me a gift. He infused me and the bus with enthusiasm. It was a companion that was needed to spark my joy again. We played among rivers, stood side-by-side in awe of nature's beauty, and he even gave me a personal fire spinning show in pitch black on the Salt Flats in Utah. When I finally delivered him to his destination it was a bittersweet parting.

In Ashland, Oregon I met a man at the Food Co-Op. He had recently lost his wife and was in need of a friend. I stayed with him for three days. Reigniting his desire to live. To express himself again through his art. We laughed and ate and shared stories. When I drove away from 267 6th St, I felt like I had been reminded of how symbiotic human connections can be.

In Cave Junction, Oregon I was directed to a swimming hole. But when I had followed the instructions there was no such place, and in my desire to find it I kept driving, thinking perhaps I had not driven far enough. I found myself climbing a steep and treacherous mountain. The road under me was gravel and narrow. The sun had set and the blackness of night surrounded me. I noticed, too, that my gas tank was on E. There was a moment where fear exploded in my gut. Where I played out, in my mind, all of the horrific endings that were possible. And then something happened. I surrendered. Somewhere between the bottom of that mountain and the eight miles to where I was finally able to pull over I found faith. Complete surrender to something bigger than myself. And at the same time gratitude for everything I was. Overwhelmed with peace knowing that I had lived my best life. That I had loved fully and followed my heart, and each moment leading to this was sprinkled with magic. And the next morning I awoke to see a sunrise so poignant it brought me to tears. A gift painted across the sky to reward me for my strength to surrender, and the love I was capable of.

My journey took me further north in the LaPine National Forest. I found myself on a road, uninhabited, surrounded by trees. For miles, just trees. The road was flat and winding. There was a fluidity in the progress I had never felt before. No strain to keep straight on a certain path, but freedom to wind my way through life and love.

And then the bus stopped. It was so sudden and severe that panic washed over me. The fearful thoughts of being lost and helpless in this sea of trees. Yet as I exited the bus I noticed that across the street was a sign and two people standing before it. It was a campground named Rock Horse Ranch. They welcomed me and for five weeks I lived among the residents that had found their home there in that vortex between the forest and the desert. When the bus was finally repaired I continued on.

While driving through Arizona I notice along the highway there is a vast orangeness. The shades of sunset reaching its arms across the rocks. Illuminating the landscape as if saying a final farewell. And then there are the masses that flank the highway. Thirty feet high and thirty feet wide. They are like giants that have crumbled. Their parts are piled around them as if they ceased to live and died where they stood. The gravity of their Iight pulling them down to their final resting place right here, under the sunset sky.

By the time I made it to Kentucky I was weary. I had traveled many miles, and met many people, but I needed rest. I met a young man who had just bought a farm among the rolling hills. He invited me to stay with him. Here I fed baby goats, watched a cow be born, hung clothes on the line to dry and watched the sun set every evening on the green grass that swayed gently in the breeze. I realized here that I had a new desire in life. To be a steward to the land and offer refuge to the travelers. And while it was here that I was inspired I knew it was time for me to go and find a place that I could share with others.

And that is how I ended up here. Walking down your road on this day.

The laugh that flowed from him was a symphony of love. It bellowed out from his heart like a prayer had been answered and all of his pain and suffering had been dissolved. When the laughter subsided he asked me if there was a little black book in my possession. I was dumbfounded by his questions. How could he have known about the book I had found on the bus under the seat just moments ago? He invited me to return for dinner and to bring the book.

As we sat under the lavender sky enjoying the feast he had prepared we opened the book. And read the words written among its pages....

America is little, friends can be found here

267 6th St.

Ashland, OR

Cave Junction, Or

The mountain brought me to my knees, love. But I saw God when the sun rose.

Rock Horse Ranch

Like the rocking horse that gathers dust in the corner, you will always be loved. Protected by the trees that border the desert, where you find the magic in humans and the sky.

Arizona

The giants have crumbled. Their arms and legs and heads in piles at their own feet. The sun shines down on them as if bathing them in peace after their demise. They are now just boulders that serve as lookouts for the lizards and jungle gyms for the humans.

Jesus in the Parking lot, he will tell you where to go. He will bring you home.

Together we read the pages and something passed between us. An awe of how magic is woven into the fabric of our existence. How the places we are meant to go and the people we are meant to meet are not random, but divinely guided. For it was he who wrote the words that danced on the pages of this little black book. They were notes he had taken on his own journey to honor his wife who had died of cancer and had missed out on their grand adventure together. The experiences he had most wanted to share with her. When he had found himself at home again in his heart he gifted the book to a woman who had just bought a school bus to begin a soul journey of her own.. He gave her the book and told her if she needed help along the way she could find it in the little black book. And so we sat pondering...had I felt the bliss he found in those moments emanating from the book wedged under my seat. Had his desire to share them been so great that my soul was guided every step of the way? Or did I find them when I needed to for the gifts they bestowed upon me in times of need. Did his gift to the woman in Iowa of helping hands and beautiful places been indirectly gifted to me by way of the bus?

In his realization that I had been brought to him, just as much as he had guided me, he gifted me with the twenty thousand dollars needed to purchase the land adjacent to his to build my dream.

It’s been one year since I arrived here. Next door to our home is the Gypsy Refuge. People come from everywhere to find peace on the land here. To heal their broken hearts and weary bodies. Food grows abundantly to feed every friend that happens upon us, and we are grateful to share the blessings we have found.