Birthday, Hippy Wedding and Cosmic weekend

We had sushi and saki on my birthday. And vegan cake. Kevin, Heather and Maggie disappeared as I lay on the couch, reading a book. I smiled behind the pages- my dear friends were not so secretive. They all emerged in a clamorous parade, Keven running down the stairs and presenting me with a sheet of paper, grinning. "You won't believe it! It's so cosmic, I can't believe it!" On the piece of paper was my Mayan Calendar Lunar Sign, with a few symbols and a poem that shockingly accurately described me:

I pulse in order to beautify
Realizing art
I seal the store of elegance
With the solar tone of intention
I am guided by the power of flowering

Maggie and Heather then presented me with a beautifully hand-made pouch to keep the crystals that Kevin gave me earlier that day. It was beautiful. And I was radiated.

We had dancing, and encounters with up and coming rock stars. Toubab Krewe played on my birthday, and we rocked out. Kevin left the house dressed in full dragon get-up (left over costume from last year's burning man, no doubt). They insisted I wear a daisy headband, and of course I did. We arrived late, as to be expected, and the guy at the door couldn't believe the parade infront of him. Kevin, jumping up and down head to toe in dragon gear, hugging everyone and then thrusting me in between them shouting "It's her birthday!". I, laughing and blushing, agreed, and got hugs from all kinds of strangers. It was fabulous. In between the sets, Maggie introduced herself to one of the members of Toubab Krewe, and insisted he say hello to me (being my birthday and all). So he approached and I felt silly. We sat down and talked. I don't know what it is, but I'm most comfortable around poets, musicians and artists. And so by the end of our conversation, we had traded numbers and made tenative plans to meet up in california during the following week. And when he got back on stage, he joined in the "lets-embarass-Jess-party" and insisted everyone sing happy birthday. It was hilarious and awkward, and possibly one of the most memorable birthdays ever. I got a phone call from the twin, obviously partying it hard core across the country in Boston, and two phone calls from Matt (one for my birthday in the east, and one for my birthday in the west).

The next day we took off for Truth or Consequences, NM to attend a beautiful wedding. The ceremony was gorgeous, and although i typically don't like weddings, I felt happy and vibrant, although a bit out of place. Maggie and I were just about the only two girls there without dreadlocks and really hairy legs, and although everyone was friendly, at times I felt a little judged because I didn't look like the rest of them. We met a beautiful young man named Jodie, his wife Emily and their beautiful son, who wobbled around curiously the whole time. We participated in a drum circle to welcome the summer solstice, and then after sundown, well, everyone got naked and sat in the radium hotsprings. I succumbed to peer pressure and joined in, and instantly was glad I did. Guests with guitars sang and played and we sang along, laughing and observing that it was the second night in a row that Jupiter and venus lined up with the moon. We went to bed happy, in a tent pitched out in a field. There was a bright solar flair, and I thought it was a piece of space junk, but Kevin insisted it was a shooting star. whatever it was, it was beautiful. Later that night, I heard a loud
"SNFF SNFF SNIFFFFFF"
I groaned.
"SNFF SNFFF SNIFFFFF"
Heather woke up too
"what is that"
I didn't know. I tapped the side of the tent. I heard a scuffle, and then silence.
I rolled back over to fall asleep
"SNFF SNFF SNFFFFF"
Annoyed, I flipped on the flashlight and stuck myhead out of the tent.
I was face to nose with a pack of cows, staring at me indignantly for shining that bright light in their faces.
I laughed and fell asleep.

Solar gazing

We drove to the top of Mt. Lemmon, and climbed smooth rocks surrounded by the smell of pine trees. Climed far away from the road, and we all went our separate directions. Maggie and Kevin disappeared over the upper edge. Heather climed lower and sat on a log. I stayed where I was and sat on a rock. The world spread itself out before me and I felt my heart swell.

We slowly regrouped and climbed back into the street. A man with a motorcycle was sitting on the ledge, looking out at the view. I, videocamera in hand, approached him.

"what do you love about life?"
He laughed nervously
"I don't know"
he paused. then gesturing out over the valley infront of us
"That. I love that. How could you not?"

We got in the car and drove higher up the mountain, climbed out again and, wrapped in sleeping bag, the four of us snuggled on a rock shaped perfectly like a couch. I heard a noise to my left. Looking down, this perfectly formed little creature, this beautiful little mouse stared back up at me with big brown eyes. It didn't run, it didn't look scared. It just looked at me, head tilted to the side, like we were old friends. Then, after about a minute, with a quick squeak, it turned and walked away.

Kevin and Heather were staring at the sunset. I was looking out over Tucson. From that high, it really did look like ocean and not desert. I felt like I was in an alternate universe.

Flagstaff, Sedona and The End of the road

Arriving in Flagstaff was like coming home. You know that feeling of arriving in a place that you may not know, or even particularly find aesthetically pleasing, but just feel at home? That's what Flagstaff was for me. As I got out of the car, and looked around, a wave of calm washed over me, coupled with intense excitement. Where was that little light being? She approached from a distance, catching my eye and suddenly bouncing and running, waving and giggling loudly. I ran towards her and hugged her. I flashed back to when I said goodbye to her in Sevilla, all bundled up in tights, a sweater and a thick ski cap, despite the andalucian heat. And how we cried and yelled "Oye Guapa! A donde vas mi amor!?" out the window over a soundtrack of Ojos de Brujo. And here she was again, just the same, and completely different, radiatingly beautiful. We made our proper introductions between friends and took off down the road to find some cheap eats and beer.

As we walked down the street, we passed a man with a floppy brown hat and a book of Rumi poetry slung under one arm. Laney, in her typical magically inticing manner, called out to him, and invited him to a drink. His eyes were strikingly familiar: a Portugese man I once met in Spain had those same eyes, or was it simply the feeling behind them? I felt simultaneously drawn and averted. Things had not ended well in Spain with that last soul. Would the same disaster repeat itself that night? I put the thought out of my head, although I could tell he sensed my apprehension (he later told me so). There is no use in judging others for similarities they share with our loved ones. The five of us entered a bar, sat on the roof, they rolled cigarrettes, despite my scolding, I was clearly out numbered.

After a beer, Maggie took off for Sedona. I stayed with Laney, her friend and our mysterious new companion. We drove for a few miles and ended up in the mountains. As we set up camp, I looked up. Stars everywhere, like little holes in the universe where divine light peeks through. Stars everywhere, so many and so low, as I have not seen since our night camping out on the beaches in Portugal. We had a campside feast, typical for my dear friend, who has a way with food just as she does with people and music. We sang flamenco, giggled that we couldn't remember the words, and recited poetry. I fell asleep that night with a smile on my lips and Rumi ringing in my ears.

The next morning I woke early, a sense or urgency biting at my feet. I would have to leave Flagstaff to go to Sedona, meet up with Maggie and drive to Tucson. As much as I wanted to see Maggie and Heather and Tucson, I felt a pull towards Flagstaff. Something was making me want to stay there. Our whole camping crew went out for coffee at an amazing cafe. I saw signs for poetry readings, open mics, small concerts (one of my favorite bands was coming!) and art exhibits. Pull pull pull. I had to stay. I kept asking my companions what they thought. Laney explained "Jess does this when she already knows the answer." I did know the answer. I should stay. I should've stayed. But I left. It was the sensible thing to do. Afterall, I could always come back, right?

We parted ways with our floppy hatted poet friend, and took off for Sedona. Sedona was beautiful. Red, red, red. If Spain is orange, Arizona is red. Sedona is fire. This is where I parted ways from my dear friend Laney. Not as painful as the first time, this time I felt we'd see each other again. Who knows for sure though.

Was introduced with Maggie's friend, charming and beautifully talented vocalist, and illuminated spirit. We talked, got food, talked some more. I mentioned I was looking for my crystal. She got up and tossed me one off of her table. A small, naturally cut piece of quartz. I thanked her, not really knowing what to say. Immediately, we got in the car and drove up the mountain a bit. I sat down on the red earth and looked west. "I thought we were going to miss it" Maggie said happily, as she stared down the sun. We were giddy with energy.

After a day or so in Sedona, Tucson was calling. Before we left, we climbed down the side of what I can only describe as a small cliff, and landed in a river. We took off our shoes and waded in the water, so cold it hurt, but so good. We left quickly, more quickly than I think any of us wanted, and headed south, attempting to avoid as much of Phoenix as possible, since everyone we had encountered warned us against it. Maggie and I were both rejuvinated by the presence of our outside friends, and giggled and listened to our tunes happily.

Finally, we had arrived in Tucson. Finally, I had gotten to my American desert. We pulled into 4th Ave and wandered the streets. Stopping at a small cafe, we ate salads and drank our coffee (a necessity as great as water at this point) and waited for Kevin. I knew it was him when he turned the corner. A smile rose within me as he approached. He was glowing. We got back in our car and followed him up the mountain. Parking on the side of the road, the air was thinner and cooler. There were pine trees, and it smelled like home. Like Pennsylvania. We followed him, like an elvin leader, he climbed with both his arms and legs down the side of a valley, into a dried up river bed. The rocks were smooth, large and round. After an hour or so of playing in the rocks, we were famished. We hopped back into the car, and drove back to Kevin and Heather's apartment, where it was clear that our dear Heather had arrived from work. Maggie jumped out of the car and sprinted into the apartment. Kevin and I walked a bit behind. "And I'm invisible" says Kevin jokingly. "Me too, man, me too" I reply, as I step into the warm glow of Heather's light.

Such a happy reunion. I felt like I was united with my sisters again.

Hot Springs, The flat expansiveness of Oklahoma, Cadillacs of Amarillo and the arrival into New Mexico

After refuelling at the famous restaurant, The Arcade, Maggie and I left Memphis and headed west. It would be the start of a long, long drive on I-40. Upon leaving the city and entering into the flatness of Arkansas, dark grey squalls swooped in out of nowhere. Maggie, the ever fearless driver, was determined to drive through the storm, insisting it would soon pass. When a bolt of lightning missed our car by mere feet, however, we quickly pulled off into a university parking lot, caught our breath and tried to lower our heart rates to a normal pace. That would be the third time in my life that I was almost struck by lightning. Soon the storm did pass, and we were back on our way through Arkansas.

After arriving and already feeling the stifling heat of the south, as well as the increasingly entertaining yet overwhelming presence of bikers, we found an oasis of deliciousness. After surviving on gas station coffee and granola bars for the past few days, we found a cafe that served home made ice cream, fresh baked cinnamon rolls (so devine that they could even possibly rival those of our dear amish neighbors), and -gasp- soy lattes. We were pretty stoked, to say the least. We pitched our tent in a nearby camping area, and went in search of the town's namesake. Alas, the hot springs had become privitized, and we were charged upwards of 20 dollars at the door. So we left. Obviously. Dinner that night was delicious, making a new kind of soup, reminiscent of the tomato based alphabet soup... except not. We drank our beers and slowly the campsite grew dark.

The original plan was Hot Springs, Arkansas to Amarillo TX. A drive that would normally take about 10 hours or so.The next day, we were off to Amarillo Texas. The drive through Oklahoma was, to say the least, flat. To say a little more, it was extremely flat. The only source of entertainment was the ever-increasing religious billboards and pornographic store signs. Not to point any suspicious fingers, but we found it odd that the farther we drove into the bible belt, the more adult stores appeared on the side of the highway.

The arrival into Amarillo TX was, sadly, anti-climatic. Where we were promised an artsy haven within the intensely prudish landscape of texas, we were faced with a more... simple city. We drove up and down the main streets, Maggie saying over and over again "Where is the city? Where is it?!" Both famished and smelling like roadtripping hippies, we stumbled into a small cafe wedged behind a parking lot and what looked like an abandoned industrial building. Greeted by a staff of well dressed young men (however upon closer inspection, were as mangy and renegade as we were, tatoos hidden beneath black starched shirts, no doubt) we hid in the corner, giggling non-stop about how crazy we must appear. Soon, however, bellies full and nerves calmed, we realized we needed a place to stay the night. As Maggie left for the restroom to adjust her appearance, I eyed the staff. Surely one of them would know where we could spend the night. Upon further consideration, however, I realized my nerves were simply too tired to engage in any kind of flirtatious begging (Hi, um.. do you have... a couch?) we left the restaurant empty handed. On our way back to the parking lot, we passed a pickup truck full of half manequin bodies. After a bit of confusion we realized that truck indeed belonged to the same artist who constructed the famed Cadillac Ranch. So, we hopped into the Grey Stallion and took off down the road, heading towards New Mexico.

Someways down the high way, we saw it. A bunch of spray painted, rusted cadillacs, buried nose deep in the prairie. We pulled off to the side of the road, fled the car and ran towards it, our footsteps mirrored by the honking of passing truckers (as if they'd never seen women before...) We climbed all over the cars, inside them and on top of them, spinning their wheels like children in a jungle gym. It was awesome. A little girl with a can of orange spray paint approached the car behind me. A few quick sprays and she walked off to her parents, who nodded in agreement. I turned to see what she wrote. There in big, sticky, orange print : "All you need is love."

Why are some children so damn smart?

As we climbed up onto our last car, the sun was setting slowly. I swear we could see thousands of miles away. Texas is flatter than anything I've ever seen before, no trees or hills in sight. The strange smell of exhaust and cow wafted towards us. I stood up on the bumper of the car, arms out stretched, and looked at the scene before me. A line of car bumpers sprawled out ahead, with the last one written in the same sticky orange font: "Forever".

We headed back into the car, whirled around and began to drive to New Mexico. Route 66 trailed along our highway, like an abandoned child. It was the kind of feeling after meeting a celebrity in the supermarket: a realization that they are not always iconic, but rather suffer the same bouts of humbling humanity as the rest of us: grey hairs, pimples, wrinkles, glasses, birkenstocks with socks. It intersected and deterred from the highway, speed limit 45 whereas the highway boasted a fast 75. That's like life. We are constantly upgrading to something bigger, faster and supposidly better, so much that we forget the treasures of our past. That's route 66: a distant childhood memory that visits you in the morning, right before waking, and you open your eyes with a craving in your soul, but unsure of what it all means, or why.

Suddenly, the clouds on the horizon merged. Jokingly turned to Ms. Maggie and said "Looks like we're driving into hell". Not funny. Within seconds, we were thrust into another storm, with wind and horozontal rain. The wind whirled and the sky darkened. No gorgeous texas sunset for us. Instead, picture terrified Jess and Maggie, driving head first into our second storm of the trip. We blasted Michael Franti and hoped for the best.

We pulled off the highway finally in Tucumcari New Mexico, and drove from parking lot to parking lot, looking for a hotel with wireless service. Finally, we got pulled over. On our five foot treck from the Westin to the Denny's parking lot, Maggie had forgotten to turn on her headlights. Oops. About ready to turn on the waterworks, Maggie wimpered something about the rain. The cop let us off with a warning. We needed coffee.

After refuelling once more, we calculated the distance between Tucumcari and Albequerque. A determined Maggie decided to go for it. I wasn't going to stop her. As soon as the rain and lightening subsided, we were back on the road, non stop to Albequerque. We pulled in really late to the Route 66 Hostel, picked up the key where the gracious owner had left it for us, crawled into bed and passed out.

The next morning, I walked downstairs. A vibrant man sat behind a desk, listening to unfamiliar music on the radio. "You room 12?" he asked me. I told him I was, and I thanked him for letting us arrive so late. Now, I have always taken a liking to people who work in hostels. I think there's something about a person who can stand the constant coming and going of people. This experience proved no different. Before I knew it, we had planned my whole life out, examining it inside and out, diving into every idiosyncracy- not to change it, but to know it fully, to embrace it, and build from it. By the end of our conversation, I felt engergized, with a new purpose in life, and the feeling of impending possibility for change. We were both illuminated.

Wandering around Old Town in Albequerque, I was reminded of Spain as a young man approached me. His dark hair and almond eyes tugged at my heart, as if i was seeing an old friend. He explained his car broke down, and he just needed 20 more dollars to fix it. I didn't believe his story, and I told him so, but I gave him some money anyway. It just felt like the right thing to do at that point. He introduced himself to me, and we sat down on the steps of a church. He said he was from Amarillo TX, and I excitedly told him that we were just there. He, no more than 19, said that he and his wife were trying to get back home there, but their car broke down. I again told him I didn't believe his story, and he shrugged and said it didn't matter if I believed or not, just that I was willing to help him out. I told him all about my adventures in europe, and how often I too needed to rely on the help of strangers to get by. You learn alot about humanity that way. We went our separate ways, only to run into eachother again a little while later, when he informed me that he had a little luck down the road. I wished him well and we separated again.

The bells of the church rang. I thought of Laney. The incredible light being I had met in spain, who not only illuminated my time there, but also rekindled a flame inside me that I fear had long burnt out. I picked up my cellphone and called her. "Where are you?" I asked. "I'm in Albequerque" she answered. "Me too! But I'm leaving for Flagstaff" I replied "Me too! See you there in 4 hours?" And it was. Maggie and I hopped back into the car, and drove west to Flagstaff, stopping only to pose with the gigantic dinosaurs on the side of the road.

Onward to: Asheville, NC

After a few wonderous days in Virginia Beach, VA (and a startling realization of how much I actually am like all the other women in my family, we made our way down to the Blue Ridge Parkway. We stopped off at a fast mart an d were greeted by a sign on the door that stated belligerently "armed guard on duty. Wanna try something? Feelin' lucky tonight?" The interior of the store was equally as threatening. Very blatant remarks about the punishment of shoplifters were strewn about the small metallic shelves. A little startled, I approached the register with my meager bag of peanuts and a crumpled dollar bill. The girl behind the register, however, was as non-threatening as they get. A beautiful teenager, probably no more than 17 years old with dark black hair tied in a bun, and a big toothy smile took my crumpled dollar bill and gave me change. As I left she called after me "ya'll have a nice day!"

We drove on the highway for a bit, and I noticed the mountains ahead. Not like the mountains of new england, these looked like glorified hills from a distance, covered in green with rounded peaks. As we began our ascent into the mountain towns, however, I began to understand and respect their presence. Southern Virginia is Pennsylvania with darker earth- I thought, staring out the window. We kept passing signs with town names, all named after this man named Dan. Who is this ellusive Dan? What exactly did he do that was so deserving of all the references? Danville, River of Dan, Meadows of Dan. Dan Dan Dan. We saw signs for the Blue Ridge Parkway. Just before entering its winding trails, we stopped at a small town for food. Really small. Like almost invisible small. We ate at the most stereotypical mountain town restaurant, and were greeted by a group of young bikers. In the past, I've always feared bikers- I've never been one for the loud noise of it all, but these guys were great, really friendly and nice. We giggled awkwardly as they walked into the restaurant and looked us over. We were about to pull out of town when Maggie noticed she left her purse at the restaurant. After a moment of panic, we returned, once again greeted by our biker friends who claimed they hadn't seen the mysterious missing purse. We scanned the area and finally a friendly old man in overalls and a hat approached us. I made the stereotypical dive for the car, but before I made it into the safety of the front seat he yelled out "I seen your bag!" I got out of the car feeling silly. He smiled. "I gave it to the Sheriff. The lady sheriff, I gave it to her, we didn't look in it or nothin. She went that way." He pointed north. And we thanked him and sped off in search of the lady sheriff. Stopping at the only post office in the area (one post office for two towns) Maggie asked for the sheriff's number, and sure enough, the "lady sheriff" drove to the post office and with a big friendly smile handed over the bag. She told us to be more carefull and laughed as she sped off. We drove back onto the main street, just in time to see our biker friends leave the restaurant. They waved at us as they sped ahead and passed us on our entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway. Overwhelmed by sun, altitude and the adventure of the missing purse, our climb and descent through the Blue Ridge parkway was uncharacteristically quiet. I dozed off and woke up suddenly to the beautiful noise of the Grateful Dead. Perfect music for a perfect drive. We laughed and pulled off to the side of the road, to look at the mountains and take it all in. Already I was overwhelmed with the sight of the expansive country that lay before me. I was eager to experience it all, the forests, the mountains, the dustbowl plains, the desert, the houses made of tan and red that would tug at my memory of a different home in a different time in New Mexico.. I was hungry for it all. But one moment at a time and at that time we were stretched out on the grass on the side of a mountain, doing handstands and yoga, preparing ourselves for what was ahead, or rather, what was already upon us: adventure.

We reached Asheville, NC. Parking the car in some side street, I once again felt a tug at my heart. Street musicians graced every corner, people dancing to the guitarists, and watching the drummers. Long haired wanderers drinking out of mysterious paper bags in the parks, intellectuals sipping coffee over books by great names like Proust, Vonnegut, Salinger, Cisneros. Bluegrass music seeping out from bars that were painted brightly. Shops smelling of herbs, incense, citrus and tea. I knew instantly why my dear friends I met in Spain loved Asheville so much: it was like a little oasis of culture and life in the east coast desert of dullness. It was a taste of the home we had built with our hearts exactly a year ago. There was nothing spanish about it except for the feeling. And that feeling is like no other. There are no words to describe it. Very few places I've been in the world give off such a positive feeling for me- not necessarily a feeling of home, but rather a feeling of the possibility of home. A dear friend of mine once stated that every person and every place, and everything in this world vibrates at a certain frequency. If we listen to the clues of our lives, he said, we would be pulled- almost instinctively- to a place that vibrates in harmony with ourselves. We will be surrounded by others who (mostly)vibrate at harmonious levels. We will finally feel like we fit, because we do, simply fit. That place is our home. And of course, there is more than one place like that for each person. Hundreds, I imagine- if only we listened hard enough we'd find those places and those people. It goes without saying, of course, that each place is different for each type of person.

I don't mean to use the words "harmony" and "vibration" in the hippy-dippy sense. Those of you who know me know how skeptical I am of people who throw words around carelessly like that. I mean to use those words in the physical sense. If we are made of energy (from food, sunlight, water, etc) that energy must vibrate (think about your heart beat, your breath, etc). Each place is filled with people and animals and plants that are also made up of energy (food, water, sunlight, that helps them physically grow) which also vibrates (even things without life vibrate, that is how you can experience them). My friend's theory (and mine too) is that we are attracted to people, places, things, colors, and other sensory experiences that vibrate at complimentary frequencies.

Anyway, We camped out in the nearby mountains. The next morning, we wandered back into town. We stopped at a local food co-op, picked up some necessities (soy milk is a necessity, and we had no idea where we would find an organic food store in the Bible belt) and headed onward to our next destination: Nashville TN.

On the road

And so began the part of my life on the road. We packed up Maggie's little grey honda, the color grey so deceiving that appears in memory as green or dark blue or black rather than grey, but grey it is. Our Grey Pony we called it lovingly, as we slammed the trunk full of sleeping bag, hippy food, and water- tons of water. Our mission: Philadelphia to Tucson in 10 days. Our fuel/energy: firstly provided by the lovely hungry war mongers owning oil companies (but better than my jeep, for the grey pony is manual, and my jeep eats more gas than a fat baby), and secondly provided by our own hopefull hungry souls. As I can only speak for myself, seeing as though I am not telapathic nor can I outright interview people without sounding like a shrink (yes... and how does that make you feel?) I know only that the trip for me was in search of soul expansion. The kind of expansion that happens when you hit a new landscape and you look to the horizon and something new and different is out there looking back at you. That different thing, that creature of the road, that wandering elusive myth I was searching for was America. Whatever that is. Searching because I'll leave this country in a few short months without ever experiencing it's face beyond the mississippi, without ever feeling it's eyes through mountain or desert or lake or.. Texas. How could I ever scan the world without knowing the face of my own home? I went off in search of my home before I had to go off in search of my world, before going off in search of my self.
(note: I've only short access to internet, these postings are compiled completely of one word notes with dates in a beat up notebook I carry with me everywhere, also aligned with tiny stanzas that haunt my memory till I can work them into a poem, perhaps also searching for a home. In other words, stay tuned.)