Lost and Found

Somewhere I veered off course.  When I started this blog, I thought it would be a mere documentation of my travels through The South.  I started off with a bang after I left LA and traversed Hwy 40, jotting down the kind of food I ate, the songs I listened to, the sunsets I saw.  Traveling opens up your world again and alights the senses--everything is anew and fresh; driving on an open highway is like automotive yoga--it clears blocked energy and attunes you to a greater body at work.  Using my iPhone as a compass and Ragmar's Kingdom as my destination, I thought that was where I was headed and where I would find Liberty.

My friend lives in Liberty, Tennessee, after all, hence the name of the blog.  I think I simply hoped that it would be my final destination and where I would realize a triumphant release.  I did jump off a 20-foot cliff into a river and I walked a mile on a winding forest road in the pitch black of night.  I became friendly with insects, the sultry heat of a Southern summer, and experienced the exact solitude of being human--vital and vulnerable--in a wooded world stirring with life all around.  I wrote about some of my adventures and discoveries, although I censored myself from writing about the wonderful world of faeries I had stumbled upon because I did not feel knowledgeable enough or qualified to write about them.  Instead, I wrote about or to distract me from what I was consumed by: these temporal fixations and hang-ups that came in the name of a boy, but were plagued and fueled by a demon much greater than him.

You may think I have lost my mind.  Writing about faeries and demons and such.  Crazy.  No, I actually encountered them in the woods of Tennessee.  I found a delightful group of faeries who nurtured and tended to me during my two months there and I also began seeing the demon growing inside me as I was left to my own devices deep in the backwoods, 2,000 miles from my loved ones in Los Angeles.  I became bosom buddies with a regenerating bottle of Bullit--a fantastic bourbon whiskey from Kentucky--and drank myself silly.  I dealt with some issues around my father, this boy, and mostly myself and my own inequities during my time in Tennessee and in order to cope with the pain of going deeper and deeper, I drank.

Somehow, I stumbled into my car (not drunk, just hungover) and made my way to Atlanta to visit my dear friend, Charles.  Then, I got back into my car and made my way to Savannah to visit my good friend, Fitz.  Fitz said I could stay at his mother's house, who was away for the summer, and I arrived at a lovely row house in the Historic District and parked my car.  I stayed there for three weeks, slowly losing my mind to Bullit, but the gentle arm of Savannah cradled me and helped me to regain my senses. I stopped drinking and decided to stay.

That is all I will write for now.  It's been two months since I've had a drink.  I've gotten an apartment.  I've made some wonderful friends.  I feel at home here, at peace, and I am happy.  The Boy and I are still talking, but he becomes more and more distant as he continues with his shenanigans and I continue to tread a more honest path.

I will write more about faeries and demons, but I will also write more about The South because that was my intention to do so when I came out here.  I was derailed for awhile, but I am back on track.  I still don't know what this blog is really about or why I even bother to write it, but I do know that on each step of this journey I am coming closer and closer to finding liberty.  Also, I promise to include more photos.

Rock Island (Part I)

I am trying to stay focused. Trying to endure the uncertainty of my life right now by continuing to write as I said I would everyday. It's difficult, but, really, it's all I can do right now to get my mind off of things...

I'm still trying to catch up with the last week or so. Not having my computer proved to be a real doozy, but I have it back and I'm ever so happy and I want to remain true to myself and write about my experiences here.

About a week or so ago I pulled myself out of my heartsickness and went with the boys for an outing. "We're going to a river tomorrow. You should come. There are waterfalls that you can jump off of." Ragmar, my kind friend, gently invited me. I did not leap to the occasion, though I would have if I was in a better frame of mind, but I pulled myself out of bed the next day and gathered my things for a daytrip to a river.

We drove for about an hour through the winding roads of Tennessee. The boys hated my music. My computer had crashed at that point and all I had were soulful R&B lamentations, a mix that Indigo Boy made me and a playlist I made him--all dreadful heartsick longings and protestations, nothing upbeat, nothing for a roadtrip among friends. "No wonder you're depressed!" they said. "We're gay boys. You need to change your playlist."

They put another mix into the stereo and it was good to hear other music as we wound through the green pastures and blue skies. My blue-haired faery guide sat next to me in the backseat and asked whether I had boots. I thought he would say, "You know... boots. These boots are made for walking"... thinking of the Nancy Sinatra song, but he was being practical. "You should find some boots. To walk through the woods." We talked about this for awhile, my feet being so small and not having a real sturdy pair of shoes to go traipsing through the woods, but I knew I could manage otherwise and told him that I had jeans and comfortable shoes. My metallic gold Clarks have proven to go a long way here.

I am not going to prolong my every recollection of what happened that day. My heart is heavy still and I just need to write about what I experienced that day and how great and liberating it was. So I am going to write from my journal that day:

7 May 2010

I came with Ragmar to Rock Island and spent the afternoon with the boys, hiking down to the falls and trekking through and across this great plateau of trees and rock and water. As we got closer to the water, Ragmar commented, "I've never seen the water this high." The water rushed through chiseled slabs of stone and filled the ravine with the sound of gushing force.

For awhile, we were the only ones here, then I noticed a beautiful young couple across the river. They were both in their twenties--the girl wore a black swimsuit, demure because it looked like a one-piece from the front, sexy because it looked like a bikini from the back. They were both long-legged and White. Stylish, beautiful even from 200 feet away.

The water is so strong--it's the only thing you can hear in the ravine. I became afraid when I saw another group of young people--teenagers maybe--studying the water to see where they should jump in. One girl, a little heavyset but strong, finally jumped in and laughed and smiled as she was gently carried off by the current. She was having a great time, but I had to divert my eyes because I was afraid she'd be swept away. She was fine.

[Later...]

I had the most amazing adventure today! After I wrote that little entry (as I wrote in the shade of a little ledge--just big enough and flat enough for me to lie down, did yoga and stretched in the sun and took a shower in a drizzle of water cascading from a rock above), the boys decided to pack up and head upstream. We climbed up and around great big boulders for at least 150-200 yards, then rockclimbed single file across a slippery ledge half-submerged in the water. I had to take off my shoes and reach for grooves in the mossy rock to help pull me along. Finally, we made it to a little clearing where the water pooled and the current seemed weaker. Waterfalls gushed across a ridge of rock and boulders, making it difficult to hear anyone speak. Most of the boys had already climbed up and around the waterfalls to the other side of the river. Ragmar waved at me. He had led the pack to the clearing and left me straggling behind. I wondered whether he was quietly challenging me to test myself or to stay open to the possibilities--he does that sometimes. Now I had to figure out how I was going to get to the other side.

I could either swim or try to navigate the slippery rocks again and go above the waterfalls. One of the boys jumped in and swam across. I watched as the boys dropped like flies into the water and navigated the current. I started feeling a little panicky. My blue-haired faery swam across and then stood in the water in front of me shivering as I slowly took off my sarong and undershirt and carefully draped them on a rock. I lowered myself slowly into the cool water, trying to find solid flat rock to stand on and keep my balance.

"It's too cold over here," my blue-haired faery said.

It was around 3:00--the sun was beginning to descend from the sky and the side we were on was cast in the shade of the great stone mountain we hiked down. Ragmar and the rest of the boys on the other side of the river stood in the sunshine. My blue-haried faery jumped in. I faltered a moment, backtracked a bit and then dove.

Day 8 - Finding Liberty

I arrived in Liberty tonight at nightfall as a full moon rose in the Tennessee sky. The 40 East wound into a smaller highway which turned into an even narrower two-lane highway. I entered into farmland and rolling hills and nearly passed the road to the area my friend lives in. My friend, Ragmar, and I spoke on the phone as I drove slowly around curves, a mist curled around the lights from my car, a few dogs moved out of my way as my car rolled past them. Ragmar came to meet me in his car and led me down the graveled one-lane road to his farm.

It was dark by the time we arrived--a short distance from the highway. Suddenly I was among tall trees and emerged from my car into the deep silence of night. I instinctively pushed the button on my keychain to set the alarm on my car and Ragmar laughed. "You won't have to do that for days... maybe months."

We visited for awhile and he showed me around the house. We walked out onto an enclosed sleeping porch adjacent to my room and he picked up a conch shell. "I'm going to sound your arrival..." and he blew on the horn several times as it let out a sounding that echoed through the hills.

He left me to settle in and went back to the Gathering being held a few miles away. I, again, instinctively went for my phone and called my stepdad and my beaufriend. Neither of them answered or texted me back for awhile. As I waited for them to call me back I thought, "Oh my god. I'm lost in the hills. I won't be able to get through to anyone!" Panic set in for a moment and I tried writing a blog entry to occupy my time, but nothing would come out. Another friend called and I texted with another and then felt more at ease, knowing I was still within human contact. Finally, Indigo Boy called me back and we talked for an hour or so as I sat on the porch outside and smoked cigarettes. I think I might be quitting soon, though, because I've entered into a staunch non-smoking, vegetarian household and I do want to honor their lifestyle. I don't think smoking is going to be conducive to this world that I've landed in. As we sat on either ends of the country, I could hear the muffled sound of music in his apartment, the distant beat of drums from the hills beyond, wind rustling through the trees and nothing else.

I am about to shift gears. Down down down. Is there another gear lower than first? I'm still wound up from the last two days spent in Memphis (of which I MUST write about... will do in the next day or so) and a week spent in my car driving east east east. And now I'm here. I haven't found "liberty" yet... that is to be found still. But I made it safe and sound to my destination and feel very good about it. I feel like I'm on the right path. I feel like I may, after all, find liberty because I am here.

Day One - Exhaustion!!

I'm exhausted. Seven hours on the road after not-enough sleep the last three to four days. After nearly three weeks of delaying my departure (for various reasons: withdrawal from my sweet Indigo Boy, reality checks from my family, and a mad dash to contain the entrails of my things that seemed to have spread from basement to downstairs guest room to my sister's childhood bedroom). Packing is a bitch. And I'm so organized now it's unsettling.

BUT I did it. After a sweet, but too brief last goodbye to Indigo Boy late yesterday evening, I returned home, slept like a log, woke up at around 9 and spent the morning packing up the rest of my things and cleaning the rooms I overtook like a nice Japanese American daughter should before she leaves on "vacation." This is not a vacation, though. I am taking this journey to get down to work. As I packed for my trip I had to very discerning about what I would take with me. I had to go through quite a bit of writing and computer files. I have a lot of work ahead of me.

I left Los Angeles as a light drizzle begins to fall. Ruby, my mother's ridiculously adorable Jack Russell, sits in my car for the last hour as I cart bags and stuff back and forth from the house to my Toyota Corolla. We have to coax her out from atop my pillows in the backseat so I can leave. I take one last deep inhale of her sweet Ruby smell, give big hugs to my parents and finally hit the road.

Although, in true Me fashion, I don't actually leave at 1pm, even though I left my mom's at 1pm. I have a few stops to make. I buy two packs of Nat Shermans at the local liquor store, thinking that I wouldn't be able to find any on the road and I only want enough cigarettes to last me the car trip and maybe a few here and there once I'm in Tennessee. (The goal is to quit soon. My family, Indigo Boy and the Mayor, my ex-boyfriend, all want me to quit and even though I'll be thick into the writing process, I'd like to stop smoking. But more on that in a later post...). I also drop off a pile of books to Goodwill and then spend a good twenty minutes or so at a Shell station, trying to put air in my tires. A kind Middle Eastern man helps me and teaches me to read the pressure gauge on the air pump. He also releases some of the air on my right rear tire that I filled up with too much air.

""It's a wonder your tire didn't blow!"
"Oh? But I just filled it a few moments ago," thinking of the gauge I used: my eyes. I just kept filling it until the tire looked full.
"That's the quickest way to blow your tires... too much air. Air expands once it gets hot. Just fill it between 40-50."
I take mental notes and thank him for his kindness. By the time my tires are properly pressurized and full, it's 1:45pm and the rain is coming down harder. Steam rises from the pavement.

It takes me awhile to get out of LA. All the major arteries in the city are clogged. Freeway is a misnomer in LA. Not to mention that it's raining and whenever it rains in Los Angeles, something close to panic overtakes its inhabitants. The traffic finally starts to clear as I head toward the 10 East from the 101 South. I snack on a few onigiris that my mother makes for me before I leave. Yum. The ones with umeboshi inside are the best! Like a Japanese rolo or something, except it makes your mouth pucker.

Patches of blue sky begin to appear as I pass through Ontario and take note of the familiar brand names: Westfield, Target, In N Out, Starbucks. I merge onto the I-15 toward Barstow and Las Vegas and the sky clears even more. The mustard flowers and blue skies lift my mood as I head up toward the El Cajon pass. As my car snakes up the mountain (I am surprised, too, at how sturdy my little Corolla is. Full of all my stuff and she still climbs mountains in the rain! I am so proud of her!) I notice veils of water dangling from pregnant clouds, dancing a little against the bright blue sky. The higher I get up the mountain, I feel like I am driving an airplane. The clouds are eye level and I can see above and below them.

I make two stops: one at a random Chevron station just to stretch my legs around 4:45 and another to get gas after I finally make it to the 40 East--my guide to Liberty. Gas is $3.99/gallon at this strange RV pitstop where a bug-eyed chihuahua sits at the glass doors looking at the tumbleweeds rolling across the parking lot. A desert woman (thin, leathery skin from too many cigarettes or days in the sun) wears a black Bebe t-shirt that barely contains her wrinkled cleavage and is almost startled when I give her my card to fill up my tank. Two men sitting in an eating area are eating something and watching something on television. No one moves very much.

I fill up my tank and take a few photos. Faux Greek or Roman statues saluting and gesticulating in various states of repose line a large dry, empty pond-like, swimming poolish thing. It is windy and the fronds of the short, fat palm trees rustle madly.

After crossing the Arizona state line, I notice the sun going down behind me and a long train traveling parallel to the road. The speed limit changes to 75 mph. I try to figure out how long it will take me to get to Flagstaff and I realize I have another 2-3 hours. It takes about an hour for the sun to set and I turn my headlights on. My eyes try to adjust to the dark and I tell myself I will not drive again after the sun goes down. There are no streetlamps and I can't see the landscape anymore. As I get closer to Flagstaff I sense that there are trees around me, but I cannot see them--only can make out their shapes and silhouettes. I pass many, many semis on my drive down the 40, but I am unusually comfortable driving next to them. Most of the time, I hate their lumbering, imposing figures that create a strange vacuum as you pass by them, but I've learned to hold onto the steering wheel a little tighter and to turn a little to the left. They seem like large, loud elephants that you just have to avoid as best as possible. I wish I was in the passenger seat because, like an elephant, I want them to toot their horns when I give them the tug tug signal.

I finally pull into Flagstaff around 9:45, just as Indigo Boy texts me. I have already made a reservation at the Travelodge because I read online that they have nice East Indian owners who keep the motel very clean. The room is very clean (and spacious, I might add). I call my parents after checking in and almost jump into the shower. It takes me awhile to get motivated to write my first blog entry, but I force myself to do it. How am I ever going to be a real writer if I don't write?