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.

Gothic Appalachia

I arrived at Sassafras, the artist's collective located about twenty minutes from Ragmar, several days ago after trying to pack up the last of my stuff.  As I trekked to and from from my car, it began to thunder and rain, and out-of-nowhere I received this barrage of text messages from the Scottish Whore.  I last texted her two weeks ago.  She proceeded to "show me" how she and Indigo Boy had "something" as I carted stuff back and forth from my car in the rain.  I thought I was done hearing from her or about the whole mess.  She's just a dumb-ass bitch in my book.  Stupid whore making my blood boil again.  I told her to fuck him or someone else and just to fuck off.  Things aren't working out between them and now she's getting psycho on me.  Just stirring up shit because she can't leave well enough alone.  Doing everything now to screw the both of us.  And still I try to find peace in the woods of Tennessee 2000 miles away from L.A.  I'm glad I'm not there because she's the type of woman who would go to extreme measures to get back at us because she finally got dissed by him.  And I am glad to be here because I have peace; they don't.

I have found my peace here at Sassafras.  My cellphone has no reception, so phone calls and text messages are few and far between.  What relief.  What silence.  What a breath of fresh air.  I have Internet connection, my computer, great company, a gorgeous structure of windows and carefully-hewn wood to call home and 300 acres of verdant woods to roam and find reason.

I also have the company of two gorgeous L.A. artists: Judd is all tatts and overalls, Appalachian beard and an easy, lovely laugh; Anouk is all limbs and a cascade of red hair--the Lady Godiva of Hippie Hill.  They've brought a little rock'n'roll and a fine eye to the mountains of Tennessee.  They are sophisticated modern Gothic aesthetes.  A mid-century modern Danish couch and table line one side of the Great Room--an awesome 60 foot high room that's all windows.  A hand-crafted wooden trapeze swing dangles from the ceiling above a massive Chinese carpet.  A taxidermied deer head, a Victrola with a disco ball plugging its mouth, an impressive book and record collection, happy plants and an electric piano line the walls.  I've found my little niche in the Great Room and write there as the sun pours through the windows, the ceiling fans overhead creating a rhythmic lull, or as the rain drums on the deck wrapping around the house or as night falls and I switch on the Noguchi-esque lamp.

Anouk and I have become fast friends.  She reminds me of my friend, Remy--this stunning model-sized woman who is all heart and fierce style.  We've taken refuge in one another, I think, because we are cut from the same cloth: both L.A. girls, both grappling with how to make money as artists, both loving and disappointed by men, both fun, flirty women who can talk for hours over wine and cigarettes.  Judd is impressive for his kind personality and strong work ethic.  He can build or fix anything.  Recently, he began a construction project in the woods: a sturdy structure with a metal roof that will be encased completely by walls of antique windows.  He wants to put a pot belly stove in there for the winter when the people who live here or a visiting artist can go and make art as the snow falls around them.

Over the weekend Judd had help from two friends visiting from Los Angeles as they made their way to New York.  The four guys--"two drunk retards and two queer mountain men," à la Judd--raised the roof on the structure.  Naturally, I thought the two drunk retards, Xavier and Paul, were also queer as everyone else is around these parts or who visit.  I've been the lone straggling straight person.  Despite the fact that they--absolutely charming, lovely men--dressed up in drag, all chains and pink dress and tacky red Liza Minnelli 80s Dynasty dress and polka dot bow, to go to this queer music festival with Anouk, I learned later that, no, in fact they weren't gay at all.  Just really fucking fun straight guys with a firm grasp on good cheer!

I had a rockstar weekend with the lot of them, drinking whiskey on the porch and nursing bad hangovers the next morning.  The day before Xavier and Paul left, the three of us hiked for two hours up the dense wooded mountainside, through a depressing decimated clearcut where we got lost, and back down through the trees and foliage to the Refuge.  We hiked and walked for hours in our tall rainboots that we wore to protect us from chiggers and ticks.  Eventually, we made it to Ragmar's (after walking another 45 minutes or so from the Refuge to his property) and collapsed onto the hammock.  Anouk had to come pick us pathetic city slickers up, but we showered, had a lovely dinner of shrimp scampi and salad and slept like babies.

Rock Island (Part II)

I followed my blue-haired faery as he swam across the river. The current from the waterfall was strong, but I tried to relax and find my rhythm in the water. I kept my eyes on my blue-haired faery--this boy who kept looking out for me--and swam the breaststroke through the current. The rocks on the other side didn't seem so far away. I kept swimming. I caught up to my friend as he reached for a log bobbing in the water.


"I'm going to wait here," he said a little breathless.
"Okay," I answered, also a little breathless, and kept swimming to the other side.

The edge of the river didn't seem so far away. I found a ledge and pulled myself up. My friend left the log, swam up and climbed up to the rocky shelf above us. I sat for a moment on the ledge to catch my breath and marveling in the swim and how good and open and alive I suddenly felt. I heard him oohing and aahing about something, but I couldn't hear him over the din of the rush of water.

"What is it?" I called.
He said something again, but it was muffled, so I pulled myself up over the ledge and went to him.
"What is it" I asked again, dripping wet.
"It's a rainbow!" And he pulled me over to see a small arc of color in the waterfall flowing before us. I smiled. I had seen more rainbows this year than I have since I was a child--two with Indigo Boy and now with my blue-haired faery.

It's been a good year so far, I thought.

The swim across the channel was just the first indication, though, that I could overcome obstacles and meet my fears face-to-face. My friend and I joined some of the other boys sitting in the sun on a slab of rock 20-feet above the water. One by one the boys jumped in. My blue-haired faery chimed in that he was also going to jump. I looked at the water below, churning around the ledges and tried looking for a spot that didn't have a pile of rocks waiting for me to crack my head open.

"It's not that far," I kept telling myself. "I'll be fine. I won't hurt myself." My blue-haired faery jumped in and suddenly I was alone on the rock. All the other boys gathered on the opposite side of the river waved to me. So I leapt. Feet first, preparing my stomach for a freefall, and then I was in--the cool water embraced my body and I swam up easily from its depths. I emerged into the air and then realized I still had to swim across the river again. The current was stronger, but as I swam I could see and hear Ragmar and the other boys erupt into cheers and clapping. I laughed and smiled broadly, swimming against the current and finding my rhythm again. I swam the breaststroke across the middle of the river and then relaxed as I got closer to shore. I flipped over, looking at the skyline above me--the silhouette of the rocky, wooded mountainside, the sky and sun shining through the trees. Then I felt the water change and move faster around me as I got closer to shore. I broke into a freestyle and pulled myself through the current toward the edge of the river. I found my footing among the rocks and joined the others feeling strong, sun-drenched and relaxed.

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.