The planned departure rarely goes as smooth as the plan. The timing must be precise, which leaves no room for mistakes, such as empty gas tanks and misdirection.

Nearly three hours later than planned is a relatively small set back…so, is it truly a “set back” if the destination is hazy and a timed schedule, moot?

What is the point of time?

The road to Eugene screams this theme… excitement and anticipation to break free again. It’s like being sixteen again, and having the freedom to drive out of town, alone; for the first time.

The moment you pass the county line is like the first breath of freedom. The first real rush of detachment.

Detachment from the nest; experiencing for the first time, that vast sky that leads the way to new places and new ideas.

I left on my somewhat aimless journey, three hours late; finally feeling escape and release from all the ridiculous things that I had allowed to dominate my life for the past year.

All those miserable mornings, waking to go to a pizza job that bred little more than discontent and under-appreciation.

I would like to think I fulfilled my purpose in that situation; I knew it was my time to move on. I have skills to learn, this is the way.

When you drive that road away; away from people who do not contribute to your “love bucket”. Those leeches who suck your love bucket dry; causing you to wonder why you didn’t leave sooner. You ask yourself “Why you cried at all, instead of just walking away?”

But on this drive, these thoughts sort of stream out of your subconscious mind. Scenery passes by, while in your mind’s rewind you placate a time when things were shitty and you felt friendless. How despite how hard you worked, you still felt useless.

And this drive goes through personal landscapes you’ve only shared with one other person, who sits missing on this journey.

A journey of me. For me, about me; to find me.

Eugene became the scenery at about 7:45… and I was glad this drive was over. The real adventure was about to begin.

Walking up the road, holding hands, is Bluebear a dreaded urban shaman, and Tomo, his lovely dreaded Asian princess. I step from the car to walk with them, and in comparison to their delicate frames, I am a big blond giant.

My first interaction with Bluebear had been exactly two weeks ago, shortly after a rather intense situation at the pizza shop, where I had been written up for sexual harassment. Yet another reminder that paper is fiction.  I had tickets to see Sound Tribe Sector 9 and I knew that every time I went to one of their shows… life would shift shortly thereafter.  Spinning me in some new direction.

I didn’t know any one in Eugene, as I lived in Bend at the time. I didn’t know where I was going to stay or who I would meet; but I had a four day weekend, and I sure as hell was not going to think about “work.”

I found the venue, and picked up my tickets early and wandered about the town. As time grew closer to curtain, I walked the alleyways to the venue. I met up with a lovely single chick about my own age walking from a hotel. She was also headed to the show alone, and had flown in from Colorado in order to see them at this particular place. We chatted for a while until she ran into her local crew, and I went inside and grabbed a beer.

I kept running into a delightful gay man named John. After the show he wondered if I wanted to after party and offered me a mushroom chocolate. I agreed to both things and we went to a place, on what some people call the wrong side of the tracks. A place called The Rock Shop.

It seemed like a somewhat normal business, having a shady after hours thing. There were people playing music and acid sheet art framed on the walls. I grabbed a beer from the keg.

As my head began to get fungal, John had to leave. He asked if I was safe here, or if I needed anything… and enjoying the ride as I do, I told him I was fine. I expressed my appreciation for his companionship over the last few hours, and he rode his bike home.

I need to sit down, and I feel nauseous, so I sit against a wall.

A white “bro” in a lot of white clothing that is illuminated in the lights comes and sits with me. He asks if I am okay. I tell him I need a cup, I am going to puke. I proceed to fill two cups with regurgitated beer. I start to feel better, but I stay sitting.

Things start winding down and the bro in white wanders off.

Bluebear approaches in his big Blue Bear Suit. He gently says the party is ending, and that the guy who has been sitting with me is a sketchy personality. He tells me he has a safe place I can go, if I have no where to go. Much agreed, we navigate my car to his humble little house.

His house isn’t the cleanest, but it is cozy and he offers me treats I had not had in a very long time… like strawberry kombucha. Joining us was his artist friend Phabel. We ate hits of acid and languidly drew pictures and talked. Sleep came late in the morning.

When I awoke, it was to the smell of hash and the guttural coughs of Bluebear. Phabel had left. The afternoon was spent in a lazy haze of smoke and markers.

I felt tired and drained, maybe a little malnourished. As the night grew later Bluebear wanted to head back to The Rock Shop. I was not really feeling it, so I told him I would stay and nap in the car while he went in to see what was going on.

I noticed some people inside with hand drums and such. A different group than I had noticed the night before.

Too tired to think about it, I dozed off.

A couple of hours later I was awoken by knocks on my window and a bunch of chatty folk lurking around my car. I rolled down the window, and Bluebear said these people need rides; can I give them rides.

This immediately exacerbates how tired I am in the moment, and how agitated I become when people just assume I want to drive them around because I have a car. I hadn’t yet really learned how to say no, and I was thankful I had a place to stay for the night, so I did not vocally resist.

A rather loud and pushy girl gets in the front seat. She tells me her name is Bethany, and I immediately want to kick her out of my car. She is not gentle with her directions, and I personally think she calls them out too late… but whatever, right? All I have to do, is just give her a ride home, and then I will never have to see this girl again. Or so I think.

Finally everyone is out, and Bluebear and I head back to his place. I express my aggravation at his assumption I wanted to drive all over Eugene at night for a bunch of strange people who really had nothing to say to me while in my car… it just seemed weird and not cool.

Bluebear was not offended, and offered me more acid. I declined and went to sleep.

The next morning Bluebear offered me DMT. I told him I wasn’t sure what it was or what it did. So he explained it and I took a few tiny hits. I did not leave my body… but from every pore and hair follicle I could see these red and blue threads tying everything together in associations. People are cocooned in them, as are our precious objects.

The experience lasted about 5 minutes.  For five minutes we were easily immersed as those threads of life wove a blanket around us, and then it was gone. I was enticed, and contemplative.

People stop by through out the day. They come to smoke, or talk. Later in the afternoon I memorably meet two fellas from the previous evenings driving service.

I call this the day, the Universe Lied To Me.

Now you may not believe the Universe lies, but it does. In fact it will do it because it wants you somewhere, doing something, you would otherwise not choose to do for all the unappealing reasons you could possibly find. And that is why the Universe lied to me that day through Dolphin.

Now I am not real sure about dates and times, in which all of this Dream Lodge-ry became real, but this for me was in February of 2006.

I only know about the state of affairs when I showed up;  I explained how I had been written up at work, unjustly, and how I am not sure what I am going to do next, but I want to go back to nature… Dolphin says to me, looking me straight in the eyes… “You should come to Mt. Shasta, to The Dream Lodge.  Come work on our organic farm for a while.”

Well this idea sinks in. And Kaiya chimes in and feeds me lovely visions… and I know in that moment, I am going to go back to work on Tuesday, and put in my two weeks.

Kaiya and Dolphin leave when some people pick them up… and I think it is probably a good idea to trek back to Bend and sort out my affairs.

Upon returning home, I put in my notice, pay my bills ahead three months. Get rid of most of my things, put the precious stuff in the care of a friend. I find out my roommates brother is moving out west from Philly… all things proceed to wrap themselves up nicely and I leave with letter of recommendation and no idea that it is winter in Mt. Shasta.

My car is packed with camping gear, notebooks, artwork and art supplies. I only have $800.00 in cash and I close my bank account.

I assume from the Universe I am going to have a place to stay at this Lodge, and that since I will be working on their farm, there must be some sort of compensation for that.

I am imagining this fluidly functioning machine of enlightened fairies and other magical things. I basically have no idea what the fuck I am about to get into. So I start my journey, two weeks later, driving back to Bluebear in Eugene…to get some acid for the trip, and to see where it all leads.

So we are back at this beginning and now I am meeting the silent Tomo who has just arrived from Japan… and if I thought things were weird before… well this is just the tip of the iceberg.

The night of the 18th, I slept outside in my tent, in my yard.  Though by normal means of comfort, I was lacking what I adore… I slept well and deep for about 4 hours.  I awoke with the sun, and I heard the house stir before any noticeable activity.

I went to my grandmothers phone, to see if my uncle had yet called on her to go to the Home, to visit my grandfather.

The only number I see, is associated to her oldest living best friend.  Who; in the last year has been plagued with dementia and breast cancer. 

My grandmother dealing with the dwindling phone calls and emotional trauma of facing the fact, her best friend no longer knows her.

I see this number in the phone and immediately know Judy is gone. 

I pop into my gran’s room around 9:30am.

The phone call came at 7:59am.

If Judy calls it is usually later in the day.

I get a silent confirmation.

My gram gets up and dressed… I make her breakfast. 

I tell her about the phone call, and the time.

She thinks the same thing as me… I can’t help but admit my same feelings.

I take her dishes to the kitchen.

The phone rings.

By the time I return, it is confirmed Judy is gone.

 

I am find myself attempting to be far more consciously kind in dealing with my gram… knowing we do not share comforting belief systems.

When I hear this news, I know that for her, this is just the beginning of a downward spiral of  physical death.  She is 86, my gramps is 92.

Last year my gramps was put into a nursing home, he also has dementia…

They were married 61 years… sleeping side by side… his condition is deteriorating slower than most because my uncle goes to the home daily. He spends 6-8 hours there on a daily basis making sure my grandfather is not wasting away in his own filth…

My grandmother goes up to this home for 1-4 hours a day, just to be there.  My grandfather rarely interacts.  It is a depressing place and she feels both obligated and guilty.

My mother’s sister; my Aunt has also been deteriorating in health for some years, she is in her mid 60’s.  This year she was put into the same nursing home for her degrading condition. 

My mother died when she was 26 on my grandmother’s birthday.

Today, I spent a portion of my day in the hospital… with my family… as my Aunt made some final choices.

It was awkward.

I just wanted her to say what she wanted to say, uncensored.  But I feel as though, my family likes to sweep things under the rug and let things lie.  I didn’t ask, but maybe I should have.

Either way, I see the crumbling of my own foundation… the family I was brought into… the brother I had who died when he was 24… how only through the women now, do the blood lines continue.

How I am in the right place at the right time, and how beautifully torturous it is to watch suffering and release.

I honor these things.  I also honor and respect those who choose to live, and do so to the fullest when given the opportunity. 

Just being on the outside looking in, I would say she has, whether or not she recognizes it for herself.

Still My Gram sure is pulling some emotional burden in all this. 

Not too long ago, my grandfather’s youngest brother, ALSO passed… yet another friend gone, and younger to boot.

My grandmother is one of my favorite people in the world… and these days it is hard to show it… where I lack in compassion; I excel in intellect.

At times I think it is too bad that I am not more gentle, but I regret nothing about myself, and I am still learning from this.

I have a feeling, a lot is going to happen in a small amount of time, just shortly.

I look forward to honoring the infinite parts of ourselves together again soon.