And she is off

May 27, 2013

Morning of May 26th


the phone’s bleep woke me up, message. I had set an alarm for 10 am at the latest, I looked at the time, the white numbers popped on the screen of the device : 9:00 AM


I decided to get up. Meditated. Showered and proceeded with a flurry of activities, putting sheets in the washer, packing the last items that had dried overnight. The cat as usual, rushed in the washroom when she heard the water running. I will miss her. And her four neurons. Time flies, I hear the the bleep again, another message. I wash the tub, clean the washroom, I go out to the garage and I see my bike, the cowling is askew, I had a crash almost a month ago, seems like an eternity away now. The front fender is cracked, the paint scrubbed off in places and I have red electrical tape holding all of this somewhat together. I decided that I would get that fixed upon my return.


Arkadas. My Suzuki SV 650 S, bright, shiny copper color. I am leaving you behind on this one. And my heart tightens a bit.


For the first time since I decided to go on this journey I find myself actually nervous. There are only a few hours before I have to be heading out towards the airport and I don’t like deadlines, appointments or set schedules. I like things to flow one from another as they will.


I am meeting Forrest one last time before I head out and will have my last Klatch espresso. I have been there pretty much every day since August… I have made friends there. Eclectic friends, young artists, writers, an elderly Persian anthropologist and poet, bible students, many barristas with all sorts of stories, a photographer, who has disappeared without a trace… A man who travels to Thailand to do good deeds there, etc. etc.


Today being Sunday, it’s busy in there, Robert offers me my drink on the house when I tell him I am leaving, that was almost always a double long espresso.


I am a bit out of sorts. Actually compared to my usual cool I’m downright nervous. It’s a strange state to be for me. We talk for an hour or so and it’s time for me to go. We hug. I hope he shines when I am gone. We make music together and what we make is unique because of the unbelievable connection we have when we play.


At the house I put the dry bedsheets on the mattress, eat a bit, I go back and forth, one little detail, another, then I discover that there is a lock on the suitcase, I cannot find any key for it, so I destroy it with a pair of plyers and a screw driver so I can put mine on there.


I look around. There has been so much love in this house. So much goodness. When I landed here last August I was a shadow of myself, irradiating with a pain I could not stop. My broken heart, impossible to heal. I landed here on my last few dollars, after having crossed the continent on a 5000 km trek that took me from Ottawa, to Winnipeg then across Montana, Idaho, Nevada and California solo on that Suzuki.


I was nursed back to wholeness is that house. I’ll never forget the day the Viking said: I’ll protect you.

When a Viking tells you that. You are safe.


And now today… everything is ready. The suitcase, my two instruments, my shoulder bag. I get the Ford, which had the name “the Fjord of Norway” Because in the Viking’s house nothing is quite the same as in any other house. For example, when you perform house cleaning duties, it is called “being famous” and those are expected to be performed in 15 minute segments, which are your “15 minutes of Fame”. Which suddenly makes the chores much easier to get through.


This is the last time I will see this house, the Viking will move this summer. So it’s somewhat wistfully that I scan the rooms to absorb one more time the vibe of this place. The light of California, which I believe has healing properties, the palm trees, the blue sky. Goodbye San Dimas.


I have to run to Best Buy first as I managed to put my MP3 player in through a wash cycle as it was in my jacket pocket. Not impressed, but as things have been recently, a friend had just given me $60 the day before and the gizmo costs $54. Perfection again.



Afternoon of May 26th


On my way to the freeway down San Dimas avenue I see a black and white car, cop car, behind me. I’m ultra careful. I don’t want anything to derail my plans today. I stay at 39 MPH in the 40 zone, 49 in the 50 zone and he thankfully turns left when I turn right and head for the freeway.


Today it truly is a freeway. No traffic, it’s the sunday of a long week end.


I get to Huntington Beach where the Viking is. We chat a bit. I’m nervous, emotional. I try to find my center. I approximate it. It’s better. He takes me to the airport, helps me with my suitcase, stays in line with me for all the time it takes to get to the counter. A gentleman he is. I will miss him much.


Then it’s the security rigmarole. I got to see the saz and the guitar through the X ray. I wish I could get a picture of that.


I am flying Luftansa. We are served dinner with real silverware! We have blankets, pillows, and are offered a choice of cognac or Baileys. I tried to sleep but it’s quite uncomfortable, my seat does not recline all the way, unlike the seat of the person ahead of me which is about 20 inches from my face.


It is starting to get very obvious, I am going into foreign lands. I have not been overseas since my twenties, that was a long time ago. Just in the airport the mixes of languages, skin types and body language is already dizzying.


First stop will be Frankfurt, then off to Vienna. We are a long ways away. It’s 11:46 Pacific time. I”ve only been on the plane since 7 PM so that’s another 7 hours to go.


The couple next to me is young, she is pregnant. A whole different experience than mine. All these souls around me… heading one way and another. I am returning to my state of electron. Coursing through. There is a Quantum network influencing all this. I sense it. There are vectors meant to cross. Fates meant to be realized. What is mine? I do not know.


My mother kept wishing me to “find what I’m looking for” I am not really “looking” for anything, or searching, that entails the idea that I am lost, or that something has to be found. I have all I need and I am not lost. I am living.


I am being.


Back in 2010 I followed a call. That call brought me back to life. I had been in a cryogenic stasis, Frozen. I thawed. Then I asked the Gods to use me as their instrument and I asked them to help me learn. Learn I did. Learn I still do. But I’m realizing that it’s not so much about learning than just changing what we look at and how we look at it. I am not on a quest with targets and goals and objectives sown on gridded calendar. It is a road. Motion is vital. And it becomes a road of moments. Moments are divine. Truth lies in those moments where past and future disappear, when doubt, judgment and fear make way for presence then light then vision


I’m listening, observing, absorbing. I am alive. I pray, meditate. I trust. I do not know. But I intrinsically trust. I have no expectations, I will be shown the way as I go.


One Response to “And she is off”

  1. Heather Bejar Says:

    Wow! You are on your way! I can hardly wait to read the next adventure; to live vicariously for now. I love the “15 minutes of fame” 🙂 I’m adopting that modus operandi from this point forward. I miss you! xoxo

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