The Trip is Forever and Yes, Virginia, there is a George, WA.

Hello Everyone,

I had taken so many notes for this posting.  My eyes seemed to be open wider, and I was seeing more.  I felt tuned in, on the beam.  Little ideas and quotes scribbled on my ticket, a brochure, and my notebook that I carry with me were sure to make this post a monumental comment on America, supported by its own gravitas, and of course, my brilliance, without one iota of self-indulgence or pretention. 

I noted I could still hear the echo of my good friend Milena's wooden heels giving a melody to the wonderful talk of peace and of walking the true path we had the night before, as I walked to the bus station in Seattle.  I noted how I was going to give a great shout out to The Green Tortoise Hostel in downtown Seattle.  Its right by the market on the sound, really friendly people and wonderful cheap digs.  I noted the fact that, as we waited in line at the bus' door, the black guy in front of me was ID'd and I wasn't.  Hmm....must a been because of my winning grin that says "I'm just as harmless as a kitten, sugar." 

I noted how the road leading through Snoqualmie Pass makes a person feel only a little tiny component in the universe.  That, although man had grown quite creative when it comes to destroying mountains, through blasting them down for interstates or, hey, how about that fancy mountain top clearing the coal industry is just itching to do more of, the mountains of the Snoqualmie Pass won in the battle with man.  The road obediently twists and turns around the giant mountains, and zillions of giant pines have run out to the road to watch the traffic go by.  It is a stretch of true nature, for it makes us feel a part of nature, not its ruler.  Those mountains told man where to go.  I was gonna say that the mountains, mother nature, still tells us what to do, but we just have so many other things to listen to, these days.  The world's too loud for tree talkin', and anyway, isn't that a bit absurd?

Hmm, what else....I noted that after the Snoqualmie Pass in the state of Washington - where, yes, there happens to be a town named George - the bus driver drove us headlong into a dream.  A snow storm that painted the world white.  Only the brush that struggled to pop out from under the white blanket and a faithful barbed wire fence told us that the world was still there.  For hours, we traveled.  Other humans who sped by our 35 mph pace we met again, further down the road, their cars mangled, up hills, through the fence, broken down and upside down.  Mother nature won again.  I scribbled really profound things down.  I felt the muse and I was musing.

I was scribbling so much about this, or that, that I finally had to put the pen down, for it is only in the watching and listening that anything worth writing is born.  I found myself looking for things to comment on, instead of seeing what there was to comment on, and in my never absurd but sometimes draconian code of artistic ethics, that is a sin unforgivable.  So I settled in, leaned my seat back and stared out the window.  I would be brilliant when the time to be brilliant arrived.  I stared at the window and watched the world grow whiter in the gathering darkness.  I nodded here and there, and maybe even dreamt of my brilliance...but only once.

Just into Montana, we stopped to change drivers and to refuel.  Everyone has to get off the bus when it is refueled (can you imagine the lawsuits if....?).  I got my thirtieth cup of coffee that day at the pocket of civilization that was the conveniece store.  My phone regained a signal.  I noticed that I had recieved several messages in a relatively short matter of time.  Right then I started feeling the indescribable feeling in my gut.  I didn't check the messages, I was scared, and I am being honest about that.  Somehow, what was in those messages wouldn't be real if I didn't answer them.  But I am a 35 year old man, dammit, so I checked the last text, which was from my one of my sisters, telling me to call home..."please".  Like I said, I am a 35 year old man, dammit, and I made the call.

My mom told me we lost my dad, that he had passed away.  I heard that news in St. Regis, Montana, a town I'd never heard of and now will never forget.  The snow storm had worsened, but I told my mom I'd get home as soon as possible.  At 35 miles an hour.  As we reboarded, the flood of a million moments with my dad where I could've said and done things differently raged on.

It would take 8 hours before we reached Billings, Montana, where the nearest airport was that was still flying planes out.  I have to give a shout out to the very compassionate bus driver, who radioed for the info.  He gives humans a good name.  It was around midnight, and it was dark enough for a 35 year old man, dammit, to cry and feel what is necessary to feel, which is sadness, deep sadness, and guilt over that flood.  I also felt a deep selfishness, which I'm not proud of, but it was definitely there.  I sat with it and didn't put any armor on, at least I think I didn't.  I'll be the first to tell you I'm in shock, but I feel that I am feeling.  I felt the magnifying glass move away from me and I felt my honest size and weight and nothing really mattered anymore.  Anything that was so important before St. Regis was absolutely nothing.  I was about to disappear when Billings came into view in the light of dawn.  I hopped a cab to the airport and caught a plane to San Antonio.

Its been a day of phone calls, visits, a meeting at the church, where he attended so faithfully.  Its been a day of explaining it over and over and the thought of explaining it again gets too big for the brain to hold.  Its been a day at the funeral parlor.  Its been absurd attention to the smallest of details.  I never picked a tie out for my dad while he was alive.  And I've never thought of "what he would have wanted" and that hurts.  Its been a day of checking off lists and relief of another task done but when we're through the fact that my dad's gone rushes in and stirs up all the shoulds and what if's that lead directly to a padded room and spoon fed meals.  Its been one hell of a tough day.  And, when there's absolutely nothing to do, I can beg to get back the last five minutes that I spent with him, at the bus station.  If I could just tweak them, edit them, if I could just get them perfect.  Then, there is the five minutes before those five minutes, then the five minutes before those...

But you know about these days, don't you?  I'm willing to bet that a healthy percentage of you does.  And, I'm willing to bet that the rest of you will see a day or two like this one has been for me.  In a "normal" world, and I say that knowing no one normal, the day when we are to mourn a loved one is inescapable.  If we're lucky, for it is a priviledge to feel this way, isn't it?  If we mourn no one, then we have no one.  By all means, cry over the loss of your loved ones, and don't dare be stoic and tough about it.  Be open and play your part in the universe.  Ok, its clear to see that I'm about posted out.  The first clue is when I go to cosmic town.  But I do mean it.  Feel what is necessary to feel.

I thought about a final post explaining what happened and to tell you the trip has ended.  However, some close friends, including my mother, who is so sad and second guessing her own flood of moments but is hanging in there, have ecouraged me to keep at it.  I'm glad they did, because I have found out a stone shaped absolute truth in this universe, and that is that the trip never ends.  Nope, it goes on forever.  On that slow journey throught the snow on the way to Billings, that became clear.  We are and will always be travelers.  My dad's death is another stop on the journey.  His too.  I don't know what your views of an afterlife are, hell, I don't even know what mine are, but I have no doubt, no doubt at all, that my dad is still traveling.  I'd like to think he's heading to a home.  However, a little thought is growing in my brain, which has an overabundance of manure for just such thoughts, and that is that home is on the road.  A road that, different for all of us, reminds us all, when we get still enough and listen, that nothing stays the same and nothing is meant to.  We are creatures of travel in a universe that is finding new frontiers for us.

I'm not sure when I'll post again, but I'll let you know, or my ego will.  I just don't know where I'll be, what I'll be...and I'm not gonna try too hard to know anymore.  I do want all of you to know that I wish you peace, support and above all, love, as you travel from frontier to frontier on the path you we're meant to be on.

Take it easy,
Todd