Was I Possessed?

While at Diane's, I applied for a nursing license for Washington state. Oregon required 940 hours of actual nursing work in the past two years, so that was out. But getting a WA license was like a drive-thru. Do you want cheese on that license? I can't remember the exact string of thoughts which preceded the string of steps, but I was on the internet for hours; hospice jobs in OR and WA, researching requirements, checking out the pay. Finally I decided to go to bed, looked out the window and noticed that it was getting light outside! I slept for a few hours, then got to it again: taking the required HIV/AIDS course for all WA healthcare providers ($42 online), filling out WA's license-verification request to the Kansas State Board of Nursing ($25) and filling out the application for WA ($90). When I got done, it was 4:00 am.

I walked to the post office, put the letters in the box and became aware of the odd feeling of having been possessed. What I'd done came about in a completely backwards way than I normally used to make these kinds of decisions, as if the action came first, and the decision followed.

Thanks to Diane

I arrived in Seattle on June 17 and stayed at a mediocre motel in Monroe, killing time before apartment-sitting for my friend Diane, who I'd met 25 years ago in Wichita. She's lived in North Carolina, including Asheville, for twenty years, before moving to Washington last year. 

Diane is especially inspirational to me because of her newest direction in life. She just finished the first of a five year program at Bastyr University to become a naturopathic physician. She turned 60 in April. I found her one-bedroom apartment intensely comfortable, with a quality futon bed, organic sheets, top appliances and kitchenware, pretty artwork, beautiful plants and sweet, little "Diane" touches all around. But more than that, I drank in the sensation of home, brimming over with gratitude at the stability, comfort and lovliness. 

I picked Isa up from the airport on June 24 and she stayed with her niece's family in nearby Duvall, until my apt.-sitting gig was up. Isa regularly invited me along with her and her niece to various Seattle sights, but I generally declined.  I preferred to stay home. I walked every day, I resumed yoga, I watched "Colbert" and "Daily Show," and cooked. 

I decided that it's not serving me or the universe to use so much energy just to figure out where to sleep each night.  

H a p p y  23  B i r t h d a y 

S a m 

Below is an email we all received today from Sam: 

An good Morning, to good Family . . . . .

I write from French Canada. The breeze sifts slowly through the redbrick alleyway and through the big window  on the opposite walls, from here the brightness and the business of people's movings on the street are nowhere to be heard...

The first hot week in Montreal...brings sweat to the edges of skin and dancing to the middle of bodies all around...Two days ago was Quebec Day and Today the day of Sam...

I would like to write more later, but the long and short is that I'm out of telephone reach...Perhaps next Tuesday I'll be back in the states, and hopefully then I'll speak to most of you...

Until then, I love you all.

Love, Sam

After the Peaceful Klamath Hostel

I stopped in Ashland, OR and stayed at a hostel which was poorly run, but nothing that effected me directly. However I saw the rippling effects upon other guests and felt bad for them. The Shakespeare Festival was happening and the town was hopping. I didn't go to any plays, but really liked the town of Ashland, touristyness aside. It reminded me of Asheville. 

For the next two weeks I sunk into a deep funk, using a lot of my energy to figure out where to sleep each night. Both hostels in Portland were full. I slept some nights in the car, dreading the following day of exhaustion each time.  A motel here and there.  I was lonely and depressed. I had little energy to fight the horrible thoughts which just WAIT for these moments. So opportunistic. "You're a loser." "You'll never find your stupid Destiny." "Everyone has a life except you." "This was a dumb idea." "DEBT!" "You're irresponsible." Crying, waves of sorrow. 

I managed to call four contacts in Washington during this time and one of them, Diane, invited me to stay at her apartment in the Seattle area while she was away for ten days. This was to begin on June 19, after her finals. She just finished her first year of naturopath school at Bastyr University.  I also heard back from some other old Wichita friends, who moved to WA twenty years ago, who I'd lost touch with.  I had dinner with them, spent the night, and left the following afternoon. I enjoyed seeing them, but had the sense that I intruded and imposed. In my insecure frame of mind, I imagined what probably wasn't there and brought to light the negative aspects of being on the road. People have lives and can't be standing by to put me up for days with little or no notice. In my weak emotional state, all I saw was lack in me. I loved everything about their home. It was brimming with manifestations of their individual and collective creativity and quality work. The garden, the quilts she makes, his craftsmanship in the remodeling, the coziness, the photographs, the peace.

Due to the flowy and timeless nature of my trip, I realized in the beginning, that l had to change my thinking regarding self-inviting. As a host, I've never regarded it as rude, but could understand how others would.  This journey has necessitated some degree of chutzpah and courage to invite myself, along with resolve to accept a "no" without emotional attachment. After seven months, it has gotten no easier to invite myself.  I thought it would. In addition, I've found myself unable to not take the rejections personally. Even though they never are. They really do a number on me, like a kick in the gut.

I was already feeling like I was intruding upon my friends with the cozy and lovely house, and just couldn't bring myself to bluntly ask them if I could stay for three more days, when I'd be at Diane's.  As I drove away, I had no idea where I'd sleep that night. I called two more friends, who both said no, nothing personal I am sure, but that was the last straw. 

After My Weird Willits Weekend

I splurged for a motel in Arcata and then headed up to Klamath, where I then stayed at a beautiful hostel.

My bedroom and the view from it

Trail head behind hostel                                       living room

I should have stayed for more than one night, since it wasn't crowded and it only cost $21 per night. I went on a spectacular walk which included forests and ocean. Here are some pictures: 

I met many nice folks and I liked the way the place was run. I felt peaceful and happy. 

A Long, Long Story

Part I

All this searching for Destiny is exhausting. So when my good friend Isa invited me to be her traveling companion for a six week driving trip along the western coast of the U.S., I jumped at the chance for a vacation. On June 24 she flies from Switzerland to Seattle, where the trip will begin.  All we need now is a vehicle.

Last Friday, during my visit with Mike (see previous post), we were on our way to Oakland for his Mom's birthday party. We were about to enter China Camp State Park in San Rafael, when I spotted a Freightliner van parked on the side of the road, with signs for sale or lease. I've coveted this type of vehicle for years, and my heart raced excitedly as I stopped to take a look. 

[we interrupt this fascinating story to bring you this important message: Traveling, Middle-Aged, Destiny-Searching, Lovable Alison Person will gratefully and happily accept donations for any part of $46,500 toward purchase of aforementioned Freightliner] 

I called the owner, whose last name was Goodman. He invited me to take the van for a spin. Mike and I were giddy with excitement and even more so upon arriving at Mr. Lion Goodman's home.  It was an inspiring place of peace, quality and beauty nestled in a lovely mountain setting.  Lion handed me the key. "If I'm not home when you get back, leave the key inside on this chair." .....yes, folks, that's just how people in California are. They hand strangers the keys to their $50,000 vehicles and invite them into their unlocked multimillion dollar homes while they're away. For an hour Mike and I were punchy with slaphappy joy as we reveled in this good fortune. The van drove like a dream! We took it up curvy mountain roads, in city traffic and on the highway. I loved it!  This thing comes with a kitchen, full bathroom with shower, queen-sized bed which folds into a couch, awning, tons of storage, TV, DVD player, and gets 25-30 mpg.  Clearly, this vehicle was heaven-sent. 

The cost to lease was right, and Isa was on board. All that remained was adding a short term RV rider to my auto insurance, which I planned to inquire about on Monday. At the same time, this bit of good fortune immediately effected my plans to hightail it to Seattle. Logistically it would make the most sense for me to hang around this part of CA until Isa arrived, then drive the van up to Seattle.  Hmmm, what to do till then? 

Part II

Meanwhile, I decided to stick with my other plan to visit an Asheville friend who moved to Willits, CA a year ago. Willits is about 90 minutes north of Santa Rosa and I arrived around noonish on Saturday. She lives 8 miles up a mountain so we met at a little market, so that I could follow her up. I got there before she did, and noticed a flyer on the bulletin board: "Caretaker needed for dog, chickens and garden June-July. With pay. Call Robert." Oh boy! This would solve everything, van-timing-wise. I called Robert, he sounded OK, and we planned to meet on Monday.

                                                                 

I'm writing this at the Crescent City, CA library. This is their bathroom. It's the longest bathroom I've ever seen.  

I followed my friend up the mountain. To save money, she'd recently moved into a trailer, which sat on a friend's property. My friend warned me that her friend was remodeling her own house, also on this property, so the place was "a mess." What an understatement! Remodel or no, this junk looked old.  Meanwhile, the tall weeds surrounding the outside of my friend's trailer was off-putting, but I was entirely unprepared for what I saw inside.  Every surface was piled with clutter. She had to discard old food to make room for the little bit I brought. The kitchen was tiny, as befits a trailer, but the counters were covered with mostly un-kitcheny items and I saw no evidence of cooking. To top off the grunge factor, imagine a thick layer of cat hair covering everything.  Clearly, she had done nothing to prepare for my visit, which had been planned for two weeks. It was at this time that she mentioned that there was no hot water or cell reception and internet was dependent on her friend in the main house. I was perplexed at this change in my friend. Her house in Asheville was very tidy and she had excellent taste. What happened? 

We decided to go to a music and art festival in Benbow, about an hour north in Humboldt County.  I thought the $12 entrance fee was a little high for my circumstances, but what the hell. I suggested that we check for parking fees, a notion she immediately dismissed. I packed some food, water and warm clothes in a backpack and I thought it odd that she put her stuff into a paper grocery bag. 

Clutter-wise, her car was an extension of her trailer and I waited while she cleared a space, not only in the passenger seat but also the floor. When we got to the festival, we saw a sign at the first lot: "Parking $20." I thought $20 was usury, but shrugged it off. After all, we were here. My friend, on the other hand, blew a gasket. She hadn't brought enough money, so I handed her some, which seemed to make her angrier. When it was our turn, a kind and elderly parking volunteer informed her that the lot was full. "You mean that car in front of us took the last spot??!!" she barked. "There's a spot, why can't we have that one?" She continued venting at the poor guy.  I tried to calm her down, suggesting that she not get upset over something like this, to which she snapped, "DON'T tell me how to feel!" She angrily drove away and two blocks up the road we saw another lot where we parked for free.

We started walking, me with my backpack and her with her bulky paper grocery bag (which required both arms to carry). She started talking about something or other,  but I was distracted and emotionally effected by the parking lot scene. Suddenly she said, "Are you even listening?" I told her that I was disturbed by what had just happened. The ensuing forty minute conversation was difficult and draining because she was so defensive and hyperbolic. Finally her defenses cracked, and she admitted that she was a very angry person. "It's just part of my character and I've learned how to deal with it." (really?)  "I like my anger."  I never thought of her as an angry person, back in Asheville. "So are we OK?" she asked. I confessed that I felt a bit cautious....I mean, if something that small can set her off so easily, might I do something to make her mad at me? 

With a pretty backdrop of lush mountains, the festival was happening!  Top notch music, quality food and unique art. Beautiful people of all ages were dancing and having fun. And top it off with the sweet and ever-present aroma of marijuana wafting through the air.  My friend ended up spending hours talking with people she knew and this happy bit of luck freed me of her company for most of the time. 

We met up around 9 pm for the last band.  There was plenty of room, and she didn't need to be standing that close to me, I thought. Then I noticed her intentionally brush her arm against mine. Hmmm. I moved away. Several times. 

We got home at 11:30 and began the task of preparing my bed, which was a fold-out futon couch. I would have been happy to do everything, but the couch had piles of stuff which only she could deal with. I was exhausted and irritated by her slow pace. Also, her lack of preparation for my visit fully came to life. 

Later I was sitting on my bed, ready to turn in, when she asked me to try to figure out how to replace a head on an electric shaver. She sat on the bed next to me, looking closely at what I was doing, and making a point to touch her leg to mine. I moved away several times. Now, I'm not naive. I know my friend is gay. But even if I wasn't exhausted and irritated and even if I WAS bi-curious and had a libido (and energy to act on it), and even if I had not been turned off by her anger, I'm NOT attracted to her!   Thus, I regarded her personal-space violation more as a nuisance than a realization that she was making a pass at me (however, I have been known to be a little "dense" with these matters). I gave her my take on the shaver and then she asked if I'd help her hang a mirror the next day. I thought, with all the crap piled around this place, THAT'S your top priority? 

I awoke around 7:00, after a deep and refreshing slumber. The morning was crisp and birdsong filled the air. I folded my blankets and restored the bed to its couch form. It was around 8:00 and my friend was still sleeping, so I decided to take a walk and left a note on the couch.  (here's a photo of the view on the walk): 

During the walk, I also meditated on my growing discomfort with the unpleasant changes in my friend.  I began planning an exit strategy and rehearsed what I'd say if it came to an early departure. 

I returned invigorated and positive, and quickly discovered that she was angry. She accused me of various offenses: abandoning her (my walk), being in my own little world, not asking her about her life, interrupting her while she was reading, and telling her how to feel (yesterday).  She cut off any attempt by me to correct this twisted litany and summed it up by saying that she wasn't comfortable in my presence. Then it dawned on me: she's doing all the work! Easy exit! I wasn't quite sure if she was done, but I was. 

Special recognition to Teresa Smith. She's a Wichita friend I met when we both worked in the cardiac intensive care unit at Wesley hospital ten years ago.  I'd lost touch with her some months ago, but lo and behold she called during my drive to Willits. I already had a vague iffy feeling about visiting my friend, and in fact, had changed plans twice during the week, in order to extend my visit with Mike. I relayed my undefined reluctance to see my friend and Teresa, being my resident lesbian expert, with finely tuned gay-dar, cautioned me not to get entangled in any lesbian psychodrama. During my walk, after spending the night in the trailer, I called Teresa. When I described my friend's sudden anger at the festival, Teresa said, "Oh she was just pissed because you were right about the parking." After I made my getaway, Teresa said, "She was pissed because you rejected her!" Teresa's reappearance in my life at this particular time was another of the strange coincidences I experienced during that week.  

Part III (sorry, no photos. You'll see why). 

I drove away feeling utterly relieved. When I got to town, I called Robert about the caretaker position and the first thing he said was, "Do you have a place to stay?" "Funny, you should ask," I said. I told him that I had a falling out with my friend and briefly described the situation. He said these things happen and "you just gotta lance the boils!" I liked the imagery. We arranged to meet at 7 pm. Googling his address, I thought, if I have to drive 8 miles up a mountain, forget it. Turns out, he lived less than 2 miles from the center of town on flat road. Looking good!  I spent most of the day at the Willits Historical Museum, which I highly recommend. Seabiscuit, the greatest racing horse in history, lived in Willits and the museum had a nice homage. 

Robert was an hour late. I got no danger vibes, but he seemed pretty unhealthy. He was in his 60s, had a huge gut, watery eyes, bad skin, few teeth and was somewhat short of breath. He offered to take me to dinner but first I wanted to unload my stuff. He helped and also gave me a tour. 

The building/house sat on an acre of land and won the prize for the most disgusting, odious, repugnant, dirty, cluttered, awful home I've ever seen. It made my (ex) friend's trailer look like a Martha Stewart showcase. The kitchen had no sink, thus the dishes were "done" outside with a garden hose. They hadn't been done in a while. The kitchen was also the main way in, so I couldn't avoid the foul smell of rotten something each time I entered the house.  During the tour, Robert described his vision for the place: a spiritual retreat center and music venue. He'd lived there for 10 years.  He led me to the room where I was to stay. There were two bathrooms off my bedroom, with one door leading to both. The bedroom and both bathrooms were as horrifyingly filthy as the rest of the house. I didn't want to touch anything. I wanted to keep an open mind but how could I live here for 2 weeks?  

Robert took me to dinner and explained his situation. He's a follower of an Indian guru named Amma. I was somewhat familiar with Amma and perhaps you've heard of her, as well. She's the one who hugs every single person who comes to see her, sometimes 50,000 in one day. She never turns anyone away. Her website is Amma.org. She's pretty amazing. Robert explained that Amma is on her annual US tour, which goes until the end of July. Not only does Amma draw thousands to each stop, but about 3000 people follow her for the entire tour. Robert, his ex-wife and their 14 year old son are part of this devoted entourage.  His ex-wife has suffered from depression for many years and Robert was convinced that this meeting with Amma would provide her with the final healing. He was also convinced that, without a doubt, Amma sent me to him in order to help him attend the tour. Robert explained his unique role on the tour, having something to do with spiritual healing, but I didn't understand. He was compelling and not preachy. I found his beliefs to be consistent with my own in many ways, and I was drawn in. He felt so grateful for my arrival, that he would occasionally close his eyes and do a silent prayer. He also brought up money, something about setting up an account for expenses along with some undefined payment. He offered to introduce me to Amma on June 13, her final day at her ashram in San Ramon, before the tour began. He said that those who meet Amma are spiritually catapulted ahead, thus cutting down on the enlightenment time.  Sounds good to me. As far as Amma having a hand in bringing me to Robert, well....considering the odd turn of events just in the past few days, I couldn't handily dismiss that notion. Maybe it was true! Maybe this was my Destiny!

It was dark when we left the restaurant, and he mentioned that he wasn't sure which vehicle he'd take on the tour. He rennovates RVs as one of his many side jobs, and he had one which was mechanically perfect, had a brand new sound system but needed work in the living quarters and was kind of small. But if he finished the work, he could sell it and buy a larger RV in better condition. I thought to myself: you're leaving in 2 days and you still don't know what vehicle you're taking?  I offered to share some wine and we could check out that snappy sound system. I waited in the RV while he fetched some glasses. When he went up front to turn on the music, I held the glasses up to the light. "Uh, these glasses are dirty; is that OK with you?" "Oh, heavens no," he said, "dirty glasses are not good," and he got some new ones. Better, but still not clean. I wiped mine with my shirt. We sat on the swiveling seats in the RV, listened to Amma (she's also an accomplished singer), and sipped wine. Robert was completely swept away by Amma's singing, often closing his eyes and loudly singing along. His voice sounded like Lawrence Ferlinghetti and some of his higher notes made me wince.  He pulled out some pot and said, "Do you mind?"  While pot isn't my drug of choice, and I would have declined, I noticed that he didn't even offer.  He then told me about his nighttime ritual: chanting in the bathtub. Since the bathroom was adjacent to my bedroom, he apologized, saying it would only be for two more nights. 

I went inside and began the task of de-yuckifying my sleeping space. I covered the mattress with two sheets (which looked clean) and for surface space, I cleared off and cleaned the desk. The rag was black! I couldn't bring myself to rinse it and just threw it in the corner along with other junk.  Numerous electrical cords snaked haphazardly over the floor like spaghetti.  Wait, was it spaghetti?  I wondered about EMFs and tripping. This was a feng shui nightmare! Robert had wi-fi, so I sat on the bottom bunk bed, on top of my own down comforter and caught up on email.  At 1:30 am, after chanting for 90 minutes, Robert emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, carrying 3 empty beer bottles and his pot pipe.  He joyfully said, "How about a hug?" While not sensing any come-on, I found that hugging this large, high, mostly naked, damp man was something I could have done without, especially before turning in. 

The mattress was surprisingly comfortable and I slept well. I awoke at 8:00, aware of my strange situation. On the one hand, I felt committed to helping Robert get to the Amma Tour. I was also grateful to have a place to stay while I waited for Isa's arrival. On the other hand I was completely grossed-out by the environment and found myself imagining the massive cleanup I'd begin after Robert left. Not so much for him, but for myself. I also looked forward to doing manual labor and being useful.  

Robert was in his office at the computer. He happily reported that he had a potential buyer for the RV, so we needed to get some things done on it before the guy came, around five. He said we needed to paint the interior, pull the carpet, wipe it down and fix a small plumbing problem. First, though he asked me to water the garden. I looked at all the neglected plants in the neglected garden and imagined how I'd improve them.

My next task was painting the ceiling and over-cab compartment in the RV. He thought white would brighten up the interior. He set me up with blue tape, a rickety 3-inch brush, and a top coat paint.  When he left I thought, "Shouldn't I clean the surfaces first? Shouldn't this be primed first?"  As that would have added more time and hassle (no running water), plus he didn't seem to care, I painted over spider webs, dirt, flaked off plastic, dark paneling and dark blue. The dark blue and brown paneling easily came through the white paint. Also glaringly noticeable were the brush strokes. When I started the job I was able to push away caring about a job well-done. But half way through I started to feel resentful. What a waste of energy. 

I finished the lousy job and decided to have a talk with Robert.  I told him that I was unsatisfied doing mediocre work and wasn't happy that those are the expected standards. I asked that he please just assign me to grunt labor. He assured me that he normally has very high standards, but this time crunch was requiring cutting some corners. I also told him that two of my best talents were organizing and prioritizing.  I offered to share my thoughts on how to prioritize his situation. Then the phone rang.  It was the wife of the couple who owned a larger RV, which Robert wanted to buy with the money from the sale of the RV that I was painting. The asking price on the larger RV was $10,000 and earlier that morning he had offered them $3500. During dinner last night he told me that they would take the offer, no problem, since they both had cancer and this pristine vehicle was just sitting there. From the sound of it, I guess she was calling to tell him no fucking way.  

As I heard him interact with the wife, and then with the husband, certain things just didn't add up. First, he was talking as if he was the broker for some third party, rather than being the buyer himself.  For example, "No, these folks aren't trying to take advantage, I'm just trying to make this thing happen, so everyone's happy." The couple had evidently come down to $6000, and Robert said, "I'm not in a position to offer more than $5000." To which, I suppose they must have said "Go to hell." Then Robert said, "I think, possibly, perhaps, there might be a chance that I can get $5500, but that's all." When he hung up he was hopeful, "I think they'll go for it!" Which brought me to another thing that didn't add up. If seeing Amma was the goal, the absolute top priority, then why was he nickel-and-diming over $500? Just give 'em the $6000 and GO!!!  Which brought me AGAIN to: why does he still not know which vehicle he's driving? He was acting like he just found out that Amma was coming! And another thing: he was going to sell his piece of crap RV for $5500, and then buy a larger, newer, nicer vehicle for just $500 more?  So I asked him point blank: "Are you, right now, able to pay $6000 for the RV?"  "Only if the other one sells."  He added that he didn't want to use up all his cash to buy the larger one or he won't have money for the Tour. I said, "But shouldn't you trust that Amma will help you find a way?" 

We never got back to my initial concerns about doing mediocre quality or my offer to help prioritize. However, in his scattered way, he brought up several other duties I'd be taking on: completing the final sale of a different RV (he gave the buyer a week to pay, so I'd be taking the money and transferring the title); supervising his landscaping crew (receiving payment from jobs, depositing money in an account); taking care of the chickens and the dog; selling another vehicle. He'd still made no mention of who would be taking my place at the end of June. He also mentioned that he grew marijuana "legally" and assured me that he'd place the permit in a plastic baggie out front.  I thought, "Just give me the damn permit. Putting that thing out front is like an announcement and an invitation." I was uncomfortable that the house wasn't lockable and I also didn't like his dog. 

I told him I was taking a walk and he blessed me, affirming the importance that I take care of myself. He went outside to start on the "small plumbing problem" in the RV he was selling.  On my way to my room, I stopped to look more closely at the rest of the house. One room was like a warehouse, very big with a very high ceiling and served as a storage facility for lots of crap. It was poorly lit, so I had to take care with how I stepped and also had to look closely to see: small statues, knick-knacks, frames, food, totes, kitchenware, broken furniture. Everything dirty. I saw many sizes of ready-made postal boxes and rolls of packing foam. He must be an Ebay seller. I also noticed a spiritual alter and possibly a place where he prayed and meditated. There was also what seemed to be a small living room area, with a TV and a couch. Evidently he liked movies, with all those DVDs. As in the rest of the house, there were numerous photos and drawings of Amma hanging on the walls. 

Meanwhile, at some point I'd called Teresa and told her what was going on. When she called later and I didn't pick up, she left me these messages: "Well I suppose you're out plowing the fields for the new cult you're living in. Hopefully you haven't been brainwashed. Give me a call...unless you can't remember who you are."  And "Don't drink the Kool-Aid." 

I left for my walk, chuckling at Teresa's messages. I also imagined how I'd clean up the place and then my thoughts meandered to the inconsistencies. On one hand, I believed that Robert was authentically devoted to Amma; the chanting, the affectionate way he referred to her as "Mama," Amma's image all over the house, and the way he often closed his eyes before answering a question, as if he had a direct line to Amma on every issue. Plus he was very knowledgeable on spiritual matters. On the other hand, I didn't think Amma instructed him to live in such a holy mess. I also doubted that Amma would have approved of his trying to bamboozle that couple. And what were Amma's thoughts on drinking alcohol and smoking pot? And how, in one day, would he have the time to explain to me every detail of running his life, sell one vehicle, buy another, make repairs to both vehicles (the coulple's RV also needed some work), find my replacement, and pack for two months? I resolved to not worry about Robert. I also reminded myself that this was a place to stay. 

I decided to call my mother. I told her the whole story, with all the coincidences: the van, Lion Goodman, reconnecting with Teresa, the flyer for a caretaker, and the experience with my now ex-friend (Mom knew her). I then started describing my present circumstances. I suppose she heard all she could bear, before throwing a spiritual bucket of cold water on me, declaring, "Alison! You've got to get out of there!" At first I was sluggish, "Huh?"  "You're going to start cleaning up that mess, and that's not  your purpose! Why should you clean up his mess?" Then I realized, I didn't want to clean up that mess. Mom nailed it. Mom saved me. 

I returned to the compound with a feeling of deep compassion for Robert, knowing how let-down he'd be. He was in the RV doing paperwork. I said, "How about a hug?" He gladly jumped up and we embraced. He gave me the same kneading-my-back, moaning, close hug I'd gotten the night before. When we parted, I looked him in the eye and said, "I'm leaving." He looked stunned and asked me why. I told him that having order and cleanliness is part of my own spiritual well-being. I told him that for me to be comfortable, I would have to clean this place up, and frankly, I didn't want to do that. I also shared the second tier concerns regarding the many major loose ends. He listened and then said, "I knew you were leaving. Amma told me." 

He said I was letting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip through my fingers, that helping a person attend a retreat is a greater good than attending the retreat, that I was turning my back on Amma, that I was letting my thoughts and fears dominate over truth, and that now he didn't even know if he'd be able to go, that his ex-wife might not get her final healing. I thought, surely he's not laying that on me! As far as me not wanting to clean up the place, he shared this "true story" of a man who attended a retreat and begged Amma to be his spiritual guru, offering in exchange to do "anything."  She said, "OK. Go clean out the septic tank." He went to the tank, but got grossed-out and couldn't do it. A few days later he was walking by the septic tank and who was there cleaning it out? Amma. Hip-deep in human waste, shoveling shit. The man was mortified and cried, "Amma, please let me help!" But Amma refused. "You had your chance. You weren't ready for this lesson, now you'll just have to wait." I told Robert that I didn't think this situation was really parallel to that anecdote. I didn't mention that I was also thinking, "Yeah, right. Amma oversees 13 Humanitarian Aid Efforts, gives dozens of speeches to international organizations like the United Nations, every year, receives honorary awards all over the world, oversees schools, goes on global tours, hugs 50,000 people a day, and she's out shoveling shit?" 

Since I felt bad about leaving him in a lurch, I offered to put on a second coat of paint in the RV before I left. I went to my room to put my painting clothes back on, when suddenly I remembered that this was Monday and I needed to call my insurance company about the van. The phone call took a long time because the customer service rep was so nice, she was trying all sorts of ways to make this work. But alas, it was not possible. They had a 2000 pound limit on insuring vehicles, and this puppy weighed 8000. The other companies she tried didn't do short-term situations. So the van was kaput. 

I went to the RV and asked Robert if he'd like anything to eat. He said no, "I have too much to do all by myself." I decided to make him a sandwich anyway. I brought the food to the RV and invited Robert to sit and share this meal with me, take a moment to nourish our bodies with good food, rest for a bit and all. He said no, and repeated the too-much-work excuse. A few minutes later he took the plate, thanked me for the sandwich and went to the house, saying as he left, "You were right about the primer."  I finished my lunch by myself on the swiveling chair in the RV, looking at my lousy paint job. 

I returned to the house to pack my things. By the time I was done, it was going on 4:00 and I realized that I didn't want to start painting that stupid RV at this point.  I went to the RV to apologize for backing out on painting and to say goodbye. The door to the RV directly faced the door to the bathroom in the RV. Here was Robert, this huge man, filling up the entire bathroom space, kneeling over the toilet, with water gushing out and onto his knees. Grunting, sound of tools....fixing the small plumbing problem? I said I wanted to apologize for not doing the painting, that I shouldn't have offered, since I had this business to take care of plus pack the car. He got up, not easily, and said, "Well, I'm sure there are some instances in your life when you keep your word." Snap. He turned his back on me and resumed his task with the toilet. Then I realized that he was trying to lift that thing out of there! I watched with amazement. Going from kneeling to standing, holding a toilet while filling every inch of that space. And the sounds he made! Like, the opposite of chanting.  He sounded like an injured elephant. Should I call 911? When he turned toward me, red faced, panting, holding that toilet in both arms, I thought he'd be carrying it outside the RV, so I backed away from the door. Instead, he placed it down on the carpet between the front door and bathroom door. 

When I saw him my first thought was, "I hope to God this goodbye won't end in a hug!" I said, "Well, I came to say goodbye," and trying to lighten things up, added, "but there's a toilet in between us." He said, "I think that's appropriate." Oh boy. I said that he seemed angry. He denied it, saying how unbelievable it was to him that I could just walking away from this chance of a lifetime. He continued, "Go on, flit around the universe, only doing what YOU want, not thinking of the greater good. That's fine." He said, "I know you better than you know yourself. You are making a big mistake and you're never going to see the truth." He reminded me that this was my one and only chance for meeting Amma. I interrupted and said, "How do you know? Maybe meeting you served as an introduction, and my meeting with Amma will be at a later time." "Oh sure, play it that way. And when that time comes.....IF it comes, you'll see. Amma knows. She's going to wink at you and say 'You shouldn't have left Robert.' " He laughed at that payback image. I said, "Maybe all this, our meeting and everything, maybe it has an entirely different meaning than you're thinking." He then said, "Don't you see? I'm indispensable to this Tour! I do what no one else can do." I told him I found that hard to believe. He rolled his eyes and turned away. "Go on then. I know you're thinking, 'I can't wait to get away from this place.' " Well, I hadn't been thinking that, before this little harangue.

I said goodbye and drove away, thinking "I'm glad to get away from that place." I tried to find a shady place to call my mom and finally drove 4 miles out of town and parked in the cemetery. I told her the whole thing and thanked her for saving me. I felt so grateful to still have my mother in my life, that no one knows me as well as she does and that she was my angel for this moment. Thanks again, Mom.  

It was now 6:00 pm, and I didn't know where I was going to sleep. The van was not going to happen, so I started driving north, as I'd planned before ever finding the van. I turned on the radio and was so distracted by the events of the day, I wasn't tuned in to the music. Slowly I realized that it was one of those songs from the 70s with a long, repeating chorus, and which had, in fact, been repeating for minutes.  I recognized the melody. This was Grand Funk Railroad. And then I heard the words, "I'm Getting Closer To My Home."

My great Friday with Mike

On our way to Oakland for a birthday party for his mother, Mike and I came upon this unusual sculpture in the back of an abandoned school, in San Rafael. 

JUNE 5, 2009 Ali's Birthday!

Happy Birthday Ali. You're 26. I love you.

More Sweet Time With Mike

I returned to Santa Rosa to spend more time with Mike. One day turned into three and we had a grand and beautiful time together. I'm having a hard time with captions, so here's what's what: the woman with Mike is his mother Diane (my one degree from Jackson Browne). The fellow with Mike on the stone furniture is Veruna, a beautiful orator of Latin and student of the world. We climbed a mountain at Annadel State Park and that vista is from the hike. The flowers are from the Luther Burbank Home and Gardens. Hey Marc Rutter, forget General Shurtliff; look up Luther Burbank! The rest is various art around Santa Rosa. 

Sam's Graduation & Eric and Kris

General Shurtliff and family

I spent Memorial Weekend (plus Tuesday)  in Oberlin, OH for the joyous occasion of my son Sam's graduation from Oberlin College. I've added a photo link (top left part of the blog) which might convey the magical nature of the experience. Some things just can't be captured on camera, such as the enduring and deep connection among Oberlin College community; the profound history of the city and college; the loving, hilarious and supportive family we have; the pure joy and fun; and the marvelous person Sam has become. 

The supersaturated, lingering fabulousness of the Oberlin experience was what saved me during my travel back to CA.  My trip from Cleveland to Sacramento turned into one of those horrible flight experiences, where one is left thinking, "at least we didn't crash."  It became a two-day affair with extra stops in Allentown and Philadelphia (at no additional charge!); a sleepless night in the Philly airport baggage claim; and an extra day of long term parking.  Deep gratitude goes to Eric for providing a haven for my recovery (after 32 hours without sleep, it was kind of fun going to bed at 4 in the afternoon and waking up at 6 the next morning).  I stayed with Eric for a week during which he and his girlfriend Kris had a delicious BBQ (I ate sausage!), we went dancing, I was able to 

finish the graduation pics, I took long walks with sweet Buddy the dog and got to practice my Spanish with his mother Dora. Eric, I love you, my friend. 

Dora and me

Buddy

Eric and Kris