Wandering South Again

On the 26th anniversary of my birth I set out for Paoli, Indiana as a passenger in my younger brother

Andrew's car, along with his girlfriend, Jackie and his dog Greta. He took me to the home of my Aunt Becky, Uncle Bill, and cousins Kyle, Lily, and Erin, and family pets Peaches the dog and Chumly the cat in southern Indiana. I stayed there for a couple days before continuing my journey down toward New Orleans. I feel such a strong connection to their family and I want to return to Paoli's hills and simple, quiet lifestyle, but not quite yet.When David Young drove down from North Manchester to pick me up, he let me know that our route didn't have to

be direct to New Orleans and that I could make suggestions for any place I'd like to stop along the way. I knew right away that I wanted to go to Gethsemani, the monasetery in Trappist, Kentucky where Thomas Merton spent much of his life. Merton, a Catholic Trappist monk, is one of my favorite writers and although we arrived just after dark, I was humbled and awed by the massive, simple sanctuary, the robed monks, and the deep silence of a place created solely for humans to connect more intimately with the Divine. As David and I sat in the back of of the long sanctuary with towering, vaulted ceilings, a single hooded monk walked slowly into view near the alter, knelt in reverence, and began walking slowly toward us. I began to cry and my quiet sobs echoed and mingled with the organ music he practiced a song, apparently just for us. As we walked back out into the chilly night, I noticed that all visitors had to walk through a small graveyard that serves not only as the entrance to the monastery, but as a stark reminder of our true nature and fate. Death is the destiny of these fleshy vessels. May I remember that and maintain my focus on what is eternal.

I took over driving and after a couple hundred miles I had to work hard to ignore a very distressing sound. When I could no longer ignore the sound and I saw smoke rolling out from behind the explorer, I decided to pull over. The left tire of the utility trailer we were pulling had long ago disappeared and I had ground the rim down almost all the way to the hub. Fortunately, we were very close to an exit, so we drove to the nearest gas station at around 10:30 at night. Even more fortunate for us, there was a mechanic open right there and he fixed us up with a spare tire in under 30 minutes. About 15 miles down the road, our good fortune gave way along with the new tire and David had to drive on the rim to the next gas station where we would stay for the night. The next morning we got back on the road and the rest of the trip to New Orleans was pleasantly uneventful.

I had considered the Big Easy as a place where I might spend a few months or more working, volunteering, or soul searching. I did some of those things while I was there, but I didn't feel a strong connection to the place. It's a fascinating, colorful city full of history and life. There is still a lot of wreckage from the hurricane and neighborhoods that were once bustling centers of activity are now full of vacant lots that are grown up to jungle height and density with weeds and trees. New Orleans is a watery, wet place with lots of rain and rivers and canals running everywhere. In the two weeks I spent there I did see some nice weather, but winter is clearly not the best time to visit. I spent some time volunteering to hang drywall and do some mudding at a housing project in St. Bernard Parish, just outside the city of New Orleans. I enjoyed parts of the work and wouldn't mind doing more of it, but I knew that I was being called to something else.

In moments of clarity, humility, and connection to God, I felt that Mexico was calling me. I felt a desire to go and teach both English and Spanish mixed with some of the Divine Truth I have learned in the last year. I want to be a force for good in the world and I know that I love to teach language. I'm sure that I can combine these things and I think that Sayulita might be a good place to try it out. I decided that I would try to make it to the 7777 Ajna gathering near Tepic, Nayarit on the 23rd of January, and I began to look for rides to Texas.

I caught a Craigslist ride to Austin with Jessie, a woman from Maine who is an activist, cheesemaker, farmer, and who slaughters of own animals for meat and is learning to use horses for logging. We also picked up Bo Champagne, a man from Baton Rouge who is a renowned racquetball player and coach. Bo was going to Austin to see one of his ex-students and there I was invited to stay in the very comfortable home of a man who is a lobbyist for the tobacco companies. He used to be a gun lobbyist for the NRA, but tobacco companies pay better. It was interesting to hear his perspective on the work he does and his belief is that he is defending freedom. He admits that he's defending the peoples' freedom to make a very stupid decision, but it is freedom nonetheless. I really can't disagree, although I would find the work pretty distasteful.

Yesterday I walked around Austin with my backpack and without much of a plan, except that I might either go watch a racquetball tournament where Bo would be a referee or that I might start hitching down to San Antonio. I was walking along singing "Streets of Laredo" when I ran into a guy walking around and playing his guitar and singing. Together we sang that old favorite country standard as he read the chords off his i-phone, and a homeless man sat down next to us as we finished the song. The guitar player and I listened to his sad story as I took in the image of this man with awful red sores on his face, snot perpetually running down his long mustache and over to his dirty beard. I stayed and listened long after the guitar player walked away, and I began to cry as I asked Andy if I could pray with him. He said yes, and after I finished the prayer my tears poured out on the sidewalk. Why is the world so cruel? Why can't Andy stop drinking and get his life together? Why do I have so much privilege? Why am I so afraid of suffering? I sat and cried alone on 6th street for awhile after Andy walked away.

Eventually I made my way to the Interstate 35 overpass with a handmade sign for San Antonio and stuck out my thumb. I only had to wait about 20 minutes before an F350 stopped long enough for me to run up, throw my pack in the bed, and climb in. I had a great 2 hour conversation with three Mexican guys, all illegal immigrants, and all happy that I spoke Spanish. Our talk ranged from family to the injustice and unfairness of world history and my white American privilege to a fun and engaging lesson in English language that reminded me how much I love to teach. After a quick fix of a leaky roof in a San Antonio suburb, they dropped me off at the home of Jim Grossnickle-Batterton, from where I'm currently blogging.

Jim is a friend of my best friend Marilyn and he and I are both quiet spiritual seekers. He's 10 years older than me and has a composed, calm, self-assured nature that I hope to achieve in my life. I'll probably stay here until Monday or Tuesday and then I'm headed down to cross the border at Laredo.

Some of my persistent, nagging thoughts of late are about the right and wrong of leaving Elkhart when I did. I felt so overwhelmed there and I wonder if I'm just running away from my problems, or if I really needed to get out of there to continue soul searching and getting to know myself. I do feel a lot lighter now that I'm back on the road. My diet has improved and moved closer to being all raw and I'm excited to get into a climate with a greater abundance of tropical fruits. Papaya! I also wonder about the Divine Love Path and the experiences I had in Australia. To what and to whom is my allegiance? I'd like to say that it is to God, but I'm not writing this for God. I'm writing it for me and for you. I think about whether to return to Indiana and finish the garden project I started, or to move toward something that feels better for me. I'm not too worried at the moment. I've got a warm place to stay, food to eat, and a destination in mind.

Recently my grandfather, Jim Simons, rode his Harley Davidson to Laredo, Texas simply because he loves this song. As a lover of the song, I'm excited and honored that I'll be walking those streets and singing it very soon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSzfWLlvlAE

As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.
As I walked out on Laredo one day,
I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

"I can see by your outfit that you are a cowboy."
These words he did say as I boldly walked by.
"Come an' sit down beside me an' hear my sad story.
"I'm shot in the breast an' I know I must die."

"It was once in the saddle, I used to go dashing.
"Once in the saddle, I used to go gay.
"First to the card-house and then down to Rose's.
"But I'm shot in the breast and I'm dying today."

"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin.
"Six dance-hall maidens to bear up my pall.
"Throw bunches of roses all over my coffin.
"Roses to deaden the clods as they fall."

"Then beat the drum slowly, play the Fife lowly.
"Play the dead march as you carry me along.
"Take me to the green valley, lay the sod o'er me,
"I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong."

"Then go write a letter to my grey-haired mother,
"An' tell her the cowboy that she loved has gone.
"But please not one word of the man who had killed me.
"Don't mention his name and his name will pass on."

When thus he had spoken, the hot sun was setting.
The streets of Laredo grew cold as the clay.
We took the young cowboy down to the green valley,
And there stands his marker, we made, to this day.

We beat the drum slowly and played the Fife lowly,
Played the dead march as we carried him along.
Down in the green valley, laid the sod o'er him.
He was a young cowboy and he said he'd done wrong.