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My Own Road

14th July, 2005. 9:24 pm. Taking the Journey

I am in such a peaceful space, spiritually speaking.  I couldn't possibly ask for a more supportive partner.  When he noticed that I perform many of my sessions/rituals seated on the floor, he started pointing out floor pillows and asking if I thought they might be helpful.  I hadn't even considered it before he mentioned it, and the purchase has made a huge difference.

During my most recent Otherworld Journey (OJ) I met a new spirit guide who aided with clarity for someone I am working with.  My friend was honestly shocked at the level of detail provided by the guide; things that I would never have known because she hasn't shared them with anyone.  I've worked on her behalf for well over two years but this was the first time I journeyed for her.  She asked me to do a card reading but I felt pulled in another direction.  The readings have never been informative enough where she is concerned, so this time I opted to journey.

The OJ experience is beyond any description.  It goes beyond meditation and calling it an out-of-body experience doesn't come close to describing it.  It isn't always fun, don't get me wrong.  In fact most often I return so physically drained that I can barely move for a few minutes.

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28th June, 2005. 9:30 pm. Forward

I've completed the registration forms and mailed the check, so I guess it's official - Jeff and I will be attending Between the Worlds this year.

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20th June, 2005. 10:49 am. Flowing home.

v. intr.

1. To move or run smoothly with unbroken continuity.
2. To proceed steadily and easily.
3. To exhibit a smooth or graceful continuity.
4. To rise.

I heard the word on the way home late last night while listening to "Hearts of Space" on NPR.  They'd titled this week's installment "flow" to symbolize the fluidity of the tracks.  My mind was suddenly flooded with instant replays of the weekend. 

I picked up an old friend at the airport on Friday.  We hugged and made small talk while waiting for the baggage claim carousel to slowly spin his luggage in front of us.  People were everywhere; Some paced while talking feverishly on shiny cellphones while others stood emotionless and silent.  The throngs flowed in-and-out as they collected their plain black bags with colorful ribbons tied to the handles to make their's stand out.

The carousel stopped.  His bag wasn't there.


We went into the Baggage Services office and he filled out a form while a disinterested clerk twirled her long black braids and smacked nonexistent gum.  The next flight would be about three hours later and chances are that his bag was on that flight.

As we left the airport, he contacted his credit card company to inform them of the mishap. He'd been paying for Lost Luggage Insurance for years and this seemed as good a time as any to collect.  In minutes, they authorized him to spend a decent sum of money to replace the missing clothing, toiletries and other essentials.


Friday night we attended the opening night of an annual Birmingham musical event called City Stages.  The crowds were collecting - not unlike hungry cattle being led towards their evening meal - making arriving at an intended destination more difficult.


As we left one stage area and headed in the direction of yet another, my friend realized that both his wallet and his passport were missing.  Gone.  We backtracked as best we could given the sheer number of people but found nothing.  Talking to a police officer yielded nothing more than "I guess you cou' go over tuh los-n-fount".  We did.  Nothing.


My friend called to cancel his credit cards and a new, temporary card was issued to be sent FedEx.  I watched him as he made the important calls.  The look on his face was one that I knew well.  It wasn't anger, it was despair.  Without credit cards (not to mention the fairly large amount of cash in his wallet), he had no money.  Without an ID, he'd surely not be allowed to board an airplane to get home on Monday.


I wasn't the least bit concerned about the money issue; I'd make sure he had whatever he needed for as long as he needed it.  Still, there's a sense of helplessness that goes with losing something so intimate.  Being unable to call and order a pizza at 1 o'clock in the morning on a whim, even though you might not need a pizza at that hour, makes you feel less in control of your own life - especially when you're so far from home.


The hotel cashed a check the next afternoon and he had money in his pocket again.  When we got back to the event, Los-n-Fount had his passport.  Not his wallet, but at least they had his passport.  Relief.

The rest of the weekend was a relaxed blur of fighting the crowds to get to music, bathrooms, or fried food items served by tired-looking people on electric carts.  At one point late yesterday afternoon after we'd staked our claim in a shady spot on the asphalt and set up our chairs, a band was playing reggae and a calm breeze was blowing.  I looked next to me to say something to my friend and he was asleep.  On some Jamaican beach with a Red Stripe® in one hand and a cigarette in the other, no doubt.


The last concert that night brought us to our feet as thousands of people filled the street around us.  We danced. We laughed.

Today I am more peaceful than I've felt in a few weeks.  I'm well-rested and woke with a smile on my face.  I've spent three days with a loved one and will put him on an airplane headed for home this afternoon.  As his plane flows west chasing the sun across the sky, I'll be flowing north on the interstate, both of us flowing home.


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