Please activate your Card / Are you the towel Boy? / Things & Brings
Taking Action and Speaking Clearly. For several months, these cards have been waiting to be activated – action done. This crisply invigorating morning, as I sit out front of my April sanctuary for the last time – I am asked by the Airbnb guests next door to fetch some more towels. Hah, hah, howdy ho Hah – no worries, mate, I’ll have someone bring them right over. I am the towel boy, I am the walrus – so take a hot and steamy shower, scrub the saturated fat from your diet, dig your feet into the ground and I’ll do my very best to dry you off from head to toe.
What to pack? Isn’t that an epiphany as I have been on the road since selling my Frank Lloyd Wright inspired home and catering business in Madison, Wisconsin. What seems like an eternity of ghosting as thrice failed entrepreneur devolved into a private chef for a multi-billionaire and now awaiting an occupation to magically appear; this Road Trip is literally the walk-about of nearly a half century on this planet. I trust all that is to be/will/come (read into that variation as it resonates for you).
My selfish coddling of myself still continues to this very marvelous Monday, at least there will be no shopping centers in the depths of the rainforest. REI was fruitful if not unworldly expensive as I purchased more than what my brand spanking new Osprey hiking pack can hold with 9 pairs of merino wool socks, a $300 Gortex rainproof poncho, one pair of Merrell hiking boots, assorted survival trinkets and a diverse selection of luxury hiking brand articles of clothing. I am ready for the Rainforest, a Zombie Apocalypse, World War III, or a combination thereof. But do I take my yoga mat?
Shedding all sorts of shit – across the physical realm board and channeling through the mind, body & spirit. Yesterday was my last day of dealing with a flooded house project, which initially was just a friend helping a friend sift through the waterlogged household contents, discarding & discerning what is an object of desire versus those items deemed to be a necessity belonging to any one of the four family members. The walls long having since been torn out, new electrical strewn about, drywall going back up - my fingers lacquered with the remains of industrial fungicide paint serving as a lasting reminder of the battle hard-won. I find it rather ironic that my last impulsive purchase is to serve as a reminder that I need less things. World, please meet Ms. Chi Chi Cosasita, a once-upon-a-time teacup Chihuahua Christmas ornament that I scored at the checkout on discount due to the accumulated dust & missing hook to hang her up. The rather grumpy “To the Moon” candy store owner / professor of confections, confided in me that Ms. Chi Chi had held position on the shelf next to checkout for more than two years. I had to have her, but I instantly knew her life’s purpose – to remind me that I don’t need more material shit.
I have a new wardrobe, a new sense of style, if you will, even if it’s an aging gay man’s flashy, skintight threads meets function first, earth tone traveling garments. Now I have to sort out what makes the cut for my trip – my backpack does have limitations, and so do I. By tomorrow afternoon I will be in Sacha Wasi, Ecuador. My ayahuasca quest unto oneself is on the horizon, my first “Pitstop” with the Matthew McConnaughey team leaders coming up, and I couldn’t be more excited to leave my towel behind, let mother nature do the washing as I whistle along to my own icaros.
Sending peace and love to you all,
For the soul: