Monthly Archives: August 2013

Sept. 3, 2013

Sept. 1

I went through a terrible “Re-entry Day” yesterday. After 1 and 1/2 years of travelling (if you count the months I camped in Ojai: three or four last summer and two last spring), I am re-entering sedentary society.

I have experienced this Day-Of-Illness before when I’ve been re-entering sedentary society. I get very sick: nausea, vertigo… It’s as if my  mind has to readjust to all the different ways of thinking (and feeling) when I am going from travelling to being settled down. It doesn’t happen when I go from being settled to travelling.

At Aspie Ian Ford’s house in Albuquerque. It’ s really nice, as with Xenia in Denver, being with another Aspie.

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Funny guy at Santa Fe train station office: “Can I do anything else to destroy your life?”

Nate, my CS host, told me that in northern New Mexico there are whole families who do heroin together.

Raphael (from Ecuador) in Santa Fe weaving store: he said I’m smart to take government money to live on.

There’s a Native American school in Santa Fe that used to be one of those horrible places that taught students to give up their NA culture. Now, this same place is a school that teaches Native American culture.

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Sept. 2

At Ian’s; taking bus to NOLA today. It has been a truly transformative experience to be here at Ian’s and hear his thoughts on autism and read his book and be with his family.

James Taylor song talks about true love: they were “glued together, body and soul.”

People hurt others for what SOMEONE ELSE  (usually parents) did to them, not because of what these others did to them.

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Sept. 3

Eating breakfast at IHOP in Texarkana, Arkansas.

Black bus driver took over in Amarillo, and he said to us, “Y’all relax.”

One poor gal was broke, tired and hungry at the Amarillo bus station after being on the bus for “a long time.” They gave her a food voucher for the restaurant in the terminal.

My backpack went on without me. It was under the bus, and we parted ways in Fort Smith, Ark. I have everything I need with me, just my tent is in the pack. The driver said the pack will show up in New Orleans.

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Most people don’t realize this but I am a radical. I am not in the least political, so I don’t DO anything radical in that arena. But personally, concerning issues like feminism/women’s rights and Asperger Syndrome and the environment (Sentient Beings), I am totally radical in my opinions/feelings.

I get positive feedback here in Louisiana: “I love people like you,” said the guy serving me chicken in the Greyhound restaurant in S. I was dancing to my iPod while waiting in line. He said I was patient, plus I gave him a tip.

Subcultures like Blacks rely on a high degree of social cohesiveness at the expense of individuality, authenticity, intellectual development, diversity, independence, personal (relating to the self) sensitivity, and so on.

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People who don’t hitchhike always seem to think that their town is very friendly and that lots of their locals pick up hitchhikers. In my experience, this is NEVER true. Very few individuals anywhere pick up hitchers. I see the real town; the locals I talk to see their idealized version of their town.

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Time alone, like on a long bus trip like this one, gives me respite from other people and from my own weirdnesses (like my projections). I think a lot of my feelings about who others are are just projections of my own feelings. I am susceptible to doing this especially at low times, like when I am tired.

I separate my interpersonal difficulties from the rest of my life. In this way, I manage to have a lot of pleasure.

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As Ian Ford told me, it’s hard to get Aspies (and all autistics) to come to a group because we “hide.”  I definitely do this. Part of my hiding takes the form of disguise (eg. pretending I’m an NT) and part of it takes the form of misdirection (look over there! [ha ha]).

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I am polite, and I pretend to be submissive (as do most Aspies). NTs seem to conduct psychic, inner, mental “conversations” (through body language, etc. AND thoughts?) with others around them. I NEVER do this; I hate it. It’s disturbing, scary, and I don’t understand it. On top of all that, I am often misunderstood and people seem to think I am doing this weird communication thing. This pisses me off, and it upsets me. That really makes me hide.

My hiding often takes a definite physical form. For example, many times I have literally sat for hours with my head turned away from the person whom I perceive (rightly or wrongly [projection?]) to be doing this strange, unfathomable, NT communication style. It’s  very uncomfortable but vastly superior to having any interaction with the person-in-question.

I hide so as not to be involved in social interactions that I neither understand nor want to understand or participate in.

I know who I am, and I know what my inner world is about. I want to live in MY inner world, not in someone else’s and certainly not in a group’s conceptual world.

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Secret worlds I have penetrated (even a little):

Autistics

Adoptees

American Traveller-Gypsies

Street people

Prostitution

Mysticism/other worlds/alternate realities

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Ian said he used to be submissive. Now he tells people what he wants. I am becoming that way, too. He inspires me. Ian said he didn’t used to know how to end conversations with NTs. Now he says some nice words, like “Great talking with you.” They get this.

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I would like to have Cesaria Evora (Cape Verde Islands singer, deceased) as a mentor. Can you have a dead person as a mentor? She really inspires me. I like how she always had open house and people could just drop in.

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I can tell people I am “quirky” (again, Ian’s words) if I have some odd thing come up with them and I don’t want to get into the whole Asperger thing.

Bottom line–my new mantra: “I love myself!”

To others: Let me BE ME.

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God, I am tired of travelling. And so sick of hitchhiking. That was a long trip: Seattle to Albuquerque.

As they say in the bluegrass song, Cripple Creek: “This livin’ on the road is gettin’ really old.” Man, is that ever true for me.

I haven’t really settled down since 1974 when I left Hank. It’s all been about moving. In the last 5-7 years, it’s been about real travelling: pretty constant and international.

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Aug. 30, 2013

Aug. 28

I hitched a ride from Gallup to Albuquerque this  morning from a Navajo woman named Vergie. She talked about her life and her family, and I mostly listened.

I posted this about her on Facebook:

Good advice/info from, Vergie, a Navajo woman (40s, 7 kids, recent divorce, back to nursing school) who gave me the last ride of this trip: no worries. pay attention to ME and my agenda. no drama. stay free (let no one tie you down or control you). use and meaning of the parts of a cradle board. don’t get mad or fight or seek retaliation when you are wronged; just get away from the offender(s). use the services of the police when necessary (that’s what they are here for).

In a “comment” below the above post, I wrote:

Vergie, my new Navajo friend and driver, also told me that the eagle (and the hawk) is honored and venerated by the Navajo because eagles can see, from way up high, what goes on below them. Eagles are known as protectors in Western astrology; they are one of the phases of the sign of Scorpio: scorpion, eagle, and dove.

Vergie has asked her grandfather to do a Blessing on her new home. She believes in the Traditional Navajo ways and still participates fully in modern life. And she follows much of her grandmother’s advice.

~~Vergie’s “friend” (old boyfriend with whom she is now reunited) has several aunties who are very protective and one gives Vergie a hard time. This auntie seems to watch everything Vergie does and then she reports it (via texting) to her nephew. Vergie said, “Do I have a microchip somewhere in my body? I’m going to have to take a good shit to get rid of it.” Ha ha.

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I just posted this, a real statement of SELF:

I am an artist, and the way I have been living since 1974–moving around (often with my kids), travelling within the US and outside the country, and hitchhiking–is my art form: American Traveller-Gypsy. Other artists (incl. actors, musicians, etc.) understand this and congratulate me for my accomplishments. People who don’t respect me for what I have done can go to hell; I don’t care what they think.

~~I created that persona of American Traveller-Gypsy based on Judith Okely’s book, The Traveller-Gypsies, based on the English Gypsies. That was an artistic act, a very creative enterprise. I didn’t realize that I did this until very recently. I was just living an interesting life-of-my-own-making.

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Almost impossible to get a beer in Gallup. The Navajo street population of drunks is so great that there are armed guards outside liquor stores. They won’t let you in if you walk up to the store; you have to come in a car to buy alcohol.

Vergie and Andy and Stanley and many other Navajo still speak the language and follow Navajo Traditions.

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We are all a little broken. Life is partly about fixing the parts of ourselves that are broken. We hurt each other because we are broken. Wish others success in their healing.

What’s broken in me: feeling unloved, unwanted, neglected, invisible, numb, powerless….

I have gotten a lot of confidence from hitchhiking and creating a lifestyle that is an art form. I no longer care about the opinions of people who don’t understand or respect me and what I have accomplished.

Flow with–don’t fight against–the current.

I want to let go of my desires. Then, I will leave the cocoon made up of my needs and desires. I will become a butterfly.

Eternal Soulmates: “We are one, but we’re not the same. We have to carry each other.” (~~from the song ONE)

At night in my dreams, I go to the arms of my Beloved. That is home. At night he is a wild cat, prowling. In the daytime, I am an eagle (or hawk), diving.

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Aug. 29

At Nate’s in Santa Fe (pop. 70,000, expands by 30,000 or 40,000 in summer). Very nice host. Lovin’ it. So tired from long trip, and Nate’s house is out in the country. Rough and beautiful. And he’s just wonderful: very creative, a theater person, sings and plays guitar, writes plays and songs… Lots of love and fun.

More Vergie wisdom: be quiet when someone is being crazy (in a bad way) or mean. Don’t get mad, just walk away. Leave.

Vergie’s teeth are very bad, by the way; many are missing. She revealed to me that her husband raped her several times (she used the word “rape”) and two of her seven kids were products of his rapes. He is now her ex-husband, and she said she tells him, “Thank you for the children.” She never goes back and gets mad at him about the past. At the same time, Vergie knows that he was not a good husband. He cheated on her (she didn’t get mad, but she remembered…) and he didn’t work (she did).

Wound up at Cowgirl, a very trendy Santa Fe restaurant, for dinner while waiting for Nate yesterday. It’s a definite “Scene,” a place to see-and-be-seen.  Probably no place like it in ALL of Alaska. That’s fine with me.

The Cowgirl logo has a sexy, outdoorsy, Tomboy girl on it. Cool. The place was buzzing, just super-=stimulating. They let dogs in.

Two nights ago, I woke half-way from a dream, and a man in a (brown?) suit was walking away from a group. My dreaming-self (soul-Self?) said clearly, “That’s him.” WHO? My Soulmate? I couldn’t see his face.

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AUg. 30

Yesterday I had good talks with three people here in Santa Fe: Doro who was drawing the vegetables in a local market. She advised me to get colored pencils that you wet with a sponge. They are paint or charcoal pencils.

Then, with Raphael from Ecuador in a weaving store near the central Plaza (where the native people sell their crafts). He told me he was raised very poor and it doesn’t make you less (or more) happy to have more stuff and money. We were discussing Haiti.

My third contact was a native American man who approached me in the public Library here. He blessed me after we talked a little, praying over me while touching me. Very nice. He smelled like marijuana.

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Yesterday on Facebook I re-posted a woman’s art work on “Clitoracy.” It’s about giving the clitoris more status and getting to know how to please a woman. I posted several things about it in addition to the post about her show. I felt good after doing this.

I got a couch for tonight in Albuquerque. Tomorrow, I go to Ian’s; he’s the head of the Albuquerque GRASP group.

Bought plane ticket (United) online today: Oct. 25 I fly to Anchorage from NOLA! And I paid my rent for Sept. in New Orleans: $325 to Travis Bird.

Aug. 27, 2013

Aug. 18

A meme (/ˈmm/; meem) is “an idea, behavior, or style that spreads from person to person within a culture.” A meme acts as a unit for carrying cultural ideas, symbols, or practices that can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals, or other imitable phenomena. Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes in that they self-replicate, mutate, and respond to selective pressures.

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Aug. 20

At home of Couchsurfer with whom I am not real comfortable. Judgemental person. Ah, well.

Going to Denver today on the Boulder bus.

Absolutely wonderful second visit with Meg and Sam and Archer yesterday up in Ned. We met at Salto (new cafe) and then went up to Mud Lake where Sam fished for crawdads and Archer just played in the water.

Saw Jeremy later. He looks a little unwell (he was in a bad car accident over a year ago), but he has definitely grown up. I have always liked Jeremy; now, I also respect him.

I told Meg that anytime Sam wants to come visit me in Homer, I will pay his airfare. I invited them all up to the Kenai because I know they’d love it, and Jeremy and Sam will like fishing there.

Meg and I went up to Ridge Road to see Diana and Al Nelson up in Ned, and I asked them for a reference for the house-sitting I did for them in 2012 (they have the parrot Big Bird). They mailed it, and I printed it out at the Boulder Library and sent it on to Jean Mack for the Homer house I’m hoping to rent.

I must be from an old Irish tribe who were very violent and went to war a lot. This doesn’t necessarily make for good family and marriage relations. In me it makes for jealousy.

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Aug. 22

I hitched here to Pagosa Springs from Denver today. Nice folks, my CS host Dennis and his son-in-law, Josh, got me to a good on ramp. Then I got a ride from Rich who wanted to be heard. He talked to me about the state of his life at the age of 43.  A nice guy and I will keep him in my prayers. he drove me to Bailey.

At Bailey, I got a ride from Steven, a trucker. Arrived here in Pagosa Springs (beautiful little town) about 5 pm. Having a burger with green chili peppers and a Durango (Colorado) red beer now at Kits Cafe.

My first hour of hitching usually consists of me “acting out” as they call it in psychology. I listen to my iPod, dance, sing loud, wave and smile at drivers, and just generally get all my ya-yas out. It feels good. Then, I settle down, feel the ride comin’, and then, suddenly, there it is.

Life is a miracle.

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Aug. 23

I am having tea and rugellas at a cool baking company (cafe) in Pagosa Springs. I figured out how to camp in town in a little town like this. Blew in off the highway from Denver yesterday in a semi truck.

Ate at a Kip’s Grill, and they told me it would be OK to camp in the bushes out behind their place alongside the creek. I put up my tent around dusk, smoked the joint I rolled (badly) at Dennis’, and slept well. A thunder and lightning storm came during the night and in the morning. The rain didn’t affect me. Good dreams.

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Aug. 24

Walked a long way yesterday, uphill in the heat, getting from downtown Pagosa Springs to the end of the town. Must have been at least two miles. Then, went off the road into some trees to drink a beer.

In the woods I also shaved off the corns on my big toes with some sand paper I had bought, took and sent pics, talked to Seth for a while, ate about a million (my usual amount) sunflower seeds (in the shell), and just enjoyed being quiet and out of the public eye.

After I was there for several hours (and preparing to sleep there), a dog and his human saw me and, instead of talking to me (“What’s happening?” or something), left and went back the way they had come.

Immediately packed up and left. Hitched five miles down the road. The driver told me about Intermittent Explosive Disorder (his son has it), and I wonder if Meg has this.

I walked a little ways, then I threw my pack under a space in a fence, ducked through, and I found a nice place to sleep. Good thing I put up my tent because it rained toward dawn.

Walked a bit and then hitched this morning. Finally, after a mile or two, got a good ride and then another. In Farmington at Monica and Cecilia’s now. A girlie-girl house! Very clean and pretty. Yea!

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Me: very creative; smart; Gypsy blood/spirit; working-class values.

Sam has synesthesia: he told me he can “taste colors.”

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Aug. 25

Jean Mack called me today and offered me the rental in Homer, Alaska. I am very happy about this.

Having a great time with Monica and Cecilia.

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Aug. 26

Hitched from Farmington to Gallup, New Mexico through the beautiful Navajo Nation. Rides from Elsie and Gilbert and their 2 little kids; James (on his car radio: Navajo music and Navajo language); Andy (out of work Navajo art teacher); and Stanley (he lives way up in the mountains “running cattle and sheep” on their ranch).

In Gallup now. Surrounded by Navajo (whom I love), Mexicans, Arabs (Stan said they call Hwy. 66 in Gallup “The Gaza Strip” because of all the Arabs [Palestinians, etc.] who now own the Navajo art stores there”, and of course Caucasians like moi.

Stanley said that 60,000 wild horses live on the Rez. He also told me that “about two thousand years ago” a bunch of Dine had an argument with the main body of the tribe, and they moved up to Alaska and the Yukon.

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Aug. 27

I am staying at some kids’ house, and it’s chaotic and dirty, like many 20-somethings’ homes. If I were really righteous, I’d clean the house for them and not just complain (to myself) about it.

I think I’ve been a surfer long enough; time to become a Couchsurfing host or just give it up. I have the rentals in New Orleans and Homer coming up, so I’ll be off the road for almost a year. That’s good.

The next year’s challenge will be keeping happy while not travelling. I can do it!

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After fixing myself, healing myself, and finding out why I am here in this body, on the earth, my goal is to find and be with my One Love, my eternal soulmate.

There is no “work” involved in this process. The spirits help us. They help me all the time, and eventually I will find him. Perhaps I have found him.

Then, we just let each other be ourselves, as individuals. That’s it.

Aug. 17, 2013

Aug. 13

Got two great rides yesterday: first, an RV out of Billings, Montana. Then a trucker from Calgary (Alberta), Canada picked me up and drove me to Lafayette where I took a local bus (1/2 hr.) to Boulder.

Slept by creek. Rain. A ten-hour day: 8 am to after 6 pm.

Boulder: beautiful geographic area, one-upmanship attitudes, money, many rich American Buddhists, Ph.Ds galore, good restaurants. all-white (Caucasian), privilege and entitlement accepted as the norm, self-identified as liberals, life in a bubble.

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my Costa Rican, Aspie friend, David, posted this yesterday:

Autism & Psychologists

Psychologists find it difficult to help autistic individuals, for a variety of reasons. Craig and I both saw psychologists throughout our teens but we were relatively high functioning and, though our autism was the primary reason we were referred to psychologists, being autistic also meant that we were already thinking harder than most teenagers about how we related to other people and why we acted the way we did. Being autistic meant that we had to be more deliberate in these matter anyway; talking to a psychologist often felt like a duplication of effort. First we´d have to bring this person up to-date on our own thoughts, and then we´d have to watch them fumble toward an answer, though we already had one of our own. Also, because we were smart, and very aware of being smart, in an irritating clever-boy-good-with-numbers-and-long-words sort of way, we were rarely convinced that their answers were any better than our own.

– Send in the idiots, by Kamran Nazeer

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Aug. 14

I had the MOST wonderful visit with Megan, Sam and Archer yesterday. We met on the Pearl Street Mall. I cried when they came; I was overwhelmed emotionally. I don’t usually show those emotions… certainly not in public. But it was so totally amazing. Reunited.

Sam and I are still close at a very deep level.

I am glad to be in Boulder. At Alfalfa’s for breakfast today.  When I get up to walk around here I am super-careful.

My tent was damp, my clothes were wet, it was cold, and I didn’t sleep well last night. Oh, well. Then, this morning I was tired and it was overcast and chilly out so I just left my tent and big backpack there. It’s not really visible, but it’s not totally hidden either. I have everything that’s important with me in my little daypack: IDs, passport, etc.

I am learning these things:

Love everyone (not personally, but generally)

Trust (what, really, can I not afford to lose?)

Peace. Surrender. Respond. Receive. (Feminine values)

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I posted this on Facebook today;

People with Asperger Syndrome may sometimes act arrogant about their above-average intelligence, but if you were labeled “disabled” and regarded as inferior, you also might get defensive and flaunt your special abilities.

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Aug. 16

Now, when I hitchhike, I just say a silent “Namaste” (the buddha in me bows to the buddha in you). I don’t want to deal with these motherfucker’ problems.

In Boulder on the Pearl Street Mall: money, feeling good about oneself, and intimations of helping to save the world.

Reading Creole Belle, James Lee Burke’s latest novel. It’s good and it’s very rough stuff. About the really bad guys.

Got my first negative reference on Couchsurfing.org from Ingrid, the idiot girl with the psycho boyfriend in Spokane. I gave her a mild, but very negative reference back. A negative reference shows a person has balls and has stood up to her abusers! (I am talking about me, of course.)

Think I have a nice Homer rental. Why am I doing this to myself? Love? Yeah.

from Creole Belle:

“Is there any worse curse than approval? Have you ever learned anything from people who accept our world as it is?… it’s a fine thing to belong to a private club based on rejection and difference. I’ll go a step further. I believer excoriation is the true measure of our merit.”

excoriate: to censure scathingly

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…protect the innocent and help those who have no voice…. (from Burke’s Creole Belle)

“Is there any worse curse than approval? Have you ever learned anything from people who accept our world as it is?… it’s a fine thing to belong to a private club based on rejection and difference. I’ll go a step further. I believer excoriation is the true measure of our merit.” (Burke’s CREOLE BELLE)

excoriate: to censure scathingly

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Aug. 17

Saw wonderful documentary “Monica and David” last evening here at Melissa’s in Boulder. Hyein, another Couchsurfer is also at the house (she moves into a Naropa dorm today).

The documentary is about the marriage of a Miami (Florida) couple with Down Syndrome. It’s really amazing and made me feel so good. I love Down Syndrome people for their total honesty and loving natures. (OK, I’m generalizing, but it’s pretty true, I think.)

Another thing that made me feel really good is how Down Syndrome people don’t push or force things. They don’t feel pressure to conform or do any Neuro-typical stuff. I want to learn that.

Monica’s and David’s standards are not those of mainstream USA.  They don’t try to compete with others or “prove” how great they are. They live and love and want to be in charge of their own lives. They have good, supportive families. They seem to think very well of other people in general. They are not assertive (as Monica’s mom pointed out), but I think with more societal  respect and less familial protection, Down Syndrome people like these two (“high functioning” Downs, I would call them) can make a real place for themselves within our society.

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Glad to not be camping. Just tired of moving around, travelling. Tired of my backpack. Want a home.

My Traveller and Couchsurfing friends are some of the most wonderful folks I have ever met. I get along with them really well. Yesterday: Boulder CS host Laura, Lucy from France (been here a few days; been on the road 5 months), Castain (arrived here from Germany 2 days ago), and I went to Avery Brewpub. Great time.

Last night here at Melissa’s, Mel, Hyein (from Korea) and I had lots of fun, eating, drinking wine, and watching the movie “Monica and David.” I slept well for the first time in four or five days (couldn’t sleep when camping: ground too hard and I was cold).

Got my first negative CS reference the other day from nut-case Ingrid in Spokane. I guess I am such a opinionated person now (and willing to stand up for my beliefs) that I am encountering opposition and people who don’t like me. Good! I gave her a mild, but very negative reference back (not a personal attack).

Aug. 11, 2013

Aug. 9

I am here in Missoula, Montana. Hitched here yesterday: 5 rides, all from women. Women in these northern states–Alaska, Montana, Idaho, Washington–are more independent, tough and daring (judging by their willingness to pick me up). Women in general (in other states) usually won’t stop to pick me up. Considering my age and sex, this is very surprising.

One ride was from a woman from the “lower class” (right below the working class, but above the lowest class (the “underclass”) is a class of people who work and also are very familiar with prison/jail, homelessness, domestic and child abuse, violence, and mental problems in the general population. This class of people is very alienated from the mainstream, and I don’t come into contact with them very often.

I felt very comfortable with this mother of 5, but I did notice a few things. When we got to Motel 6 outside Missoula, I went into her motel room briefly (while she got her dog settled). She called a male friend, and when she told him she had picked me up, he immediately assumed I was a local homeless person. At this point I realized with a shock that if my driver thought I was dangerous to her in any way, she would probably have attacked me.

People from this social strata have suffered. Life asks more of them; the pressure and stress they face is greater than for people in other social classes. People in the lower class are familiar with violence and have learned how to deal with it, usually with returned aggression.

What may appear to be learned helplessness can, in these lower classes, be surrender in the face of overwhelming difficulties which affect them both personally and socially. The connection between the social and personal difficulties for such people is always being debated. Psychologists see the personal as the foundation for all other problems; sociologists see society as the basis.

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My new hitchhiking attitude: “soft face, no determination” (from Michael Yee yoga session at Beverly’s in Green Bluff, Wa. yesterday); no fear of men; just look at people as they drive past.

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Aug. 11

All-day hitching yesterday. Long day. Five good rides–nice people.

Hitched in Laurel (outside Billings) for half an hour. People were getting off their day-shift at the oil refinery. Gene, who picked me up and who lives there (musician, my age, never oil refinery worker, has own business), said their jobs are boring and very noisy.

These folks had angry faces; some young men gave me the finger (that almost never happens). This is the proletariat who never dropped out and became American Traveller-Gypsies. This is the group from which our soldiers come, and they are angry, underpaid, and hard workers for the rich bosses. They do not like people who have dropped out.

I met Tim when I was hitching in Livingston. He and his wife live in Arizona, but they travel (big packs). Tim’s wife is in jail for a week (drunk in public), so he and Sam (?) are camped by the on-ramp, waiting for her to get out (tonight).People call us “homeless”, but we’re actually part of a group: American Traveller-Gypsies (just like the  English Gypsies and the Irish Travellers).

Tim invited me to camp by him and Sam (“We’re harmless.”) if I didn’t catch a ride; he also said that under the first freeway bridge near us it was dry and there was a sheet of plywood. On his was back to camp from the supermarket, Tim gave me some fried chicken (“Are you hungry?… I know you are.”). He had about twelve beers for himself and Sam. Nice guy. I have known and camped with guys like Tim in the past; they usually are harmless.

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How much about my secret, inner self can I reveal to my Soulmate? So much of it is unconscious; I’ve hidden it from myself. Much of this true material, soul material, is forbidden in society. Socially, we are required to repress this stuff and act in “appropriate” ways. These are always ways that benefit the society, but these same ways stifle the spirit.

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Aug. 11

Talked to Laura, an Irish music whistle and flute player, and she told me that my hair (our hair [hers is thick, bushy, wavy/curly, too]) is CELTIC HAIR ! I didn’t know that. I am so happy to finally know that I don’t have “bad hair.” I have Celtic hair, and I love it.

I am also recognizing (finally) and meeting more American Traveller-Gypsies. Thank you, Goddess! That is another of my Social Groups.

Hitchhiking is about surrendering to fate. I love learning how to do that. Trust and generosity are other lessons from both hitching and Couchsurfing. Important to me spiritually.

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I posted this on Facebook today:

I am meeting lots of American Traveller-Gypsies on the road. I have been hanging out with these folks, off and on, for almost 40 years without understanding who we were socially. We are people who have dropped out of the proletariat (or middle class), and we are part of the local population genetically (we don’t have India roots, like the Rom).
American Traveller-Gypsies (like our English and Irish counterparts) travel a lot–and not just from one town to the next to use the homeless resources (we usually shun those things, preferring to camp out and make it on our own). We just love to travel!
The sedentary citizens are almost completely unaware of who we are and how we live–to them, we are just homeless people.

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My 3 Wishes:

1.)     Evolve and grow–as a spirit.

2.)     Reunite in this lifetime, in the physical form, with my one, eternal Soulmate.

3.)     My loved ones are safe, well, and always protected.

Next 3  wishes:

4.)     The earth and all Sentient Beings are well and happy.

5.)     I have a big group of friends who all know each other.

6.)     My Soulmate and I will never be separated again in any way.

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Appreciate others for being who they are, for just BEING and not just for what they can do for me.

Staying with the only people in Billings, Montana who are from the Czech Republic. And they are very nice people. I especially like my host’s mom, Eva.

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Someone asked me recently, “Who are you?” I said, “I am a pilgrim, a seeker.”

A pilgrim (from the Latin peregrinus) is a traveler (literally one who has come from afar) who is on a journey to a holy place. Typically, this is a physical journeying (often on foot) to some place of special significance to the adherent of a particular religious belief system.

In the spiritual literature of Christianity, the concept of pilgrim and pilgrimage may refer to the experience of life in the world (considered as a period of exile) or to the inner path of the spiritual aspirant from a state of wretchedness to a state of beatitude.

SEEKER: One that seeks: a seeker of the truth.

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Aug. 7, 2013

Aug. 5

In Seattle at CSer’s house. I was reading an article on the super-wealthy Inman (Duke family: tobacco) twins who were so abused as children (Rolling Stone magazine, Aug.15, 2013).

It made me think about my childhood again. Mom made me stay home with her (as a companion) so much. I could go out and play (like, with Jane and the neighborhood kids), but I was really kept on a tight rein, hit (spanked and slapped), and the supervision and control really amounted to a kind of abuse (it would have been called an old-fashioned upbringing, I guess).

I was an only, adopted child with parents who a.) were isolated themselves from the community (as post-WW II Germans in the USA),  b.) had very few friends, and c.) had their own psychological problems (Mom: depression; Dad: some kind of psychosis, withdrawal, emotionally illness).

I think I got a “learned helplessness” out of it.  through high school, Mom (with Dad in the background) controlled every aspect of my life, from my clothes and hair to my room to my “free time,” to my private journal to my boyfriends, ad nauseam. As with most abused kids, I was a staunch defender of Mom, my abuser.

I learned to sense things that, according to our society, “aren’t there” (like spirits). Having beliefs unlike most other people in your society is not a bad thing. I love my inner life and my beliefs. Much of my spirituality consists of beliefs held by people in other cultures and in non-Christian religions (my belief in the one, eternal Soulmate, for example–a Hindu belief). American society certainly doesn’t have a great tradition of understanding either the spiritual life or magic and mysticism.

My desire to shelter myself from unwanted influences and people is interesting considering how I’ve chosen to live for most of my life: moving and travelling. The way I have been travelling for the past few years has been not only an escape from people but also a constant barrage of new people. I  leave these new folks days after meeting them.

I am afraid that, after a brilliant beginning to our friendship, I eventually won’t like the new people I meet (this has happened so many times in the past). And I’m afraid these new people eventually won’t like me. Still, I want to try to settle down–in Homer, Alaska. Try again to build a base where friendship and love can grow. Perhaps I need to learn how to love more and better and let the rest (their feelings toward me) take care of itself. You can’t MAKE people love you; all you can do is love them.

I dwell on my childhood because it has shaped me and left me with lots of sore spots. I haven’t fully healed (do we ever?). I relate to and identify with people like me: orphans, adoptees, abused … This identification makes for hard friendships: we are people who didn’t learn good communication skills or how to trust others.

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Can’t lay claim to any man. Can’t KNOW FOR SURE (not in this lifetime anyway; I’m not evolved enough to have that kind of clarity) that any man is my One and Only Eternal Soulmate. He’s out there (or he may be a spirit), but all I can do is keep trying and hoping to find him.

Can’t make someone into that person; it’s either him or it’s not him. So I can never put myself first in any man’s life and think I’m #1. And no man can do that to me either (because I think me and my Soulmate are probably at the same level of evolution). So… At least I am clear on all this even if I don’t know who He is.

I have so much to learn still about who I am. That’s a lifelong task: to know myself. I am still enjoying it, too, because I can see the progress I am making. I have learned SO MUCH about myself. And I still am learning.

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Aug. 6

I understand that I was incredibly overprotected (by American standards) as a child. Mom would stay home alone all day everyday. She had one or two neighbor women who were friends (and only one was a close friend), so she was alone a lot. (Later, when I was in high school, Mom had a really good friend, Lois. That was wonderful for her.)

Mom depended on me to keep her company once school was out. I had to come right home after school every day. Only in my senior year of high school, when I became a cheerleader (a social status Mom and Dad had–and wanted–to respect), was I allowed to not come home right after school was out.

By choosing boyfriends who had abusive childhoods, I effectively eliminated any possibility that my sexual relationships with men would succeed. We were all too wounded to relate to each other in a kind and loving way. Even honesty was difficult. I certainly wasn’t honest with any of them (except Hank who got to know me during our 8 1/2 year marriage) about who I was: I didn’t know how to be. I thought that if they really knew me, they wouldn’t like me.

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I start hitching to Boulder, Colorado today from Issaquah Park & Ride (Mike, my CS host, will drive me out there). I’ll take about a week to make the trip: each section of my trip involves only 3 or 4 hours of driving time, and I have couches (through Couchsurfing.org) all along the way.

Patience, trust and surrender (to the road) are some of the many things I learn from hitchhiking.

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When I was growing up, we took baths once a week, European-style. Mom washed my hair for me even during some of my high school years. I was raised in a very old school, traditional European way.

Recently, in Homer, I stayed with someone who didn’t have a shower. We took a shower once a week, downtown, for $6 for 1/2 hour. I liked it. I felt really good after a week of being “dirty.” It just felt nice and natural.

In a house with a shower, I wash daily. But it does get to feeling a little compulsive and unnecessary. Americans are a little “too clean” for my taste sometimes. This whole germ-phobia we have is absurd sometimes… (not always, of course; some germs are deadly).

Dad was from Europe (born in 1901); Mom, born in 1908, was first-generation German-American. She and her family (10 kids) grew up in Roxbury, which back then was a community on the outskirts of Boston–it’s now an all-black, inner-city ghetto. The folks in Mom’s section of Roxbury (Thwing Street) were hated because of the two World Wars the US waged with Germany.

Mom chose all my clothes (or at least supervised my choice of clothes) almost all the way through high school (or perhaps ALL the way through [I forget]). She made me keep my hair very short (Muslims think women’s hair must be covered in public or it will inflame men. Was Mom thinking the same?)

When I had boyfriends (one serious one in high school, Dave Carroll), Mom stayed up worrying wildly until I got home at the required time. If I was late, there was a row. I think Mom thought that since my birth-mom had an illegitimate child (me) I was vulnerable. The bastard gene undoubtedly. Also, sex was so very taboo when Mom was growing up (and she was Catholic to boot) that it was like a curse (and only a pleasure for men), rather than a blessing, as we now know it to be for both sexes.

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Here is the wonderful way my Santiago, Dominican Republic pal, Paula Bussi, translated one of her posts (in Spanish) on Facebook for me today:

The Life is the art of meeting, even if both of disagreement for life!

This is so hopeful about finding and staying with my Soulmate. It’s about “meeting,” and, even if we disagree, we can stay together for life. OK, so I have reframed it a bit, but that’s my prerogative! I see it as a divine message.

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Got a good ride to Spokane. Dave and his little dog, Kia. Nice, nice, nice. Great ride.

Now I’m at a house filled with uptight conservatives or maybe they’re all just in bad moods. I don’t know. I brought a 40-oz. beer; I hope to get pot from the neighbors. These abstemious people aren’t interested in drinking or smoking. Ugh! Didn’t my host read my profile?

My host is preoccupied. With her boyfriend. With god knows what. She doesn’t seem to have time for me now that she realizes who I am. I think she’s surprised that I’m an old lady whose hobbies are drinking and pot-smoking. I  made my Couchsurfing profile much clearer about these things. And I specified: don’t host me unless you are at least A LITTLE CRAZY.

OK. So it’s my fault as much as theirs that I’m lonely here. I can just look at it as: I have a few days of peace here. These are not “my group” of people. Oh, well. The next group will be better… or the one after that.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find “my group.” I’m such a social outsider. It’s mostly my Aspergers so that’s where I should start looking for my group.

My host may want me to be “nicer.” Sorry. That’s not me. I’m just being me. They are the conventional, “nice” people; I am the rebel, the punk, the funky crazy old woman. These people aren’t the wild artists I prefer. And they certainly know nothing about Asperger Syndrome.

I’m quite sure these people’s restraint is wise and will give them long lives. I’d rather be wild and have fun and live a shorter life. Yeah, it’s true.

Ah, the trials and tribulations of Couchsurfing. It’s not all fun and games. Eastern Washington state is apparently conservative. How on earth did the recreational pot law pass last November?

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My CS host and I had a little chat last night so we are on the same page now. Good. She’s totally into other stuff, and I like hosts who are at least a little into getting to know me. Ah, well. I guess I need to settle down and find my own friend group.

I am realizing that, while an ideal relationship (with a man) would include a good sex life (and monogamy), I most likely won’t find that in this lifetime. My Soulmate and I may meet (or may have met), but I think he may be much younger than me (how did that happen?). We will each be into the sex life that is appropriate (I usually hate that word) for our age group.

I would not like to have a monogamous relationship with a very young man. At this age I know too much  to deal full-time with someone who is just starting to learn The Stuff Of A Lifetime.

I’m barely even jealous anymore (and that’s a good thing). The pleasures of sex are still very apparent to me, but the games and dramas surrounding sex (and relationships in general) are quickly receding into the dark and dismal past. I can still fall in love, but I no longer want to be controlled by sexual lust. That was a long, difficult period in my life.

Plain, old sex almost never completely satisfied my lust. Maybe for a moment or two. Then, I’d need/want it again. The trouble was that the men I went to for sexual satisfaction never were men I could love or even like very much. Our contact was usually brief, and I chose them only for sex.

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Lust is an emotion or feeling of intense desire in the body. The lust can take any form such as the lust for knowledge, the lust for sex or the lust for power. It can take such mundane forms as the lust for food as distinct from the need for food. Lust is a powerful psychological force producing intense wanting for an object, or circumstance fulfilling the emotion.

~~Wikipedia dictionary

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I think lust or intense (and perhaps uncontrolled/illicit) sexual desire is an evolutionary stage that most of us go through. My whole life was filled with lust.

Now I feel like I have escaped it or had the burden of it lifted from me.  I explored it as fully as possible. I was a sex addict for awhile. I tried everything I could, and I regret a few of those experiments  (including a few things I tried when I was “not in my right mind” [i.e. drunk or otherwise incapacitated). They hurt me and others.

The eight or nine relationships I had during that long period (including my marriage) were doomed from the start because they were based on sexual lust  These are the lessons of a lifetime. We all have to learn them.

I don’t like hanging out with couples who are so into each other that they have no attention left for me or anyone else. Perhaps I should use times when I’m with such couples to learn about relationships by observing them. I’ve noticed that some people, some couples, seem to be aware that their mutual admiration leaves others out in the cold. These wise people don’t flaunt their love in front of others who may be lonely or jealous.

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That Couchsurfing host I was with turned out to be psycho. She and her housemates didn’t like me. I wasn’t supposed to even sit on their porch this afternoon (I was sent to a local park). I was supposed to wait til my host came home at 6 pm.

Strange people who called me “rude” because last night I was too tired to socialize with them. My host’s “partner” is a young psychopath. And my host and one other housemate (a guy) seem to be his minions. The psychopath didn’t like me so they decided they didn’t like me. A very sick household. I packed up my stuff, slammed the door behind me, and called another CSer here in Spokane.

Aug. 4, 2013

Aug. 1

Life doesn’t end here. It never ends.

To want someone to want/love you is silly. If that person is your True Love, he will love you and want you. It goes with the territory.  That’s what being The Two Who Are ONE is about: the constant, eternal longing for each other. If he is not your True Love, it’s absurd to try to make him want/love you. It’s just a big waste of time and energy. And for what?

For so long, I have identified myself by the reflection in my True Love’s eyes when I see him in my night-dreams and in visions. Now it’s time to get another view of myself: who am I in the world?

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Aug. 2

You can’t MAKE someone be your One Love. They either are or they are not. And there is only ONE for everyone.

This is the person who completes you, makes you blissfully happy, and takes you to (a place we call) heaven. I have felt this joy and it’s incomparable. There’s nothing like it in the world. It’s the ultimate.

You can’t LOSE this kind of love. It just is. It’s yours–yours and your Soulmate’s. The Two Who Are One.

I may have found mine, but I will never “claim” him. I will let it go. Let him go. Let both of us be ourselves and be free to do whatever we want. We ARE together. It is our past, our present and our destiny throughout all eternity: to be together. It is pure Love. It is the best thing that could ever be.

There is nothing to DO. Nothing to PROVE. Nothing to say/be/etc. It is the one thing that just IS. And is ineradicable and eternal.

The man who I think is mine may not be mine. So keep it very loose. No holding on. No controls. No possessiveness. No jealousy. And, above all, NO FEAR. It’s a great ride. Have fun!!

We’ll laugh about this when it’s all over, and we’re just contentedly, permanently back together in all ways (no separations at all [the physical separation now is a test of some kind, a lesson…]). Then peace will reign in the land because all will be bliss.

My bliss is Him and Me, locked eternally in the tantric embrace (me sitting in his lap with his dick in me). (~~Hindu texts and other ancient and esoteric sources refer to this Soulmate bond; new sources like Deepak Chopra’s book SOULMATES also make reference to it. The concept of eternal Soulmates/Lovers can be seen everywhere in this material world; people see it when they are ready.)

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My Facebook posts today:

True Love is about starting over every day, every week, every time you see each other again, as if you have never met before. It’s like in that movie, 50 FIRST DATES (with Adam Sandler/Drew Barrymore). A great, all-consuming love (the true Heaven) is reborn over and over again throughout all eternity.
The Soulmate bond has no beginning and no end; it always was and always will be.
The way to know if someone is your ONE LOVE, your eternal Soulmate (and there is ONLY ONE), is to see if your Love bond with them is reborn constantly and without losing any depth and intensity (indeed, if it’s real it will continuously, eternally GROW in positive ways).

 

The Two-Who-Are-One, the Divine Marriage, is real and can be found not only in the spiritual world, but also (when people are more evolved) in the physical world.
The Keys to ONE LOVE are: 1.) no fear, 2.) letting go, not holding on, and 3.) always moving toward your own individual happiness: doing what you want and being true to yourself.
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Aug. 3
Had fun meeting Becky and James at Matt’s house here in Anchorage.
I feel my Soulmate close to me when I am at my happiest and most contented. That energy draws him; that’s how he recognizes me: by my happiness! Wow. So awesome.
Then, of course, when my Soulmate is with me (when I can FEEL him close to me), I feel better than at any other time. I can’t even describe in words how good it feels. That’s what led me to him, too: the wonderful feeling of our togetherness- in-spirit. It’s better than anything else. Just amazing!
Growing toward this feeling keeps me on the straight and narrow. Wanting to be with him in every way (physical and spiritual) makes me want to only be good in this life and get no more negative karma. No fear; just learn to love and live together.
“I fell in love with your body and soul.” (song: It’s Your Voodoo Workin’)
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When I am with others, walking somewhere for example, I can not focus exclusively on my own thoughts (as I can when I’m alone). As a result, I not only don’t think my own thoughts, but I miss everything around me (the environment, landscape, etc.). It’s a lot of work to BE with someone. I think it’s something I want to learn how to do better.
What I wrote on Facebook today:
Dream. Believe in miracles and impossible causes. Know that you can find True Love. Understand that happiness is your birthright. Love totally and completely. Expect wonderful things to come to you.

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Have no fear.

I can see paths where there are no paths.

I believe. I am a true believer. I believe that some people are healers; I believe in True Love. I know spirits surround us.

Posted this on Facebook last night:

No matter how beautiful evil is you must not be attracted to it. Resist all that is evil and unhealthy and unkind. Let love be your guide forever.

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I was one of the first punks out on the street. I was like a half-punk, since I was also raising children.

I don’t have to hold up the world with my Sagittarian (moon and mercury) enthusiasm and positive attitude. Those come naturally to me, but I don’t have to work at spreading them around.

I also don’t have to pretend (overcompensating) to be friendly, outgoing and comfortable in social situations. I never am. I have been putting on a show for others. Fake it til you make it.

I do like people and some social situations very much, and it helps me when I attend those events and go to those places with another person (or two or three…).

I feel more vulnerable when I reveal my true self because then unscrupulous or unaware people know how to get to me; they can see my weaknesses. But, the truth is, being authentic makes me stronger. Self-control is real power, not control over others.

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I posted this on Facebook a few days ago:

Besides tales of true lovers finding each other here on earth, my favorite fairy tale is The Ugly Duckling. That was me: my adoptive family thought I was flawed because I wasn’t like them. Then, I found my birth-family and my real friends (which are also family). Now, I know I am a perfectly magnificent swan.