This sign in Denver reminded me of one of my favorite songwriter/authors. Something about it said to me that there is an odd comfort at being at home on the road. As the song goes, "the motel life ain't much a life, and a hotel ain't much a home. But I'm finding out that a house ain't neither." -Richmond Fontaine
It's 7:34 on a Wednesday evening and I find myself laying on my floor next to a vanilla scented candle. I didn't think the van smelled particularly bad when I bought it, but on a misguided stroll through the candle aisle at tonight's Walmart of choice, I stumbled accross the almost creamy, yet subtle essence of this vanilla candle.
I picked it up, along with some Clif bars for tomorrow and a box of Zebra Cakes for the evening. It's strange to me that a little bit of sweet, sugary heaven like a Zebra Cake can do so much for one's sense of enlightenment.
I ate my one cake for the night, and now I'm laying on my floor. It's less comfortable physically than my bed, but I do feel more secure here, as if I'm hunkered down. I can hear traffic and people and gusts of wind, but all I can see is shades of lights and the half moon through the crack between my curtains.
I ponder here what I am doing in this van. I feel like my reason for being here is starting to really become my reason for being here. When I moved in here in September, I had planned to stay around the city, keep my life as normal as possible with the exception of my place of residence. Now, after three months, I feel compelled to do more. I don't know exactly what "more" is, but I do know that I am starting to get restless, as if there is a big party going on and I have yet to join in. I feel like I'm standing on the front door but I'm not even knocking.
Friends of mine are having beautiful experiences, all drastically different by nature yet strikingly similar in power and scope. I have friends having children, friends getting married, friends going back to school, friends opening business, and friends discovering new things about their families that they had never known. I even have a friend running for President of the United States.
What am I doing? I'm living in a van! And? Um... living in my van and... occasionally climbing? Occasionally climbing up a small local hill that tops out at 8100 feet? I look at this with a self-diagnosis of WTF?
I lay here, now, at 7:48, and I feel compelled to do a little bit more. It's 2009. 2008 flew by too quickly. If I don't act soon, this new year and many more will fly by, too.
On my way to a chuch meeting, I snapped this picture of a dry, winter, state capitol building. It didn't break 30 all day today, which is bitter. It does, however, make the air seem clearer and more picturesque. I suppose it's just proof that there is beauty in all things.
My childhood friend Stephen and his wife Crystal had their second kid, a little boy named Ivan Victor. It's weird to see such precious life being given to beautiful babies. My co-worker had her little Kiara on New Years Day. I'm envious of these gifts, yet I'm still grateful for the gifts and joys I'm still able to celebrate in my own life.
I stayed at the Ashram in Crestone, Colorado, the day after Christmas. The Sangre de Christo mountains were beautifully frosted with snow, and the San Luis Valley was expansive and barren. I learned many things about Hindu as a religion, and participated in a fire ceremony honoring the New Moon and giving thanks for the blessings we've accumulated over the years. It was an amazing experience.
I'm reminded as I gather here with friends, my family, that love is a stronger bond than any other scientific or religious bond proven or theorized. I'm with friends now, my adopted family. My love is sleeping in the basement. Times are good. The insults and jokes and slander is flying, and life is beautiful. And now I'm a schmuck... number 7. That is all.
I've only recently figured out how to easily post on my blog with my portabizzle... this is the inside of my house. It's the last day of 2008, quarter after 4 in the afternoon.
