WICKHAM CP, FL—I drove south as the early morning sun rose to the east. Traffic was light as most people were either sleeping in or reading their Sunday paper.
The last few days had been draining: trying to write software while feeling the pressure to get more coding done, hunting for parts for the rig online and in stores, and slowly (oh so terribly slowly) piecing together the components of the van.
My new refrigerator arrived a couple days ago, but upon testing it Saturday, it rapidly got super cold—completely ignoring the temperature settings—then after hitting -17 degrees, displayed an error code of “LL” (Lower Limit?). Being the weekend, Whynter’s customer service was closed and I wasn’t able to find any useful information online and with my departure date rapidly approaching I was feeling a bit helpless and frustrated. My Frog Master visualization helped dramatically here (“Why wouldn’t he be concerned?”) but I had to keep reminding myself of it—had to keep picturing him sitting on my shoulder just contently abiding.
So the drive south was a nice break—soothing and picturesque—and it reminded me of exactly why I was going through all this work—why it was all worth it: to return to the beauty of the Road and just meander.
I exited 95 at Deerfield Beach and instead of heading directly toward my brother’s, I drove around the town that I had lived in for over a decade to see what had changed… and what hadn’t.
Driving toward the beach, I saw the Walking Man—a tall black man who walks shirtless and pot-bellied around and around and around his block, all day, every day, day in and day out, for years and years and years. In all the time I lived there, I had never talked to him, even though I had often considered it. His demeanor is always so focused on the twenty feet in front of him (as he walks and walks and walks), that to interrupt his reverie seems like a disturbance or an intrusion.
I cruised by the beach, then drove by my old house and standing outside—the only people visible on the street—were the current owners. I drove slowly past, admiring the changes they’d made to the landscaping, then braked—having realized the odds-defying synchronicity—relaxed, and backed up. I rolled down the window and waved to the family standing curiously in their driveway and ended up chatting with the father, Alex. He was a very friendly sort and we discussed all the changes he had made. He had a remarkably laid back attitude and a soothing voice and I left feeling quite content and blessed. Blessed because it felt almost as if Alex and his wife and sleeping infant child had been standing outside waiting for me to drive by—the only people visible on the street that morning, standing in the driveway of my old house… patiently abiding.
I pointed the rig west and headed toward my brother’s home—to his garage and power tools and mechanical knowledge—for a long hot, wet and tiring day of installing the aluminum rack and new solar panels upon the roof of the van.
It's Time To Wake Up
Mystical Oneness and the Nine Aspects of Being is a step-by-step guide to enlightenment and beyond.
It's Time To Be Happy
It's Time Let Go
Imagine I have only seven days left to live.