My Dearest Friends and Family,
Wednesday,
May 14, 2014
In addition to fond
memories, I return from Cuba this time with Lord only knows what. Time will
tell, or perhaps not, if I’m lucky, depending on how defensive my immune system
is feeling. The young blonde trainee immigration officer that took my picture
at passport control held in one hand a gold handkerchief, which she used as a
nostril tourniquet the whole time she was processing me to sop up the nonstop
snot flow dripping from her bright red nose. In the other hand she held my
passport, which she used, first, to block a view of a marathon yawn, then a cough
attack, then a mindblowing sneeze. “Just keep it,” I would have said, when she
was finished, did my life, literally, not depend upon my global permission slip
in her possession. Instead, I tried to minimize contact with whatever strain of
Cuban croop she had by receiving my stamped documents with only the gingerly
clamped pads of my thumb and index fingers.
Here’s what I want to
know: Could the shiny, waxed, still-sporting-the-inspection-sticker Winn Dixie Gala
apple Immigration stole from my
backpack when I came into the country
be carrying anything worse than what she was sending me out with? I’m lying about them stealing
it. It was confiscated in full view. I’m just bitter over the loss of one of my
most powerful bartering tools while on tour in Cuba. Apples are a rarity on the
island.
Monday,
May 20, 2014
A week later. Power of
suggestion? Had I not written the above beginning to this travelogue, would my
nose be unstuffed? My lungs clear? My throat humming a tune of healthful glee? I
don’t know if giving it attention had anything to do with its manifestation.
What I do know is my immune system was not feeling defensive enough; Blondie
contaged me and I’ve been down for the count for days. (I’m aware that
“contage” is not recognized as in official existence by the head Poo Paas of
the English language, but there is a need for a verb form of the adjective
“contagious” and I’m taking it upon myself to meet that need.)
Speaking of need, I need to write this travelogue….for lots
of reasons, some of which I will wind my way to as this sharing unfolds. One is
to get the rust out of the pipes. 5 months without a post!! I have missed you,
and I have missed writing. Well, that’s not exactly accurate, because I have
been writing, every single day. What I miss is following through to completion,
sharing and hearing back from you. I’ve an extensive collection of starts. For
example:
April 17, 2014
Of late my blog is
inundated with spam comments, or perhaps it would be more precise to call them
promises to enlarge our penises. I say “our” because they (the evil spammers)
hope that you (my beloved readers) and I will see their offer, feel inadequate,
and jump right on it. You can do what you want, but I politely decline. Even if
I had a wanker….and I did want one when I was a little girl because I never saw
the back of my brothers’ britches splattered with pee after a t-t in the woods….I
wouldn’t let a mere mortal mess with the proportions my creator deemed adequate at the time of my
birth. Measuring in at 5’0’’ and 98 lbs, I am evidence in the flesh that size
isn’t everything….well, what I mean to say is bigger isn’t necessarily better,
especially when something important has fallen behind a half-ton dresser,
perched on short, stubby legs, and needs fishing out.
Anyway, several times a
week I receive an automatically generated email advising me that a penis
promise is awaiting moderation. Yesterday when I opened gigiaustin.com
to can the most recent spam, I got totally hooked reading my last post. “Dang,”
I thought, “that’s a decent piece of writing that rings of truth.” It felt
gratifying. Furthermore, I realized how my travelogues frame important events
in my life. They are like pictures in an album or snapshots on a wall. They keep
turning points alive and significant.
4:13
a.m. Wednesday, May 21, 2014
It’s another day and what I was writing feels to
have petered out. Something has me awake at this Gawd-awful hour of 4 a.m. without an
ounce of sleepiness at hand. I want to make good use of the time and set dawn
as my deadline for clicking “publish” on this travelogue, lest it be added to
the warehouse of starts in the “undone” folder and I continue to feel
disconnected from you. I’m stuck,
honestly, about what to write next and pose to myself the question as a
starting point, How do I catch them up on my life since “Travelogue 48,
Uruguay: Flashmob Confessions”? How do I explain the silence? It’s not like you
haven’t noticed.
“Have you
dropped me from your email list?” someone wrote a few months back, “I haven’t
received anything from you in ages.”
Then another friend ended an email with, “Are you
slacking or what? Haven’t gotten an update in a long time.”
Truth is, I haven’t dropped anybody nor do I consider
the silence slacking. It’s best deemed a fallow period, a normal and necessary
dormancy for any seed to sprout . And it has felt a little bleak, like a field
in winter, and dense and heavy as if a hoe pulled a good amount of dirt up over
the seed. I’ve been busy living, I suppose. On a list level, since January I’ve
lead five trips to Cuba, hosted a friends’ visit to Uruguay and muddled through
a seemingly excessive amount of downtime, mostly in a one room cabaña in the lower
income, redneck section of Punta del Diablo. On an inward level, I’ve been surfing the
waves of my intensely contemplative Scorpio nature, as reflected in this
travelogue start:
March
18, 2014
“I WANT to be
FUCKING JOYFUL already!!!!” I screamed, palms splayed open to the Uruguayan sky,
which on a clear, autumn day is about as close to a portrait of God as you are
going to get.
“What do you want from me!!??? What!? What!? What!? What!?”
Is that any way to address the Source that
made you? The only Entity with any real power that might be able to assist you?
Would
a tone like that put you in a helpful mood?
I recognized my
harshness immediately. I don’t know. God is probably tone deaf, like an
infinitely patient mother whose mantra is “this, too, shall pass.” What I do
know is that the frustration with which I delivered the question watermarks me
as a bonafied human. It’s affirming. Sometimes I feel so different that I
wonder if I was shipped to the wrong planet, but one temper tantrum like that
and I know I’m right here where I belong, working through my shit like the rest
of the herd attending classes at the Planet Earth School.
Bird calls signal the approach of dawn, so if I am to keep meet my deadline...ready or not, here I send! I chuckle at how I always get to the end of these and realize I haven't said what you most what to know: Where are you?? What are you doing? Where are you going next?
At present I'm housesitting on High Hope Ranch
and it looks like I'll be spending most of the summer here.
Now-end of July work High Hope Ranch, Glen Rose, TX
sometime in July trip to VA
Aug 7-18 Vision Quest in Oregon
Aug 18-24 Wake Up Festival, Estes Park CO
Aug 24-Sep 2 Hang with friend in Oakland, CA
Sep 2- Dec 5 Training/Trip to lead LeapNow group to Central America
(Yes! I got the job and I am super psyched about it! www.leapnow.org)
Hope to see those of you who live in Dallas. Consider a visit to the ranch (www.highhoperanch.com). Actually, you don't have to be from Dallas to come for a visit.
The sun, she peaks over the ridge and so I must go. Would love to hear from you.
Much love, G
