Those four wonderful souls from Thunder Bay that distributed the presidential malt beverages on the bus from the airport. Thank you; kind travelers. A brother and a sister; with their best friends and spouses. The brother and I shared the same name. These are good people; people like us; people like me; peaceful wanderers.
That was days ago. Here we are; halfway through the voyage and your tribe has located a patch of grass on which to sit. Why not? I’d thought. An unexpected perch of turf on which to rest ones appendages should be welcomed; not ignored.
Ride the wave.
If you prefer to hear this sentiment proven by an expert; as opposed to this drunken rambling quixotic wander; listen to the immortal words of of the Great Doctor himself, “Buy the ticket; take the ride.”
Such lack of discretion for ones personal safety is the deepest act of faith in God. Perhaps it was the medallion of Saint Christopher I carried; perhaps it was my ancestors; perhaps it was the natural serendipitous way in which this beautiful reality of ours is constructed – but I rarely felt unsafe. The invisible hand of the Universe has a poetic way of guiding its passengers.
The drugs and alcohol help with the weaving of oneself into the fabric of time.