Back in Phoenix

OK, when the voyager isn’t voyaging where is the crew? M is consistently under the hood or under the truck so he is accounted for and Sasha, his faithful sidekick, is tethered nearby in wait mode. But this woman is out and about in the trailer park and beyond, like a Garrison Keilor character, “searching for the answers to life’s persistent questions.” (If I was doing a better job at waltzing myself to a good sit my meditation practice would complete that process and I could just Be but there is a dynamic I’m drawn to in safe restlessness.) I think this leap from Hollywood hills via Greyhound bus to this trailer park has been a little like coming back to the US from Guatemala. (That seems like it should be the other way but I don’t get the culture slap so much the other direction, don’t know why.) I already said it but I miss people who I was with in L.A. and feel sad I won’t be seeing them again. On top of that, a deep part of me is dealing with middle class snobbism. There is always bird song here to match the sea sound of the not too distant roadways. The road abandoned mobiles of this park live quietly, cleanly and in harmony. Even as close as we all are there is a note of honor and invisible boundaries. The reclusive, retirees, cheap and poor who live here are a unique community and I know they are prying more respect from me each day we stay
For example, I love Bonnie, the neighbor here who feeds the cats and birds. We have serious talks on how to get the kitties neutered. Her huge eared dog is like some Egyptian guide of the underworld who symbolically peed on my shoe the first time I met him.
A hummer has made her teacup nest across the way from my post at the sink window, so despite some distant groundhog and snow warnings to the north, the cycle has turned and Spring has come to Phoenix.
Once the superbowl is over we’ll be on the road again and what is most vivid now will become fond and eventually fading images and connections…I think that’s the problem, no matter what it is and no matter how deeply my emotional heart clutches it to me, it goes by like the view out the window at 50 miles per hour. This vegetarian voyage is my yoga and dharma.
Psstscript: We didn't get our absentee stuff. A man pressed two oranges on me from a produce truck this morning as I was confusing him in Spanish about not having room for corn in my bike basket. He reminded me that We (you) MUST vote for Humanity and Environment. Please.