Yo-yo-ing, flip-flopping, sling-shotting (I hope)

Ain't nothin' like some good ol' fashion lovin' to call this po' boy back to the South.

You throw in some phunky phresh maneuvers and blam he back in Mary-Land.

It doesn't exactly function to hike 100 miles in 4 days to make up for an upcoming weekend off--the trail needs continuity, and southbounding, especially while following yellow blazes, just ain't got that flow!

And yet--and yet: sometimes (always, of course), things happen because they need to: because of hours spent not completely fruitlessly dilly-dallying with the dysfunctional bureaucracy of the chucklehead-facilitated American Healthcare System, my kind brother and I have been given the opportunity to help some brothers in need as we move back up the coast, and I think in this world of pavement and signatures we forget how soul-nourishing that is.

So basically, even though the trail calls me back louder than ever (it is where I'm going), even though a pivotal moment superimposed across the entirety of my adolescence (the legend of Phish but in the phlesh) feels to have evolved into something before my time (though presence and awareness of this presence generally creates goodness, and damn it's still all a hoot), it's been a formative weekend, just like every moment everywhere.

I love my brother. I love my girlfriend. I love growing within and without these relationships. I love the kindness of would-be strangers turned warm friends (massage included with film, food, and supplies--props to the Schorrs)--

And I must keep moving, through this beautiful blissful void, where the multitudes of empty and awake beings flash their lights only to have blanks fired back in return, and on, and on, and on...

I oughta get a cup of Joe.

Wild, Innocent, and Free

The sun is shining bright as I squat in this mint patch chewing leaves outside of the closed muffin shop in Delaware Water Gap before I head north into New Jersey.

But ah but ah but ah! Jersey already got to feel these recently fortified feet--and how? We will get there.

The conundrum is the desire to express EVERYTHING, in a completely minimalist way. Let's give it a go.

Pennsylvania--your rocks and bugs and poison ivy and humidity will not be missed, but the hospitality of your down-home honky-tonks and bars will be, I'm talkin bout the places one meets fiddlers and brings down the house with a few shitkickin ramblin riots just enough to knock yer socks off but not quite sweep you off yer feet.

And before I forget, let me sing to ol' Patty Butts, our new beat up old boombox friend, found in the woods in the rain, a holy shelter for cigarettes and dirt, all 6 pounds of you are goin to Maine bud and thank you for always bein there.

Independence Day had its thrills--a carnival and fireworks (the latter always producing a peaceful contemplative reverence resembling humility, yeah?) and a bar that let us raid their fridge, cook what we pleased in their kitchen and then denied us the pleasure of cleaning up (oh to be hiker trash!), and of course the usual ambivalence associated with patriotism...

All leading to a cattle-car minivan ride to the Jersey Shore to spend the weekend at the beach. I got oily. I got sandy. I got salty, oh you dog you, and I remembered the sun and sea via true real life action and experience, and the bliss of such magnitude above and below carried me into the nightclub where my hips and shoulders made me friends...

And it was all an absolute blast.

Oh, the balance of self-restorative quiet and group fun! Trotting thru the woods or down the Jersey boardwalk! I search for these balances and am 70% successful I'd say, not bad.

And when thoughts of owning things and remaining stationary scare you, what do you do? You walk north my friends, one day at a time.

Onwards thru, next time you see me, things won't be the same. A weekend of dirty phish musickee and romance with my sweetheart to follow.

All is empty, all is awake.

--Bootsy