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.
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