USA

I opened the door of the idling 18 wheeler I had spent my last two days in and jumped with purpose from the lip of the frame. As I descended I scanned my surroundings and visualized my exact position on earth as it would appear to a great eye in the sky. On landing, a quick thought about how small I really am and how nothing really means anything anyway rips quickly through my head. It is dark, only the outline of a grand Eastern deciguous forest is apparent to my still adjusting eyes, I gave a sincere thanks to the trucker that had allowed me access to his lifetime of lessons learned and headed to my tree line to set up a home base for my upcoming explorations. Laying down for the night I entertained streaming dreams of food, fornication, and every primal desire that has been nearly eradicated from my life. In the morning poked my head out of a rapidly warming tent and stared down a purple sunrise recalling the nights feature attraction and justified my denial of those simple things I had given up in trade for new knowledge.

This new territory was intriguing it smelled like hasty progress, commotion and struggle. As I branched away from my home in the trees I was repeatedly stung with the reality of my new surroundings, I was an integral part of a hive that makes your local East coast truck stop one of the most interesting microcosms known to man, Ha Ha Ha! hitch hikers, truckers, prostitutes, cops, beggars, shoppers, thieves, attendants and hustlers. The dynamic is mind boggling, everyone looking for something different in this mad max mecca of debauchery. My attempts to avoid the mayhem reminded me of my childhood army games. Of course this time around I wasn't carrying my trusty squirt gun and my long unused hide and seek tactics only worked most of the time. When they failed the experiences were most definitely not easy to forget.

Exploring the East coast via hitch hiking was honestly one of the more difficult tasks I had undertaken since the beginning of my adventure. My rides came almost exclusively from truckers or police. The number of times I found myself in really bad neighborhoods was about five too many, of course I survived each time so maybe my badness meter was off a little. Equally scary were the times I found myself in neighborhoods far too decadent for the likes of me, these situations often leaving me on the brink of arrest due to the lethality of the tripod I carry with me. According to Ben my friendly New York police officer, it supposedly drew far to close a resemblance to a modern day rocket launcher? Alas, it was not all that bad, just challenging! I felt greatly privileged to be exploring a region that has over the decades helped spawn so many new degrees of freedom for “all” the people of America. Visiting the old world structures full of so much history and perseverance, engaging countless numbers of people, all of which were absolutely electric with the prospect of possibly electing a president that defied so many of the monotonous traditions we associate with modern politics. I can admit, I was actually feeling a little patriotic as I wandered through city after city full of historical significants. Seeing people doing! Not so much talking, but off of their couches working together to accomplish a unified mission. Kinda cool, politics aside.

Due to five Beautiful days of rain in Northern Virginia some of our computer gear has unfortunately taken on moisture. Regardless of precautionary measures that are "almost" always in effect my posts have been, well; non existent, as so many of you have so diligently noticed. Just to be clear I am alive and well, the computer is now fixed and we will continue our adventures as planned.

As a side note; I have received an overwhelming quantity of emails from loyal readers out there. I would love nothing more than to respond to each one individually as I have tried to do in the past. Time simply has not allowed me that opportunity and on that note, "no pun intended" Please forgive my recent silence.

A very special thanks and three very big hugs go out to Regina Smith, Dara Jezierny and Colette Henderson for stepping up and saving the day. Someday I hope to repay your kindness ten fold but in the meantime lets leave it to Karma, bless you all.

I have always been a fan of spice. When an adequately trained cullenist puts a delicate touch to a dish, it can sharpen humble food into a masterwork fit for kings and queens, which of course I am in my naive imagination. At least some days I am, and others...well, some days must simply be marked "other," a lame attempt at salvaging my drunken dreams of faultless nutriment. This weeks escapades were to be nearly faultless, except that to my wonderment I find myself refined like a simple sauce and served up as the dish of the day. Of course, all respects to the chefs, but I felt as though the flavoring used in this masterwork was although perfectly paired to the main course, a tad heavily spiced for my refined tastes.

Officially halfway around North America a new set of challenges gradually unfold as my wanderings inch ever closer to the Atlantic. The new atmosphere is affirming...You must adapt or be still. So quickly, I conform knowing that I must, if I want to move down the road with any efficiency. The anatomy of catching a ride among other details must change drasticly, stepping out on the freeway setting up shop and expecting people to stop is now, unlike past days...silly. My directional sign with a smile simply wont do on congested roadways ruled by absent minded motorists on missions. The answer a logistical one in my mind...Every day thousands of over worked, hungry, and habitually tired truckers across the country depart from filthy fuel stations, and greasy spoons turned halfway house and head in every direction conceivable. Most of these truckers distribute loads from one end of our continent to the other, and should be happy to have someone to talk to while they work, like myself! Sounds like a match made in heaven...right? Well not as perfect as you might think, but it works out. An interesting role these men and woman of the road play and we should all know it, these champions of the road bring us all of our precious "things," wherever we may be. But what they bring me today is something entirely different, an opportunity to move very long distances through the intimidating urban sprawl of the North East, in relatively short amounts of time. So I quickly learn the etiquette of the friendly freeway truck stop, and capitalize!

So how exactly does a peaceful stray such as myself find himself the overly flavored main course on a buffet line of buffoonery? Well, my first ride in the big rigs nets me a meager 1000 miles; from Billings, Montana into the shiny metropolis of Minneapolis, Minnesooota. It is here, in this converted kitchen of middle America that a spicy dish of Republican National Convention is being served up in substantial portions. Ohhh Mike, what have you wandered into this time...? Lets be clear, It was an absolute privilege and pleasure to shuffle myself and entourage, into a sea of 10,000 peaceful, planned protesters, marching to their cause of the day. Ye ha!!! Right? Well not really. Not that I mind being in proximity to these faithful Americans as they exercised their freedom of speech, but I have always thought that this attention getting technique is, while understandable generally a fruitless affair in the end. But today I foolishly resolve that this bit of dissent could be an exceptional bit of footage for my movie, so I join the countless journalists, amateur photographers, and newscasters standing street side to document the proceedings.

The emotion in the air is one of exclusion, I can feel the separation that lingers between the mob and their opposition. The polarity of Ideas and belief now being whittled down to a confrontation, the energy lays patiently, waiting for its moment, like a lightning bolt in a box it cannot be contained. The mob believing that it is their right to be there in rejection of the show of force, the opposition amping up for that instant the dissidents blow through the carefully contrived conceptions of what is O.K and what it means to go to far. Standing in neutrality I decide that these two forces had been doing a pretty decent job of allowing each other to exist, regardless of the tension and angst pulsating from within, but surely this kind of energy wont stand up to the test of time, I can feel it. And the moment comes, like gods voice over the radios of grenade clinching, club popping cops in limbo. THE PROTEST ACROSS THE CITY IS OUT OF HAND, never mind where exactly. IT JUST IS! In hundreds, the shield wielding fleet of night draped shepherds move in unison to master their flocks, they begin manipulating the pulsing mass with shields as if to imply, DISPERSE! The mob acknowledges the prods with a myriad of responses, some sitting, some yelling, some running. I simply maintain my spot to the side in quiet fortitude, running my camera and shaking my head at what I would call typical responses from both sides, all of them caught in the intensity of the moment. As events unfold, escalation becomes the monument to which everyone bows and the day becomes dark as a superior force unleashes their tools of destruction. The mob is now carved down to simple die hards and martyrs wishing to roar to the world what moves them and you know what happens next, heads are bashed, smoke envelops everything, and reduction of pepper flows freely in the eyes of all who find themselves within a half mile of the mayhem. What one could not have known is that the direction of violence was now rolling like heavy freight into the media section where I sit in supposed safety. Through my sub conscience I am made immediately aware of my appearance, my cargo pants, and looming backpack full of god knows what? They essentially manifest a target on my back, I defuse my pending predicament by calmly placing my hands above my head and attempt to explain my position as they converge. After unloading the contents of my bag I am asked to relinquish the contents of my camera under threat of sure handed violence, by a shield faced boy at least 5 years my junior. I, unlike many of my neighboring camera holders oblige and was sadly gratified by my decision, as camera fall to the ground and I watch frenzied cops haul kicking and screaming members of the media to their new confinements. I walk off half blind and awestruck at the retardation I had just witnessed. I quickly found the nearest hydration station and closed my day washing the remnants of spices gone awry from my enraged eyes.

Having had my fill of city life I clamored back to safety and staked myself out at the nearest truck stop oasis in the area and posted up for the night and a glorious night it was. Sitting in deep thought, slightly itchy, still trying to swallow the serrated pill I was forced fed early in the day. I was forced to ponder the state of things as they were. I began the long process of untangling the numerous questions now fittering through my overly seasoned brain. What do you say about such an experience? I escaped with the realization that we should all be questioning our status as "citizens." What is a citizen? What rights do we have? Do we watch as our fellow commoners are attacked by protectors? What if I were out there for something I believed in? Should these atrocities go unpunished? Do I live in a free society? These are questions that I know the answer to. Do you?

Trust, defined as. A relationship of reliance. We all struggle uniquely, day to day with this sometimes complex sensation. Over time, we all will have most likely experienced some calamity, or another, on this unpredictable front. While we usually learn to move on, cope, and toss up some solid logic regarding human behavior. Their are those very special occasions, when we find ourselves, necks writhing to the heavens in irate vexation, as we suffer what we all at some point in our growth classify, as eternal harassment from the great beyond. Which of course we deserve, cause we were bad. Don't argue, you know you were...you know it! We all have a different explanation as to why this occurs, punishment, karma, chance, among many, many other colorfully constructed explanations, that exist in bounty throughout the world. Having had the pleasure of testing a handful of these rock solid theories for myself, Obviously with a sincere desire to find something that even comes close to resembling a reliable pattern. I am left perfectly perplexed by the randomness of, both the blessings that life brings, as well as the curiously timed, and of course well deserved, punishments that are dolled out. Though it has become clear, in my opinion, that suffering these punishments is completely relative to your situation in life. What we comfortably call the "Worst Day Of My Life!" in the West is likely just another day, for people everywhere else. So lets try real hard to keep the stories im about to drop in perspective. After four days of perfectly "divine sequencing" along the coast, a natural lull in activity had begun to solidify, and was quickly becoming the new "phase." While this "phase" was an ideal time for me to ponder, process, and organize the prior week's greatness. I had begun to feel like maybe I had stumbled into some altruistic world of cosmic understanding in my new phase of introspection. Speaking metaphorically, I felt as though I had scaled the tallest mountain on the horizon, jumped off the tip, headfirst into lake "vulnerability," and I swam it! No food, no bed, no consistency, no outs. Only trust...Trust in what though? People? Energy? God? Nature? What? So far, I had come to a suspicious understanding with myself, in regards to the answer. Living on the cusp of society, doing my best to spread good in the world was clearly boomeranging right back too me in the form of a sincere notion of enlightenment.It seemed everything I was putting out to the earth, was coming back in the exact same fashion. Positivity bred more positivity, likewise negativity bred more negativity, and of course, my trust was being placed in that exact formula. In truth I have lived most of my life in adherence to these understandings, but in honesty I did not completely trust that the same way of living would transgress to this larger stage on the road. It is always these moments of supposed understanding, and trust that my doubt dragons begin to get restless. I know all about this, not my first trip around the block. In fact I have been circling for a long time. I started on my tricycle, then my training wheels, bike, car, now I find myself somewhere between a light plane and supersonic jet pack, but alas still circling. As I circle I find myself descending upon a lovely deposit craftily dubbed Eureka Ca, Eureka indeed! I know it doesn't suit my nature to be so satirical, buttt mommm.... it sucked! Sorry Eureka fans, im sure their were many admirable qualities that I walked right past in complete ignorance, but I was soaking wet, cold, lost, and hungry, thanks to the stupid rats that chewed their stupid way through my stupid pack to get to the stupid gold fish crackers I had so kindly been given back in Niceville! Oh well, rats gotta eat too. Sensing any negativity? After a miserable 5 mile city hike, I at last found a lone Star bucks outpost that put out a solid wi fi signal. I argued with myself for about 2 seconds about entering the chain I have come to despise. But of course I quickly gave in, swallowed my pride, and walked inside the corporate behemoth. Not bad, I think I can see why people spend their retirements here. I happily immersed myself in the glare of my computer screen, with high hopes of finding a host on Couch surfing.com. Nothing...*#@!, I had already spent one night in this trap, not all that bad...minus those dirty rats! But that spot had been conveniently located on the far edge of town, where trees, and camp spots were plentiful. Now I was in the thick of it, 10 or so miles from real trees or camp sites. I was forced to come to an understanding with myself right there, this was a suck it up moment for Mike. As the sun began to drop, and Star bucks decided that I had consumed enough of their free ice water, and electricity. I shuffled off, into the freezing night, in search of a good covert camping spot in the middle of Eureka, and they were plentiful, Yeah! Uhhhnfortunately, every single one of them was occupied by another cold, wet, presumably uncomfortable human in search of safety, and respite. I was forced to instantly humble myself, the toddler like frustrations that I had been nurturing all day could never compare to the suffering of these oft invisible street dwellers. That night I was introduced to about 15 or so, of these individuals as i wandered. The large majority obviously suffering one form of mental disorder, or another. No they weren't high, Ive worked in the field. Disorders. One spot that I stumbled upon was approximately 5 acres in size, and supplied a flat spot about every 10 feet for someone to lay on, they were all full. As I walked through, in awe of the alternate reality I had just entered, I was awestruck at the degree to which people had turned the area into a home in the trees. To my right someone had eerily lined a tree with a wide array of stuffed animals that had been carefully organized biggest to smallest. My initial reaction to this sight was fear from the bottom of my stomach, Quentin Terantino could not have produced, a more fear inciting picture, each animal had a mud, and rain mixture running like tiny rivers from the plastic eyes of each evil looking toy. They sat like gargoyles in the night, protecting the inhabitants from outsider intrusion.To my left, was a community of adults, two of them with small children. I thought to myself...WTF, I guess that would explain the stuffed animals. Part of me wanted to move up the road as quickly as I could manage, another desired to stay, and decipher this mess. Why in gods name are their children out here?In the rain, In the mud? So I picked an elderly woman that looked as though she had been looking after the interests of the children. I attempted to initiate conversation, but she was insane, she didn't make a lick of sense. Before I could explore further I saw the lights of two police cars pull up on the 5 acre site. People scattered as the cops descended. This was surreal, I have seen such things all over the world, but never, had I witnessed such poverty in my own country. This brief interaction had completely knocked me out of negative mode, and my head was bursting with questions. Do people know about this? Of course they do? How could they not? What are they doing about it? Obviously not enough! I thought back to my walk through Eureka earlier that morning, and made some definite re connections, with the faces in the forest. Some of them I had blindly passed in the day. One of the face's was seated in a hidden corner at Star bucks shaking his head side to side for hours, another I had seen when the worst of my negativity was exuding, and I marched in vexation right past him on the street. He was a man in his 70's begging for change on the corner. I spent the rest of my night wondering aimlessly in the freezing foggy rain, having given up on finding a place to claim solace for the night. I thought deeply about the things I had seen that night, and became helplessly furious at the rampant waste that I see everywhere. I thought about the Army missile technician that had picked me up two days earlier, and how he had revealed to me in prideful fashion the price tag for each missile he made, $1.2 million. These were subsequently shipped off daily, in the thousands to the middle east, and fired in our futile struggle, for another selfish foothold in the East. I thought about the freedoms that I see slowly slipping from the hands of what was once the freest country in the world. Why? because people don't care. Pure lazyness! I thought about the 18 year old kids that pass me on the freeway daily, in their brand new 30k trucks, and flip me the bird in pure ignorance. Why? because im doing something other than play video games. That night I vented in solitude at injustice, and recommitted to standing up for these things every chance I was given. The next morning, although more tired than I can accurately express, due to the fact that, even as I sit here writing this, I still feel a deep drag lingering.Yet that day I was somehow happy, happy to have a new day to work with My anger had subsided, and I was able to see where my negativity had taken me. It was now a balmy 57*, and not raining! This new day of semi sun, and a return to serenity, also brought a Couch surfing reply, a free spaghetti dinner, four new friends, and a ride out of town from a particularly talkative, and wise Franciscan monk, that adamantly honored, and adhered to in the same blind trust that I was currently waist deep exploring. In a desire to perpetuate the bond of common beliefs between us, he stuffed a five dollar bill in my pocket as I jumped out of the car. I was now in Oregon.

I could not have conjured a more poetic script for the last 5 days of my life. The degree to which the energy of the universe touched me, was one, of only two such moments I have ever experienced such real power in my time. While the traditionally dominant realist within wanted to sum it up practically, as a random sequence of events. The routinely quiet, and subservient spiritual side of me was proclaiming the obvious.... This is real, and tangible, right now, not yesterday or yesteryear, right now. PAY ATTENTION! So I did, good boy. Having just spent the better part of a week resting my battered body, in the bay area. I was dropped of in a little hidden gem known as Petaluma Ca, The drop off felt allot like the first day all over again. There I was standing in the middle of a relatively large town, the sun was quickly slipping away, I new nobody, and a tinge of fear had again began to creep in the reaches of my gut. I thought to myself...Mike you have got to learn, once and for all to just trust. Trust in your mission , trust in your instincts, And trust in your tools. I hauled myself, and entourage of gear to a local cafe, pulled out my laptop and checked my Couch surfing profile to see if anyone had replied to my request for free lodging in Petaluma. Ahh instant relief, Neil a local Petaluma jazz musician had replied, and left a phone# for me to call. I quickly called him, and was retrieved, thankfully from my now dark, and cold Petaluma street corner. My time with Neil was a nice calm before what I had firmly decided, was going to be a flurry of speedy hitchhiking to come. I had began to feel a little bit behind schedule... I know, im not on a schedule! Hard to break some of these habits. Neil dropped me off on the road to the coast, at around 9am the next morning fully rested, fed, and feeling recommitted to my reality. I was quickly picked up on the outskirts of Petaluma, and driven to highway 1, which runs alongside the coast, almost all the way through California, and Oregon. I had been quite excited to experience this road, and its people, the tales of great hitching, glorious camp sites, and friendly authorities, are endless along this stretch.

I find myself for the first time on this trip surrounded by absolutely nothing, no businesses, no people, and only an occasional car passing me, with friendly nods of approval and thumb and forefinger pinched in an effort to show how far they were going. The spot I had been delivered too overlooked a twisted coastal road set atop jagged black cliffs that protect the towns above from the sometimes erratic Pacific Ocean. I took my time and fully engaged my new surroundings, finding the best spot with a view to catch a ride from, and then I posted up, "North." As I sat there In the splendor of the ocean, I eventually looked down in sulking fashion to play with the dirt at my heels, and realized I was right on top of a perfectly intact eagle feather. I picked it up, held it in the sun light, and thought...Surely this is a sign of good things to come. When I had finally disengaged the feather, I looked up to see a truck had pulled up beside me. A beautiful blond cowgirl was telling me how she was only going 2 miles up the road, and if I wanted I could jump in. The stimulation of the feather, the girl, and the potential ride embarrassingly sent me into stupid mode, I stuttered... Ahhh, Ummm, Ahhhh, Ok. It is important to note that it is almost always a really bad idea to accept short rides, but I swear, after I had regained enough composure to respond intelligently, I had an instinctual response within, to take the ride... and I followed it. After the usual formalities, I asked the obvious... What are you doing out here? Sheila began to describe her volunteer involvement at a "Equine Guided Education" program at a 1000 acre ranch down the road. We discussed the details of both our lives for a time, and we both knew almost simultaneously, and without a doubt why we had met. I offered to do some interviews and shoot some quick footage of their interactions with a group of inner city youth that had been driven up from San Fransisco. Right about this time Sheila realized that she had driven quite a bit further than the previously agreed 2 miles. No matter, the new plan was to turn South, and head for the ranch...Wrong direction Mike! So much for my flurry of speedy hitchhiking up the coast to make up for lost time. About 20 minutes after meeting Sheila I find myself standing on the stunning Medicine Horse Ranch, doing a relaxed form of an interview with owner/director Alyssa Aubrey. In all honesty I thought it would be pretty far fetched for Alyssa to allow a guy literally just picked off the road to come in and film her, and a group of teenagers interacting with the 5 or so horses. It wouldn't hurt to try though. Alyssa had an intense energy that surrounded her as she spoke,as if she didn't need to speak with me to know my character. We talked about her life long love of horses, and her belief that I had been sent there for a very specific reason. Of course I felt the exact same way, and couldn't wait to actually see, and film the work that she spoke so lovingly about. For the next three days I was allowed full privileges on the ranch, I filmed the full process of growth in three distinct stages within each teenager. The girls went through these stages of sensitivity training with the horses, and then Alyssa would insert a pow wow session in between to discuss the experiences, results and then a final prep for the next stage. Lesson one, horses can detect the slightest hint of fear, anxiety, or tension, and they respond accordingly as they directly mirror the energy being put out by their handler. I could see this occuring without question as most of the girls entered the arena with very prevalent expressions of fear exuding, as you would expect from your average city bound teenager.The horses responded to this without hesitation, horses resist negative energy intensely. Lesson two, confidence building, I witnessed as each girl did their very best not to put out fearful vibes, many of them failing in the task, readjusting, and trying again until they eventually succeeded with proper coaching, and relaxation techniques. Lesson three, living full speed with their new found confidences, each girl was presented with tasks that would cause even the most composed among us to put out stressful energy. In the end, I witnessed as each youth was morphed from fearful, crawling, infancy to upright full speed, vessels of confidence wielding young ladies. All in three days! Alas in Alyssa's own words, what if I had the ability to give them more time? Where would they be then?
My evenings were equally enjoyable, they consisted of me being picked up by Sheila the original "ride giver" and driven all over Marin county in search of the best local music, beer, and sights. We shared many conversations on life, the meaning of, and other daunting, seemingly unanswerable questions. Sheila another, in a long line of people I have met on the road that was in a state of major flux, was volunteering at the ranch in hopes of finding something more meaningful in life. Sheila had it all the house, the husband, the status the money etc etc. Yet it was lacking something, a sense of reality. In her own words, she was escaping her perfect little life in a box, to "shovel shit" at the ranch. This gave her a peace, a sense of simplicity that was much more meaningful to her, than all the typical checklist items she had already acquired. Something I understand all to well. Sheila was completely aware that something was wrong with the picture she had created over the years. Beautiful, and sparkling on the outside, but tumultuous on the in. These were a few of her epiphanies, that im sure she would want me to send out to the world; The standards of perfection that we have set for ourselves as a society are completely unreachable for the vast majority of us. Of course this doesn't stop us from working ourselves silly trying to attain the illusion. Even those of us, like Sheila who have actually reached the upper echelon of that standard quickly realize their is not necessarily a blissful state of awe to be had once you have arrived. What you do get, often consists of wasted years, trying to reach a meaningless position of fat pockets, broken relationships, lost time, and regret. A congratulations is due the untold numbers of you out their that are resisting this wasteful theory of perfection, and have entered onto a path of rejection. Rejection of a status quo that often brings with it lasting lessons in futility. It takes courage to step out there, to do something different, like shoveling shit for fun? Dont knock it till you try it folks! To do these things will often bring with it considerable rejection from your peers, that want you to continue reaching out with them to this blind bliss. But enough of that. I could go on forever about my interactions at the ranch. The time was true, and a meaningful experience to me for so many reasons, but I will resist the urge to ramble even more, I have to save something for final production. My time was up, to cap things off, I was driven North to a small town that consisted primarily of a seafood restaurant, where I was graciously fed by Alyssa and partner Gary along with a few drinks, and some stimulating conversation. They set me let loose on a gorgeous beach that im told they shot the movie "birds,"on.
I found a hollow nook in the cliffs, and set up my tent in defiance of the no camping sign nearby and enjoyed what I would have to call the most Beautiful sunset I have ever seen. In the morning I worked through my routine of coffee, breakfast, push ups, ocean bath, and hike to the road. I had barely put my bag down when a motorcycle pulls up, and low and behold its Neil, my C.S host from Petaluma. He wants to know why im not in Oregon yet? All I could do was laugh, and ramble out my best quick rendition of the last three days. We shared a laugh or two and Neil took off down the road much as I had four days earlier at his house. I sat on the side of the road that morning, and marveled at how blessed I been these last few days...surely this cannot continue at the same pace. About fifteen minutes into that thought, 500 or so, charged surfers had converged on the very spot I was using as a hitching post. Appearing from nowhere almost simultaneously. Apparently one of these groups out of 500 was thinking the very same thing I was... Way to many people! As they pulled out of the parking lot to go North in search of better waves, on less crowded beaches. This crew of two gave me a kind look and said... jump in dude! I did, and there I was, off again. The guys were both 18, recent high school graduates, that had decided to do something other than immediately attend secondary school. What could possibly be more important than school you might ask? Catching waves of course! But before you judge their decision to harshly, you should listen to their well thought out answers to why? I spent the day filming surf video, interviews, and afterwards was treated to some very fine Indian cuisine by the two young surfers. In my time with the surfers I found myself thinking...Why are these two guys obviously young, and most likely strapped for cash driving me around, buying me lunch etc etc? My honest opinion was that they related allot to what I was doing. At a point in there lives where allot of big decisions were about to be made regarding their futures, I think they found some solice in the fact that I, a young person also, was actively rejecting that which they were about to enter into. With there opportunity to send a message on camera, they revealed to me their frustrations about entering an obviously flawed college system, that they felt was completely broken. A system that puts more emphasis on partying, fun, and frivolity than it did education. They felt strongly that even if they were to enter it, and succeed at ignoring the distractions, they would likely walk away from their college experiences with sub par, force fed educations, not to mention a pile of debt. Again a problem that I could relate to personally. We spent some time talking about how complaining was not the answer. How do we fix this? among many other daunting problems that face our country, and more specificly the youth that are charged with fixing the mess? It is one thing to complain, It is another thing entirely to act out in defiance of this sad, status quo. When one does so, does it make a difference? In truth, Im still trying to figure that one out for myself, the opposition is powerful, and much more experienced at quelling these frustrations with illusions of justice. How can any one of us make a difference? I think that it goes something like this. Cliche, but true...Become the change, that you want to see. Just do it! Your example will attract others of like mind, all with different powers, and skills sets. From this pool of talents a proper organizer should emerge, now this collective ball of energy has the ability to create momentous change. Before the boys dropped me at the next town North. I thought to myself... that was a kind of serious way to end our interaction with one another, but I quickly reminded myself of how things always happen a certain way, and for a reason. Maybe those simple words will play a role in their future, or mine.
This was the end of my great sequences, I hope I did them justice. The greatness of the story lies with the beauty of the characters as they behaved in the face of a total stranger, the stark contrasts, situation to situation, and the interconnectivity between the medium, that was me. It all just flowed perfectly, and I am positive that the story has yet to have reached its true ending with this group of self proclaimed misfits.
The medicine horse ranch is a nonprofit resource available to all interested parties. If you are interested in becoming either a participant, or a sponsor of this amazing teaching technique please visit, www.horsesenseforteens.com or call Alyssa @1-707-878-2440