Respect to my elders.
To the ones I’ve known, those whose legends live on, and especially to the wisdom yet to be shared with me. I’m posting this from “The Land of Enchantment”. For the boldness of that statement (and actually following through!) New Mexico is going to get at least two posts. I’m feeling an urgent need to share my experiences with two incredible older gentlemen. I try to learn something from everyone I meet, but these fellas made it too easy.
First, a fellow Hostel-mate, Father of the Sun. I didn’t catch a Christian name, and I don’t want to butcher his spiritual name, so his own translation is how he will acknowledged.
I shared my herb with this guy two nights ago, only knowing that he is a Vietnam Veteran, and is licensed to smoke the good stuff. Then last night there was a little fiesta at the hostel, and my man walks in with a nine foot long wolf skin, a bear claw necklace (featured), and some really incredible stories about his spiritual journey on the path to Shaman.
It’s a sign. It HAS to be. Especially encountering his story the same day I visited the spirits at Bandelier. There’s a force trying to get through to me. I’m almost prepared to let it in. To shed my identity and and go to the earth. She loves me, she nurtures me, and it is my duty to respect her gifts and use them fully. It’s just, I mean, how can you question a culture, a PEOPLE, who lived here?
And our modern society needs a warning just to look at their home? Honestly, we should be so lucky.
Forgive me for straying from the point of this post, but theirs is the voice in this southwestern air that I can’t escape. It follows me everywhere. I must listen. I sure did today, for after therapy with Boone (I’m getting there) I took a ride around here:
As the post originally stated, I tried to leave Santa Fe, could not do so, and am not even HALF mad at that. For believe this: after a great ride I relaxed at a fantastic Japanese Wellness Center formally known as 10,000 Waves (pictured)
Nothing like a clothing optional communal bath with saunas, massages, and calming decor galore to make a guy feel completely at ease…
I know I promised to tell of two greats, but the spirit of the day carried me away. So now, I will close with a personal account of Boone, of Mika’s Motorcycle fame. This guy has LIVED. A stint in prison building “the best workout equipment in the system”, a current traveling gig as a welder, a tattoo of a Harley engine on his neck, and a shared appreciation and respect for the original inhabitants of our nation. Obviously, a certified DUDE in my eyes. I spent close to two hours of my morning jawing with this cat, and I am only thankful for it. For, aside from the great stories, the whole experience took place here:
The perfectly dirty, unchanged for twenty years, motorcycle shop. I’m talking pin-up girl calendars, parts on the wall that have been for sale since day one, tools scattered everywhere, and cigarette smoke permanently lingering in the air. Oh, and the awesome Harley/Indian/cool guy paraphernalia scattered about certainly helped to set the mood. I mean, just look at Boone and Mike helping me with my seemingly neverending battery (or charging system) problems:
So my battery completely died at some point after arriving in Santa Fe. These cats resurrected it, and I have Mike’s personal assurance that the bike will start up tomorrow. I hope so, for I am super anxious to get to California and see Mook, among other great people I am lucky to call friends and family. I only need survive one more cold night in Flagstaff, AZ and I am hopefully in the clear.
Stay tuned, earthlings.
Love everything with all you have. Truly,
Peter Allan- earthier and earthier child