first i lost my guitar. i didn’t lose it but i let it break and then i got rid of it so i basically lost it. then i lost my map in that car. i know what losing it had to teach me but now i have no map. then i was in a car with travelin kids, a beat up $300 jeep, one guy with his guitar was the radio, we stopped at a gas station and sat next to a fresh produce stall and flew signs that said “buy us watermelon” until someone bought us watermelon and we sat there in the sun broke as hell and dirty and ragged with sweet pink juice running down our faces, beards, and then we got back in the car and i lost my phone, had it on my lap and climbed out mid-text to check something on the roof and got back in and drove away. i lost all my pictures from the last two months and that’s why these blogs don’t have pictures anymore, i lost the faces and places, all the writing i had on that phone, i lost audio recorded conversations and videos of driving at sunset, i lost my connection to people faraway, i lost knowing what time it is other than “a little while til getting dark”. in crestone and on the road and on the phone and in myself through talking and learning, i lost my story, i lost being able to identify with it, so i lost a piece of what i thought my identity was. i haven’t yet lost the search, but i’ve lost the feeling that the search is what i’m searching for. i lost money inside cups of coffee. my headphones broke, so i lost those, and now with no phone or headphones i lost music, that is unless i’m the one making it. the other night i got kicked out of a casino for not gambling. i am still restless. i am on the road, i am about to go to sleep several hundred miles from where i woke up this morning, and i feel restless. that’s funny. that’s hilarious. so if this fierce restlessness is not eased by movement then what does that mean about my restlessness and what does it mean about my journey and what does it mean about me?
i lost my pants.
i was hiking up this hill in ashland oregon to find a spot to camp and whatever i walked through stuck to my pants and before i realized what was happening several hundred sharp little burrs were embedded in my pants on the outside and the inside and in my leg hairs and sandals. i tried to brush them off but they were stuck fast. i plucked one off and then tried to rip them off in a handful but a dozen little spines embedded themselves in my fingers and i had to use tweezers to pull them out so i took off my pants and they were crinkled together by a thousand immovable burrs. so i didn’t actually lose my pants but i basically did.
the only thing i could do was pull the burrs off gingerly, one by one. i tried to unfold the pants to get an idea of the whole situation, to see what i’d have to go through the clean the pants, but i couldn’t get the pants flat, and then folds of fabric were stuck together, hiding dozens of burrs, and really there was no way to get a view of the whole thing at once–i just had to start removing burrs. and each burr was a deep-seated personal issue i need to work through, selfishness or dishonesty or judgment, a thousand little weaknesses and fears, and there was no shortcut, i just had to confront each burr one by one. i pulled them off as orange sky puddled between hills. i slept on the mountainside and woke on the mountainside and pulled them off as i walked down the hill in the morning. i pulled them off outside the cafe. every once in a while i felt the pant legs, i’d periodically glance at the whole project, but then i’d just go back to working with individual burrs, one by one. and eventually they were all gone.