Arhipelago 14-21 Texas-New Mexico

 Journeying   Autistic  Archipelago   

Safe Haven

Posting from Home  (backtracking) 
Notes written in Holbrook, Arizona

Continuing from: Archipelago 11-14 Mississippi-Louisiana-Texas

Mar 31 - April 8 TEXAS - NEW MEXICO

Sunday, March 31 - Easter Sunday. 

Dawn finds me driving towards El Paso. I'm starting to like the country. It's a whole different deal from the leg towards Austin. One day I'd like to spend more time here...

My camera stopped working. I think sand at Rutherford Beach got in, it also got bumped a bit at one point and the shutter didn't want to open afterwards, but then some time later it grudgingly worked. Now it is dead. I've recharged the battery, but the shutter still doesn't open...

Got to El Paso around 10:30am - gained an hour on the time zone change. I decided to continue and get to Albuquerque today, but I also wanted to see El Paso and perhaps leave "Loud Hands" there. It won't be in a library this time; I didn't have time for that. This was Easter Sunday and I wanted to stop at the church. I looked it up - The Cathedral Parish of St. Patrick, the mother church of the Diocese of El Paso. 

It was just about 3 miles away from the place where I entered El Paso when I looked it up on my Ipad; I punched Cathedral into my phone's GPS, but didn't notice that it picked Cathedral Drive instead; ended up driving on a loop to the outskirts of the city, and then back, but missed the turn coming out, and was sent back to the loop I just traveled, which was being repaired sending me 7 miles off and had to drive back again. Eventually got to the Cathedral just after the Mass; people coming out; I went in and sat dawn on a side bench, as people congregated outside.  

What did I pray for? I don't know; I think it was Faith, I need faith; how can I ever change things for him if I don't have Faith?

I came out as people started coming in for the next Mass - there were people coming in, greeting people that were still outside from the previous Mass. It was sunny and warm;  I sat down on a stone bench outside, in a corner where it was out of the way, looking at people greeting each other all dressed up. This was Easter Sunday, Day of Resurrection.

Then I took a book (Loud Hands - I had it in my little backpack) and placed it in a converging corner where the bench ended and the wall rose.  I took a picture of it discretely with my phone and walked away and then, before driving away, I took a picture of  the Cathedral. 
I wished for the book...

I thought about it some time before, regarding where The Church stands in regard to Autistic people; I thought it viewed us as a diseased people; but then it itself is in transition, searching for redemption. 

I don't go to church, but sometimes I like to go there, between the sermons, and sit where I want, and look and listen to its sounds, undisturbed, and maybe wishing for a miracle of a kind - a priest who would open his heart and understand.  A true priest, can do miracles... One priest, just one true priest...

I got in a car and drove towards New Mexico. Entering New Mexico on 25 is a sight to behold! I had no camera any more, but the habit of recording that I have developed during this trip was wanting out. I opened the note book, and started to write in it without looking, while driving; just recording there, where I would've snapped a picture on a way.

Mile 68 - Oh my God; Behold Your Creation! 
73- Truth or Consequences -75   
76 - Road into the Sky 
79 - Mirage  
<-- 86, 87 -->  Ravine 94 , 101, 102 - I draw mountains on both sides 
107 - Nogal Canyon

Mile 117,  some 90 miles from Albuquerque; I needed to stop for gas; and then there was a truck stop; 

To fill up you have to go inside to pay. I walked in; it was an interesting place; had it's own character; there was a shelf of books on a right just as you walk in, and the place opened like a doubled up train car with a partitioning wall in a middle; this wall wasn't solid and had openings on a window level so you could see from one side to the other somewhat. The owner was a middle-aged man; I knew that place was his right away - same character of content... 

I gave him my credit card, went out, filled up, came back, paid, and went to the bathroom - on a way out I looked at the books - they were really interesting; there were some good many books there, I thought - some 8 or more rows with at least 10 books in a row - but I didn't count, it might be different. I asked him if he sells them; he said yes, and I also let people (customers) read them as well, he said; I saw that already myself - there was a woman at one of the tables lining the side wall, drinking something and reading; the place was also a diner of a kind. 

I'd like to leave you a book, I said; It just came out. OK, he said, and added after a short pause - I'll trade you; Take any book you like. OK, I said and went to the car and brought "Loud Hands". This was better than library, I thought - it'll be read. I gave it to him, he took it, sat down and opened it.  I can take any book? I asked. Yes, he said. My hand went and took a book from the shelf; it was - "York: A Slave's Journey with Lewis and Clark, by Brad Phillips".  

I looked at other books; each different, there were many interesting titles, but I didn't switch. Later on, while reading it, I thought how strange it was that I took that book and not any other book - it was as if it was there for me. The things there - the culture and the vocabulary of the slavery, and the inability of the best people of their time to understand, no matter the many proofs to the contrary - it was as if it was describing what is happening to us. The best people of their time - Jefferson himself, fathering and justifying the axioms of suppression and segregation.

I kept driving towards Albuquerque; I had a friend there - A True Friend  - going back to the time we were growing up...

NIGHT 14-20  IN SAFE HAVEN  - at a friend's house in Albuquerque, NM

I'm out of Albuquerque next Sunday, April 7. What was I doing there for so long?

[Took showers, slept in bed, ate home made food. 

Fools day went without recollection 
Met my friend's extended family
Had an overload 
But was able to safe face; I think...

Went for a hike in the mountains with oldies

Met Ian and his family
Got jealous a bit but in a good way
Went to Autistic meet-up and 
Met different people
Some content and some distraught

Serviced my car

Read Ian's book and the Slave's Journey
Worked on my notes - didn't finish, 

But had to go... ]

Parting shots Saturday night, April 6, from a park in Albuquerque, taken by my smart phone.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Got out of Albuquerque on Sunday, April 7 just after Noon. Didn't get far. 

Got off I-40 to 412 and drove some 18 Miles south to the Bluewater Lake State Park. 

This shot of a small native village is on a way to the lake taken by smart phone ->

And this one from my Fish-Eye camera that I've mounted on my dash - some place on a way there 

Got there around 3 pm+. There was a ranger at the entrance to the park and an $8 fee. I didn't have change so we drove to the office but it was closed; he opened it and went in but couldn't find the change there either.  Asked me to pay in the morning if I decide to stay overnight. 

I parked by the water and went for a walk in the surrounding woods, hills surrounding the lake - decided to stay. The lake is not large and not very exiting, but it's a rarity in NM - it's a lake! 

A lot of local native people there at day time, and a handful at night. 

NIGHT 21   April 7-8 

Slept on a shore in a car with popped hatch - head out facing the water - that would be  straight down from the rocks in this photo  --->

It was a good night, and not a bad place - a decent place really, a good place for a few days...

Here are a couple of pix of the lake by the Fish-Eye.  Gives a different perspective. Somewhere there between the two is my own - the way I see it.

Enlarge and take a good look at the soil there; 

Yeah...

Paid $8 in the early morning to a nice smiley middle aged native woman; made use of their facilities - shaved, washed and was on my way still in the early morning driving back north to I-40 and then towards Gallup.

From I-40 got off to 491 and then to 264 - heading to Window Rock and Fort Defiance.

Crossed to Arizona somewhere there ...  (to be continued)

INTERMISSION

InterMission

     Autistic  Archipelago   

People want to be accepted as they are... 

Posting from HOME

Apr 26-30  HOME

INTERMISSION is a point. A point in time when it occurred. Because it is an OCCURRENCE; with RR - representing a MATRIX of REALITY. It could be anything trapped in it; any particular chain of events, suspended in time, where the Reality and the Representation of it becomes one.

Intermission occurred on return Home, the early morning of Friday, April 26. 

To sum it up - my motion was stopped [my motion through time and space], and I became suspended in both, and as the time stopped and I looked - it was not where I wanted to be [in time] and I let go of Time, and there - it goes on its own.

In the upcoming forward posting, documenting my journey, which I intend to complete in a next few, as regards the space-time landmarks, I will go backwards, last-events-first, thus resulting, once it is done, in precisely the sequence of chronological motion leading to this intermission. It is a motion in reverse that shall reveal what was missed by the conscious - through the ancient art of Backtracking.

PS. In this out of place post-scriptum, I have to say that if, while in motion, my chemical composition was examined, i.e. the proportions of different chemicals in my body, it would reveal that Caffeine reigned at Large. I may have even got addicted to it during this trip. It started with an early breakfast, the only meal that I'd seek usually from the restaurant industry throughout the day, generally settling into a pattern of drinking 3 sizable mugs of coffee on average, with two eggs, 3 pancakes, home fries, and a toast. Of course while in Louisiana, I've encountered the great Blackened Shrimp and Grits, which will not be forgotten soon, but it was a singular occurrence. This caffeine intake was supplemented at the rest stops later in a day by some additional quantities. But it was not Coffee what propelled me, although if it wasn't for it, it may have taken me twice the time to come back home; and I had the urgency to be home by May. The importance of this urgency was not well defined but was nevertheless unequivocally imbedded in my Prediction Model.

But before going there [to my prediction model], I should note the reading of the newspaper on return home, specifically the article on Long Beach's final resolution of its boardwalk restoration - it said that the City Counsil and the Commission it created (I believe both consisting of quintessential NT bodies) has decided that the boardwalk would cost up to $44 million, as it would be made out of tropical wood; the cost by far  doubling all the original estimates, but fully justified by the resilience of this superior tropical wood. It was announcing also that the celebration to this effect will occur on Sunday. This was all in agreement with my Prediction Model, to which we'll return later, because this event has also brought to my mind a very well defined series of skits where certain wily individual and sometimes a gang of them, come to town, and publicly dunk the top elected official - the Mayor of the town or an equivalent, in an open cesspool, or any other dirty, slimy, etc. pool of polluted water with some s-h-i-t in it [we don't pronounce inappropriate words, my NT teacher says, but we can spell it]. The mayor may be thrown, or ordered, or in some cases they voluntarily enter the waters of their Ganges cesspool, proclaiming it clean. There is generally a sizable party of people gathered, since letters are mailed prior to the event to many who wholeheartedly hate the mayor. This of course is a reality TV entering a super stage into a realm of political governance...  Everything seems real - but of course in reality, there'll be actors - impersonators, indistinguishable to the slightest birth mark from the governing originals... Everything is within the Law!

But returning to breakfasts - How do you find a place to serve you a breakfast that is paramount to your motion?  The answer is that you learn. You learn, and you learn fast. Somehow you learn to get off, just a step or two away from the road, in some little town, one of many stretching the local road. It is an act of recognition, a forward looking recognition, reminiscent of DejaVu.  Who is the recognizer there is not clear, but you do it well on an empty stomach.

I liked driving through these little towns; when you just drive the road without a particular destination but just more or less keeping with the overall direction; these towns - their layout, opens to you as you drive down coming in from some little hills or from the dip in the valley - revealing the layout and the way the town clutches the road and also something not anymore precious - perhaps the source of water, that is no more vital or even gone... And there comes a turn, one single turn from which the whole town - the way it is, and the way it came to be - are revealed at a glance.

And so I ask myself, what should be the criteria for the Mayoral Cesspool Dunking? I say it should be water, the state of the water in their charge; the state of it's preservation. That's how these towns came to be - there were homesteads there...  Keep it clean, Mayor! And for those who don't - a wily crew and their own Mayoral Dunking Episode - and keeping with these series, I see a need for some sinister intelligence crew doing some clever private research which includes three beautiful specialists by the names Hope, Faith, and Love, also collectively known as the Mayoral Tasters, and on the side a seductive consultant with a nick-name Venus. That's just  the supporting cast. Because at the center of it is a wily individual or rather a whole hell of characters whom we do not name yet. And as the certain very private mayoral markings are revealed in the process of dunking, a question may be slipped whether this was perhaps a real mayor being dunked?

But returning to the road. When you stop at these special places for breakfast and take your time, you'll see three shifts - First are the early workers - men mostly, mostly young, some older, the single men - workers. They are Labor, our labor - people who hire themselves to others; that's what they do. They come separately but sit together; you watch them eat; few words; some still smile a dreamy smile loosing it intermittently, as the other one sighs, thinking of things you'd wish you could. Another day of work, you would rather not do.  You watch it in their faces as they sit, still clutching a tiny string from the dream.
And the Second crew is an intermission in itself - they are those who are out - they are middle-aged, men and women, but mostly men, many sit alone but taking part in a conversation that is winging from one end to the other; they are Concerners, they are concerned of everything and everything concerns them. Concerners are a blend of Outcasts and Well to Doers not Doing so Well. It's been said that lately the Outcasts are prevailing, with many of Well Doers not Doing Well joining the ranks as per defining criteria which consists of the sum of their External Credibility and Internal Identification. They come here of all the places - because Labor has left a strong chemical trail, binding the place with Purpose, and it binds them to it. They crave Purpose.
And the Third group are the Old-Timers. They come in pairs, and alone, and in threes, and even fours - a car load. They all know each other - they recognize me - I must be one of those whose names and faces they can't remember from day to day, or perhaps a welcome stranger. They watch Concerners leave. Occasionally there is a youth late for work - they rush the waitress.Their world is gone; they are walking back into time, together and yet alone towards death, and she is the Second of the Beginning. What is Beginning? Does it exist as a Noun?  Is it Awareness? I finish my third cup of coffee, the road is waiting for me...

Returning to the InterMission. As the word spells it out there is a Mission still at large, and You at a point where your motion is suspended, and the time was let go, and you are becoming self. And you recollect and recognize. And there is a recognition that Intermission likes presents and that accordingly I was anticipating and preparing for it, [as per my Prediction Model], including some material presents for material people; and this TV skit idea, which I hope has entertained you a bit, and which I'd like to present as a gift to you, is an immaterial part of it.

About my Prediction Model, which we finally must clarify. You see, in my prediction model events either occur or do not, such as and starting with my own presence - the event that must occur (future tense) in the future in order for me to continue the motion, as well as all the other associated events. The Prediction Model examines every associated event, even such as "losing 1 hair", and in it "present for you" is a part of the whole without which the main event (my own occurrence) doesn't seem to materialize in the upcoming future. Clearly there is no use of  probability in this Prediction Model - things either happen or not.

So when roused by the storm in the waning night on the bank of Missouri river, I found myself laying in snow, covered by it as it blew under the open hatch of my rig. Roused by it, and shaking, I beat the dawn and further aggravations and flew out of there, still inundated by the sucking-in Missouri mud (you'll read about in the next post), like a bat out of hell. In the dark, through the falling snow, and snow covered roads with no tracks, no markings visible, following GPS out of there, and onto the highway, with the storm already ahead of me, racing it with a few others like myself, and some truckers... out of Missouri, snow changing into rain pushing me forward; flying through the storm into Wisconsin and on and on, until I was some 4 hours away from Madison, of which I knew only that there I may or may not meet a young friend who doesn't live there, yet my Prediction Model pointing me there.

I calculated that I would be passing through Madison about 7pm. I stopped at the rest stop in a lull just a step ahead of the storm, which I temporarily outran, and sent an email, asking if by some chance he might be there. He was there and planning to be in Madison at 7 that night. He was there just for a few days and planning to fly out the next morning; it was a conundrum. And so we meet and go for dinner with this Autistic boy, or rather man now, whom I knew first as a boy, and then over years met here and there, us both the outcast children of our mysterious tribe. "Weary Traveler" was the restaurant he chose, because he felt the mood from just my voice on a phone.

Madison is a special place, it's not a New Orleans. They sleep on the sidewalks there and partake of Spirit, not urine. They are not outcasts - they are the children of our Age, and the street belongs to them. They need no book, they write their own. A young "little men" man walked with a tall young woman - they were enjoying each other, and I remembered the little woman I wanted to dance with at Autreat but didn't know how to ask. This city gives out to the comer, and they return it to it twofold. I felt good there; a rare occurrence in a city - it was an island, a part of Archipelago.

The thing about my Prediction Model is that it is not operated by me, but by some strikingly familiar presence rolling the shadowy dice, leaving me out of it. As my son put it - "Let the path choose you, rather than you choose it"  -  and yet you somehow feel it coming. That is my Prediction Model.
By the way she is another character in the Mayoral Dunking series - Prediction - a beautiful aspiring model, always dressed in black and white.

Madison was a short interlude, and then the storm caught up with me again and I flew away on its wings towards home. When you stand in front of the tall dense fence, you can't see much, but when you ride along it fast, you see things. Motion is revealing. Awareness comes through the cracks in the fence. Elusive awareness. And then you stop and while you are suspended in motion, you see the false banners painted on the fence and the true image of Awareness rising above it.

Awareness. What does it mean, when applied to us? It defines us, and it guards against us. The banners of the Awareness Campaign played by the Industry has a powerful imagery - There is an afflicted Child, a noble Guardian, and the Villain at large - YOU - The Disease. That is the Autism Awareness they promote and they ratchet it up with every noun, adjective, and verb they can bring out of hell.

Awareness. What should it mean when applied to us? It should mean the awareness of us as different people among the rest. There is no cure - there is no need for cure - there is a need for the awareness of the facts. There is a need of the acceptance of the facts. We have been among people for some long time, and our presence has purpose that is a part of the whole. People want to be accepted as they are, without being broken into a mold. The mold that doesn't fit. We are people and we are coming into the world.

Intermission. You look into Prediction Model, and recollect and see the world as it becomes. We are in It.