7

I said, “This really hits the spot.”

The man replied, “Take a seat on the tailgate and relax. I’ll be through in about five minutes.”

When the man started to climb down the ladder, he suddenly got wobbly. I was afraid he was about to fall so I ran over to the ladder to see if he might need some help. He said, “I’m alright. Just hold the bottom of the ladder for me.”

“Sure thing.”

When he got to the ground, he said, “Sorry to scare you like that. I’m diabetic and my blood sugar got low. I pushed myself a little too hard this morning. I should have come down thirty minutes ago. I just need something to eat. Good thing you were here. Where did you come from by the way?” He noticed that I wasn’t driving a vehicle.

“I’m on a walking tour.” Since this wasn’t England or some other part of Europe, it was very possible he might find this statement a little ridiculous. But he was nonplussed.

He offered to share his lunch with me, but I told him I wasn’t hungry (which was true). I figured he needed a full lunch to get his blood sugar back up. It seemed to do the trick.

I spent the afternoon helping him finish the roof.

I asked him why he was working alone.

“Usually, I have a fellow helping me, but he broke his wrist yesterday. Fell down some steps.”

The house was small and simple.

“Is this a second home for you?”

“Yep. Let me show you around the property.”

Behind the house was an eight-acre pond. He said it was stocked with fish. He had owned the property for many years but was always too busy to build a house on it. Until now, that is.

“As soon as it’s finished, the wife and I plan to spend weekends out here. Who knows, if we really like it, we may sell the main house and move here permanently.”

It was a lovely spot. The pond was surrounded by trees.  In front of the house ran a dirt road and on the other side of the road was pristine pasture land, stretching out as far as the eye could see.  I had a feeling they would have some good years here.

You don’t have to actually travel in time to time travel. Let me explain. After following a dirt road for several miles, I came to a full stop. The road had ended at a paved road running perpendicular to it. My plans still included going to the state capital, so I set off in that direction on the paved road. Even though paved it was still most definitely a lonely, country road. Traffic was light. Pine trees rose high on both sides of the road offering a modicum of shade. The roadside was refreshingly clear of litter. In a short while, I came to an entrance, surprisingly enough, to a monastery. The gate was unlocked. In fact, a sign said that weary travelers were welcome to come in and find rest for both body and soul. My curiosity got the best of me.

The monks had taken a vow of silence so conversing with them was not in the cards. But it was quite obvious they were glad to see me. They were adept at improvising hand gestures. I understood right away that they wanted to give me a tour of the buildings and the grounds. As you may or may not know, monasteries have to be self-supporting and so by necessity run a small business or two to generate income. This particular one had two. The first one was run of the mill: truck farming a variety of vegetables. I tasted some of them later in a homemade soup that was quite good. The second business was in the unusual category: writing speeches for politicians. All the monks except one grew vegetables. One monk did not and that was the one wrote the speeches. I can’t name names, but he was a retired politician and a reformed human being. A great rhetorician who incorporated a honest dialectic into the speeches that he wrote. They weren’t cookie cutter speeches either. Each one was highly original and hard-hitting. He would have given the speeches himself but he, too, had taken a vow of silence.

A few hours at the monastery, and as advertised, my soul was refreshed. Thanks to future technology, my body rarely needs re-energizing. So as you can see, in a sense  I traveled back in time without leaving the time period I was in.

Have you ever seen a bluebird in the spring? Depending on the angle and the amount of sunlight, it can appear the color of azure, the same color as the sky. When sunlight hits the earth’s atmosphere it scatters all the colors except blue. In modern society we connote blue to sadness or depression, but blue should be the color of hope. The azure sky is telling us that the light is coming our way. Some people can or do live without hope, but they shouldn’t. Hope is really all that we have. It’s what you wakes you up in the morning and then carries you throughout the day and into the night. It may not sound like much, but it’s an alternative to living in obscurity and dying without a trace. In a billion years, what will be left of us?

The best you can hope (there’s that word again) for in life is to have options in whatever situations that may arise. The very best situation is when you have two options or possible outcomes and either one is positive. You may prefer one to the other, but that’s neither here nor there. Keep your mind on the positive and even if Outcome B occurs instead of a preferred Outcome A, in the long run B may suit you better than A. But even it doesn’t, B is going to be superior to C.

Success in life without understanding can lose much of its value. But understanding without success can actually have value. Success with understanding has the most value, especially if the success doesn’t come too soon or too easily. You can end up at end of a long life that has been mostly successful embittered, frustrated and lonely. On the other, your life can be a series of failures, setbacks and disappointments but at the end be quite rewarding in the sense that even if you’re poor and alone you have an understanding of life that gives you hope, clarity and peace of mind.

I was still making my way toward the state capital when I came upon a sprawling open-air flea market. Flea markets are notorious for getting off to an early start and this one was no different. It was barely sunrise and the bargain hunters were already scrounging for a good deal. I’m a little tired of getting soaked from the frequent showers. Seems like everywhere (and every time period) I go the rain is falling. Before looking for rain gear, I bought coffee and a sausage biscuit at one of the many food vendors.

I don’t really need sleep. As I said earlier, when I sleep, I don’t dream (or I never remember dreaming). I think this is so because with what I’m going through, i.e., switching time periods without warning, I might easily confuse reality with dreams. In some ways I miss dreaming. I always found dreams to be rather profound. Scientists will say that’s because the logic and survival part of your brain is turned off and the emotional part is working at a higher pitch. I primarily use sleep as an opportunity to move instantaneously forward in time. Once I close my eyes, it only seems like a fraction of a second before I’m opening them again, whether the duration is a few minutes or is several hours.

To deal with the unpredictable rain, I buy a poncho and a baseball cap. The hat is a bright red and the poncho is grey. Buying these products means I’ll probably never see rain again.

I’m being facetious. A shower hit a couple of hours later when I was walking down the highway. This time I was ready.

The better the technology, the less the need for miracles.

The early 21^st century was the tail end of the “Information Age”. But as we found out, information is not enough. You have to know how to utilize the information. And to do so we don’t need an encyclopedia. We need a conversation.

I finally made it to the state capital. Beside one of the two rivers that flowed into the city from the north, I found a small restaurant with an outside seating area that looked out on the river. Young couples were sitting around me sipping wine and discussing their love lives as well as the important events of the day. Middle-age couples were talking about their jobs and their children. I was satisfied drinking iced tea and eating a rib eye steak and soaking in the view. No one seemed to care or even notice that I was all alone. The main reason for this is that by design I tend to blend in wherever I go. Average height and weight, no distinguishing features or marks. Just a regular joe enjoying a good meal at the end of the day. My clothes were always correct for whatever environment I found myself in.

As I mentioned earlier, the city was undergoing an artistic revival. The next morning I decided to walk along the riverfront and see for myself what was going on.

The center of the art scene was located on the other side of the river. Before strolling across the bridge, I ate at a breakfast joint called The Cracked Egg. It was a young crowd in the restaurant, mostly students from the large university that was situated in the state capital.

You first ordered at the counter, then when your number was called, you took your food to a table or in my case, because I was as usual eating by myself, to a counter with individual stools running along the wall. That suited me just fine because the wall in this case was made entirely of glass and offered a panoramic view of the hills just beyond the river.

 I asked a student directly in front of me, “What do you recommend?”
She was a tall girl with a ponytail. She looked a little haggard. Either from too much studying or too much partying. I couldn’t tell which.

“Everything is good. I usually get the English muffin with sausage and egg.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll try it.”

I did so, and after receiving the order, walked over to the counter and sat down.

Sympathy is nice, but only empathy can get to the heart of the matter. It takes mortals to understand mortals. It’s like the old song (that ironically hasn’t been written yet) that says ‘Walk a mile in my shoes’. To assess, re-assess, and recommend requires someone who can make an honest evaluation. Only equals can do that. And all human beings are equals, at least in the most basic things that make us human.

After breakfast, I cross the bridge to check out what’s going on artistically and aesthetically. I take the southernmost of two bridges so I can walk along the sidewalk that runs parallel to the river. When I reach the other bridge, I take a left and go up a slight incline into the busy street. There are many open-sided tents. A lot is going on. Paintings of the mountains, of the coast, and everything in between are on display. The prices seem reasonable. There are a few places where artists are drawing caricatures on the spot. Arts and crafts of all kinds, including ceramics and small metal sculptures, are scattered along both sides of the street. People seem to be really into the whole scene. They’re not only buying art. They’re also discussing it.

Maybe there’s a future Da Vinci or Michelangelo here. I should know, I guess, but I don’t think there’s anyone here I’m supposed to begin an assessment of, so there’s no real reason to know personal destinies. But the term personal destiny is something of a misnomer. When time can be tinkered with, it might be better to say personal destinies.

I spend most of the day taking in everything then leave in the late afternoon.