tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89473390245722290382024-02-19T15:24:52.738-08:00The Gypsy and The BardThe life journey and adventures of a Gyspy and a Bard who find peace and wisdom in nature.The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-64116361304350197702019-04-01T13:22:00.002-07:002019-04-01T18:35:37.231-07:00Pickett & Pogue (Melo-transcendentalism)<div style="text-align: center;">
Do you ever get envious of some of the adventure pictures and stories you see on the web? </div>
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I know I do. "What a life!" I always think. "Must be nice to do <i>that</i> for a living instead of being a slave to the establishment." I can admittedly be a bit melo-transcendental at times (and yes, I did just make that word up). To travel - to experience and inspire!<br />
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"What if that was me?"<br />
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If you aren't careful, seeing folks that have somehow managed to live that lifestyle can force you into a rut.<br />
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Don't you let it.<br />
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Amanda and I have been hiking Tennessee trails since before we ever met. We've also been lucky enough to hike in some incredible places across the Southwest, and even across the world (though we haven't been out of the country <i>together</i>, yet). We may not live in a van or a modified school bus featuring a composting commode or solar shower, but we do escape on occasion to sleep in a tent for a few months, as long as there's a nearby bathhouse so we can still look presentable at work. <br />
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And even with all the time we've spent in the woods locally, we still come across treasures we couldn't have imagined in this part of the country. We came across one such treasure yesterday, which this blog's title eludes to. <br />
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Pickett State Park and Pogue Creek Canyon. Within an hour and a half of Knoxville, Oak Ridge, and Harriman, and yet we (as avid outdoors enthusiasts) had never even heard of it. In <i>one place</i>, you get the largest canyon I've ever seen in this state, natural arches and bridges, caves, and even waterfalls. The difficulty of the trails ranges from super flat and relaxing to walk on, to challenging even for the most experienced. It was a place with so many options to explore that we'd have had to camp there for a week to even put a dent in them. We fully intend to.<br />
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Our first trail (below) led us to Hazard Cave. <br />
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The trail was pretty mild most of the way, with a few steps and stones to traverse during the final descent.</div>
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Of course we had to play with silhouettes and lighting once we'd arrived.</div>
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And I never miss an opportunity to kiss my perfect wife.</div>
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The cave is to the left of this photograph. I tried to run and climb to join Amanda for the picture, but couldn't do it in the ten seconds my phone would allow before snapping the shot. </div>
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...It would have taken me at least 14 seconds. </div>
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After the cave, we decided to head over to the park's Natural Bridge. On the way, we saw the amazing root system below growing over a stone ledge.</div>
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And then we saw actual arches! In Tennessee! There are several throughout the park which we are intent on returning to find. Some of our favorite memories are at <a href="https://www.nps.gov/arch/index.htm" target="_blank">Arches National Park</a> in Utah, where we cowboy camped and listened to a Native American man play a flute during a melancholic sunset. Arches are much more rare in our neck of the woods, and especially ones of this magnitude!</div>
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There was a staircase to the top of the bridge, which seemed to condone crossing it. In the Southwest, this is often a no-no.</div>
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Amanda wanted to blend in with all the trees, so she pulled this one out of her yoga-repertoire.<br />
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If you want to see us in our element, you'll never get closer than
the picture below. We walk our own individual trail in a lot of ways (I'm the
idealist, she's the rationalist; I'm emotional and empathetic and she's a
walking calculator who only shows her truest soul to yours truly). </div>
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Hiking together is a great metaphor. Sometimes
the trail is easy, sometimes it's hard. Sometimes it's literally impossible to do alone. But you still hike the damned
thing, no matter what. And more often than not, you'll find us with honest smiles like the ones beneath this text.</div>
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As we continued our hike, I was so happy to see (but mostly to <i>smell) </i>so much pine, which is very nostalgic for me as a South GA native in my childhood years. If you want, Amanda has managed to capture the fragrance astoundingly with her Pine or Cedar scented candles, which you can learn more about at <a href="https://thegypsyandthebard.blogspot.com/p/the-gypsys-wares.html" target="_blank">The Gypsy's Store.</a></div>
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Pickett State Park featured super nice bathhouses and campsites, some of which were right on the water.<br />
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There was a bouncy bridge that, while well constructed, made me feel a bit odd. <br />
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Both Pickett and Pogue are participants in the International
Dark-Sky Association, which you can read more about in the photographs
below.</div>
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To help support the many efforts of the State Park, we purchased a couple of t-shirts from the clearance rack in the visitor's center. I'm especially fond of mine, which features <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Muir" target="_blank">John Muir.</a> If you haven't heard of him, you should definitely do some research on the guy. He's right up there with John Wesley Powell as an inspiration and a hero, but to be honest I need to do a lot more research myself as well. Essentially, all I know is that he had an amazing journey, advocated for the outdoors, and had one hell of a beard.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR1aGOydg0KOgBPW7Bamt1FydyAogc1Is74LJcKi_3HDZBrU8LCza0XwOrTaygdhf1scdwziHzJtn3PDqo-xg43ZfQLX63Eq9DVddmfsAr-BaeuwFkEOoapUmgh8vFJeBuOwro6KIctUME/s1600/IMG_4266%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR1aGOydg0KOgBPW7Bamt1FydyAogc1Is74LJcKi_3HDZBrU8LCza0XwOrTaygdhf1scdwziHzJtn3PDqo-xg43ZfQLX63Eq9DVddmfsAr-BaeuwFkEOoapUmgh8vFJeBuOwro6KIctUME/s320/IMG_4266%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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It was funny how it happened; While we were at Hazard Cave with no cell signal, our mutual best friend and hiking pal messaged us about an amazing place he'd found that he needed to show us. He sent a picture of one of the rock faces he was looking at, and Amanda and I had only seen one place like it in TN. The one we were at! No prior discussion, no planning at all, and we both selected the same park to hike on the same day, coming from different directions that were over an hour from Pickett. Once we returned to cell service, we managed to link up (it took all of five minutes - we actually found his car before any of the texts went through).<br />
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He then took us to Pogue, where I got the shot below.<br />
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She's so stunning.<br />
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Background isn't bad either.<br />
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Our buddy (Steven) said that the view paled in comparison to the final overlook, but we were sadly losing light and had a long drive home.<br />
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The point, though, is this. If you can find places like that on short day trips (which you always can), it makes returning to work the next week a lot easier. I still get disillusioned, no doubt. All we want is a few acres to ourselves. A log home, some chickens, and a garden. Rain water and solar power and a German Shepherd. Space. Peace and quiet, to truly focus on the things I need to write and the messages I need to leave the world. To just focus on each other.<br />
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Those things will all happen in time though, and being inspired by places like <a href="https://tnstateparks.com/parks/pickett" target="_blank">Pickett</a> and <a href="https://www.tn.gov/environment/program-areas/na-natural-areas/natural-areas-east-region/east-region-/na-na-pogue-creek-canyon.html" target="_blank">Pogue</a> will ensure that it does.<br />
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You know what's funny? Sometimes, when I point people toward the blog they didn't know we had, they ask <i>me </i>if hiking is <i>my</i> job. When I tell them it isn't, they ask "How do you do it, with work and all?"<br />
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And that answer is one of the simplest of all.<br />
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I do it because I must.<br />
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Love ya'll. More to come.<br />
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-35558959764421894742019-03-29T05:15:00.000-07:002019-03-29T06:12:30.927-07:00Ah, Spring:<br />
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Ah, Spring: </div>
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The sun is shining (on occasion, when it decides not to pretend it's still winter). </div>
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Folks are venturing once more into the great outdoors (where they can clog our trails and fill our campgrounds with litter). </div>
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The grass is growing (and growing grass must always be cut!).</div>
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Fresh flowers in bloom (and cars of all colors turn yellow, in permanent need of a wash).</div>
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No, but seriously, I'm stoked about spring. The parenthesis are for you "glass have empty" assholes - no judgement, I used to be one and still am on occasion. Everyone else can reread and omit the parenthesis.</div>
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SPRING! I'm so EXCITE that I forgot the "d" OMG. I'm gonna camp and fish and kayak and hike and camp camp camp! </div>
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We're gonna launch a whole new line of products - "The Campfire" line - which will be the exact same as the old line, except they'll be made on a FRIGGING CAMPFIRE! Campfire candles and melts and balms, oh my! </div>
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And campfire food, too!</div>
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And I've almost had my beard for a whole year, which is exciting. I started growing it the last time that it was SPRING! </div>
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And it's almost time for our second trip to the Southwest, where we'll be having a wedding ceremony on the Grand Canyon's North rim. And I'll finally get to see the white dress she's been hiding from me, and her chaco'd feet beneath it. </div>
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Spring is the time for new life. For fresh starts. For change. If there's something you don't like about your life, SPRING into action (OH GOD I KILL MYSELF SPRING INTO ACTION THAT'S PUNNY HAHA). </div>
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Vitamin D and flowery dresses for my sweet three year old child. </div>
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Dark beers turn into light ones (which have fewer calories) to be drunk in moderation while singing "Kum Ba Ya".</div>
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The blog was in a bit of a hibernation - into the "Work, Sleep, Bills, Occasional-snow-hike-to-stay-focused" rut - but we're back, folks! </div>
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Know why?</div>
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Because it's </div>
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"Ah, Spring."<br />
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Here are some links for things you can do this spring if you're unfamiliar: <br />
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<a href="https://www.nps.gov/grsm/index.htm">https://www.nps.gov/grsm/index.htm</a> (Hike the Smokies - reach out if you need more specific suggestions.) <br />
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<a href="https://tnstateparks.com/parks/frozen-head">https://tnstateparks.com/parks/frozen-head</a> (Camp at Frozen Head - they have great bathhouses and plenty of trails.) <br />
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<a href="https://www.nps.gov/obed/planyourvisit/rockclimbing.htm">https://www.nps.gov/obed/planyourvisit/rockclimbing.htm</a> (Rock climbing at Obed.)<br />
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<a href="http://windrockpark.com/">http://windrockpark.com/</a> (Take your 4x4 to Windrock!)<br />
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...and so, so much more.</div>
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-25745446213227792482019-01-16T15:57:00.001-08:002019-04-30T08:15:43.795-07:00A Month In The Life of a Lion<div style="text-align: center;">
I haven't had the time to write about life in the past month or so - I've been too busy living it. Fiercely and unapologetically. I've walked my authentic path and the result is something I haven't really experienced in the past: Happiness. Not some idealized version of the word, but rather the <i>experience </i>of living in the present moment without thousands of other things weighing down on my mind. </div>
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It hasn't been the forced version of happiness so common in America these days. It's not an Instagram photo with just the right filter to project false contentment. It's not ambition, where people scrape and hoard, using debt to fill a gap they can't explain. It's just happiness, man. The simplicity of it is a wildly complicated thing for an idealist like myself to describe, but it's just so easy - so natural - to experience. A life where I don't accept the guilt of other peoples' judgements. A life where the people that Amanda and I surround ourselves with love us for who we are without dissecting every decision we make or how it effects <i>them</i>. It's a life of agape love - of unconditional acceptance and respect of who a person is and why they make the decisions they make. </div>
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Acceptance...agape love...unconditional support. Wait, are we talking about a marriage? </div>
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As many of you may know, we <i>are</i> speaking of a marriage. All I've described above has indeed occurred on a larger scale, but only because we took the time to ensure it occurred on a smaller one. The concentrated version of the peace I've been writing about has a face: It's the one smiling in the engagement photo below. </div>
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On Christmas Day, atop a ski-lift at <a href="https://cataloochee.com/" target="_blank">Cataloochie Mountain, NC</a>, Amanda agreed to be my wife. She accepted a ring that I had created for her by a craftsman in Israel who read our story before he began his work. The entire process, from the carving of a wax mold to the final setting of the diamond I chose for my wife, was undertaken with Amanda in the thoughts of the ring's creator. You can find pictures of Doron Merav's beautiful craftsmanship below, or visit his shop, <a href="http://www.doronmerav.com/" target="_blank">Here!</a> Doron is an alchemist who (rather than turning objects into gold) turns gold into lifelong promise. The only thing better than his craftsmanship is his level of customer service. I asked him to document his creation so Amanda could see that it came from nothing and was meant for her alone, and he provided me with the pictures below.<br />
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And here is a picture of the final product that I took upon its arrival: </div>
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It's no secret that Amanda and I both individually had a rough few years before we met each other. It's also no secret that we both got out of relationships that weren't meant for us before we found one another. It's not a secret that we both distanced from the people in our lives while we focused on some important things that many people NEVER find the time to focus on: Who we are, how that has changed based on our life experiences, and just what it is that we want and need moving forward. What we want to contribute to the world in our lifetimes. We both found it at the same time, and we found it together.<br />
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"And so rock bottom became the foundation on which I built my life." - J.K. Rowling</div>
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I couldn't wait to marry her. Couldn't wait a year...not a month, even. I saw what the world was supposed to be and we, together, made it happen. Apart, we were survivors...together, we are conquerors. Our best mutual friend - a man largely responsible for our introduction - got ordained for us, and we were married on 1/13/2019. (Thanks, Steven!)</div>
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There's always been noise in my head, and a desperation to make it stop. I've constantly set my mind on some unachievable task or another. These days, and with Amanda by my side, I still have a mission, but it isn't a noise. There are no screaming voices that only I can hear. There's no desperation. </div>
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I still have things that I (myself) must contribute to the world - mostly through writing. My mission in life is to give the collective human perception a few "nudges" which, combined with similar nudges from a thousand idealists, will redirect the course of human thought. </div>
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We will encourage authenticity, self-care, and the pursuit of knowledge. We will defy dated perceptions that our lives must be lived out according to some societal mold, or that God is a tyrannical character that's full of vengeance and destruction. We will learn to accept and love our truest selves, and in doing so, will be better equipped to find the person who completes such a love. </div>
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In time, I will nudge. </div>
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But for now, I exist in <i>this</i> moment. I treasure<i> this</i> feeling. And with the support of a human that I will live and die with, I rest and recover from a world that has exhausted me, and I learn that the world doesn't have to be as cruel a place as I have always imagined it to be. </div>
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Pictures from the month's other adventures can be found below - it was really far too much to write about in one sitting. We spent time on a friend's beautiful farm. We taught my brother to snowboard and celebrated Christmas and New Years with our family and close friends. We went mud-bogging until around midnight, and very nearly got stuck. We spent time with the most precious little toddler on the planet. I started a new job where I have my own space and my efforts are appreciated - the first position I've held in my adult life where I don't wear a uniform. We expanded our start-up business. I nearly completed my memoir - just a few edits and expansions to go until my next book is completed.</div>
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Too much, indeed, to fully describe. Much love, humanity. Talk soon. ;) </div>
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-The Bard</div>
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<b></b><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-4202828113988549652018-12-19T23:24:00.002-08:002019-01-08T06:23:14.268-08:00On Pain and Comfort <div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Pain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Suppression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Survival. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Loneliness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Confliction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Self-hatred. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Anger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Compartmentalization.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Hopelessness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Hate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Depression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Desperation - Focus...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Compassion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Desperation - Focus!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Compassion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Desperation - Focus...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Compassion!!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">...Survival. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Empathy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Absolute exhaustion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Apathy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Oh, yeah. I've been there. Survived it for
far too long. Committed myself to false institutions and to perspectives and outlooks
that weren't my own. I felt trapped. Enslaved... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By a military that told me where to go and
what to do when I got there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By a religion that told me that I was born
disgusting and needed to beg the God that created me that way for his forgiveness
and redemption.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By a church that taught me that pain is
atonement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By a culture that told me that a man's
duty is to sacrifice and to serve to the complete neglect of the self. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By a marriage that told me that I was
never good enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By a society that told me that idealists,
philosophers, and writers no longer have a place in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By a world that forced me not to dream
while teaching me about the <i>heroes </i>who <i>have</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> By a government that prefers us to
act as a cog on the wheel of capitalism than to think and progress in our own
journeys. To work our lives a way for a chance to achieve "The American
Dream." As if there is only one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Don't question, just accept. Don't think,
just go through the motions. Get yourself into debt and never climb back out of
it. Read headlines and speak about them, but never act on the words that are
spoken. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I'd reached my absolute limit. I'd lived
over a decade as a man so overwhelmed that I feared nothing. Felt nothing. For
me, the ultimate choice was simple. Die trying to live the life that had been
set before me, or challenge and change it for the chance to experience an
emotion I couldn't recall: Happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Happiness had become an idea to me.
Not a thing to be experienced, but one to always to strive for. Not a state
that could ever occur in the present. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Happiness was tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It was an illusion to create for others
since I couldn't achieve it for myself. Happiness was my greatest
failure...something everyone else could seemingly obtain, but that I could not.
I'd spent many sleepless nights trying to define it. To experience it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In truth, I was only enslaved by
myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">...So I set myself free. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I obtained an honorable discharged from
the military, found a transition job, and will be moving to an exciting career
next month. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I had a very serious and heated discussion
with God - it contained too many cuss words, and allowed us to move on to more
progressive conversations. I learned what God is, in truth, outside of the way
men have defined him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I divorced the woman who was not for
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I sold the over-sized house and the yard
so large I couldn't spare the time to maintain it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I began to dream. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I published my first book. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I learned to tell my story in a way that
helped others to create their own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I challenged and overcame every institution
that had held me down and created a new life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Peace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Presence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Contentment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Passion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Ambition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And finally,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">...Comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I learned to stand on my own two feet, and
God - the universe itself, which he created - gave me the best gift I've ever
received in the entirety of my existence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She, who augments my strength. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She, who enhances my happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She, who challenges my perspective. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She, who helps me fight my battles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She, who supports my dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She, who understands the words I never
write or speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">There was perhaps a time when I feared
happiness, but that time is long past. There was perhaps a time when I held
onto my demons as the only thing that ensured my survival - I have since let go
of them all. There was perhaps a time when the world as it stands now was
nothing but a candle whose flame I concealed in the one safe place I could
offer: my soul. Now that flame has become my reality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Not a child's love, but that of a man who
has seen the world and the darkness in it...a man who has learned to identify
the light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A man who does not fear pain, but who
welcomes comfort and understanding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A man who understands loyalty and would do
absolutely anything for the ones he loves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And what symbol is there that can ever
represent such a love? There is only one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-42350085995932334582018-12-18T09:41:00.001-08:002018-12-18T10:31:25.477-08:00The Southwest, 2018 (Part 4): A "Grand" Adventure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A canyon almost a mile deep.</div>
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A canyon so large it is considered one of the seven wonders of the natural world. </div>
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So vast that it can be known only by one name: </div>
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Grand.</div>
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I knew that we'd visit the Grand Canyon at some point during the trip, but I was surprised at how quickly the day arrived. I never really paid much attention to where we were going until we got there, but the night before the Grand Canyon I remember someone casually saying, "The long hike is tomorrow." I immediately began to hydrate, and found myself slightly intimidated. I mean, I was moderately fit as a relatively fresh veteran, but I really hadn't worked out since my separation from the Navy, and I found that the hikes of the trip thus far were taking their tole on me. </div>
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I'd been to the Grand Canyon before - to the South Rim - and the majesty of the place had inspired me to name my daughter after the state which held it. Arizona is three now. My trip to the South rim had been less of a vision quest and more of a photo op. I'd been assigned to Ft. Huachucha for a month of training, and had made a quick trip to raft a calm section of the Colorado and see the canyon itself. The day had been rushed and I'd missed the opportunity to climb down deep into the belly of the beast. I would <i>not </i>miss that opportunity again. </div>
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Prior to our departure to the Southwest, we'd been briefed on the forth-coming opportunity to hike the Grand Canyon - up to 16 miles of it. We'd been warned that, if we weren't ready physically, we shouldn't go.</div>
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Nothing could've stopped me. </div>
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There were 5 others who felt equally thrilled about the hike. We called ourselves "The Fellowship of the..." Wait...never mind, one mustn't plagiarize. </div>
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Among those who hiked the canyon were myself and the Gypsy, our friend Lydia (who was pursuing her PhD; congrats on achieving it), and a number of students from Cumberland County, TN and the surrounding area. I won't write much about the students because I don't have their explicit permission to, but each of them had a distinct personality, and I remember all of them fondly. A photograph of the group (which has already been publicly shared) can be seen below.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzXyXWDXKWLtjQJHVeFS3GjF-qO1e-iMXs6CXaJGq901qXU4NHj7Pm26Rc1KwFwQ5fHPHJAiHZWJBukFUJHrqdOXVlG3dZEq3AF-Ae1eoJjzc-PWp9wutAjkhPH5V3QRip6olOzB8J9gE/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzXyXWDXKWLtjQJHVeFS3GjF-qO1e-iMXs6CXaJGq901qXU4NHj7Pm26Rc1KwFwQ5fHPHJAiHZWJBukFUJHrqdOXVlG3dZEq3AF-Ae1eoJjzc-PWp9wutAjkhPH5V3QRip6olOzB8J9gE/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Amanda and I hiked a fair portion of the way down with Lydia (left side of the group), who is a much more experienced and capable hiker than I am. I've always enjoyed my conversations with her, and consider her something of a kindred spirit. I've learned to recognize and appreciate when I'm around people who are smarter than me, and she's definitely one of them. She's a person that I can learn something from, or at the very least consult in matters of perspective. If I had to guess her Myers-Briggs, I'd go for INTJ or possibly an ISTJ. (Lydia! What's your MB???)</div>
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Lydia, Amanda and I opted to jog down, slowing occasionally for photos or to enjoy the scenery. We wanted to get the easy part out of the way and give ourselves the maximum amount of time for the return trip. One of the students had already surpassed us at a near sprint, and the other two were lagging behind; their intent was to enjoy the day, not to hike to a particular destination and back. As hours passed, it was surprising just how far down it felt like we had already traveled, but the canyon descended further still. There were incredible flowers hidden away in the dryness, and our eyes eventually adjusted to seeking them out. </div>
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We also found...well, I'm not really sure what to call it. Just look at the pictures below. A nest?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxkIm-ro4hOJFmsinFB6dp9x_Jf3bIJQjbEOb1YV4-4TC3OODczlgEIMkJv6wJ06A92YjcciquUmtZRTuRuVmufZGbgqgPiJwkowsSwqqcTpEZJVJmD-j5QGcM00z2qCLcpilz_p_YK6rc/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxkIm-ro4hOJFmsinFB6dp9x_Jf3bIJQjbEOb1YV4-4TC3OODczlgEIMkJv6wJ06A92YjcciquUmtZRTuRuVmufZGbgqgPiJwkowsSwqqcTpEZJVJmD-j5QGcM00z2qCLcpilz_p_YK6rc/s320/13.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXI5wYByYHhTgwabxsO0Zgsb69KkDsyV2kL6IzQOPHBDjqp_sN-F_xs_Th8il9szepIdj4aX18pu7pEBc0aZmEur04RIdgkB25pekXjAcirvUx6ig489vrUu-GBqrm8acT5LD9Seonkzyk/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXI5wYByYHhTgwabxsO0Zgsb69KkDsyV2kL6IzQOPHBDjqp_sN-F_xs_Th8il9szepIdj4aX18pu7pEBc0aZmEur04RIdgkB25pekXjAcirvUx6ig489vrUu-GBqrm8acT5LD9Seonkzyk/s320/14.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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It was obviously an incredible day in the outdoors, but even climbing down was terribly exhausting. My mentality that day had been the same as it was for the entire trip..."I'm doing this." But when, around 5.5 miles into the hike, Amanda started experiencing some light dizziness and cramping, we decided to separate from the student sprinter (who had stopped and waited near the <a href="https://www.hitthetrail.com/north-rim-day-hikes/" target="_blank">Roaring Springs</a> pictured below) and Lydia. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ga4aRUmyepLq0V0iEENIYmec4Cy3a4pMN2RW70oR7eSigwphyphenhyphencWDKVWlcZ-WYTErEn5kvWKfpko6Iym6W9aDY4j30RC51IdX0wbSyZ6Om5L152kXNPDT1fBw0SXI6wCVTbYnjNByceW2/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ga4aRUmyepLq0V0iEENIYmec4Cy3a4pMN2RW70oR7eSigwphyphenhyphencWDKVWlcZ-WYTErEn5kvWKfpko6Iym6W9aDY4j30RC51IdX0wbSyZ6Om5L152kXNPDT1fBw0SXI6wCVTbYnjNByceW2/s320/4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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After Lydia and the sprinter continued on, we rested, ate, and re-hydrated. </div>
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We hiked a small side trail, and then decided we should probably start the journey back up. I think I would've continued my descent if Amanda had felt better, but in hindsight it would've been an absolutely terrible idea. The best path was the one we chose together, which was to slow down and enjoy where we were at as we began the treacherous 5.5 mile journey back up the canyon. The difference in elevation was over 3000 feet.</div>
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Here are some of the photos we captured that day. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5esMunTV9GhG76PFjNhMG6BEAgZWCdse-2MD8ctdl8gWwjiX8gZQhs8DXPJ5PljZd211uTjOz4sTw_crn4OuPKLaXNOF0IviweiH3ECNMkAAgR4kvPqnPmZ4lUId1tPYN_B1zU99QgE6/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5esMunTV9GhG76PFjNhMG6BEAgZWCdse-2MD8ctdl8gWwjiX8gZQhs8DXPJ5PljZd211uTjOz4sTw_crn4OuPKLaXNOF0IviweiH3ECNMkAAgR4kvPqnPmZ4lUId1tPYN_B1zU99QgE6/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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In a dozen moments like the one pictured below, we thought we saw the top of the canyon, only to reach that point and see that we had multiple tiers left to climb. It was so defeating to think you'd done it only to see that you were possibly<i> half </i>way to the top. </div>
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Each time we stopped to rest (which was eventually every five feet or so) it became more difficult to continue on. By the time we finished the hike, I wanted nothing more than to pass out. We were beyond thankful for our friend Steven's arrival with the van and some snickers bars. I didn't think I was going to be able to get out of the van when we got back to camp, but we managed to get a quick shower and eat some chili before we completely crashed.</div>
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That climb was the closest event in the whole trip to describing what the previous year had been like for me. It was as if each tier of the canyon represented an obstacle I'd overcome. My relationship with religion was one. Coping with my father's cancer, another. Giving the foster children I'd grown to love so deeply to another family. My transition from the military. My divorce. My daughter moving away from my home. My loved one's perception of me changing. Depression. PTSD. Trying desperately to rid myself of multiple mortgages. Tier after tier presented itself and I climbed over them, thinking each time that I had nothing left.</div>
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Each of them loomed before me, an obstacle impossible to overcome. Looking back from the top though, having defeated the challenge, was the closest thing to what I feel like now, having found happiness following my many years in the dark deep. </div>
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Later that night, Lydia arrived back at camp with the one student who had gone the full 16 miles. While even Lydia was exhausted, the student was borderline hypothermic, so before Amanda and I crashed out, the medic was called to action. She prescribed warm food, a blanket, and some time by the campfire, and also suggested he remove his dripping wet cotton clothes. </div>
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Amanda and I have agreed to return to the Grand Canyon one day for a rim-to-rim hike. Following the obstacle we overcame together that day, we slept in a hammock right on the canyon's edge. It was one of the best nights of sleep I have ever had. One suggestion, though: before you begin your descent into the Grand Canyon, be sure to find time for a proper poo. It'll just make the second half of the day much easier for you.</div>
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Ah, humanity. Overthink it as I may, it always comes back down to the basics. </div>
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<br />The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-37722508450656984322018-12-17T16:06:00.002-08:002018-12-18T06:18:29.592-08:00Beech Mountain, NC: Chills and Thrills<div style="text-align: center;">
Bards don't snowboard, you know. I mean, when was the last time you read a fantasy novel where-in the bard of the story strapped his lute to his back, found a plank to stand on, and hit the slopes?</div>
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Never. You've never read one. </div>
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Because bards. Don't. Snowboard. </div>
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They wander and they contemplate the secrets of the universe. They transcribe said secrets into riddles and poems, songs and parables. They take their time and meander toward whatever topic peaks (the verb, not the noun) their interest at the time, preferring to <i>elevate </i>their mind rather than swiftly <i>descending </i>their physical being into valleys, whether physical or allegorical. Bards chase wisdom and spend time sharing it with anyone who has a mind to listen. </div>
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Yesterday though, I decided to challenge the stereotype. December 16th, 2018 was an important day for multiple reasons. First, I had the opportunity to introduce the Gypsy to one of my very few consistent and unconditional friends. Secondly, because instead of introducing them at a restaurant or cafe like any sane person would do, we decided to meet at the top of a mountain that we would later slide back down. For me, a good portion of that slide would be spent on my buttocks. </div>
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It was Amanda's second day off work since Thanksgiving (because December is an incredibly demanding time for USPS workers) and our original intent for the day was to sleep in as long as we could, and then go back to sleep for a few more hours afterward. That was until I mentioned in passing that one of my old friends of the Intelligence Community was going skiing that weekend. Amanda knew of Lisa because she'd recommended me for a position recently with her company, and we'd spent a couple of hours on the phone discussing it and reconnecting. I knew Amanda had snowboarded in the past, but had no idea that she would instantly demand that we drive three hours both to meet Lisa and to join her on the adventure. It would require that we wake up at 5:30 AM after she'd worked non-stop for weeks, but that didn't even seem to phase her. She drug her gear out from the closet we'd stuffed it into during our summer camping excursions, and was soon trying everything on and showing me the basics on our living room carpet. Push your butt out. Put your weight on the front of the board. Dig your heels in.<br />
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We kept an eye on the weather throughout the week, and made a trip to REI knowing that we'd spend too much money as we do each time we shop there. I bought a KÜHL sweater (please, somebody understand my subtleties), and Amanda surprised me with an early Christmas gift of winter hiking boots. I also opted for a pair of rain pants, which I perceived as more versatile than the ones designed for snowboarding specifically. They were about half of the price and I figured I would also wear them for future snow hikes, so after nearly an hour of deliberation, that's what I went with. It's a good thing I did, because the weather turned out to be rather disgusting. </div>
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When we arrived on <a href="https://www.beechmountainresort.com/" target="_blank">Beech Mountain</a> Sunday, I could barely see the road in front of me. It wasn't raining per se, but it was so foggy that water would soak your clothes after only a few minutes outdoors. We gave Lisa a heads up on the weather, and she suggested meeting for breakfast at the <a href="http://www.sunrisegrillboone.com/" target="_blank">Sunrise Grill</a> in Boone, NC. She and her husband had eaten there before, and she thought we'd be impressed. She was right. I ordered Cranberry Walnut french toast, and Lisa and Amanda both had eggs benedict. They got along instantly, and Lisa noted that I looked happier than she'd ever seen me. I responded that it was because I <i>was </i>happy for the first time since she'd met me. Historically, I'd always had my interests...duty, sacrifice, honor, and the like. But I'd never been relaxed and content with life like I now feel. I never project my happiness as someone else's responsibility. It isn't meeting Amanda that made me happy, it's the fact that I learned how to be authentic with myself and to interact with the world in an authentic way. That said, Amanda does certainly enhance and enrich that happiness by sharing my interests, outlook, and goals. My life is more fulfilled <i>with </i>her than it could ever be without her, and I'm enormously thankful for her presence both in the good times and during my struggles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnd8oD8tHZdA3gFCpaJ0PvwRhvhcLAgB8vLckcFjzxLld0uCkw_ZQw2_215JGUiFg4q6hV3C-N1DIOPytCk0iZSrxVtNIBGvzUyC8hSeqiF5lEyetUgXzS6BxaV_q7QP8SwptS9LY1nW0/s1600/blog+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnd8oD8tHZdA3gFCpaJ0PvwRhvhcLAgB8vLckcFjzxLld0uCkw_ZQw2_215JGUiFg4q6hV3C-N1DIOPytCk0iZSrxVtNIBGvzUyC8hSeqiF5lEyetUgXzS6BxaV_q7QP8SwptS9LY1nW0/s320/blog+2.jpg" width="320" /></a>We had an excellent breakfast and discussed our various adventures (particularly across the Southwest - Lisa received an even less censored version than what I write in the blog), and then drove up to the Beech Mountain pub. We'd hoped the weather would improve during breakfast, but since the pub was virtually empty it provided a nice place to warm up and continue our conversation. After we'd been there for a few minutes discussing the important issues of human existence, a man came in wearing ski boots, ordered a beer, and proceeded to fall flat on his ass on the way back to his table. He lay there groaning for about half a second before he said, "I'm okay! Just really embarrassed - please, nobody look at me!" I commend his handling of the situation. Before he'd fallen, I was observing his social anxiety in his interactions and mannerisms, but it seemed that once he'd achieved the worst case scenario, there was nothing else to worry about. It reminded me of being so depressed that I didn't want to exist any more, and how that "absolute bottom" had driven me to be fearlessly authentic. My life has improved beyond measure since then, so if anyone is at their all-time low, know that it is that sort of pressure that inspires and incites change. Embrace it.<br />
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We had a couple of beers and eventually decided to brave the miserable-foggy-slushy weather and hit the slopes. I rented snowboarding equipment, and took a little conveyor belt to the top of the tiniest little bunny slope - fell on my butt quite a few times. It was <i>totally</i> exhausting at first, trying to figure out how to drag the board along with one foot buckled. I learned that essentially everything Amanda had told me was correct, but I'm more of a feeler than a rationalist, so I had to just let it happen. We went to our first real slope - riding the lift was pretty awesome, though I was intimidated by the lack of any sort of restraining device. Apparently you have to slide off of the lift as well...there's no pause in the motion. I did surprisingly well at that. The problem with me is that, as a deeply idealistic and philosophical person, I believe that humans should carry themselves with poise and dignity. It is absolutely impossible to look dignified or elegant when you're sliding down snow for the first time. You try hopping, sliding, scooting, or whatever else you have to do in order to go the direction you're aiming while your feet are fastened to a board. Toward the end of the day I felt rather fluid, but by that time I'd also scraped my hide a good two dozen times. That said, the overall experience was SO FUN that I will undoubtedly by investing in some gear of my own.<br />
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If you're going for the first time, you should prepare to be disheartened at the fluidity not only of your more experienced group members, but of a dozen five year old kids who can literally ski circles around you. As the day ended, we had a quick dinner of coffee, wings (me, always), and burgers. We agreed to meet up again and I vowed that, as in all things, I will be better in my future endeavors than I was in the past ones.<br />
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Mahalo for the invite, Lisa! Thank you for meeting my human. It was really an honor to be authentically happy in front of you, because you've been with me through a metric butt-ton of mental and spiritual battles. To be surrounded by people who love you unconditionally...what more can anyone ask for? Snowboarding was exhausting for the Bard, but amazing rest for his soul.<br />
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-79915967440978877272018-12-12T09:36:00.003-08:002018-12-17T09:41:18.061-08:00The Southwest, 2018 (Part 3): A Stubbed Toe<div style="text-align: center;">
Following our adventures at Pueblo Bonito came a day that I, along with everyone else, was thrilled for. For most of our group, it was the facilities of our next campground that were such an exciting prospect. Not only could we take hot showers, they also had WASHING MACHINES. The exciting thing for me though, was that we were visiting one of the namesakes of my research project - Lake Powell. Nearly 150 years prior in the very same place I was to visit, John Wesley Powell had faced his demons. Another man who had been brainwashed to run toward his fears instead of away from them - another man who fought an internal battle that only a select few were invited to see. It was a great reminder of the collective spirit of humanity, and that most journeys we experience now have been experienced by thousands of humans before us. The best part is that, if we're wise enough to learn from their experiences, we can emulate their success and avoid their mistakes. We can learn how they coped with pain, and how they conquered (or indeed, succumbed) to it. In all of the journals Powell kept throughout his entire trip, he never once wrote about having only one arm or the complications that went along with his disability. It wasn't just his guts that earned him his spot in history, though - the U.S. Government had refused to fund his expedition, so Powell paid for it all himself. Using his own capital, earned while collecting terrible memories in a war zone, Powell completed the map of our United States of America. If you'd like to learn more about the man who white-water rafted before it was cool (or his salty war-veteran crew), check out his museum page, <a href="http://www.powellmuseum.org/museum_powell.php">Here!</a>, or <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Seeing-Things-Whole-Essential-Conservation/dp/1559638737">Order this book!</a><br />
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A huge part of the adventure on May 17th was the <i>drive</i> to Page. The landscapes were incredible, and we stopped at multiple lookout points, pictured below.<br />
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At one of the stops - Buffalo Pass, elevation of 8500ft - Amanda found a little critter. She's obsessed with little critters. <br />
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In addition to the overlooks, we also stopped to hike "Cathedral Wash," which was beautiful beyond belief, but ended in tragedy. Pictures below. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMu5QvvNKTZrwMUkYaixMxuHvGHiq6aqAwEwEZfool_BUnBxw4DvtnwLqk_svd0ryUpbiIZUXgczJhy_I06pA1eah9dkRgt9Rey71eAT_usj1FUSwjjUeWaPD8djkFvuWNcgVbcpx5ut20/s1600/9.jpg"><br /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSK6fUln5GpG7MsbrTsaKEgeiHiYR6IAe0u79wS8zChrYwtyQyNo4rI4P8FYuCEgJGxC9bSsDTdQ1rQ1WcV3ubBFIpWA6P3Cd-KSO_7jPovzrYplZH0S3kXwYJJNbdkLTyRpdPd9CZeEmv/s1600/8.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSK6fUln5GpG7MsbrTsaKEgeiHiYR6IAe0u79wS8zChrYwtyQyNo4rI4P8FYuCEgJGxC9bSsDTdQ1rQ1WcV3ubBFIpWA6P3Cd-KSO_7jPovzrYplZH0S3kXwYJJNbdkLTyRpdPd9CZeEmv/s320/8.jpg" /></a><br />
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Shout out to my man BEN for the tiny background photo bomb! And also to my good buddy Steve-pa, who I insisted upon taking a "bro-pic" with at this section of the Colorado River.<br />
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The water at Cathedral wash was bone cold, but that didn't stop Amanda from swimming the small section of rapids. She managed to survive the swim unscathed, but later stubbed her toe (big time) on one of the rocks hiking out. Instead of using her medic skills to treat the wound, she just kept hiking and let the dirt do its job. I spend a lot of time studying people - my person in particular - and this was an educational moment concerning how she handled pain (What a gal). After much internal debate about whether to include a photo, I decided to include a small one. If you're offended, just pretend it's ketchup. <br />
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After a long day of adventuring, we arrived at Lake Powell. The first night there ended with one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen, and I happened to get an extremely inadequate representation of it in the picture below. By this time, I was falling into a rhythm of waking up a little earlier than most of the group for a cup of camp coffee, and the sunrise (also below) was equally stunning.<br />
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Sunset, Lake Powell<br />
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Sunrise, Lake Powell</div>
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Lake Powell's facilities genuinely were incredible, and it's one of the many places across the Southwest that I have every intention of returning to in future adventures. It was cold there, but that didn't stop the Gypsy and I from sleeping in a hammock under the stars. We even braved the icy waters, where everyone looked at us like we were entirely insane. In fairness, I wouldn't have gone in if Amanda hadn't. It was a test of focus, and an opportunity to overcome physical discomfort together since we were already accustomed to overcoming demons of the mind. It was also good therapy for sore muscles, which were unaccustomed to daily hikes. It was a good thing we took the opportunity to rest; our hike into the Grand Canyon itself would soon follow.</div>
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Lastly, if you're enjoying reading along and haven't read my first ever (self) published book, I just relaunched it with about a dozen new works in it <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Little-Book-Poetry-Movement/dp/1981479856">(BUY ME?)</a>. It's a poetry anthology focused on self-recovery through writing. It contains a journal in the back, and is sold entirely for charity (random acts of kindness, donations to charitable organizations, helping those in need, etc). It would make a great stocking stuffer and it would mean a lot to me to have your support, and even a review on Amazon. If you know someone struggling with a mental disability, I'd like to try and send one for free. I can do so anonymously, and it might help them back onto their true path. Oh hey, what's a book without a <a href="http://thegypsyandthebard.blogspot.com/2018/11/ennui-poem-explanation-and-christmas.html">bookmark?</a> Thanks, earth-walkers. Love ya'll. </div>
<br />The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-13754630545486201492018-12-04T14:15:00.003-08:002018-12-12T09:38:37.116-08:00The Southwest, 2018 (Part 2): The Ancients<div style="text-align: center;">
After the hike on May 15th, Amanda and I celebrated our newfound friendship with a bourbon night cap and too many cigarettes. It was a transition phase after all, and sometimes transitions proceed more smoothly accompanied by strong alcohol and tobacco. It was lovely to relax after a day of adrenaline, and we both were content not only to enjoy each other's presence, but to hang out with the younger members of the group who were also in high spirits. </div>
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During the initial trip from Tennessee to New Mexico, we were both back-up drivers because of our age. Unfortunately, that put us in separate vans following our acquaintance, but neither of us really minded it. With such recent divorces, we were naturally skeptical of humanity and each wanted to ensure that our focus on the trip stayed in the right place. I'd learned a lot about Amanda: that in addition to processing her own divorce, the mental scars associated with life as a paramedic can be equally or sometimes even more difficult to overcome than those associated with military service.</div>
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Anyone who has consistently experienced what others would consider "trauma," can struggle against the inclination to come up with this go-to list of what causes their nightmares. For me, the list was the death of a childhood friend, religious extremism, my father's alcoholism, my grandfather's failed battle with cancer, human trafficking, tribal violence, sex slaves, dead children, and a terrible night involving a hotel fire. For Amanda, the list was comprised of a number of suicide scenes and injuries, the worst of which involved grievously wounded children or the lost battles for life. She consistently dealt with drug addicts, car wrecks, and other emergency calls, and never knew what she would find upon her arrival as a first responder. In sum, we both had our own shit to process, and the van rides were a good time to do so. </div>
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I'll admit that I felt a pang of sorrow though, that we couldn't carry on our conversation during the drive between sites. What everyone else on the trip probably saw was a couple of students starting a "SWFT-fling," while in fact, even in the beginning, Amanda was astronomically helpful for me in processing years of pent-up emotion. Contrarily, for anyone reading along who may be going on the trip, I would not rationally suggest finding romance there. There is in no way a "dating show" vibe. It isn't the bachelor, with a group of singles gallivanting around the world's most romantic places in a publicly displayed search for love. In our case, we each had been through hell, had learned to handle it on our own, and then found a companion we could trust to bare some of the weight <i>after</i> learning to survive it. It was something I didn't personally understand, having never <i>in my life</i> trusted anyone to help me bare the weight of my contemplations. Very few people even in my inner circle have any idea the things I've endured. </div>
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Imagine that two people are thrown into separate pits which are a hundred feet deep. They survive off of muddy ground water and the occasional animal that falls in. They eat worms and bugs and even the dirt itself, and are stuck living in the waste that such survival generates. Rancid, miserable, decay. For years they endure such a lifestyle before realizing that, just a few feet away, there is another person in another pit who understands their plight. So, they use the bones left behind by their decaying meals to dig a tunnel which connects the two pits. They begin to survive together, sharing the few comforts they each possess with one another. Their quality of life improves insurmountably just by having someone to survive the horrors with. Someone who gets it. Eventually, strengthened by companionship and the desperation to help not only themselves, but a loved one, they devise a way to climb out of that hell and live again instead of only surviving. </div>
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Anyone who thinks that analogy is an exaggeration will have to stay tuned to my writing for the forthcoming full-length memoir. </div>
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The above may seem off topic from the subject, but it's important to me that I highlight where I was mentally throughout the trip: this is my subjective account, and for me the stakes were quite high. Now that I've done that, I'll return to the trip itself. </div>
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May 16th was spent in a beautiful place called Chaco Canyon. Following the drive, Amanda and I cautiously reconnected for the day that followed, both considering one another's emotions more than our own. We were both cynical, but I think we each decided that if it was indeed a "field-trip fling" that it was okay; it was worth pursuing on the off-chance it could develop into something more. We explored the beautiful Pueblo Bonito, which was occupied by the Puebloans from AD 828 until AD 1126. We hiked a ridge overlooking the village as well, and captured the beautiful images below.<br />
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Amanda naturally had to take a picture of her Chacos in Chaco Canyon.<br />
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The campsite was nearby in Chaco Canyon, so after the initial hike, the professor agreed to allow us and a couple others to hike to the popular Supernova petroglyph depicted below. It was the first time that Amanda and I witnessed together what we'd both seen many times before we met: peoples' disgusting habit of defacing important natural and historical artifacts. Carved over-top of ancient petroglyphs throughout the canyon were the initials of young couples who had visited the area. Beside an ancient deer depiction was Godzilla's mouth open wide to consume it. Ridiculous. But it was still something of a magical experience to see the art work of those ancient humans, and to relate to them as a part of the human collective. By viewing each individual piece of a puzzle for what it is and the truths it contains, we can better understand what the completed image represents.<br />
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I'll also include, for the sake of authenticity, that this long and rather exhausting hike is when I first discovered within myself that Amanda and I were more than a SWFT romance. The conversations we had that day did more to heal me than perhaps any others I've had in my life, and she has this sort of undefinable wisdom about her that I can't fathom, but am truly thankful for. Before the 16th, I'd sensed it, but never seen it. That day I saw it, and I did something I hadn't done for a very long time: I felt hope that maybe my life was something that I could enjoy, rather than simply contributing what I needed to to humanity before dying. In an ancient village in Arizona, I found new life.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chaco Canyon/Pueblo Bonito</span> </b></div>
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<b style="color: #282828; font-family: "segoe ui wpc", "segoe ui", tahoma, "microsoft sans serif", verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">More to come...</b><br />
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-84473938467681914812018-12-03T12:35:00.001-08:002019-04-05T09:04:30.260-07:00The Southwest, 2018 (Part 1): A Vision Quest <div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Scene Setter:</b></div>
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In early 2018, I was nearing the end of a six month long divorce that would end up costing me nearly $50,000. I'd worked the first decade of my adulthood away, madly trying to change my station in life and provide lifelong stability to my beautiful daughter, who was two at the time. I'd been married for almost seven years - had gotten married at 19 for all the wrong reasons. By my understanding, it was a man's role to sacrifice, provide, and protect. Life was duty, honor, and chivalry - nothing else. It was pain, in other words, with no comfort or reciprocation. I won't mention the causes of my divorce in any detail, except for to say that I hold my head high knowing that I acted with the same honor mentioned above throughout the marriage. I endured things that most people would never imagine and never gave up until it became a life or death decision on whether or not to move on.<br />
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I still carried the weight of guilt from that survival based decision when I first heard about my community college's Southwest Field Trip. The husband of one of my professors (a professor himself) had spent five minutes in his wife's classroom before one of our classes began, and without knowing the true significance of it, had picked me out of the crowd and asked me to talk in the hallway. I was intrigued and found his mannerisms to be knowing and empathetic, so I placated the conversation knowing that I wasn't in anywhere near the life-space I needed to be in to go on a trip like that. It would be three weeks long, would cover more than a dozen national parks and historical points, and would be spent entirely in campground conditions. It sounded like something I desperately needed, but couldn't allow myself to experience. <br />
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I had just watched my child move away from my home and was trying (and failing) to rid myself of two mortgages, one of which was in Hawaii. The financial pressure alone was crushingly overwhelming. I was watching my father battle stage four cancer and watching my mother process that after my grandfather had died of the same terrible disease some years prior. I had been the foster parent of two neglected children in Hawaii (where I was stationed in the Navy) when I got the news about my father and had to make the difficult decision to pass those children to another foster parent while I went home to support my family. I had just taken over the lead position for a site of 30+ government cleared security officers. After months of working between 50-85 hours a week <i>and </i>attending college full time, I had to make the conflicted decision to bail (temporarily) on my college degree. The three hours of sleep I was getting on the average day just wasn't going to cut it anymore. As a night shift security officer, I had fully devoted myself to my education in the humanities, and I had learned <i>so </i>much from people who had been dead longer than I'd been alive.<br />
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It was a desperate time. I got out of the military in mid-2017 and had used my education to help myself overcome some pretty serious PTSD, paranoia, depression, and anxiety. Internally, I would repeat the mantra: "It's not post-traumatic stress; it's just a post-traumatic test."<br />
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I was resentful toward the military and didn't want to talk to any of their therapists or accept any government stipends or disability. I'd seen what that same government had accomplished around the world and wanted nothing to do with their blood-money. Still don't. Near the beginning of my education, I decided that the campus of that community college would be my safe place. I wouldn't hold anything back during my studies or pull any punches in my writing assignments. It was for me. It was my mechanism of healing, and I eventually found a real sense of community there. A group of intellectuals and seekers who wished to overcome their problems by learning about the universe and its nature; a group of professors who had the education to be able to relate to my experiences and guide me toward others of a similar mind. I learned about the Greeks' Arete and sought it in every moment. <br />
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Giving up that education was a tremendously difficult decision - one brought about by the need to spend more time with my daughter following the divorce. The supervisory position allowed more control over my own schedule, but it was too taxing to provide 30 people with work/life balance while also attending college. I received a small pay raise associated with the promotion, which would help to overcome the $800 a month in child support that was so recently a part of my budget - money that I'm honored to give to help my daughter with what she needs. In short, when I departed on Roane State's Southwest Field Trip (SWFT), I was two different things. On the outside, I was a lighthearted young man who liked to help break the ice and make other students comfortable within the group dynamic. I like to think that I was something of a mentor for the younger crowd. On the inside, I was borderline suicidal, hanging on by a thread, and determined to keep fighting no matter what. I was desperate to find peace in nature, and then subsequently within myself. I was on both a public journey and a private one.<br />
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As I got to know some of the other students, it struck me that most of them were running <i>toward </i>something. Experience. Natural beauty. An Instagram photo op. Some time away from their parents. There were a few though, who were running <i>away.</i> I was one of them, and honestly I would have never gone on that trip if the professor leading it hadn't been aware enough of his surroundings to see that I needed it and might be able to add something to the group dynamic. I'd told him about my mental state before we left - that I was really struggling. I promised him it wouldn't become an issue on the trip, and that it would be entirely internal. He had me research John Wesley Powell (JWP) for a pre-trip presentation, and I was disappointed that I couldn't put my full effort toward it because of what was going on in my life. Still, I learned that he was a Civil War veteran who had lost an arm in battle. He'd had it amputated (with no anesthesia other than some whiskey) and had proceeded, following his time at war, to lead the first documented expedition into the Grand Canyon (a name which JWP himself coined). After his own misfortunes at war, Powell overcame one of the greatest obstacles in his day: rafting down the Colorado river absent one arm. His crew nearly starved to death, yet carried on. They were battered and broken and some even died, but <i>still </i>they carried on, and eventually JWP climbed out of the Grand Canyon with the one arm he had left.<br />
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I felt a strong connection to the man in a spiritual sense...I'd chosen to let my life fall apart in a search for greater truth. For too long I'd lived a life that wasn't honest. The American Dream was not my dream, it was not my path, and it was not my destiny. The need for authenticity toward my passions had finally driven me insane, and I was so driven toward an uncertain goal that, when not in its pursuit, I pictured myself back in that broken bed with a .45 pressed against my skull. It was truth and wisdom or death and silence. Nobody ever knows what they're searching for, really. Do they? I knew that I had to go on that trip. You can call it whatever you want: discernment...intuition...God. You can call it desperation, projection, seeking, or any number of synonyms. I knew it was my path. I'd been through enough in my life to know how to listen and understand when something is absolutely true. On May 14th, we departed. <br />
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<b>The Trip: </b></div>
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There were elements associated with the group dynamic that quickly became apparent. 17 students went on the trip, many of whom were in their first year of college and thus, pretty young. For a lot of them, it really was what the name suggested - a field trip. Their initial excitement waned however, when the first leg of the drive was something like 30 hours long. I helped with some of the driving since I was among the older of the group, and the professor (the one who had initially introduced me to the trip) and I enjoyed torturing the younger members of the group by playing Scottish and Irish folk music. They subsequently enjoyed torturing us with such profound lyrics as "Chains hangin' from my dangelang," and, "Do it in the mirror." It was culturally educational that in the 7 years that separated my generation from theirs, music had changed so drastically. They all sang along in sync, and I genuinely found it pretty entertaining and borderline impressive.<br />
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There were one or two older students on the trip - one was around 28, and another around 30 - she was providing unofficial paramedic support to the group. Then there was an outside college professor who was pursuing a PhD in religious studies - I had enjoyed a couple of conversations with her prior to the trip and found her pretty capable of cutting to matters of substance. There was also the history teacher who had spoken to me outside of his wife's classroom, and a geologist from a nearby campus of the same college. The rest were pretty much 20 or younger, so I found that I rather accidentally fell into something of an "older brother" style mentor-ship role with them. The first day of the trip was filled with a drive that seemed too long, but featured interesting landscape changes for anyone who could stay awake to see them. Internally, it was nice for me to step away from the complications of my life and toward whatever may come. Many of the students constantly asked questions about where we were, where we were going the next day, or what they would need when we got there. What activities there would be. I honestly didn't care in the slightest if we were going to climb into a volcano or up a mountain...we could've taken JWP's very same expedition and I would've been ready. I was ready to push myself no matter the danger. On May 15th, the opportunity finally came.<br />
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The first campsite was comprised of a number of small cabins. We arrived, and after a bit of annoying administrivia the likes of which is standard on such group trips, we got settled. Then the opportunity for the first hike came. I found myself matching pace primarily with the medic mentioned before - she apparently had another part-time job as a raft guide and was pretty close to my fitness level (active outdoors enthusiast, but not an insane cross-fit junky). She was also going through a divorce and a bit of life restructuring. She was a few years older than me, but with some of my difficult experiences in the military, it seemed we were in a similar life place. My attitude of hyper-authenticity had extended from the college campus to the trip, and I found that we very quickly arrived at conversations of substance, such as why we each were divorcing and what life might actually be about. The air was so much less thick in the Southwest, and the hike was just the sort of physical exertion I'd been searching for.<br />
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When we got to the end of the trail, I decided I wasn't finished yet and took off climbing on the rocks. I didn't know how to get to the top, or whether there was a way down, only that I came to push myself and that I needed the solitude that the climb would afford me. I dropped my backpack about halfway up a huge rock face and climbed until there was no visible trail. I reached what I thought was a stopping point, and after a minute or two, heard someone else coming. The medic. Strangely, I found that it wasn't an intrusion on my private moment. My spirit was open and learning - I was scared of heights, and it had been something of a mental obstacle for me to climb that high. When she caught up, she declared the same fear. With a nod of unspoken acknowledgment, we revised our plans and climbed even higher. A few of the other students met us on the middle level, but we soon were alone again and terrified of falling. There was some chemistry there that I couldn't help but acknowledge, but just as when I was initially invited on the trip: "I wasn't in anywhere near the life-space I needed for such a connection. It sounded like something I desperately needed but couldn't allow myself to experience."<br />
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The climb down was the scariest part. There wasn't a clear path, and honestly, the way we'd climbed up would not have been safe to climb down. So, we found a way that seemed safe, but soon discovered that we had to straddle between to rock faces, putting equal pressure on both sides, and pretty much crab walk down hill while suspended in the air. You could see where a tree trunk had been washed down and wedged in between the two rock faces, and we weren't really sure how stable any of it was. It got to the point where, out of necessity, we were helping each other climb under things and over them. It wasn't really <i>dangerous</i> per se, but it was beyond my comfort zone. The chemistry I'd tried to ignore before became somewhat more pronounced as we both faced our fears and overcame them, often hand in hand. Honestly, I was just happy in the moment. I'd forgotten about the deeper meaning of life and processing the weights I carried. I was enjoying nature and a new-found companion. I didn't care what preceded the moment or what would come next. A couple of pictures from that first hike are below: for those of you who consistently read this blog, you may well recognize the medic as my Gypsy. On May 15th, and I knew this somewhere in my gut on that very day, my life changed forever because I found my truest companion and soon-to-be life partner.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; font-family: "segoe ui wpc" , "segoe ui" , "tahoma" , "microsoft sans serif" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><b>Grasshopper Canyon outside Santa Fe, NM.</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; font-family: "segoe ui wpc" , "segoe ui" , "tahoma" , "microsoft sans serif" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-50473743504842983042018-11-26T14:04:00.001-08:002018-11-26T14:11:01.486-08:00Ennui: A poem, an explanation, and a Christmas stocking stuffer! <div>
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Ennui<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">:</span></span></div>
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When sad eyes greeting</div>
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Upon first meeting</div>
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For a moment, feeding</div>
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My faintest hope</div>
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That in your mind</div>
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I should find a sign</div>
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Of a bit of depth </div>
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Beyond surface trope</div>
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And repeat this dance</div>
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In helpless trance</div>
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For faintest chance </div>
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A thousandth time</div>
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Until then, my unmet friend</div>
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I but hide my loneliness in rhyme</div>
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What's on the surface </div>
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I find wholly worthless</div>
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Seeking instead the marrow within</div>
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But finding there</div>
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That blank drooling stare </div>
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The redundant shallowness of men</div>
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But here, a spark</div>
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Halt and hark</div>
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A rare soul which stands awake</div>
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To teach and learn</div>
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Beyond words (Discerned) </div>
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Who sees what's real </div>
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Through all that's fake</div>
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The ability to read people through compassion and empathy has gotten me through a lot in my life. I'm terrible at surface-level relationships. I love to cut through the BS and get to matters of substance, and over time I've discovered that I can tell within only a few minutes which humans are of a similar mindset. Throughout my youth, I internally referred to the quality as "sad-eyes," and applied it mostly to the opposite gender. I thought that girls with sad eyes were more often than not the ones that could hold something of an intriguing conversation. They were most often able to relate to my languages: poetry, empathy, observation, and a real <i>need</i> to overcome obstacles and pain. </div>
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As I grew older, my classification of people began to change. I started to put people into groups: either "Roman," or "Greek." Greeks viewed the world with a questioning mind, always wondering why things are the way they are, or how to best interact with the world around them. The Romans (not sad-eyed) were convinced that they had all the answers, and had no desire to learn from other environments or cultures. </div>
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These days I know that everyone has a journey, and that we should try to connect to all people, whether because we can propel them forward in their way of thinking, or because they can teach <i>us </i>something. Still though, there are those rare individuals that I instantly let my guard down around. Are they intellectuals, or feelers? Does it have something to do with archetypes or Myers Briggs tests? IQ's? For awhile I even considered reincarnation and that my soul/consciousness might be connected to the people from a previous life. I still don't entirely discount that as a possibility. In "Many Lives, Many Masters," (<a href="https://www.ebay.com/p/Many-Lives-Many-Masters-The-True-Story-of-a-Prominent-Psychiatrist-His-Young-Patient-and-the-Past/996007?iid=182474202053&chn=ps" target="_blank">Buy it here</a>) Dr. Brian Weiss recounts his experience with a regression-therapy patient who, under hypnosis, recounted events with astounding historical accuracy. The events had happened hundreds of years before her birth, but she recounted each memory with an eerie personal connection. I've thought about people in "calibers," or "distance from enlightenment." For awhile, I classified them as "smarter than me," or "less smart," which was a gross oversimplification. Ultimately, what matters is that there are people out there who can look into our eyes and see us for who we are. They can appreciate our journey thus far, and can journey with us into the future.</div>
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I don't have the answer to why I connect to my "soul group", but I'm in a place where I no longer really need the answer. The poem above is one dedicated to the people in our lives who "get it." You can refer to them as "woke," or as "kindred spirits." Whatever synonym we choose to use, the bookmarks below would be a great way to let them know that you respect their intelligence and perspective. You can pass along a link to this blog to show them just how much they mean to you. Life hack: they would also be a relatively cheap and meaningful stocking stuffer. We can arrange a paypal payment and next-day shipping. :)<br />
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The price is $3.50 for one, $10.00 for three, or $30.00 for a dozen. The bookmark and tassel colors are customizable, and if this particular poem isn't for you, I've written hundreds and will slowly be including them in future blog-posts. You can order by commenting on this blog, emailing me (<a href="mailto:Dustin.A.Stitt@gmail.com" target="_blank">here!</a>), or shooting me a Facebook message. Order within the next couple of weeks for delivery before Christmas!<br />
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Thanks for yall's support, and feel free to subscribe and share. Much love!<br />
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-The Bard<br />
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-9288524939223943882018-11-23T10:44:00.001-08:002018-11-23T10:47:02.162-08:00Happy Thanksgiving! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Greetings all: As you can see from the pictures below, we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving a little differently this year. We traveled to the mountains for some time in the serene outdoors. There was a surprising amount of traffic in the Smokies, which both restored some of my faith in humanity and caused us to modify our plans of finding solitude in nature. Instead of a ten mile hike to Mount Leconte (which was absurdly busy), we visited Clingman's Dome, which was both beautiful and tainted by humanity. As we looked over the extraordinary mountain range which is so pivotal a place in both our lives, we heard the annoying mosquito-buzz of a drone flying overhead. We breathed the fresh, cold, crisp air, and noted the subtleties of a popcorn flavored vape and cigarette smoke blended within it. A would-be alpha male prodded his wife up the trail, teasing her because her efforts in playing tennis weren't enough to help her keep up with him. Prick. </div>
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I looked away from humanity to the nature beyond them, ashamed of what masculinity has come to represent. Do you really think that the complete strangers you're surrounded by are <i>that</i> impressed by your ability to <i>walk</i>? </div>
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In the end, we didn't spend any time at all at the lookout tower of Clingman's dome, which was packed like a sardine-can full of people who had no respect for nature. Disgusting arrogance. People who try to conquer their surroundings instead of exist within them. We tried to let go of our resentments toward the "leafers" and tourists, who were in the mountains for reasons which completely confound me. For us, the mountains are a place of magic and healing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1t_4aGLaDVzPXWjKGs_hVNNqUxAFSvHo76IVsLbZ70oE58Cy6UYW7OKENPZkvdTnalE47qR-4XJfbiRxIlTXBHgxvJ7g8sVUf2g7W2b4Wc0NpfxWttSCOFca9iUP6UMmUUY0PethOfTG0/s1600/IMG_2489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1t_4aGLaDVzPXWjKGs_hVNNqUxAFSvHo76IVsLbZ70oE58Cy6UYW7OKENPZkvdTnalE47qR-4XJfbiRxIlTXBHgxvJ7g8sVUf2g7W2b4Wc0NpfxWttSCOFca9iUP6UMmUUY0PethOfTG0/s320/IMG_2489.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I elected to study <i>my human </i>instead of the rest of them, and in moments like the ones below, found her doing the same. <i>Thanksgiving</i>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjud3RhcDzo3xOVHjmV4P4bgL_ZVPyZCsgQUAtQofF_h2Su9Ad5WQS5PKK888T0pe9dPxJhk6Sl9ql_q_wf2LDpE2IVTtOEXhcgZivTORqWrp41TG5mXnjBImGvysD_7rVC1Slv05xj31wG/s1600/IMG_2487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjud3RhcDzo3xOVHjmV4P4bgL_ZVPyZCsgQUAtQofF_h2Su9Ad5WQS5PKK888T0pe9dPxJhk6Sl9ql_q_wf2LDpE2IVTtOEXhcgZivTORqWrp41TG5mXnjBImGvysD_7rVC1Slv05xj31wG/s320/IMG_2487.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ultimately, we were able to find the serenity we sought and spend a quiet day together reflecting on all that we are thankful for. I recounted a fact that I've learned many times, which is that, while many people enjoy pretending that their primary role in life isn't to be a cog on the wheel of capitalism, very few people live the lifestyle of seeking life's greater secrets in nature. 'Twas destiny that led the Bard to the Gypsy, and both to the path less traveled.</div>
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Every day that I spend finding the lost language of nature reaffirms my life mission: to provide for my family while helping others to find that same peace. To build a community of seekers who, together, can become the best version of themselves. </div>
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Near lunchtime, we traveled across "The Missing Link," which if you aren't aware of it, is definitely worth checking out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzhr6M3YUx4" target="_blank">Here!</a> It's basically a portion of roadway which is built into the mountain side. A number of issues (primarily government funding) has delayed the road's completion for well over a decade, but it was completed this month! The drive was beautiful and, given that societal expansion is basically inevitable, we found that the construction was respectful of the natural beauty of the Smoky Mountains. </div>
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To pay respect to our mountains, I purchased the following hat, available only to members of the Great Smoky Mountains Association. The association contributes to the preservation of historic buildings such as Mingus Mill. It also contributes to the protection of natural habitats for plants and animals such as the Hemlock tree and the Black Bear. For more information on the Great Smoky Mountains Association, visit <a href="https://www.smokiesinformation.org/" target="_blank">This Site!</a> Amanda got a super-soft hoody which "was so soft that she was tempted to force me to strip my shirt off in the cold just to try it on." </div>
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<img height="320" src="https://www.smokiesinformation.org/media/catalog/product/cache/image/500x500/e9c3970ab036de70892d86c6d221abfe/677112.jpg" width="320" /></div>
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Here are some of my favorite photos from the day:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPTujK33kUnCd3M_mFyefjdWyzXtMfQVQvigccY5Z2MMu_Cs-Ih-6yxNytVHAvMptmEnNgHo0Mv-J4ZcDl24XT1yvVv27mOQXOJtzbtN_YA4yxeoMYTGGWiOsYzJLBID64nS7UIlOgYy-/s1600/IMG_2503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPTujK33kUnCd3M_mFyefjdWyzXtMfQVQvigccY5Z2MMu_Cs-Ih-6yxNytVHAvMptmEnNgHo0Mv-J4ZcDl24XT1yvVv27mOQXOJtzbtN_YA4yxeoMYTGGWiOsYzJLBID64nS7UIlOgYy-/s320/IMG_2503.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUE-l4Emvi9PRQ9TdrPGtJFjodwwsTugWAEreaIw6VDNnbg16tfoLMhOoJxfgsqbyI2MGp3Wpa8tS2-Ir9izrYPwwKw1e72pDFlDzy4dSJL8emM4GvBnXOOzM1whD34MTa2EbYKTBTcCVK/s1600/IMG_2508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUE-l4Emvi9PRQ9TdrPGtJFjodwwsTugWAEreaIw6VDNnbg16tfoLMhOoJxfgsqbyI2MGp3Wpa8tS2-Ir9izrYPwwKw1e72pDFlDzy4dSJL8emM4GvBnXOOzM1whD34MTa2EbYKTBTcCVK/s320/IMG_2508.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZ7c5Jcn15x2VSVAgr6lh32e2-8Jt5Fy6dCoGOQtSJZvGS3UzrwW4WGlbFtbUcIs8DBx1vub-HINNX504kL2WTQItEO4muoe0nOcBJDiitA1GzoTgc5rlOISJAg-enANJHcFL40aTVcmB/s1600/IMG_2519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZ7c5Jcn15x2VSVAgr6lh32e2-8Jt5Fy6dCoGOQtSJZvGS3UzrwW4WGlbFtbUcIs8DBx1vub-HINNX504kL2WTQItEO4muoe0nOcBJDiitA1GzoTgc5rlOISJAg-enANJHcFL40aTVcmB/s320/IMG_2519.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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After spending a half a day in the mountains, we stopped by my parents' house for a Thanksgiving dinner and some of the best company anyone could ask for. We shot guns (responsibly), and road four-wheelers, and further reflected on the things that have made us who we are today. </div>
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Thankful beyond words for the lessons I've learned in this life, and for the people I've learned them with. To the Gypsy: Thanks for another adventure, and for speaking all of my most reserved and complicated languages. Happy Thanksgiving, folks! </div>
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-The Bard</div>
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8947339024572229038.post-22794609359549657362018-11-19T10:45:00.003-08:002018-11-19T11:42:20.018-08:00Introduction<br />
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By way of introduction, if the following photographs speak to your soul, this blog is 100% for you. You can expect to see beautiful pictures of nature, and follow the journey of a couple who aspires to achieve their dream of owning and operating a campground, where they can help tired souls find peace and healing. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgM8iG2l8Yv72OJr2p3fXsT8yPPOwkU22mR2SPVnyL8N1BNuqjLRlBYZWrcnn_iB7kjTQE3HncdYhAc7u9QeeWNvRgOm93bt89Xs5Iu51NwTN-XkfuHGtEhieJhRIdgJ13rIhGTwD9RPA/s1600/SW+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgM8iG2l8Yv72OJr2p3fXsT8yPPOwkU22mR2SPVnyL8N1BNuqjLRlBYZWrcnn_iB7kjTQE3HncdYhAc7u9QeeWNvRgOm93bt89Xs5Iu51NwTN-XkfuHGtEhieJhRIdgJ13rIhGTwD9RPA/s320/SW+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyHcPsvVWAwwJGDfEnKD77mxwYc_ze47d2mn30GnP2JkyN5jt5fxPFTx2FYoNMwqVRC5V_KNUAKo2qfpRk2fmh4EiGM86xJRpV4LFVCB2VawlPJyCnBWjAsMD4WKRyRxLx146-tLIyHEnN/s1600/2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyHcPsvVWAwwJGDfEnKD77mxwYc_ze47d2mn30GnP2JkyN5jt5fxPFTx2FYoNMwqVRC5V_KNUAKo2qfpRk2fmh4EiGM86xJRpV4LFVCB2VawlPJyCnBWjAsMD4WKRyRxLx146-tLIyHEnN/s320/2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaF6G62P1HVXDNYSDPkuap_lboMfghnjtmafnLrajnJWL_7nxv2Cjkz7g-9zYzOjqCCmLs8d0SYYjBy8T4ZtJpXYeiRyyG0R3rJKFKPMLmu0KCpxuAklZ1aEhCsI_zdZ93JiSpMNHQ3B31/s1600/3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaF6G62P1HVXDNYSDPkuap_lboMfghnjtmafnLrajnJWL_7nxv2Cjkz7g-9zYzOjqCCmLs8d0SYYjBy8T4ZtJpXYeiRyyG0R3rJKFKPMLmu0KCpxuAklZ1aEhCsI_zdZ93JiSpMNHQ3B31/s200/3.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDXyyOXJD8hv7VKkaR1_dj52cuRWND_Yy5w54pd5yhF4MLx1tKadk4hZDfRXHpFjLFo-ijLVEN68BtW00ltR9flMRzOjFza7C4G8-V8ZTZcOk3v3iWd-BqtblmMWTrSnqx7kXDqFcRSBF/s1600/4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDXyyOXJD8hv7VKkaR1_dj52cuRWND_Yy5w54pd5yhF4MLx1tKadk4hZDfRXHpFjLFo-ijLVEN68BtW00ltR9flMRzOjFza7C4G8-V8ZTZcOk3v3iWd-BqtblmMWTrSnqx7kXDqFcRSBF/s1600/4.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5x3fs_R3KZlZDyDEMD2HiJNuhQ9gQDkJi8upvZuBOenqKPsUB8dpKYF3Xzos3Tqt8ZN3RTE2lk_d1ZyWn0Tr7AHHey7NgEJSyKa87HCcVTrqEcdDGG1G9fk4pbCBtmvAsK0Ea7GQGChq/s1600/FB_IMG_1542577535787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="721" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5x3fs_R3KZlZDyDEMD2HiJNuhQ9gQDkJi8upvZuBOenqKPsUB8dpKYF3Xzos3Tqt8ZN3RTE2lk_d1ZyWn0Tr7AHHey7NgEJSyKa87HCcVTrqEcdDGG1G9fk4pbCBtmvAsK0Ea7GQGChq/s320/FB_IMG_1542577535787.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I'm a poet, self-published author, and writer in every sense of the word. My life's aim is to help folks who have experienced trauma on their path to healing - a path that I myself have walked for many years. As a veteran of the Navy Intelligence community, I came to face to with issues like human trafficking, religious extremism, tribal tensions, and government corruption. Nature has always been where I find serenity and peace of mind. I've fostered abused children, experienced divorce (both as a child and in adulthood), and lost too many people that I held dear. I've spent time in the Horn of Africa and Central America, joined a "secret society" /G\, and learned the art of asking questions and truly listening to the answer. I'm a father to a perfect daughter, and a man who spends more time contemplating the nature and philosophies of the world than anything else.</div>
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Amanda is a paramedic and raft guide who has seen her fair share of trauma in the world. As a first responder, she's been the first to arrive at suicide scenes, animal attacks (on children, in the worst scenarios), and domestic abuse situations. She is a huge proponent of finding solace in nature, and even creates natural remedies for ailments both physical and emotional. Amanda is a sucker for animals of any kind, and will shamelessly approach even the roughest looking of strangers for the chance to pet their puppers. Best of all, she's my partner in crime, as long as I can keep up with her pace on the trail. </div>
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You can purchase products associated with my writing and Amanda's essential oils and remedies in our store, The Tinker's Wagon. You can also sign up to receive email updates of our posts. The blog will feature our photographs, music, and art, and will appeal to like minded seekers who are on their own path to self-betterment.</div>
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We're always open to learning from like-minded individuals. Don't be scared to <a href="mailto:Dustin.A.Stitt@gmail.com" target="_blank">Contact us!</a> </div>
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If you like what you read/see, it really is encouraging to receive a small comment or message as feedback, and please feel free to share with your fellow seeker-friends. <3 </div>
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-The Bard<br />
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The Gypsy and The Bardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441928219036138851noreply@blogger.com0