A quick packing and out the door. Thank you so much sister L for letting me crash your pad!
Down to Modesto. A sweet church campus is the home of the Occupy Modesto movement. I relaxed in the fresh air under a tree and read more pages in “Navigating the Collapse of Time”. As the temperature started to drop I moved back into the car and sat in silence with my eyes closed. I took a moment to envision an attentive audience. Listening, appreciating, enjoying. People started showing up and we went into the fellowship hall.
The Modesto Occupy meeting of ten to fifteen people I had the privilege of performing for had an average age eligible to collect social security. They were there on purpose. This wasn’t a fad or a passing “thing to do”. These people understood what was going on and were actively making a change to help their children and grand children and the rest of humanity. The action that was in discussion was raising awareness at what they called the “vulture auctions”. They were acquiring a story of a specific house and the family who lived in it. They were taking the story of this family and their hardship to the foreclosure auction and sharing to the people bidding on the house the personal details of this home, making it more than just an investment. More than just a good deal on another property.
I introduced myself as a farmer and talked about seeds, seed saving and how in the UK selling seed without proper, expensive documentation for each seed variety is illegal. Then sang to them “Purge”. Then “Grey Haze” followed by the story of natural gas development and our home. “Ask Them to Leave” and some facts about cosmetics, body care, food, electricity, farming and natural gas. As a finale I shared “we’ve WON!”. When I finished, they honored me by standing in their applause, then passed the metaphorical hat raising enough cash to nearly fill the fuel tank in the car. I accepted the offered pieces of carrot cake, thanked them again and made to two hour bee line to Los Gatos.
As I came over the ridge and saw the lights sprawling out around me I had a momentary flash of “this is what Silicone Valley looks like.” It was Silicone Valley. I arrived at the yoga studio in Los Gatos moments before the scheduled start of the Conscious Community Club Open Mic. Once again I took a moment to close my eyes and envision acceptance, appreciation and respect. What a group! From pre-teen Calvin’s vocal performance to Kevin’s sharing of Mr. Peabody’s Coal Train and impromptu rhyming to many other amazing performances, this open mic ties as best open mic so far with the Mission and 16th venue in San Francisco. I told them a little of my story, of my travels, the farm, natural gas production then sang “Ask Them to Leave”. In an effort to keep the evening from going into the morning we all kept it to two songs, so I then shared “we’ve WON!” The music I had to share was well received. There was a crystal bowl closing ceremony followed by a round of requesting anything that might be needed to receive or get rid of. During this work was asked for, apartments requested, tires for a friend, and I asked for help getting in touch with my L.A. contact. It was recommended that the angels be asked directly. The angels want to do things for us, they just need to be asked.
I helped clean up for a few moments then folded myself back into the driver seat to make some time towards the big town. I started the car at 12:34 am and put in at least an hour before finding a truck stop to spend a few hours resting in.
The next morning saw me flying down the highway. Through the desert agriculture and up over the dry mountain range. As I was rising the sign warned to turn off the AC to keep engine from overheating and as I neared the top of the pass I saw a strange dust cloud. Or was it industry? Is that smoke? Had I known, I would have turned off the directions on the phone and been ready to take a picture. I came around a corner, and there, on the shoulder was a car fully engulfed in flames. A fire department Suburban was parked with it’s lights on a hundred yards before it, watching it burn. As I passed at sixty-five miles per hour with two empty lanes between us and the window up I could feel the heat on my face. A half hour later traffic began to slow. We were almost off the mountain and into more level ground. Was it six, seven lanes one way? There, in the center lane, a car with it’s flashers on. In the front seat, two people, faces contorted in anger, yelling at each other as one hundred cars per minute inched around them and went on their way.
Please Jetta, thank you for staying in good health. Hello L.A.