Day 16: Ending Thoughts

Being the last entry that I will post to this travel log, I want to make it a nice one. I want it to be one that encompasses the feel of my whole trip. That said, I feel somewhat at a loss for words. I will begin to write and see what happens.

What was the feel of this trip? I contemplate this as I sit here in Utah, the place where I began. I learned a lot as I traveled. I saw a lot. I met and talked with a lot of people. I have begun to realize that a lot can be done with a little. 

I smile as I try to find a way to illustrate how I think the sentiment of that reality, that a lot can be done with a little, can, perhaps, offer insight into something beautiful. 

Is that sentiment to be taken as that more energy is produced by less? I feel that this has been verified to be impossible. Thermodynamics. Entropy. Physics and whatnot. Yet it seems to me that even just a single word, or perhaps, a conversation entertained in the spirit of love and understanding can move a mountain, if even that mountain looms merely in the mind, or its affiliated valleys, be them even the darkest ones that take up residence in the heart.

What has been the feel of this trip, I think can be painted by way of sharing with you that, I, being asked by several people since being home how many miles I traveled and how much the whole trip cost, have found myself quite unsure of the answer to either of those questions. In the moment of inquiry I've thrown numbers out there but have utterly failed to note thoroughly anything that would provide the answer to those questions. I merely felt, on the outset of this journey, that I had enough and was prepared for the event should it not have been so. And guess what. I pretty much had exactly what I needed. 

Some might feel this to be foolhardy. I won't deny this, nor will I defend myself, as this sort of mindset, I am aware can be very reckless and less than wise. That said, I embarked on this journey in response to an inner yearning of which I equally could not deny. I began this trip in a spirit of faith that everything would work out one way or another. And I don't mean that everything, no matter what happened would culminate in me actually getting to each state in a reasonable time frame, but rather, that I had it in my mind to set out on this journey with absolutely no qualms with finding myself stranded in an unfamiliar place, nor even with the prospect of dying. 

This might sound unsettling. This though, perhaps, is the reason that I was confident enough to speak with the sorts of people I did. It's not that I purposefully sought out dangerous situations, of which I think is a relative term regardless, but rather, I set out to attain my goals in a manner that, as best as I could, in no way made a mock of love. This allowed fear no eminence, nor did it tolerate the notion that any particular situation could not have been endured or even exalted regardless of its apparent or less than apparent dubious circumstances. Not to foolhardily abuse what some might call a questionable belief in a higher power, but rather prudently utilize a sure knowledge of a reality that most people, I'd say on a fundamental level, want nothing more than to love and be loved in the most sincere of ways. Firm in this knowledge I could draw my faith from a personal source, God, which I believe gave me strength to continue forward and to continue writing, and ultimately allow what ever happened to happen. It was at this intersection that I was strengthened in belief that I would still be ok should I encounter the rarest of all human conditions, pure evil.

I suppose the feel of this trip is one of faith. Should there have previously been in me any doubts concerning the power of which is endowed upon those genuinely faithful, or any misgivings of its nature whatsoever, they have dissipated into the void. From here is where I recognize on a very fine level a parallel that I wonder how literal it can be taken. Is there really more done from less work, is my increase gained through a violation of the laws of thermodynamics, or is there some creature of matter, fine or coarse, ethereal or corporeal somewhere out there in that void, in that heaven, in that darkness, in that heaven--that is making up the difference? 

My thoughts fly apart at this point. But I will continue to work, and I will continue to learn in the spirit of faith. I feel as though it cannot be done any other way. I won't post in this blog again. This project is finished. I look forward to what may come. Thank you, everyone.

Day 15: Magic Dinosaurs

There was little to report today. It is, however, hard to believe that I was in Honolulu just this morning. I'm currently in Portland, getting ready to sleep.

I found a hotel for the night. I'll be home tomorrow afternoon. I will take some time then and write an official closing post to end this 50 states travel log. From there I will go back to work and get my affairs in order.

Once I've settled in I will begin to work on other projects, some of which I have mentioned in the past, others more personal. I just want to emphasize that I am not taking these projects lightly. I intend to tailer them so as to get the very most out of them, all the while sharpening my writing skills as I document those experiences. But I will explain in more detail about that tomorrow. 

Right now I am obligated to give you my three cents on Jurassic World, as I did watch it while hurdling at 500 or so MPH strapped into a massive chunk of steel over the Pacific Ocean. I'm pretty sure that is magic, by the way. If dinosaurs, plus flying, plus hunks of steel over the Pacific doesn't equal magic than I don't know what does. I mean, how do you explain that one? Even in an infinite universe, who would have ever thought that non-flying, 70 million year old dinosaurs would somehow find themselves immortalized, not in rock and dirt, but in digital form inside of a little tablet onboard of a machine that utilizes aerodynamics to give lift to an 800,000 pound chunk of steel while being powered by, get this, fossil fuels! All of which is then pondered upon by creatures that never even had contact with their species but regularly and even on this specific flight partook in eating there descendants in the form of a teriyaki chicken bowl. It's all magic voodoo and there is nothing that can be done about it!

Anyway, never really being much of a fan of the original series, I don't have too much invested in the movie. That said, I feel like I can point out a good movie here and there. Without too much depth, I'd give it a simple positive review. It was a fun movie. I wouldn't pay to see it again, but than again I wouldn't pay to see about 99 percent off movies unless I was trapped on board of a dinosaur fueled flying machine for several hours.(I have to, due to my conscience, point out that fossil fuel is not actually dinosaurs in the respect that we typically think. Simply, it's from plants and animals from 300 or so mya. Millions of years before the dinosaurs.) 

Basically, I'd put it up there with Star Trek. Not a masterpiece, but a ride, nonetheless--a ride that is blatantly dismissive of continuity by crassly exploiting time travel plots to do whatever they want to do while manipulating their heroic fan base to fund their wild and un-called for antics essentially fundamentally making a mock of the original series... But I'm sure they didn't do that in Jurassic World. I'm secretly a bitter person!

Anyway, I am really tired now, so, goodnight. See you soon, SLC. 

You know, it just dawned on my that I should have been ending all of these posts by saying, "good morning." 

Good morning!

 

Day 14: Frankenpost

November 2, 2015

I apologize for failing to post something last night. I have particularly found it difficult to post Sunday evenings. 

I was writing a post. Feeling ever conflicted, however, I slipped away into the blackness of dreamless sleep before I could find it in me to post what I had written. And now I can't find it in me to post it as it is now impertinent. The feel is over. The morning is upon me and I am poised for a new day, albeit a long day of travel. 

In the next few hours, though, I will be on my way to Portland, from where I still haven't determined what I will do. I will figure that out when I get there. As for the time being I am going to nap, as I was up at 4am this morning.

... 

I have awaken from my nap. I have also, in my lack of desire to write much more at this time have reconsidered posting what I wrote last night and as you will see what I wrote several weeks ago, as well. This is already a very confusing post pertaining to the time frame of when it was written, but I am not going for exact clarity here. I'm just very scatterbrained, and I acknowledge that I am not too worried about how my readers see me at this time. This is merely a record, and this post will let the record show that I am a very, as I said, scatterbrained individual. 

Below is essentially two previous posts that have amalgamated into one large post and even one of those posts was originally intended to introduce another post that I, still to this day haven't posted. So really, the time frames are running wild up in here, and this is ultimately three separate posts, originally intended to be four. This is a Frankenpost.

November 1, 2015

Ok, ok. It was Sunday. I have taken the opportunity on previous Sunday's to wax theological about God and the purpose in being, and whatnot (I guess I do that on more than just Sunday's though.) Today was no different. But I spent a lot of it just re-reading stuff that I've written but never got around to posting. I have been re-reading stuff because I was hoping to get away without having to write anything today, of which I have already failed because I am explaining to you that I didn't feel like writing today by way of--writing about it. But anyway, there is General Conference thoughts(of which what I ultimately decided to post is an introduction to) there is The Allegory of the Pit, there is The Bizarre World, and then, there is Nearer My God To Thee, among others.

I will post--the most latter? The last one of that series of four specified things. Yes. Ok. I wrote this the Sunday I was back in Utah for a week. And due to its content I feel like it is especially appropriate since the Sacrament hymn both that Sunday and this Sunday was Nearer My God To Thee. Objectively, I'd snobbishly insist that it is the most beautiful hymn in the LDS hymn book ever penned,(yes, objectively the most beautiful. I know what I said!) However--subjectively--I am personally enamored with Come unto Him, the hymn 114, (not the one off of This is the Christ album by The Mormon Tabernacle Choir) while A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief(all seven verses only) steals my heart too, although if we are to go back a year before I was born(1985, that is, I was born in 86) I'll go with Come Thou Fount every time. 

Dang there were a lot of parentheses there, which brings me to something else. I was slightly puzzled as to what I should do in a recent post where it was apparent that I could put parentheses inside of other parentheses. I Googled this because I had never before seen this or had the occasion call for it. Essentially Google gave me an example that was purposefully over-convoluted to illustrate that, yes, it is not technically wrong to do so but quickly becomes quite ugly from a literary stand point. All of the comments were people re-structuring the example sentence to avoid the parentheses within the parentheses issue. That said, and the only reason I went through that whole process of explaining that was because shortly afterwards I actually was reading Guns, Germs, and Steel(have been reading for several months because it is one of those books I want under my belt but cannot read for long periods of time) and the author puts parentheses inside of other parentheses! 

This is the sentence and associated double parentheses: 

"Those factors still don't explain, though, why the New World apparently ended up with no lethal crowd epidemics at all. (Tuberculosis DNA has been reported from the mummy of a Peruvian Indian who died 1,000 years ago, but the identification procedure used did not distinguish human tuberculosis from a closely related pathogen (Mycobacterium bovis) that is widespread in wild animals.)"

And it is at this point where I am totally aware of the absurdity of this post and am purposefully exacerbating it's wild nature. Stream of consciousness mixed with thought out posts, mixed with an overarching personal commentary on what I've already created--in no particular order. It's like Frankenstein, in the midst of an existential breakdown decided to go skydiving! And this might also share insights into how easily I go from systematically conquering the world mindset to, oh my gosh, there is no purpose in anything mindset, to over-thinking matters pertaining to God mindset.

Anyway, where was I going with this? Oh yes. Below is a little something that I failed to post a few Sunday's ago. 

...

October 18, 2015

I was blessed today. Singing all five verses of Nearer my God to Thee, (one of the most inspired works ever penned in my humble opinion) left me in solemn contemplation as I took the Sacrament.

Finding myself in a building I'd never been in before I began to think of the uniformity of the church. Recognizing that I stand out somewhat, especially contrasted with your typical Utah Mormon, I was grateful for the elderly man who donned an olden-time suite with cowboy boots, and an early-church, prophet-like beard, who spoke deep and plain as he gave the benediction. 

As simply as I can put it, the church is true. But I'd ask, if you hold a similar view what that means to you, and what exactly should we be uniform in?

I won't dance around this. The answer is the Spirit of Christ and the personal pursuit of Truth.

I used to avoid stating out loud that "the church is true," and rather emphasized that it was, in-fact, the Gospel of Christ that is true, only afterwards alluding that it was within the walls of the LDS church that the doctrines and principles of the Gospel of Christ were taught. I testified this way over the pulpit.

Though I still think that that is a more accurate way of looking at it, I have made the conscious choice to revert back to my childhood testimony and say once and for all and simply that "the church is true." Why? I do because I humbly recognize that I have sway in the hearts of those I associate with, and making it a point to avoid saying that the church is true to replace it with something I think is technically more accurate, I have noticed, if ever so subtly, that it, if even merely in the subconscious, causes people to doubt my conviction of the church, and consequently their own. 

Thus the infinitely beautiful collides with the unfortunate technicalities derived from semantics, interpretations, societal and cultural restrictions,  and other complex internal structures that go on in the brain, in organized religion, and in the political dribble that unfortunately seems by way of natural inevitability to saturate any such organization divinely instituted or otherwise, that I, other members of the church, and church leaders are faced with every single day. These complications exist. And it is this reason that there is sometimes the appearance of rigid doggedness within the walls of the church, even at times seeming to be at the expense of the Spirit. But we can simplify this dilemma. 

I have a testimony of the church. I do. I, like many others have doubts, but unfailingly, my doubts are cast into oblivion upon systematic, prayerful and in-depth evaluations of them. And the only thing I can say at this time is that if you are going to present to me an argument that dismisses the validity of the church, you better come up with something better than prayer and subsequently God himself, for, it was in heeding the words of James to ask God, that this church was established, and at the end of its establishment we are again implored to ask God with real intent by Moroni if these things are not true. 

It is in this spirit and only in this spirit of humble inquiry that we can, unbound by bias, evaluate the temporal evidences to such a degree as to expect to gain the insights that God would have us understand. Given in this argument the presupposition that things of a spiritual nature exist, if we are to solicit a purely logical retort, I think the only plausible counter-argument to that of personal insights gained by the Spirit of Christ (revelation) can arise only if there is an utter and absolute denial of God's existence along with things of a Spiritual nature all together being attempted. And that is another story completely, one of which I can sum up quite frankly by saying that, without doubt, God does indeed exist. 

Below is what I wrote after general conference.

I am ending this here and now, because this could go on for quite some time.

Goodnight, Good Morning, Good Afternoon. Which ever suites you best.  

 

Jake

 

Day 13: Going to...

Day 13: 

I was going to go to the Polynesian Cultural Center tonight. I was going to revisit the Arizona. I was going to attempt an illegal ascent of the"permanently closed" Stairway to Heaven trail. But alas, I am the lamest and I ultimately ended up doing none of those things. What did I do instead? Lazed around the house, read a little, napped on the beach, ate quesadillas at North Shore Tacos, the whole while trying to pretend that I never saw that meme about Glenn on the Internet. I'm practically a resident of Oahu now. 

Aside from endlessly getting lost in my head not much happened today. I drive down Kamehameha Highway leaned back with one finger resting on the bottom of the steering wheel. It circles the entire island. You head in one direction for a couple hours and before you know it you're back where you started. It's like the universe! 

There are little kids trick or treating outside. I am hiding in my room, a favorite pastime of mine.

On the morrow I will meet "the one I will marry," because "it's almost like it's meant to be!" as Lori (the mother of the family I am staying with) has been explaining to me the coincidences and shear luck of how all of these certain events have played out to bring me and my future wife together. I chuckle heartily,"one step at a time."

I did notice something that made me facepalm today. My flight leaves Monday from Honolulu at 12:25 pm. That is around noon. Not midnight. I have a layover in Portland, Oregon. I get there at 8 pm Monday night. My flight to SLC is at 12:30... That would be pm, as well. The next day! I have more than fifteen hours to fill. I suppose I could sleep eight of those... Oh, who am I kidding? I could sleep all fifteen of those! Since I don't particularly want to become an airport Gollum(that one is going to catch on, and you all know where it originated from! Right here!) I am looking into getting a cheap room for the night, or possibly even looking up my ol' Yogi watching, accountant being, active LDS friend Randy in Eugene! 

I'm not sure what I'm going to do though, yet. Actually I do. Sleep.

Goodnight.

Day 13: Midday Post

Happy Halloween everybody! 

I also just wanted to take this time to say a few other things.

Even though I've been in Hawaii for nearly a week, it has just dawned on me that my 50 States trip is completed! Unless some remarkable circumstances take place I will be flying home this coming Monday, the 2nd of November. I will still post once a day until then.

I have had the opportunity to speak with a lot of different people about a lot of different things. And it has really been the people, not the scenery, that has been the highlight of this trip. This is kind of a surprise to me, since, for the most part I never made it a point to go out of my way to talk with people. The world is just full of those wanting someone to talk to and I was out there among them.

The world is beautiful, that I'd never deny. People are beautiful too. It's just that a lot of those people are profoundly burdened for one reason or another, and if I am to be frank, I am one of those people. Even in paradise I can't escape it. 

In this post I don't want to advocate any religion, I won't tell you to vote any specific way. I will leave your convictions to yourself. But I do ask that you have convictions. I'd ask that you find one if you don't know what to believe, and most importantly, I'd ask that you fight for it with everything you have. Stand up for your ideals and the things that you want for yourself and for the world. Make your voice heard. This is the only way to test conviction in the face of uncertainty, in the laboratory of the heart. The only way to know is to test what you believe with every bit of you. If not every fiber of you is conscripted to your cause than there will be grounds to doubt, and you will never know for sure whether you fight to a praiseworthy end.

It saddens me that I need to have even just one stipulation. But it is this: If upon evaluation of what you believe, there appears to be no room for love than drop it and pursue another avenue. It saddens me even more that I feel obligated to define what sort of "love" I am talking about. This is the fourth definition, taken from the Merriam Webster's online dictionary under noun: a  :unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another: as (1)  :the fatherly concern of God for humankind (2)  :brotherly concern for others

Perhaps all of this is nullified now that I have left God in my explanation for those of you who believe in no such being. If that is the case, surely, I would still argue for the sake of love in its self. But still, if there is a problem here, I, in prudent judgment would note that any dismissing the premise of love because of another word that I, in my own conviction, associate with it, is altogether lacking in character and has disingenuous motives, making a mock of love itself. 

I was going to wait to post this until later tonight, but I see no reason not to post it now. Good midday everybody. Thank you for all of your support and love. This has been one crazy trip! I am grateful for all of you! 

Jake

Day 12: Waves Crash

Day 12: 

Waves crash. That's what they do. Their roar is soothing. It drowns out the ringing. And kind of grimly, any who get sucked into its tide as well. Sitting at a relatively safe distance from these spectacular crashes I can easily see how people might let their guards down too far before the ebbs suddenly turn upward into swelling flows and seize upon them in utter surprise.  

I'm here at La'ie Point. I've just been walking around and resting for an hour or so sitting on the rocks. It's not a large place, but the view is pretty amazing. The camera won't do it justice. But that doesn't stop a photographer from directing an anxious and surely happy couple on their wedding day toward the most scenic backdrop. I chuckle as I wonder how that goofy mug ended up with that Hawaiian beauty. 

In other reflections, I mean no disrespect to the elderly, and I only say this because it is true in honest reflection of myself. I feel old. Not physically per se. Physically I'm probably healthier than I've ever been. I'm stronger and more capable than ever, even though my head still hurts and my ears still ring. But regardless I am here this day watching waves crash and I am more reflective than I've been for awhile. In reflection a person tends to feel a lot. And like I said, the primary feeling swelling up in me at this time is that I feel old. What does this mean? I don't really know. Words are evading me right now.

One could argue that there is little accomplished in staring at the ebbs and flows of the tide for hours. Maybe that is true. So, I will not begin to defend myself, but rather I'll simply admit that I am nothing more than an addict to the scenes of nature. A terrible vice really. The contemplation of immutable principles perfectly acting out their perpetual scenes within the brief window of a mortal guise is more than enough to drive a man mad! Or anyone who dares reflect in these depths, for that matter. I haven't decided yet if this is truly such a terrible thing though. I'm sure the same has been justified in the case of cocaine use as well. What can I say. No question mark. 

You know, it has really only recently occurred to me that I have finished my journey. I could die happy now. If only God would be so accommodating. I fear that I have quite a bit longer on this planet. I can't imagine what is left for me to do. Yes I can. But either way I recognize that I really can't do a single thing on my own. I am like a little child desperately clinging onto my parents' hands, still to this day, as a man, wondering where I stand in their eyes. 

I do not understand why everything is the way it is. It is frustrating beyond measure to feel as though your prayers go unheeded. It's frustrating beyond measure to be close to my passions while they fly apart. It's frustrating beyond measure to dream dreams that cannot be. It's frustrating beyond measure to feel as I do, looking out at all of my friends and all of my family wishing that I could just solve all of their problems. It's enough to make you want to curse God, immediately pleading afterwards for His forgiveness, as I would die before I deny His Majesty.

Alright, alright. I'm calming down. You guys need to calm down too. I can't help it if I have lost any remnants of fear pertaining to death. Yes, I don't particularly desire to drown in a submarine, but that's not the same as fearing death. I have no qualms with meeting my maker really at any time. This does not make me suicidal. It simply makes me talk in a manner uncommon. And I am truly sorry if you are worrying about me now. This might be unavoidable. But from my perspective I feel no different than I hardly ever do, which objectively means that you would all worry about me all the time if only I expressed myself in this manner every single day. But I suppose you could argue about why I choose some days and not others to write this way. That, my friends, I simply cannot say any more than I can tell you how and when exactly the water will crash on the rocks at any given moment. I just write what I may as the ebb and flows of who I am stir my soul. It's what I do.

Oh yes, spoiler alert: Watney makes it.

 

Day 11: A Hint of Peace

Day 11: 

I indulged in two shrimp tacos and a strawberry lemonade today in my new favorite Hawaiian restaurant,  North Shore Tacos! There, I also engaged in an interesting conversation with a sailer who spends his time onboard submarines. He'd been stationed at Pearl Harbor for the last five years. He was eager to tell me all about it. The part where he said that he'd spent two months under the surface had me thinking about joining the Air Force! Have I already said that?? Goodness. Love you dad! But you know I'm not partial to the water. Particularly being underneath it! You remember my baptism?? Yeah, I do too! 

I might get slapped by Hawaii buffs once I admit this but I haven't even been for a swim yet. I don't even have trunks. I walked along the beach barefoot while the sun set. That's probably all that is going to happen between me and that ocean too. I'm holding my ground perfectly fine on this one, thank you very much!

Anyway, from tacos I went to go see the Martian. Ha! Yes I was given a hard time for attempting to see a movie while in Hawaii too. It wasn't playing at any convenient times. I tried yesterday for it as well. I guess I'll just have to wait till I get home. 

All of that is ok, because in a more appropriate manner I went and visited the Byodo-In Temple in the Valley of the Temples Memorial Park. 

"Awe" isn't the right word for how I felt as I walked the grounds and entered the temple, but I just can't quite place it. Imagine this: not quite somber but almost, just a touch of tranquil, chalky almost deep blue but not deep deep, wavy blue with texture like that of a painted ceiling, and a hint of peace. Just a hint of peace though, a hint of melancholic-peace to be more precise, as opposed to happy peace, or even puppy-love peace. But not not actual peace. Whatever it was, it was palpable and different than the air just outside the park, and my attempts to describe it I feel have failed. 

I walked up the steps and took my shoes off before entering, as the sign requested I do. As I walked inside, the statue of a giant golden Buddha sat in the center of the room in the lotus position. It was intense. On either side of him were six, disciples? angels? I'm not sure but there were twelve all together and one directly above his head, making thirteen, fourteen including Buddha. About eye-level on the walls surrounding Buddha there were symbols that represented mostly, what I think were sects of Indian religions, but to the left of him and two over, there was the Christian cross. Maybe the most interesting thing about the room, something that I almost missed and subsequently wondered how many people completely overlook, were the small round mirrors on the ceiling. They were barely noticeable, but you could align your body just perfectly with one of them, look straight up and see your reflection. You could only see your face though, they were that small. 

With no particular thoughts to send on the wind, I lit an incense candle and placed it in the bowl of sand in front of The Buddha. The smoke twisted and snaked its way through that blue, a hint of tranquil, chalky, not not peaceful air. 

I left trying to figure out that feel. It really is a nice feeling, one that my melancholic heart was aching over, but it was odd. I think the only reason I feel it to be odd though is that it almost resembles the feeling inside the LDS temples, but not quite. 

Anyway, after leaving the Valley of the Temples Memorial Park I made the hour trek toward Sunset Beach. I made it just in time. The waves crashing against the black rocks, the single palm tree leaning in over the rocky shore in the distance, the centerpiece, being the sun blessing a host of people, including myself, as it said its goodbye, was all so wonderful. There were some with cameras steadily drawn on the scene, some trying to get the perfect profile pic, some paying little attention, others were kissing and holding hands, and others just watched. I took a few pics and than watched the sun in its precision, its ever constant path, disappear behind an intersecting point where the power of crashing waves met with the ever immovable, rugged rocks. It was a meeting of three symbols of which the mind can't help but acknowledge as such, of which the eye can't help but gaze longingly for, of which the soul couldn't help but love. But in a moment the centerpiece was gone, leaving then, in its absence, I felt were merely a clashing of two headstrong siblings. Powerful, and Immovable going at it for all eternity only finding purpose and direction every evening with vivid remembrance in the light of the sun.

...

It was the difference between feeling the good things of the past, things that have passed away, the ancients, and feeling the beauty of the present and embracing what is had now. That's what it was. It was old love.

Day 8/9: Bowfin and Diamond Head

Day 9/10: Bowfin and Diamond Head.

On Tuesday I visited Pearl Harbor. Unfortunately the wind was too heavy for the boats going out to the Arizona to take passengers. Instead I visited the Bowfin. It is a submarine they have there. I took a self guided audio tour. 

I think I've been in that same submarine one time before. That would have been when I was sixteen or seventeen. Really, another life. But it was still interesting. It's almost hard to believe that people then and still today undertake war efforts confined in a small steel bubble at varying depths of the ocean. Incredible ingenuity, or perhaps insanity, only spawned from the pressures applied by the demands of war to gain ever the advantage by whatever means conceivable? Take your pick. But those boys were brave no matter how you cut it!

Inside its cramped compartments, in the dinning area there was a preserved hand written letter written by Captain Tyree to his crew.  I won't reiterate the whole letter but I'd just like to say that any letter beginning "Tomorrow we make a submerged transit of Tsushima Straits, which is reported, mined." would have me wishing I'd joined the Air Force instead. But they did it and they did it well. 

Side note. I spent some time on the beach today(Wednesday) reading Mournful and Never Ending Remembrance. Poe, in his work, A Premature Burial, says "To be buried alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality." I suppose sinking into the abyss in a vessel that is irreparably  taking on water can be considered a form of burial. But I wonder if Poe considered this horror when writing it. I certainly have. 

Anyway, after the Bowfin I walked around the museums and bought an illustrated history of Pearl Harbor. The author even signed it for me! He was a nice old man sitting out by his table talking with everyone that passed by. I had to get one of his books.

Wednesday, (that would be today...or yesterday for those reading this) I hiked Diamond Head. It's a very short hike of which its summit overlooks Waikiki beach. I ran half of it and made it to the top in under twenty-five minutes. Admittedly I did overdo it slightly as I felt nauseous upon reaching the summit. I sat in the shade for awhile listening to a man at the top repeat his pitch over and over again to those arriving and willing to donate to to keep the trail in good repair. "Last chance to say you did it before Kilimanjaro!" I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that.

After leaving the park I had a date with destiny. I fell in love. I stopped for some good Hawaiian barbecue and you know what? Wow. That is all I have to say. Hawaiian barbecue. It was practically love at first bite! I'll be here all night. No, literally, cuz I'm going to sleep now. 

Goodnight.

Day 8: Coke and Crown

Day 8: Coke and Crown

I talked with a man I was sitting next to on the plane. He was a fisherman who did the sort of fishing you see on Deadliest Catch. He knew a few of those guys on the show. I had to admit I've never seen it. He was proud nonetheless and loved his crew, and his Crown! 

After three airplane sized bottles, stirred into Coke, the flight attendant told him that they were out of it, from where Jack Daniels was inquired about. They had that, but he inquired about the Crown again to a different flight attendant. She confirmed that they were out, as well as the Vodka. By the end of the trip I'm pretty sure he had had 8 bottles of either Crown or Jack all mixed in with Coke and ice.

Since the outset of this trip, I've had people offer me weed, cigarettes, meth, and now Crown. No, the man didn't offer me his drink, the flight attendant did, "on the house" (or plane) she said almost insisting, along with a meal and a tablet. I had been asked to change my seat and I obliged. I could have had all the liquor I wanted free of charge as the nice flight attendant lady was taking real good care of me! I changed my seat so a family of four could sit together. The funny thing about it was that it didn't inconvenience me at all. Aisle seat on row 30 to aisle seat on row 29! Ha!

I thought about it. This really nice and interesting guy made a good life for himself staving off a watery grave for years and years. He appeared to be a little preoccupied with liquor though, admitting that he had a case of Crown in his carry on, or something to that regard as I'm not sure, as he specified, that he was allowed to bring it, by either the airline or his girlfriend of one year that he introduced me to. 

I had a good discussion with the man. He asked me what I was doing in Hawaii, and I began to tell him about my trip. Afterwards he called me a "renegade"! I was ok with that. A drinkless, smokeless renegade. I did, however, indulge in the Coke, that sweet bubbly goodness.

I, with my tablet, that, did I mention was free of charge? for the flight anyway, made it, in between discussion, through Mad Max: Fury Road, and halfway through The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies. Have I mentioned that I, not being particularly well versed in the lore of Tolkien find it somewhat perturbing that the movie is called The Battle of the Five Armies, when the chapter that the title is taken from is called "The Battle of Five Armies?"

They added an extra "the." I'm sure someone, for some reason felt it was necessary. But really I'd just like to know why? Google has been of little use in regards to this question. It isn't particularly a simple inquiry to search for "why is there an extra 'the' in Jackson's The Battle of the Five Armies as opposed to Tolkien's 'The Battle of Five Armies.'" I suppose I could simplify that. But honestly I haven't put an overabundance of energy into discovering the answer. But I'm getting there. Slowly.

But seriously. Is it a grammar thing? Or is it that Jackson didn't realize his discrepancy and no one felt compelled to correct him over such a minor issue. Surely they have Tolkien scholars aiding in the production of these movies, don't they!

Calm down. 

A few departing remarks. So, it is Tuesday, by the way. And I am waking up on Oahu, next door to the Temple.

I realize that I haven't been too explicit in my exact location, and somewhat vague in reference to my time frame. Some posts I work on for a couple days and then post them to my travel log as a particular day mixing in thoughts and experiences that retrace and span more than the defined limits of the specified day. I'm sure you're aware of the ambiguity by now. I don't want to say that I am consciously choosing to be cryptic or confusing, but I am almost obligated to because I am aware that it is happening but am choosing to do nothing about it. Really, I just want these posts to feel more genuine as I write what I'm thinking about, as opposed to feeling confined to a rigid time constrained structure, even though I live in a world constrained by it.

Anyway, I also wanted to apologize as well. I feel as though I should point out that in Lava-Geysers I may have made some sweeping religiously toned statements. This is a product of me knowing what I mean and expecting everyone else to know without adequate explanation. How am I suppose to know what other people know when I find it thoroughly challenging enough to know even what it is that I know!  I sigh heavy-heartedly while I acknowledge the difficulties of the path that I choose to traipse. Not that I would justify my shortcomings.

I ramble on. It is the morning now. I lie on a bed feeling the dew on the opened windows near my head. Arriving from a dream I am currently, genuinely trying to figure out if that growling/grumbling noise is my stomach or a frog.

Day 7: Lava-Geysers

I'm at the airport waiting for my flight to Honolulu. A lot of people think that I'm not coming back from the islands. Admittedly, I didn't make it a point to tell everyone when I was going back to Utah, and also, for the most part, I made it a point to stay silent about my future residence after I finished this project. But to end the uncertainty, at least for those who follow my blog, I will say that I do have a ticket back to Utah. Perhaps defeating my whole explanation though, I haven't, however, determined yet if I will use it. 

So, the airport. This gives me time to write. First of all, I want to briefly address why I didn't post anything yesterday. Yesterday was Sunday. Oh, sabbath day, how you keep me in fond perplexity. As Kristofferson's Sunday Morning Coming Down (as most notably performed by Johnny Cash) puts it, "there's something in a Sunday that makes the body feel alone." 

Isn't that reason enough to take a day off from the burdens of the internet? I apologize. Sometimes I get a little too reflective and I simply don't know what to do with myself. 

I did write though, as I wrote the Sunday before that, and the one before that, but I didn't post it. I've still been scrutinizing and reevaluating and rewriting what I wrote after Conference. I haven't convinced myself that it isn't too much.

I did want to say something about my nephews. When I was at the park with one of them, we were riding bikes around the tennis court. He said that the leaves on the court were geysers. Instantly I extrapolated and clarified that the geysers were indeed miniature volcanic eruptions of which we couldn't let our bike wheels touch. I noted, with a keen understanding of these imminently nervous circumstances that there was only one entrance into this court. There were more leaves surrounding it than anywhere else. It appeared that we were trapped. 

As I began the journey toward freedom I carefully maneuvered my wheels through the ever thickening lava geysers. I came to a halt feeling as though I couldn't go on. I looked back and there was my nephew fearlessly following me! But he didn't stop where I did, in fact he passed me without hesitation. Being conscious of the young mind's ability to alter rules that have previously been established to benefit a personal agenda I carefully watched his front wheel and was fully prepared to call him out on driving into a lava geyser. He didn't run into one. He zigged and he zagged, almost fell over, and quite precariously made his way, nearly impossibly so, through a dense maze of lava geysers all the way through the narrow metal gate to safety. Determined, I made it through as well, but not without reversing several times and stopping and carefully plotting my course. 

It was quite astonishing actually. It called me back to more youthful times when I was the author of epic tales, utilizing hundreds of action figures, carefully crafting my scenarios that perpetually played out in my head. They physically took place over the shelves of the library in my house all the way out to my fields of dirt that had been previously constructed with plywood and shovels into cities and intricate landscapes.

I thought about the imagination, and yes, we as adults, recognize that they, the children, have active imaginations, but we forget how powerful they are. I only emphasize this because I caught a glimpse of it. No, I didn't just see it in them. I felt it. 

We used to create rules to games, imagine worlds, conjure up invisible friends and even sometimes whole complex societies with multiple facets that all coalesced into one incredible story, game or universe, and it all, though inspired by the material world, derived in unique form from our heads. And then we grew up. Then the unforgiving realities of life and love began to seize upon the two most vital components of the living soul, the mind and heart. 

The imagination almost imperceptibly is muzzled. Slowly it's led into prison by nothing other than the demands of life. Staying alive in a world governed by both immutable laws and corruptible causes even the most heroic and ingenious children to abandon all that was previously known. All the while the soul in-betwixt these two realm is ferociously fought over and capitalized on by those willing to incorporate God, and then turned to fiction by those intelligent enough to see those charlatans for who they are. In the mean time, God remains still, in the heart of the penitent. The ceaselessly faithful, true to love, yet ignorant in the eyes of their detractors, await with broken hearts and convicted minds in their fullers fields and in their Gethsemanes for their own worlds to create, for their once cherished imaginations to return in glory and solidly into reality as they begin to learn of the pliability of the eternal universe. 

How ironic though. We are stripped of our childhood ways by the cold and unforgiving laws, but when our own imaginations, our own rules to our own games become real, when they solidify, at their very inceptions we create new binding laws which in turn strip some other poor creature of its own inherent unbound wonders. What then are we to do? 

What then, I wouldn't say. But now and here I'd extrapolate upon Plato's Allegory of the Cave. 

To be continued

Day 6: Sea Life

Day 6: Sea Life 

What a day. We spent a lot of it in the car traveling to and from The Sea Life Center, or so I think it is called. But regardless, there we spent time observing all sorts of sea life from King Salmon to Sea Lions. We also had the opportunity to handle and feed Octopi! That really was a great experience.

On our way back we detoured to the second longest tunnel in North America. It's actually the longest multi purpose tunnel. Essentially you drive down one lane over railroad tracks through a six minute passageway carved through a mountain. It comes out into a place called Wittier, Alaska, where nearly the entire inhabitants reside inside of a giant apartment building that, from a distance, looks like an abandoned World War Two complex. The tunnel changes direction every half an hour.

We got home, piled out of the car, and instead of write, I went to sleep.  

Have a good sabbath. 

Day 5: Epic Quest

Day 5: 

I woke up to shouts of moose! One was strolling down the street out in front of the house. Then after I diligently supervised four or five children(not sure how many there were) for an hour or two,(by way of watching Wreck it Ralph) I embarked on a two-part series of epic quests to the park. I heard the call for adventure, and it just so happened that several, if not all of said children also heard the call... I was solicited to be their brave leader. As pressures mounted, emotions running high, I reluctantly set aside my feelings of inadequacy and took up my role, requesting that only a few come along on the quest. 

The park was fun and went off without a hitch. 

Then, after making it back, I selfishly indulged in an activity that is coveted throughout the ranks of the most noble and fearless parents. I took a nap.

I am currently reading. The morning holds grand adventure as well, so I will bid you adieu, as I am tired.

Goodnight.

Day 4: Museum and Noah Kramer

Day 4:

I didn't end up going to Denali. I slept in. What can I say? I ended up going to a museum in Anchorage instead. And I tell you what, it was a good museum. I only had the arbiters tell me I couldn't do something one time. I was getting a little too creative with a couple of their hands on experiments...apparently. I was crossing the components of two different displays to levitate balls in mid air. I thought it was what you were suppose to do. A man in a black suite walked over and said that I could wreck their machine, but I could tell that he thought what I was doing was pretty dang cool! 

All these museums are doing to me is making me seriously contemplate incorporating a laboratory into my house plans. I'll regret posting that I'm sure. But, oh well.

From there I went to Barnes and Noble. As much as I love book stores I'm always a little disappointed at how little there always is about Ancient Sumer. They only had one book about it (that I already have) called The Sumerians, by Samuel Noah Kramer. 

Kramer was a leading Assyriologist with a depth of knowledge pertaining to ancient Sumer, really, unparalleled. As far as I know he has written five books on the topic, of which, I own three. 

Anyway, I'm going to call it a night. 

Goodnight.

Day 2/3: The Future

Day 2/Day 3: 

I landed in Anchorage Monday night. That would be the 19th of October. It is my fiftieth state! I still need Hawaii to finish this project, which will be next week, but I've already been to Hawaii before. 

You know, doing this so quickly and with far less money than I had originally anticipated makes world travel much more realistic. I'm not going to think about that yet though. When other countries call I will want to make those trips more, let's say, profitable. I've got ideas, but like I said, I'm not going to think too much about it until I've finished this project and stabilized in one place for awhile.

I spent Tuesday talking with and driving around Anchorage with my sister. She took me to the world's largest chocolate waterfall! It was about twenty feet tall and obviously resided in a candy store. Signs prohibited swimming and diving. Bummer. Being overwhelmed though by the shear number of types of candy I just ended up watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory(the good one... um, that is the one with Gene Wilder if you weren't sure which one was the good one.) 

I spent some time resting and reading as well. Oh yes, there are like nine or so children here right now. I'm hiding in a bedroom. More of them that are actually my nephews and nieces are calling me uncle Jacob! 

I always ask kids how far back they can remember. Like, "what did you get for your birthday last year? And what about the year before that?" It is always so funny to me that their existence in their mind only goes back a few years. This whole thing is just so strange! But you know that.

It is the 21st of October, 2015 and yes, we've been watching Back to the Future! Such a great trilogy! 

Anyway, in the morning I am going to set out for Denali, formally Mount McKinley as of the end of August of this year. Denali was the natives name for the mountain but a prospector in the late 1800s named the mountain after then presidential candidate William McKinley to show political support. Controversy over the name has brooded over the years but Pre. Obama, utilizing mystical power derived from who knows where put an end to it in August, officially reinstating the name Denali as its designation. Still, people are divided though. 

I also had the good fortune to talk with the missionaries tonight as well. They came over for dinner. They don't realize how unique they are. There really is something about their presence, their mantle, even if they sometimes look like lost little puppies. There was a lone one at the airport. He looked terrified! I couldn't help but chuckle. 

Goodnight.

Part 2: Day 1: Rants at the Airport

I write a lot. Most of it will probably never be read though. I am somewhat conflicted in the prospect of sharing my thoughts. I think it is so because I, knowing well that I've many flaws, have little desire to look back on what I've shared with others and be obliged to amend my statements. The written word tends to sway people, and being influential even in the slightest degree causes a refining element to seethe the brain. This causes me to post only what I am more or less confident holds few notions that can easily fly away on the wind as many of my thoughts do. I simply do not know how one can make a living on the air. 

That said, I undertook this travel log to force myself to write fast and for an audience. I undertook it with an underlying knowledge that in the long run it would benefit me even if in the future I would need to reevaluate what I've said. I also did it to force myself to learn how to swim. One can never lift the bugle of truth to ones lips until the fear of drowning in the oceans of criticism has been confronted wholly willingly. Upon those thoughts I begin the second and final leg of my trip. 

I'm here waiting for my flight to Phoenix (which, from SLC must be the strangest layover for Anchorage, but whatever) and I am struggling with a real problem. Three of them actually. Two of them are of the kind that knead ones heart. And the third is of a more existential nature and also the only one I will elaborate on here.

I do not assert anything that follows to be certain. This is simply me thinking out loud as I write for my travel log.

I find myself continually at war it seems. Battling thoughts fly in and out of my mind. What is the nature of a soul? What is the purpose in life? Is there free will? I have to confront the ideas from all different sides and argue my points from split perspectives as if it were all hypothetically assumed both true and otherwise because of the nature of the world we live in. I acknowledge that most of what I tend to easily believe may not be what is actually true so I pursue carefully as many avenues as I can while tailoring in my experiences to form a synthesis from where I can draw some sort of confidence in my conclusions. 

What really might be beyond that of the physical construct our brains purport to be tangible reality is a difficult thing to contemplate. It is compounded and paradoxically somewhat enlightened  as I have thought in depth upon the spectrum of light responsible for stimulating our visual sense. 

From there I transition into what's been weighing on my mind, from the existential that is. I do not apologize for continually reflecting upon this Stirling woman. And I make no claims of actual scientific value here. This is merely my thoughts of which I want to share solely because it's what I've been thinking about while waiting here for my flight. 

I want to state clearly as well that this is not a juvenile interest in the paranormal, this is drawn from deep contemplative interest with serious scientific implications should spirits actually exist. This is not for cheap thrills at the expense of poor souls. I hold this interest as nearly sacred with a kind, understanding attitude toward the deceased, and with an inquisitive mind. I also know that some people criticize my interest. I am not going to attempt to defend it right now. Those people just need to get over it because my interest isn't, for one, wrong, and for two, isn't going away soon. One may as well condemn Socrates, Galileo and Newton for their unceasing and apparently impertinent passions. They did. I merely want to understand and I have the foolhardy notion that these things are capable of being understood.

When a person sees another person in front of them most likely that other person is a corporeal being like you and I. Other people can see this person since this person is flesh and blood as we know it and visible light reflects off of them, and objectively allows any eyes to sense their being there.

But on the other hand it could be a hallucination of where only the individual hallucinating sees the being. This can be induced or produced by ingesting certain substances, or from lack of sleep, or from being on the verge of death, or the outcome of mental illness, or it can even be due to the stresses of grief, or even from meditating. There is no visible light in the objective world bouncing off of these hallucinations. No one else can see them. They remain solely in the mind of the beholder. Whether those things are real is a question whose answer  blurs the line between subjective and objective reality on an ultimate scale. 

If we are to consider this we then approach anti-science as reality truly is what we behold in the mind and subjectivity is what is objective. I have imagined there to be a gradient of conscious perceptions that for the masses have normalized or unified into a common experience of which we probe with science. If we are to consider an infinite and conscious universe this does in no way sound absurd. This could be the case, but if so it would be very difficult to comprehend but not impossible.

But now we are faced with a commonly reported phenomena which blur the line even more--ghosts and or visions of heavenly origin. There being no agreed upon answer as to the reality of these spirits I reflect upon them with great depth. 

I don't have time here to travel too far down this rabbit hole, but there are just a few things I'd like to say. 

Spirits, ghosts, angels or demons all appear to be subjective realities appearing to the beholder as manifesting themselves in the exterior world with attributed objective qualities. They appear to be both subjective and objective. And it is here I would draw, if only for fodder for the the imagination the loose parallel between them and light, as light curiously exhibits both wave and particle functions. The rabbit hole gets deeper as we play around with the ideas that for one, all matter is  speculated to be made of light, and for two, it is solidly confirmed that we are made of the atoms of dead stars, and for three, the physical reality that light as we immediately imagine it to be is not even real. That is, there is no such thing as light exterior to our minds. The color that we see as given to us by light is totally subjective, that is again, it only exists in our minds and does not exist outside of a conscious observer. 

The implication of the reality of spirits I think is more profound than even the most staunch believer realizes. I am not prepared to follow this rabbit hole any further, in writing at least, but I'll say this: metaphor is never more literal until we start to imagine that our dreams might actually be manifested as objective realities somehow or somewhere.

I am prepared to say if only for myself at this time that we live in large part only aware of an immediately apparent construct of which its limits are probed by scientific inquiry, but I am constrained to acknowledge that it is but one construct within another, and gleaning even just a couple of these I am not prepared to accept that these constructs do not go on indefinitely.

It is time to board my plane. Until next time. 

Update 3

Update: 3

I am currently at home. I just wanted to let you know what my plans are for finishing up this 50 States project. I also wanted to share some interesting things that I’ve learned since being home.

I am not going to continue to post every day, since I am not traveling, but I have begun my Literature of the World Project. Click on the link to find more info about that. I will post again to the travel log once I am in Alaska, and again when I am in Hawaii. I will be in Alaska on the 19th.

Since being home, I’ve been asked multiple times what my favorite part of the trip was. This isn’t an easy question to answer. It almost depends on who is asking the question. Why would I say that?

I’ll address that momentarily. But right now, I will briefly discuss the events that stuck out in my mind more than the others.

It’s hard to dismiss some events over other events, but I would say that the first thing that really impressed itself upon my mind was my tour through Mammoth Caves in Kentucky. Other than the fact that it is the largest cave system in the world, the most significant moment for me was when the tour guide turned the lights off deep within the cave. The cool air wafting on my skin in a completely dark cave, void of any light was, as I think I said, heavenly.

The Museum of Science, in Boston. Although I wasn’t able to spend as much time there as I would have liked, the subatomic cloud chamber was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. I don’t know how it works exactly, but the fact that it allows a person to, in a way, see subatomic particles is astounding. I loved it.

My hometown Church building in Cheraw, South Carolina was surreal as anyone could say something was surreal. The faces, the names, were all so vaguely familiar, but they all knew who I was. It was a very humbling experience.

The Georgia Guidstones. This was interesting, but had it not been for the man that I met there that spoke seventeen languages, this wouldn’t have made my list. It is rare to see a person, so knowledgeable and, say, compassionate toward the notion of faith. It was a real treat.

Myrtles Plantation in Louisiana was, being true to myself, I’d have to say my favorite place I visited. It is only by virtue of the Mary Stirling appearance that this place even makes my list. It would have been merely interesting prior to the ghost incident. However, I hesitate to say “ghost” now because more news has transpired. I had a hunch, and therefore had my genealogy wiz sister look into her history a little further. It turns out that Mary Catherine Cobb Stirling has had her work done in the records of the Church. I won’t elaborate any further than that. My record of her description stands true.

The Decalogue Stone in the New Mexico desert was a thoroughly thought provoking visit. Not only did I have to trek alone into unfamiliar territory, but my destination holds a mystery of which its implications could be extremely significant. I feel more energy should be spent in understanding when and how this rock with the Hebrew Ten-Commandments on it came to be.

I might be adding to this list in the coming weeks, as two states remain. I will, now that I’m home, continue to write, but I will only revisit this Travel Log when in Alaska and Hawaii. After that my 50 States Project will be complete. As I said, I have started Literature of the World. I won’t be posting those entries to Facebook though.

See you on the flip side.

Day 46/47: Yellowstone

Day 46: 

There has been little of interest to write about this day, which is good because I needed a day to catch up. I  did however, spend the night in a dark parking lot just inside the Grand Teton National Park. After a few hours and nearly into a dream, I was awakened by an odd event.

Three vehicles sped into my parking lot. The one trailing the first two was a police SUV with its lights twirling, the one in the middle was another SUV but it was white with no visible distinguishing features, the one leading them all, or perhaps the one being pursued was a white sedan. I thought at first that I was going to receive a visit by this rambunctious crowd, but surprisingly, all three vehicles parked on the opposite end of my lot. One officer got out of the Police SUV and for all I could tell, merely walked around the white vehicle shining his light inside and only, if but terribly briefly, spoke with the person inside the sedan. This is all I could tell that he did. He got back in his SUV and drove off. The other white SUV followed, passing right behind my vehicle. The sedan stayed parked for several hours until I fell asleep. I kept waking up several times concerned about that vehicle and it eventually was gone. I woke up for good around 5am. From there we enter Day 47 along with Yellowstone National Park.

Day 47: 

I drove into Yellowstone. What an incredible place. I had never been before. Upon seeing, for the first time, steam rising out of the ground at every turn, I was astonished. It just looked so cool, like I was on a different world at times.

I made my way to Old Faithful. Upon walking around the park for awhile I came upon two buffalo. I knelt down on the path and started taking pictures. One of them started grazing in my direction. I kept taking pictures. It got closer. I held my ground. It lazily meandered a little closer. I still didn't move. It's funny looking nose and mouth kept discovering little clumps of vegetation that were ever closer to where I was kneeling! I pulled out my phone and began recording. 

I am aware that you're not suppose to get close to these animals, for your own safety and for theirs. And I am aware that I might be reprimanded for not moving away as it got closer to me. But I didn't move away, so I accept the rebuke and will continue to tell you my story, which is nearly over anyway. 

It got close to me and I simply didn't move. It was a slow meander in my still direction and before I knew it, this buffalo was within arms length. I could have reach out and touched its forehead. I didn't. I just stayed still, kneeling, filming. And it just kept eating tufts of vegetation near to where I was. I have the footage on my phone but judiciously I decided to not post it online. 

Eventually I stood up and walked away. It was a surreal experience, one I won't soon forget. 

I then sat down on a bench and waited for Old Faithful. It didn't go. I waited some more. Still nothing. I took some selfies, one of which I thought was good enough to make my profile pic. I made it my profile pic and I still waited. 

Finally I went inside the lodge. It was still early. I had gotten their around 7am. I got a BLT wrap and waited. Finally it went off. Instinctively I went for my camera but I hesitated. I let it be and just watched it spray into the sky, with out a worry of getting the picture. I just wanted to be there. It is really amazing how something like Old Faithful can form naturally. This world truly is a beautiful place.

I began the trek home. I am currently in American Fork, Utah. But my trip isn't over yet. I will be in Anchorage next week, and the week after that, Hawaii. 

Goodnight. 

Day 45: Skate Gods

Day 45: Skate Gods 

I wasn't sure what I was to do in Colorado. There were several options before me. 

Firstly, there was the dinosaur museum. Don't get me wrong, they are cool, but I just wasn't feeling dinosaurs. Then there were the Gardens of the Gods of which I've heard good things about, but they required me to detour too far south to Colorado Springs, along with Pikes Peak. I couldn't justify the drive. Then there was the NIST-F1 cesium atomic fountain clock, the clock that sets the official time of the United States and will deviate by less than a second in the next 100 million years. It was even on my way toward Cheyenne at the National Institute of Standards and Technology in Boulder. One look at the complex visiting times and guidelines put me off though, at least this trip.

Then there was the Stanley Hotel. You know what that this. It's the famous haunted hotel that inspired Stephan King to write The Shining. I really wanted to do the night tour, but I figured I'd already visited too many haunted locations. Don't want to give my readers the impression that I'm overly interested in the ghoulish. Which I am. But I try to curtail my enthusiasm and keep it at a healthy-obsessive level. I've already, since beginning this trip been slightly reprimanded by my fascination with the ethereal plane. I will address that later.

But then, like a joyous light from the skate gods, it occurred to me that the famous, Denver skatepark was less than twenty minutes away from where I was.

So, naturally, I went skating. I had been there a few years before and it was just as cool then as it was this time. Although, spending the majority of my days sitting as of late I was a little rusty. Observing all these young guns killing it while I struggled to do a basic line was both reassuring for the development of the sport and disheartening on a personal level. 

I feel as though I get better every time I step on the board, control and finesse slowly increase, yet, energy, and motivation fade. This promotes flat ground skating, which is really fun, but the younger crowd, filled with  passion for their sport have the energy and capacity to throw those same flat ground tricks down gaps, over obstacles, into rails and ledges, and this is just, plainly put, a lot cooler!

I do however, have one last video part in me. I plan to begin filming as soon as I get home. I don't do it to try to get sponsored. That is a young skater's game. I do it for the love of the sport. I do it to promote creation in the medium. It may not seem like it, but skating is an art. Instead of a brush, we use a board. There really is an endless array of possible combinations to attempt on a skateboard. The art is carefully balanced between physical ability, chosen medium, such as street, vert, flatground and others, and the always unique style and flow of your whole self while on the board.

The creation process, as is often the case with any art is mentally demanding. Perhaps a difference might be the combined physical abuse willingly engaged in to create a trick that will inspire waves of new skaters after you. The struggle is real. It is a beautiful thing.

You might have taken pause with how I have casually alluded to the fact that I am no longer young. After all I am only 28. I do so for a couple reasons of which I will explain. The first is that in any physically demanding sport, of which we are talking about skateboarding, there is the prime age to work your magic, after which it becomes apparent that age has diminished ones capability. People continue to skate their whole lives, but it seems that usually just before thirty an observing fan begins to notice a distinct difference in his hero's abilities on the board. 

Secondly, and I hesitantly bring this up, but, should you ever see me with a beard, you'll notice that I am already going grey. I first noticed it when I was twenty five. From what I understand, white males usually start going grey in their mid thirties. Why should I be going grey so early? I won't begin to attempt an explanation. All I will say is, who knows.

I will admit that I don't know how it's possible to feel as if I were a hundred years old and ten years old at the same time. But I do. I feel blessed.

Goodnight.

Day 44: As if I Were Dreaming

Day 44: As if I Were Dreaming

Tuesday, October 6

I hiked around the smooth red canyons south of Moab this morning. It was near the Hole in the Rock house. It was much needed down time. 

I found a nice smooth area to sit for awhile, to think. There was a trickling stream of water running down a narrow crevice in the rocks. It flowed into a small pool, then from there it continued to flow down and into an area where it seemed to disappear. I shimmied my way up into the area as high as I felt practically safe. It wasn't too steep or perilous by any means, but it did take some effort to climb to where I found myself. Hand holds had been worn out of the rock to aid in lifting oneself upward into the area.

I closed my eyes and leaned back. Because this is a common experience I'd share something with you, and really I only do because I think these experiences  are overlooked too often. They testify of the ever curious human condition, which, I think often times in our immediate awareness become calloused under the constant strain of everyday worries. Essentially we forget how unique our position in this world is. 

Often times when I close my eyes for periods of time and I'm not particularly sleeping, meditating maybe, it gets to a point where I feel as though I could be watching a movie. Lights and images flash and morph around on the inside of the eyelids. Colored orbs drift and transform into images that I, in my peculiar state begin to recognize. Connections begin to take place. Symbols are observed, sometimes causing me to remember people or places that I've know or been to, which then in turn continue the ever evolving light show on the inside of my eyelids.

Sometimes I can begin to take hold of how the images form and shift. Utilizing some cognitive ability, wholly mysterious to me, but at the same time intuitive and clear, I start to create.

Then, thinking about this whole process in the midst of creation, it begins to baffle my mind. Thereupon I lose focus and control ceases. 

You could say that the lights are remnants of external light that are still being processed by the eye. We all know how we continue to see a bright light such as the sun if we look at it and then look away. But I'd like to illustrate this imaginary creation process. 

Even while writing this post, I've been looking at this bright screen on my phone. I then close my eyes, take the phone away, and for a few moments I continue to have the light of the phone outlined in my mind, or my eyes, I guess. 

But before that light fades I think of a symbol. Such as the number 8, and the light that was left over in my eyes after I had closed them slowly morphs into the infinity sign. I think of a triangle, and it turns into a triangle. I think of face. This one is a little more difficult because it is a much more complex structure but it can be done. This one can be somewhat disconcerting though, because the nature of the morphing light can conjure up odd, disfigured, possibly demonic like expressions before you can focus it into a regular face of a person that you might even recognize. 

Sometimes it's easier to do this than other times but it is a reality, one of which baffles my understanding.

Light from the exterior world bounces off physical objects and hits your eye sending impulses to your brain that tell you, supposedly, what is actually before you. But then that reality, that light remains if only vaguely in your eyes, or your minds eye for a time, thereupon what ever you are, can begin to transform the vestigial light into what ever you think. This is reversing the seeing process. This is, in some ethereal, yet real way creating with light. It's a very vivid way of seeing that whatever you think  can become a reality, if only in the mind.

Sometimes in the midst of this light show images that I had not intended on thinking come into view and then even rarer still, they begin, by no apparent conscious thought of my own, to play out vivid scenes, more than just vague colors and blobs, nearly as if I were dreaming, but fully awake. 

It is in the conscious observation of these scenes that I am filled with childlike awe and pure joy. 

I will end on that note. Nothing else I experienced that day was as interesting as my brief hike into the mountains.

Goodnight.

Day 43: Mystery Rocks and Haunted Highways

 (I apologize if the photos are distorted. Uploads from my phone are having issues. I'm trying to fix the problem.)

Day 43: Mystery Rocks and Haunted Highways

Monday, October 5

 I woke up this morning with a smile on my face. I slept well, albeit in the back seat. I had some cold Mac and Cheese for breakfast, after which, I walked around the rest area stretching my legs. However, upon a failed attempt to start my car, I wondered how long I might be stuck there.

It was my battery. Completely dead. I honestly couldn't complain too much though, since I hadn't had a single car problem until that moment. I popped my hood and pondered as to what I should do. It was about 7:30am. Few there were, that were up and adam, and as well, at the stop. 

But as luck would have it, a thoroughly Christian truck driver, shortly, came to my aid. He jumped my car, informed me that my battery was nearly five years old, shook my hand and went on his way. 

I made it into town and bought a new battery. From there I made my way toward the Decalogue Stone. 

It was somewhat off the beaten path but is easily enough discovered if some effort is put into it. Step by step instructions can be found online, along with the exact coordinates. I won't make an attempt here to explain how to get there exactly. Suffice it, it's about fifteen miles west of the city Los Lunas, in the New Mexico desert. I found the road that wrapped around the hills it was reported it be in. It led to a waste management facility, of which there were few other ways to go. The road forced you through the gates, but I was hesitant so I pulled off the road and evaluated my situation. 

There were signs posted everywhere that the property was under new management and that trespassers would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Disheartened, I made my way through the gate toward the dump. I rolled my window down and before I could say a word, the man behind the plexiglass asked, "looking for the mystery rock?"

I smiled, "yeah."

He then began to give me instruction on how to get there, though he had never been himself. He had explained this to a lot of people before. I pulled around and parked and then made my way through a narrow gate passing the intimidating signs. 

I followed a dirt road and then after it diverged from where my gps coordinates were taking me, I began the trek into the hills. You could tell that people occasionally made their way out this way but there was no obvious pathway to the stone. Essentially it came down to following a dirt road, then following a barb wired fence line and then following an arrow painted onto a large stone that pointed into a small rocky canyon. Really it wasn't far, maybe about two miles into the rocky New Mexico hills, from where I parked.

I was worried I would miss it but it was apparent as soon as I rounded a large boulder. There it was, a large rock that had tipped over at some indefinite time in the past with paleo-Hebrew/Phoenician engravings on it at an awkward slant. The writing has been identified as the Ten Commandments. 

I sat down in front of it and just stared at it for several minutes, taking in all the mystery of the whole boulder. Picking out the words "Jehovah," and "God," I selfishly succumbed to my human disposition and touched the engravings with my fingers, feeling the grooves and the depth of them in the solid stone. There were other engravings that you could call vandalism, of more modern origin all over. One infuriated me while another made me smirk. Someone had scratched out the first line of the inscription on the stone, while another said "Elder Evens, 8-25-15." This one, I'd assure you wasn't even on the same boulder as the mystery engravings, quite farther away, happily. Even I gave into a temptation, to test what it would take to engrave something of such depth into the stone. I walked aways away from the engravings and found that it wasn't too difficult to make marks on the stone as most of the modern graffiti was, but to gain the depth and precision that the Hebrew letters were etched must have taken a significant amount of time and effort. 

Perhaps they were done with modern tools. Some say it is a hoax done in recent years, while others argue that it could be 500-2000 years old. This would be extremely significant if it were true.

It was first noted in 1933 when Professor Frank Hibbert, an archeologist from the University of New Mexico was guided to it by an unspecified person.

This person, he claims, had been aware of the inscriptions since he was a boy back in the 1880's. Which could be important because it closes the gap between when the language was well known in the area.

I've read nothing about it moving since its purported discovery in the 1880's. It is a massive boulder after all. But out of it all, even massive boulders fall over from time to time. One thing that stood out to me, something I haven't heard anyone mention or read anywhere else. The script is at a very steep angle. It's hard to image that if someone would take the time to etch deeply into stone the Ten Commandments that that someone wouldn't do it on a horizontal level plane. Why crane your neck and etch at an odd angle? It was also even apparent how it used to stand erect. 

I think it's a matter of determining how long ago that boulder was standing up right. We can judge the age of the earth, date thousand year old trees, explain in detail through blood splatters how and when a person was shot, and explain large scale geological phenomenon, you'd think that there would be a science dedicated to falling boulders. Come to think of it, I really think it wouldn't be that hard to figure it out. There was a tree growing out from underneath the boulder of which I thought could give a clue as to when it fell. But I rationalized that the tree was probably far too young to have been present during the original collapse. Certainly there must be a way though.

Upon my way out I ran into two others making their way toward the stone. I gave them brief directions. They thanked me and I was on my way.

From there, I made my way toward another sort of rock art, the Petroglyph National Monument in Albuquerque less than thirty miles north of the Decalogue Stone. These were an absolute delight to hike through. Waves of black volcanic rock speckled the elongated hillside. These hills are the homes of thousands upon thousands of petroglyphs, pictograms etched into volcanic rock, made by the Pueblo Native Americans up to 700 hundred years ago. 

There were no letters in these rocks though. They were mostly figures that resembles animals and people, but there were symbols as well. Yes, there were crosses, but perhaps more interestingly, to me at least, another common one was a spiraling circle. Supposedly this represented the circle of life and or continuing generations of specific families. I, assuredly innocently took a selfie of me high fiving a figure that looked kind of like a wizard. But should I find out in some other life that I did indeed hi five Jesus, I'm sure he'd be ok with that! To be sure, I didn't physically touch the petroglyphs.

Upon leaving the petroglyphs I made my way toward Highway 491, formally known as Highway 666. Come on people, it was in my vicinity and I just couldn't help myself! Supposedly this is the highway where people appear in your back seat! I'll tell you that no one appeared in mine the whole highway, but I'm sure it's only because they wouldn't have had anywhere to sit! Been on the road for a month and a half. The back seat de-evolves quickly... 

I will tell you briefly of my experience with it though.

I turned on to the very beginning of the highway as the sun was setting behind ominous clouds. There was a series of, let's just say, less than inspiring roadsigns. They said, "entering safety corridor" "warning, use extreme caution" and "zero visibility possible." 

I drove while it got dark, headlights slowly trickling off in number the farther I drove. It slowly became a lonely road. Suddenly lighting streaked across the sky, illuminating for a moment a solitary, looming plateau in the distance. It seemed to preside over the darkening desert, ushering in what was to ensue. It began to rain. Semi trucks began to barrel down on me racing the opposite direction merely feet away, engulfing me in torrents of waves in their wakes. Lighting struck again hotter and closer than before! Electricity blazed through the tumultuous darkness, continuing for an hour! The screen on my phone caught the corner of my eye as it began to light up and dim repeatedly. It was almost as if the lighting was trying to send me a message. I didn't dare take my white knuckles of the steering wheel. 

It began to downpour. The semis kept coming. Just when I thought it couldn't get more intense, I ran over the carcass of some unknown animal laying mangled in the middle of my lane. I cringed as I kept driving steadfastly. And then, the most unbelievable thing happen. I began to hear a thumping noise of which I couldn't tell where it was sounding from. It was slow at first but it started to pick up its beat. It started to get louder. My eyes widened as I realized that it was the beat of a drum. And then shockingly the voice of a Native American Indian blasted through my vehicle singing, chanting! I could almost see him dancing around in the flashing sky!

It was my radio. It had turned on to this chanting Indian song that was slowly getting faster and louder. I just could not believe it. It was a very long, intense and remarkable drive along highway 491. And before I knew it I was at Hole in the Rock, southern Utah. 

I pulled off into a rest area, checked my backseat for shapeshifters, wrote an entry and went to sleep. I am currently in Colorado. 

Goodnight:)