With some free time afforded by America’s recognition of a couple-hundred-year-old meal in New England, some friends and I decided to ditch those sedentary table traditions, fill the tank, and drive north to Big Sur, California. The deer and dew and babble of recent memory, of the Festival in the Forest, were fresh in my mind still, asking to be revisited. So we did.
The redwoods’ wise, fabled trunks stoked the coals of beat mystique in me as I stood beneath them feeling small but adventurous, feeling like I was an undergrad again: reading Gary Snyder, drinking wine from a bottle, dripping in postmodernism, and soaking in the possibilities that prose and poetry presented me then. I felt dizzy, but sobered up quickly and enjoyed five days of hollow-log drumming and dirt road plodding. Breathing was easier.
I came across this video and found it quite fitting to the way I feel today, in the wake of my travels. Enjoy!