8/19/19: Hot Springs, Pizza & Brother Rush
At the springs, I soak in the water which goes up to 108 degrees Fahrenheit. I jump off Dalton Ranch bridge into the Animas river and post the video. I drive us along the back country road, one of my favorite roads to drive; nice and curvy, winding along mountain cliffs and trees, open fields and large rustic farms and houses. In all my years of driving this road (a favorite driving route for me in my youth), I’ve never seen a cop car. Today is no exception. Stop and order a pizza from Mama’s Boy, which used to be located in the valley right at the bottom of Hermosa Mountain. My summer routine at twenty years old is documented earlier in this writing. Mama’s Boy (now called Gianni’s and located across from DHS) tastes like my childhood. A Porky Pig pizza: Canadian bacon, sausage and pepperoni. Goddamn, amazing stuff. A little heavy for me, since I’ve been eating mainly raw veggies and fruits and nuts for most of the tour, but worth it. We return back to the springs for the rest of the evening.
. . .
Brother Rush is one of my favorite people in the world. I met him at the hot springs when I was seventeen years old, maybe even ealier. His energy was so chill and Zen even before I really knew what Zen was. We’d talk about life and I always, always felt so much more clear and grounded when we spoke. He was sixteen years older than me, but he called me Brother Casey, and I called him Brother Rush. He worked at Trimble for a while after I turned twenty or so (long after I had worked there, if you could call what I did there “working”), and he built the beautiful rock wall in the Trimble parking lot with flowers and plants growing all around it.
He was a mellow, lean, good looking dude who looked strikingly similar to Richard Gere; a bigger nose and a more slender face perhaps, but the same eyes and same kind of smile.
We had a connection with Tom Petty: his song “I Won’t Back Down” was our theme song. I saw Petty twice when I was younger, first time at seventeen. I told Rush, and it deepened our bond of the music and our friendship. When I was on my own, living in the trailer with some friends, kicked out of school, I was eighteen, unsure of my life, my future, unsure of anything except that I was going to be a famous rockstar, and (if we’re being sincere), I was scared. I was lost, and I was afraid. Sitting in the hot springs talking to Brother Rush, I felt my anxiety ease up and, as always, I felt so much more calm and at ease. His presence just did that to me.
When I arrived in Durango this week for the tour, I thought of Rush. I knew he had no social media accounts (something I envy him for). I was thinking of looking him up, but I just waited. I wasn’t sure if he even had the same number: over the past decade, I’ve had more phone numbers than girlfriends, and that’s a large number. Still, I felt like if I needed to, I could reach out to our mutual friend Brady, a fellow yogi, poet, mushroom seeker (more edible mushrooms, and less psychedelia). But I had a feeling that by just thinking of Brother Rush, I was already doing what needed to be done.
At the Nature’s Oasis natural grocery store two days ago, on my way out, I heard Tom Petty’s song “I Won’t Back Down,” and smiled as Austin and I made our way out to the car. When we arrived back at Trimble this evening, I noticed the rock wall in front of the building that Rush assembled over a decade ago. Sitting in the hot hot pool at the end of the pool (we always called the extra hot pool the hot hot pool), I dunk myself and listen to my heart pound in my ears under the hot dark yellow healing mineral waters of the Colorado mountains. I float around submerged for a bit, and come back up. I sit down on the edge of the pool and let my feet float in the water. I look over and there’s Brother Rush on the other side of the pool, sitting on the steps near the wall separating the two pools, talking to a couple.
Of course. I’m not surprised. I wait for twenty minutes or so, smiling and soaking until he finishes his conversation with the couple, and I float over.
“I was wondering if I would run into Brother Rush while I was in town,” I say to him.
“Oh my God,” he says.
“I figured this would be the obvious location.”
We shake hands in a strong brotherly handshake, and I can’t stop smiling. I haven’t spoken to him since I moved to California. Or wait—I spoke to him right after I moved. I remember I was lying on the floor in my room in my grandparent’s house, on the verge of tears because I missed Durango so much; it was all I’d ever known, except for early childhood memories of California, and I had just left it all behind. All of it, I had moved my entire life away from the life I had known. My tears were a breath away, and my cellphone rang. It was Brother Rush, calling to say that he was in Santa Cruz and wanted to say hi. In that moment, my voice cracking and shaking, a lump in my throat, I suddenly, immediately felt the effect of my connection with Rush, just like all the moments spent talking to him in the springs. I felt then that was doing the right thing.
Back at the springs tonight, Rush and I pick right back up where we left off: I give him the brief history of my California story: he knows nothing of the crash, the drugs, the recovery, the yoga, the new life. I tell him, and he listens, really taking it all in. He tells me of his life, his roller coaster of a relationship with this girl who just went to Barcelona. And all the time he’s talking, he’s holding two gigantic crystals in his hands: purple amethyst in his left, and clear quartz in his right.
I tell him about the Tom Petty song.
“Every time I hear that song I think of you,” he tells me.
“Same,” I tell him. “You’re one of my favorite people ever, brother.” I tell him, and he brings his hands together at his chest and bows his head, closing his eyes in reciprocation.
We continue to talk about life; he says that he admires that I’ve grown so much and yet I’m still the same person he knew.
“You and I, we don’t get older,” I tell him. “We get deeper. We gain depth through suffering, learning, love, loss, transition, life, breath.”
He nods. “This is the sign that I needed tonight. The wisdom that helps me through.”
“You’re doing exactly what’s right,” I said.
“I try to,” he says, and then: “Or no, I don’t try, it’s more than that, or different from that. I don’t try to—I feel to. I feel to.”
That resonates with me.
Rush mentions that he’s thinking of moving to Hawaii. He’s never been to the big island. I tell him he’d be welcomed there as a local, with his Zen vibe and chill nature. I could see him there already.
The hot springs is close to the end of the night; we shake hands, Rush says he’ll come by the Mancos show on Friday.
“Namaste, Brother,” I tell him. “And remember, sometimes we have to misunderstand before we can understand. Sometimes there’s no other way.”
He smiles, nods, and leaves, and I am left with the residual peacefulness that is connecting with Brother Rush.
I take one last dunk and make my way to my towel, wrap up, and I suddenly receive the kind of insight that Rush has always bestowed on me; only at this very moment near the pool am I able to grasp the deeper message, the deeper meaning of this southwest summer tour. The biggest takeaway from this tour is this: I am doing everything exactly the way that it needs to be done. From the reconnection with Greg, to the bonds formed with Brodie and his children Landon and Harper, to meeting Brother Rush; everything falls into place without any strain or effort, and that’s because everything I’ve done, and everything I’m doing, has been exactly what I needed all along.
8/20/19: Orvis Hot Springs
Orvis Hot Springs is a clothing optional mineral water hot springs resort in the small mountain town of Ouray, a town that is often referred to as “The Switzerland of the USA.” This is not an exaggeration: the vast mountain ranges that close in all around the town are spectacular and all encompassing. The road to Ouray, commonly known as the Million Dollar Highway, is one of the most scenic and deadliest stretches of road in the US, and even the world. In 2013, the Million Dollar Highway was ranked one of the top 12 deadliest roads in the world, along with Bolivia’s infamous Death Road. Words can’t suffice for the feelings and experience of one who drives this route: adrenaline , an increased heart rate and sharp focus, mixed with breathtaking reverence and total awe of the supreme and mighty beauty of the earth. There is no way to escape the feeling of being very very small, virtually non existent. The mountains swallow you up completely as you swerve around borderless two lane roads that drop straight down thousands of feet into the oblivion of the canyon. This section of the highway is only a few miles, but it’s a long few miles, and they pack a punch. I drive slowly; only an idiot would go over twenty five miles an hour on this stretch of road, and at times that would be pushing it as well.
I remember riding over the pass (Red Mountain Pass, notoriously closed down for long stretches over the winters) with Austin, in April when I drove down for our first rehearsal of Bleed Out. Although it was April, we hit a snow storm as Austin drove us back towards Silverton. It was a mild snowstorm, according to Austin, and wasn’t nearly as bad as the thick fog that sometimes engulfed the pass at times, making it nearly impossible to see the road, and with it, failing to distinguish where the edge of the road, where the drop-off was. I meditatively looked out the window, down into the abyss as the fat snow flakes pressed into the window of the car, noticing my breath and thinking: well, if this is how we go, I’m ready. It would be a hell of a way to die. Of course, Austin got us home in perfect form; his sense of focus and experience was relaxed and confident. I wasn’t scared, but I wouldn’t have thought less of myself if I had been.
This time, today, I drove, my Honda smoothly and slowly taking the turns, the feeling you get in your guts when you see the expansive sweeping glorious view is a roller coaster feeling; you keep your eyes on the road as you drive, but it’s impossible not to appreciate the scenery and the world around you as the view grows more and more gigantic.
We make it to Orvis, with a few pictures and videos taken by Austin to post for social media (not a lot, but important nonetheless).
Orvis is a kind of paradise, a collection of pools ranging in temperature from a cold plunge near the sauna (sauna is around 160 degrees, cold plunge is 60), to a small tub known as the Lobster Pot (109, not hot enough for me to designate it the Lobster Pot). It’s clothing optional, which means that while you may occasionally see a beautiful woman totally naked entering or leaving one of the pools, mostly it’s senior citizens completely in the nude and just wanting to relax. The sexual aspect is quickly forgotten as you meander from one pool to another. There’s a dining room with an oven, a fridge, and a microwave for guests and those who choose to camp or stay at the springs overnight; Austin and I brought fresh fruit, vegetables and hummus, some juice and kombucha, and I brought a gallon of water. I stay in my underwear, tight briefs that could pass for a European swim suit.
I get into the main pool first, around 104, would be my guess. My feet sink into the smooth gravel floor at the bottom of the pool; there’s rocks and waterfalls and I float around effortlessly. I make my way to the sauna, where it’s not as hot as I would prefer, so I stay for twenty minutes or so, and connect with an older lady named Astarla, who is 71 and as naked as the day she was born. We speak of empaths (she is one), and the effects of electric waves generated by cell phones and other electronic devices. The conversation is interesting, engaging, and gets deep very quickly. We have connected on the topic of inner understanding, knowing oneself, and personal growth. She tells me it’s her birthday. I step out of the sauna and make my way to the lobster pot before transversing to the cold plunge, and I see Brother Rush sitting in the hot springs tub. I kid you not, he’s sitting right in the lobster pot in front of me. Or course. Twice in a row now I have seen him, unplanned, unscripted, completely perfect. We talk again for a bit, but this soak day is more about a personal introspection than the previous night at Trimble. Still, it’s amazing seeing him again. I see him once more, meditating in a lawn chair in the quiet section of the lawn (the entire area is no electronics, no cell phones, no loud noises or yelling; so pure and conducive to total relaxation), and I take my place a few yards from where he sits and meditate on my own for twenty five minutes. I pass by him, flash him a peace sign, he smiles back and I don’t see him for the rest of the night. A cameo from Brother Rush, letting me know that once again, everything in my life is happening exactly how it’s supposed to.
More time in the sauna—it’s ripping hot now, 25 minutes in permeating heat, breathing exercises that slow my heart rate and increase my blood flow to my brain, which is breaking through to a new realm of awareness, the dots beneath my eyelids floating, formless images forming as my breath goes in and out—then the cold plunge, forever oscillating between extremes; the small hottest tub again, and then lying meditation in the sun. Drinking plenty of water, spacing out more and more in the sense that my thoughts don’t hold the same kind of power that they are capable of sometimes generating. Things come to my mind and my vision without words, without mental constructs; my mind has been opened.
I take a break to eat some snacks, and Astarla comes in as well. Sitting next to me, wrapped only in two towels, we begin to converse again, this time at greater length. We go out onto the lawn, where she shows me some cards that she created: emotional collages, she calls them. A synthesis of images cut from magazines, with writing on the back, personal affirmations and studies on who she really is. The words all resonate with me (a word that comes up again and again between us). She speaks of the Tao, which I was reading only the night before; we converse about self discipline, Zen buddhism, yoga, breakthroughs, giving yourself space to grow, misunderstanding in order to understand. Things get deep, intimate, sincere. This woman is on another level, one that I am also beginning to grasp and grow comfortable with. She invites me over towards her seat in the lawn, and takes out some books she’s been reading. She takes out Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, which I was studying the night before, and is in my car. Of course. She shows me an anonymous poem about water, one that sinks deeply into my soul: the hot springs, the river, it all connects.
“Flow”
be
as water is
without friction
flow around the edges
of those within your path
surround within your ever moving depths
those who come to rest there-
enfold them
while never for a moment holding on
accept whatever distance
others are moved within your flow
be with them generally
as far as they allow your strength to take them
and fill with your own being
the remaining space when they are left behind
when dropping down life’s rapids
froth and bubble into fragments if you must
knowing that the one of you now many
will just as many times be one again
and when you’ve gone as far as you can go
quietly await your next beginning
She shows me some of her photography of the different elements: water, wind, clouds, wood, fire, the latter offering me the realization that sectioned images of an individual flame resemble the form of a woman’s body; curving, dancing, moving fluidly, throbbing (a new verb to describe the flames, as noted by Astarla). This gives my song “Dance Through the Fire” a whole new significance.
We talk. And talk. And talk. She takes out a few crystals and explains the significance of them. I write the name of the rock down. This woman, she’s married, she’s seventy one today, and we’re connecting so deeply: it’s rare and profound, and it resonates (there’s that word again) between us. All the dots connect, all thoughts and feelings synthesize into sense, gradually yet suddenly transformed completely.
We went over far too much for me to begin to detail it, but the important parts are mainly described above. The Tao, the books, the talking . . . I gave her my contact info and I’m sure we’ll connect again sometime in the future.
I sit in the hottest tub, surrounded by naked dreadlocked hippies and a round jovial Texan. They’re talking about crystals: different kinds, where to find them, their effects on the mind and body . . .
The evening turns into dusk, and then dark; Austin and I finally wrap up our springs experience after six hours or so at Orvis. I felt like my mind had been blown wide open and expanded into the galaxy. I drive us back towards Durango, stopping at the top of Molas Pass (10,910 feet above sea level), and we get out of the car and gaze up into the celestial ocean of trillions of ethereal and immortal stars. It’s an out of body and mind-blowing experience, so close that I could reach up and grab a fistful of stars out of the river of the milky way galaxy, which we see in all its splendor. Constellations, planets, the pulsing stars. Some thoughts that I articulate during this experience:
“How silly of us to think that we’re going to die . . . we’re made of these stars . . . we’re going to go on forever.”
Alan Watts asks what is going on inside your head: is it a blank or black space behind your eyes and in between your ears? Is there a tiny person in there, watching through your eyes and listening through your ears, moving you around like a large mobile, mechanized contraption? No, he says. Simply, what goes on inside your head is exactly what you see on the outside. All of this: the outside is the same as the inside, and vice versa. So staring up into this boundless, immense, unending and vast molecularly infinite galaxy and beyond, I know—I feel as I know—that this is all the inside of my head. All these stars, this earth, these planets, these trees, this experience, I am creating all of this. Driving home from Orvis, we see over twenty five deer in or on the side of the road.
[cont] I’ve seen three black bears this trip, two of which resembled big black shaggy dogs, slightly larger than a massive St. Bernard. The third one was the biggest one I’ve ever seen in my fucking life. Less than twenty yards away, this black bear was walking away from the cabin as I went out to my car; its back was towards me. This thing was nearly as large as my car. I called out to Austin and the bear looked back over his shoulder at me, and then continued sauntering away. Austin caught the last view of him going over the hill, and concurred that it was the biggest bear he too had ever seen in his life.
[cont] I’m breaking these entries up with a [continued] when the topic changes; I feel that the flow of the writing would suffer from an unexpected shift of topic in the stream of consciousness. To avoid confusion, but also to avoid repeating the same date of entry over and over again, [cont] seems to work fine.
It has been amazingly stimulating and rewarding to document the tour thus far; I actually planned on writing about it, but not at this great of length and not at this depth; I assumed I would be writing all this after the fact. This approach of writing nearly instantly after the experience, when all is fresh and real in my brain, has produced an entirely different narrative and voice. This is more real, more authentic, and much more intimate.
More writing to come, of course. The final leg of the tour starts Thursday, and then the New Mexico portion of the tour starts: Albuquerque to Las Cruces, and finally ending up back in Northern California.
8/21/19
Today was filled with a lot of high stress. It started as I drove to get coffee in the morning, running late to get back to the house to meet up and rehearse with Pete [Giuliani, the bassist for the Totah show]. The internal chatter and the rushing feelings of hurried anxiety are noticeable, even though when I arrive at the house, ten minutes late, Pete hasn’t arrived yet. Four shots of espresso and into practice, it seems clear that Pete is not as tight on the songs as I would like him to be. I don’t say anything, because what would the point be? He’s going to practice and study the music as much as he’s going to, and the show will go off well regardless. Considering the lack of time and preparation (although Geonni was amazing for the album release party), it’s unrealistic to expect perfection on the same level as if we had been rehearsing for weeks instead of days.
My bank account is overdrawn; I’m confused as I check my account balance; being in the red is something that I’m not used to anymore these days. I check the transaction history and see that someone charged my card $399. My debit card has been compromised; I talk to the bank, they file a dispute and drop my card number. I try to call the number on the purchase and get nothing. This will all get resolved, of course. It just will take some time to get the money back, and it’s stressful as I make calls that cut into rehearsal time.
Pete brings his amplifier, a really nice Traynor with a brightness that breaks up in the tubes and has a little more color and bite to it. But my wah pedal begins to act up, spitting out sounds of loud electrical buzzing that sound like a serious electrical problem. I make a phone call, set up an appointment. Austin feels weird after not sleeping well the night before. We pause rehearsal and he goes for a drive. I stay behind for a moment and then make my way into town to pick up some sets of strings and find a little wifi so I can send the writing to Chaula via email. I decide to drive to Richard Ave, to see the old blue duplex, 2915 B.
I cruise down the street, and as I see the house, the front window, the door, a sharp and potent breath of longing, memory, recall, love, youth, craziness, amazing experiences, friendship, Halloween party, breaking the window in the living room, the back porch, the drugs, the booze, the cigarettes, the drunk driving, the recklessness, the rope swing out front, Chandra (Bonni), Justin (Jacob), Benny (Billy), Jason (Joshua), the music, stealing food, frying chicken in a deep fryer with pancake batter (you can eat anything when you’re nineteen), the sex, the broke bank account, no money, never any money, the work in the restaurants, the brotherly bond, the music, the feeling of being together . . . All of this in a single breath that tightens my chest and sends a vibrational tingling and tightening in my testicles. Goosebumps. Intense.
I return to the cabin, rehearse with Austin again (much better and more productive this time), and make a call to the pedal repair dude. He texts me his address: 2906 Richard Ave.
Right? I was just there, being rocked by a wave of memories and flashbacks, and I get to return once more to the house that is quite literally across the street from the blue duplex where I had the best time of my entire life. What does it mean? Once again, I am doing everything exactly how it needs to be done.
I took two propranolol this afternoon; the anxiety was at a high pitch and still after my second meditation practice, I needed to turn down the frequency. Still, I was able to talk myself down from the barrage of anxious thought patterns, talking to them calmly, nicely, rationally. Giving them, the space to percolate before releasing them into the universe. Within a few hours, I felt fine, controlled, relaxed, awake.
I sit in silence at the kitchen table, the sounds of the clicking keyboard keys tapping away as I record my thoughts and experiences into this writing document. Eight more days of the tour left.
[cont] Ah yes—another note, an observation on my current state of being: last night, post Orvis hot springs relaxation and deep spirit journey vision quest, as I meditated before lying down in bed, I began to see the color purple beneath my eyelids. No question about it; it was the color purple, violet; it was very noticeable. I looked up the purple chakra tonight to find this:
7th Chakra: Crown of the Head
“The crown chakra is about wisdom and being one with the world. Violet is the color of Spirituality. It is the color of people seeking spiritual fulfillment. Purple represents transformation, creativity and spiritual awareness. Purple is associated with intuition and the mystical side of life.”
My lucky number is 7. It always has been, since I was seven years old or so. And the feeling that I had opened up some doors from the past week — “I felt like my mind had been blown wide open and expanded into the galaxy” (noted from previous entry) — makes sense. This all makes so much fucking sense.
8/23/19: Mancos Brewing Co show
Writing this out while it’s fresh in my mind and body: tonight, things continue to come together in what Lao Tzu would call Wu Wei, or the principle of not forcing; literally transcribed as not doing. Arrived at the venue in Mancos an hour and ten minutes early, set up and played an amazing show. Great sound, amazing energy, a kind of intimacy with the audience that I haven’t felt in a while. Listening to Alan Watts on the way to the show, his talks synchronizing perfectly with my mind and my life.
One of the deepest parts of the show was the appearance of Mona Wood-Patterson (WP, as we called her in high school), and her husband Charles Ford. These two were the theatre director and set director, respectively, during my high school musical years. My role as Marius in Les Miserables and Sky Masterson in Guys and Dolls were all under Mona’s direction and guidance. Mona immediately recognized an amazing natural talent in me, and she really was able to bring out the best actor I could be. Looking back, my life was on fire starting long before high school, but once junior year came around, things had begun exploding around me. I got into drugs, I started drinking (a lot), and chaos ensued: expulsion, kicked out of my senior play, running away from home . . . it was all too much for me to take, and I watched my life as a high schooler come crashing down all around me.
I’ve often wondered what my high school life would have been like had I not self-destructed under the pain and pressure of abuse and anxiety and depression and drug use. I don’t spend a lot of time speculating, especially when my current life is so successful and positive, but underneath the youth rebellion attitude I-don’t-give-a-fuck, part of me always felt a little sad and ashamed that my life took that turn. (I’ve never admitted that until just now, which makes sense—the clarity that I received after tonight’s encounter with WP is deeply felt in this moment; as I write this, my brain and body is processing the overload of memories and feelings that were stirred up just hours before.)
Mona and Charles came today to the show, and what they witnessed blew them away. The range and dynamics of sound and control that I showcased was absolutely impressive, even by my standards. The sound was equalized so perfectly that I felt I barely had to try at all; the amount of music that I’ve been playing recently translated into a kind of effortless confidence and adeptness, a higher level of musical experience as I played. It was fluid and expertly crafted.
Mona came up to me after the first set and stood on the step of the stage as I stepped down. Mona is a tiny little woman, not even up to my shoulder, so when she stepped onto the stage we were roughly at eye level. I said to her, “That step is just for you so we can hug.” And she hugged me, but I mean, really hugged me. It was an embrace with a kind of love that I haven’t felt from anyone besides my mother. We held each other in embrace for a prolonged amount of time. She released from our hug, and her face was so close to mine as she said, “You are brilliant.” We hugged maybe four or five times more, each one lasting for a long time, and she told me, “I knew from the moment I met you that you had amazing talent, and the moments that you shared through everything made this community better.”
What she said, it was powerful. I closed my eyes and took it in. There was so much adoration from her, so much understanding, so much amazement; she was so fucking proud of me. In those moments, I felt forgiven without even having to ask, it was just given to me. She was thanking me for who I was, then and now. It was closure, it was healing and it was profoundly impactful. This moment was sincere and genuine; Mona understood, and I too now understand. (“You have to misunderstand before you can understand.”) Everything I’ve been doing has brought me to this moment: closure and redemption from hurting painful moments and memories that never got the opportunity to be released.
Mona and I take a picture before she and Charles leave.
Holy fuck. I knew that this tour was going to be life changing, but I had no idea that it would allow me so much growth and so much insight and intuition in such a short time. This place was ready for me.
Brother Rush came to the show; he sat next to a girl who lived in Mancos nearby. He too was absolutely amazed at what I was creating. We spoke at greater length towards the end of the night. He said to me, “I remember seeing you play music at Homeslice [a local pizza place where Dustin Krupa, the Shoes! bassist worked], and having this mental download of you receiving an award for your music. It was real, I saw it. And hearing you tonight, I just got it again. It’s going to happen for you. How far do you guys want to take it?”
“All the way,” I said. “I’m just trying to get to the point where I don’t want it for reasons related to pride. That way I’ll be more open to receiving it. So much of my time has been spent trying to force things that just weren’t ready.”
“Ego,” Rush said.
“It was all ego. I was setting myself on fire with all these thoughts: why am I not where I should to be? Where’s the recognition I deserve?”
“That’s the Leo way,” Rush said wisely.
“Totally. I want to get to a place where I’m not being driven by all that negativity.”
Rush told me that he broke up with his girlfriend the day I saw him at Orvis; he came to the realization that he needed to let her go for good. He tells me again how he’s thinking of moving to Hawaii, and then says to me: “This lady came up to our table tonight [a friend of his companion who he took to the show], and just told me that she has an empty condo in Hawaii, and I can stay there whenever I want.” He looked awake, amazed. “I think that’s the bigger reason why I saw you, Brother Casey—I mean, besides seeing you, you brought me here to the show tonight, and now this . . .” He smiled. I did too.
“Just how it’s supposed to be.” I said. “Do you have a CD player in your truck?”
“I do,” Rush said.
“Let me give you a CD,” I told him, going over to the merch stand. He followed over, and I handed him the Blue CD.”
“Let me give you some cash,” Rush said.
“Whatever you want,” I told him.
“I have some money in the truck.”
“Oh!” I remembered. “I had a question: those crystals you were holding in your hands at Trimble, what were they?”
“Amethyst and clear Quartz.”
“Do you just get them online or what?” (Kind of a silly question for Brother Rush; he’s not the kind of guy that would buy crystals online.)
“No, not online.” He said. “I got them from . . . wait!” He stopped and turned around towards his truck. “Let me make a trade with you.”
He came back with a hand-sized amethyst crystal. He placed it in my hand.
“Purple,” he said. “The crown chakra. Color of royalty, success.”
Of course.
I get home after driving around for a bit, listening to the radio interview I gave for KDUR that ran earlier that night; I sound intelligent, knowledgable, articulate, and confident. I notice that the picture I took with WP has been posted on social media, using her theatre handle. The picture looks amazing; we look so happy. Aesthetically, in black and white, it’s a great shot. The caption reads:
“Casey Wickstrom is one of Durango’s talented homegrown artists. Mona and Charles had the chance to work with him back in the day with DHS 1096, when he played Marius in Les Miserables and Sky Masterson in Guys and Dolls. From the moment we met him, owe knew he was a special talent. Well, Durango, he is crushing it with his brilliant musical prowess. No kidding — Casey Wickstrom is breathtaking. We got to hear him tonight in Mancos. Don’t miss his show [Durango show info]. You will be astounded. You will be proud. He is a creative wonder. Thanks for coming home to share with us, Casey!”
I need to sleep. More writing to come. Tomorrow is Pagosa Hot Springs, and some writing on the Totah show.