Part 1 - Epiphany to Freedom


Obtuse Kineticist
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Epiphany to Freedom

Epiphany to Freedom

I hated my life. I hated everything about it. I was surrounded by people that I didn't care about, an environment that I didn't care about, and neck deep in a job that didn't inspire me i the least. It was October 1990, and I was on the northern most point of Prince Edward Island in Canada. My first paid two week vacation. Behind me the brand new Jeep, which up until that time, was the single greatest acquisition of my life. Two weeks after bringing it home, a local town father backed out of his driveway drunk, and squashed the passenger side, along with any desire to remain in the world I had found myself in.

I spent the whole two week's vacation avoiding the tourist attractions, and went all over the Eastern Provinces of Canada driving down dirt roads to see where they led to. Every once in a while I would come across an abandoned house, and spend hours sitting in it, just looking at the artifacts of lifetimes that had either ended, or moved onto something better. So much of that two weeks was symbolic for me. The paths less taken, and the abandonment of dead surroundings. By the time I returned to New Hampshire, I knew I would never be the same person again.

I have crossed those imaginary lines many times in my life. I know them like the taste of my favorite foods, and the words to my favorite songs. Every so often, I would go through a naked stage, where all the fiction was placed before me in a quiet space, and I went through the terrifying ordeal of seeing where the lies I lived were, and where the evolution was that was calling me onward. Even at an early age, without any learned spirituality, I seemed to know the value of the death/rebirth cycle. I shed many skins over the years, but none so important as that October vacation in 1990 in Canada.

I returned to the bleak surroundings of my life with a pilot fire that had been ignited within me. I knew that by spring I would either find my new direction, or that I would commit suicide. I wasn't depressed about the choice at all. It simply was the end of the line of the person I had been. One way or another. That clarity of mind was the first real peace that I had found in my life. I had tried drowning my desires in alcohol throughout my teen years, but eventually grew disenchanted with its abilitiy to really dampen my growing disdain with the world.

My first move was to get rid of the parasitic friends I had settled for over the past several years. I was kept around for my free flowing pocket money, my exceptional eye-candy good looks, and my acidic sense of humor that would always find someone in tears. For not the first time in my life I came to the realization that no one in my inner circle of acquaintances had the least idea who I was, or what I desired in my relations. I needed to be touched deep down where I lived by people, but no one ever made it that far. Everything was superficial and tittillation. I settled into my role, and awaited my cues to on occassion take center stage and entertain the group.

Folks were not happy with the new me. I bid them farewell without a reason, and made my way into the next chapter, perhaps my last, with a sense of freedom. Not two days later a new person stepped into the space provided by my expulsion of the others. Her name was Tracy. She used to listen to my hijinks on the CB radio at night, and was a silent fan of mine. CB's were very popular at the time in the area I was living as a sort of social outlet for the locals. I arranged to meet her, and in a few hours managed to tell her more about myself than I had to all friends before.

Tracy was into horses. She walked, talked, breathed, and lived for horses. One day she asked me to bring her to the pasture 75 miles away to help her get her horse from it to the barn for the winter months. She suggested I ride the companion horse in, and she would ride her horse. We could make a day of it. Having never touched a horse, let alone ridden one, I explained I would be fine waiting at the barn for her to lead the other horse in as she rode. No thank you. Cats were the only animal I had any desire to spend time with. To make a long story short, I was coerced into riding the horse in exchange for sex that evening.

To this day it is difficult to put into words what it was like to ride a horse for the first time. It was a simply perfect New England daywith the foliage all aburst in color, and cotton ball clouds gliding above. Tracy forgot to mention the 9 miles between pasture and barn, but I never really noticed the difference. For the first time in my life I was trapped in the moment - like only a person intimate with nature could experience. When we arrived at the barn, I jumped down like I'd ridden horses my whole life. Nine miles bareback for my first venture. Over the winter I drove her up several times a week in the evenings to feed and visit her horse.

One afternoon behind my parent's home, Tracy and I were walking through the woods. The evening before I had had my epiphany. I knew where I was going to take my unwanted life come spring.

"Tracy, what say in the spring we take two horses, your's and we'll buy me one, and we go across country with them?", I asked.

"Well we would have to buy a horse trailer, and get supplies to get set up out west."

"No I mean ride them out west. Not trailer them. Ride them ourselves...", I ventured. To be honest, I had no idea if such a thing could even be done, but figured, what the hell. If you are going to go off the deep end, you might as well do it with gusto.

Time stood absolutely still around us in the woods that day. "DC, don't joke with me. That has been a dream of mine since I was a little girl!", she replied.

"Good, then it is settled, we shall ride horses across country!", I reported. I was jubilant inside because somewhere deep within me I knew I had already made the plans, and that this was my destiny. We planned the trip for 7 months, and I would settle for nothing less than a draft horse, because it was not the choice of someone sane.

On April 16th, 1991 we stepped foot onto the street I was raised on for 25 years, with our horses. I have never looked back from that first step. Every moment of every day is owed to that first step. The first in a long line of them that has seen me move further and further from consensus reality, and closer to an understanding of why I was born, and the work I would go on to do to serve the production that goes on behind the scenes of physical reality. I was seeking unique, and I got a thousand fold more than I bargained for, but I will never choose to go back into the world, and that undertow of sleep. It for me would be a fate worse than the suicide that I never got around to.

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