

HIGH SEAS and GREEN TREES

A Journey from the Grove  
&  
Other Short Stories

Written & Published by HB Halsey at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 HB Halsey

Smashwords eBook License Statement   
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the price of this

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This is Book One in the Russ Raxter series. Please leave a review for my books at your favorite book retailer. Enjoy the read!-HB

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Sample

Preface-High Seas and Green Trees  
Chapters 1-11  
Epilogue-High Seas  
Twenty  
The Camping Adventure  
Ride The River  
About The Author

Preface

Russ Raxter and I had long talks over many years. We were friends no matter the physical distance between us. We had a spiritual connection, as though we were living parallel lives. We had and would continue to have very similar experiences but not necessarily at the same time on the life timeline. There were large gaps in his memory. Surely, they contained a wild streak or two, numerous loves, divorces, happy times and those times when he could not imagine how he got himself into the predicament he was in, or how he would get himself out. He assumed there was a God of some sort guiding him, by the soul maybe, to do the right thing but another force had a different idea of what was good. Those things that seemed good may have not always been good, because it felt like something big and good had been missing from his heart for a long time.

One big difference, though, was that I thought I had a loving and solid home life. Growing up in an alcoholic home with hard working parents wasn't easy for him, or the fact of his being last in line of inheritance. It was like he was living in the shadows, that is, until someone wanted him to be noticed, for the boosting of their ego. "Sing a song for us", they might say. Or "Play something for us". As a kid, there was lots of play out of doors for him and his neighbors. That's where they wanted him. In the street. In the neighborhood. At the beach. "Just go! Somewhere!", his folks would say. When school was out, that's where they wanted him to be, outdoors. As much as we'd recall on our walks and talks, summer days as a youth started at dawn's early light and lasted till the mosquito sprayers came by at dusk. We loved to follow them on our bikes. I'm sort of surprised we're survivors. And the skeeters are survivors too. This may explain a lot.

He was a friend indeed. Though many years would pass between our physical meetings, we stayed connected by landline, cell, text, and the web technologies of the 2000- teens. We shared our lives in laughter, tears and sadness, victories and losses. And he was a really great story teller. Oh, the many adventures he shared with me! He lived life fast and he lived it fearlessly. He was one part of a tight knit bunch of friends who clicked together like a jigsaw, for forty years. Their adventures together filled much of his life. But there was still room for his personal times too. Here's my salute my friend and confidante, Russ.

The year was 2016. The seven friends living out a 46-year friendship included:  
Russ-my friend and spirit brother  
Colin-cap'n, accomplished guitar player, very centered and wise  
Rocky-digital storage guru, 2nd mate, captain. Had testy daughter(Paisley)  
Leemun-loved being married to many men, not all at once and many divorces  
Graffi-good at making poor choices, smart and educated  
Barken-years of drug abuse, time in 6 treatment centers, 12 years sober, apt to fail  
Wike-sober after heavy drug abuse, wise and calculated
Sample

One of the most soothing things Russ had done in his life occurred the moment he first set foot in the rented sailboat, after gathering this and that for a day out in Biscayne Bay. None of them could understand why they in the past felt the need to carry so much gear and provisions with them for a day away from the creature comforts they knew and loved so well. He kept telling himself, "don't bring so much crap with you, when you go."

Flash back: Things in the Grove sure have changed from so many years ago. This was such a far cry from Coconut Grove in the early '70s. Barry's Joint, a hip clothing and gear store had the latest in platform shoes for men and women, and there were people on the streets who would embroider your jeans while you wait, but of course, you'd have to take them off while they're being done. Many clients didn't wear underthings, so they covered with a blanket or a copy of Rolling Stone or the like. There were small and narrow sandwich shops and food bars that made "hoo-goes" (milky drinks made with ice, milk and fruit), bakeries and sweet shops to feed the your munchies and head shops that sold incense, pipes, screens and flavored rolling papers. Now the high rises and upscale shops on Bird Avenue replaced the simple yet party-hearty apartment buildings. Thoesre were crazy times of that included streaking as some rode flight 714. Some were content with toking till their lungs ached. Some liked spicing their food or making tea with fresh mushrooms right out of the pasture.

Now, buy this ebook and jump on the journey! Some were content with toking till their lungs ached.

Chapter 1

Russ Raxter wasn't very surprised that the marina at Coconut Grove was so busy that day. It may have been the most enticing day he had seen for a week or so, after all that rain came through with the tropical storm. He read in the Miami Herald earlier that morning that the National Weather Service said they'd set records for rainfall over the past five days, a record that had stood for more than 100 years. Crowned the third wettest December ever, there was a tropical storm that parked itself over south Florida and drew moisture up from the Gulf of Mexico and it seemed to have rained constantly, dumping over seven inches of rain in the first five days of December. There was a blizzard that swept up the Ohio Valley and into the Mid-Atlantic the week before. There was the dropping of up to 8" of snow in middle Tennessee and over 2' of the frozen white stuff around Washington, D.C., especially west of DC. Snowzilla as it was now called, deposited up to 40" west of D.C. And that Yule day, they were having one of those "Chamber of Commerce days" where the sun was shining brightly, the temperatures were around 75 and there was a very light breeze in the air, one that doesn't get labeled as causing a chop on inland waterways. Russ thought it to be a great day for sailing out of the Biscayne Sailing Club.

Oh, he was so aware of how they were blessed with sunshine and warmth throughout most of the year there. It was no wonder why folks from the colder climes wanted to come below the frost line and thaw out for the length of northern winters. The climate though, even in southeast Florida, like everything and everywhere else, was changing. Maybe El Nino had a grander effect on them, and it was a strong one that year. Possibly it was something else.

One of the most soothing things Russ Raxter had done in his life occurred the moment he first set foot in the rented sailboat, after gathering this and that for a day out in Biscayne Bay. No one else could understand why they in the past felt the need to carry so much gear and provisions with them for a day away from the creature comforts they knew and loved so well. He kept telling himself, "don't bring so much crap with you, when you go."

Raxter Flash back: Things in the Grove sure had changed from oh so many years ago. 45 years plus at least. What Russ saw then was such a far cry from Coconut Grove in the early '70s. There was Barry's Joint, a hip clothing and gear store that carried the latest in platform shoes, sandals (Dr. Scholl's wooden) for men and women, a ginormous choice of bell bottoms, flowing cotton dashikas, tie-dyes and disco belly shirts, glass pipes (including hookahs), incense, beads, papers, backpacks, and tents. In fact, there were people on the streets who would embroider your jeans while you wait, but of course, you'd have to take them off while they're being done. Many clients didn't wear underthings, so they covered up with a blanket or a copy of Rolling Stone or the like, took their bench seat and waited for the artwork to finish. There were small and narrow sandwich shops and food bars that made "hoo-goes" (milky drinks made with ice, milk and fruit), bakeries and sweet shops to feed the your munchies and head shops that sold incense, pipes, screens and flavored rolling papers. Now, he was so aware of the high rises and upscale shops on Bird Avenue that replaced the simple yet party-hearty apartment buildings. Thoesre were crazy times of that included streaking as some rode flight 714. Some were content with toking till their lungs ached and eyes bled. Some liked spicing their food or making tea with fresh mushrooms right out of the pasture. Maybe someday those wondrous domes of psychedelic delight would be legalized. Nah. Herb probably never would either. Just thinking of mushrooms, Russ had his own flashback. Some were content with toking till their lungs ached.

The search for psilocybin mushrooms had been a fun one, as the pastures that existed west of Miami/Dade County's Palmetto Expressway were full of cows in the early '70s, which meant lots of pies, which meant the odds were good for a fresh batch of magic mushrooms after a rain. Some thought that consumption of the mushrooms of differing types opened one up to enlightenment and creativity. Priests and Holy men took Soma mushrooms and their subordinates supposedly drank those guy's urine to process any lingering chemicals and minerals. Holy and Blessed experiences were the intended goal. The silly-simon, as they were often called, had a taste that wasn't really that delicious, but they weren't looking for deliciousness. It was the experience of going to the park, to hear Pink Floyd or The Who or Moody Blues in a new way.

It took an early rising for Russ Raxter to get out there to the pastures before dawn broke and before anyone else. Some also named that time of day as "the buttcrack of dawn". They had made it to the pastures in the darkness before light more than a couple of times. The Palmetto Expressway used to be "way" out west of Miami, but not now, due to the sprawl. Driving down a puddled shellrock road in those days, they'd pull into a small area that led to a steel cattle gate that was locked. They did this a few times without incident so why not go back and continue their collecting the delicious domes? They climbed over the cattle gate and picked all they could in the shortest time possible. Maybe one time they dawdled too long.

Something told Russ and his fellow pickers, Rocky and Barken, that this would be their final time in those pastures as they returned to Russ' '64 Dodge Polara with paper bags packed with the shrooms, only to find not one flat tire, but two. It wasn't that unusual for one flat but a surprise, nonetheless. But the other flat tire, a diagonal tire, sent a message that had no question about it. There was no, "what are you doing here?" but "you need to get the fuck out of here. And stay out!" Even a fulltime stoner could get that ultimatum. It was either the owner of the land, fed up with trespassers or a disgruntled competitive fellow searcher who they'd beaten into the field that morning. The message was received and they got their asses out of there, but not too quickly as they had one spare tire and had to get the second flat to the nearest tire shop. Now, keep this picture in mind. Far enough out of the flow of life and traffic, on a crappy road, early in the morning, and no passing cars to help. So, they had no choice but to mount the spare and drive out of that treacherous tract of land, riding on the flat slowly. Whump whump. Whump whump. They didn't care if the flat tire was ruined. They only wanted out of there and weren't going to leave the car there. The Polara might be found crispy if left behind while they had the tire plugged or patched. So, whump whump they went down the shellrock road. Getting away from an infuriated farmer or seeker and back to the ironic safety of highway speed traffic never felt better. And they needed to get back to their place in The Grove so they could transform the shrooms into one's choice of eating or drinking the magic they contained. Some liked to cook them with cut up taters and eggs. It was a meal that would truly take you higher. Some liked them whole. A brewed tea wasn't very tasty but packed a punch. And before you knew it, you found that life was so humorous and those you were with were also finding everything funny and the room was filled with a "cosmic giggle." And the curtains melted as they blew in the breeze of a south Florida afternoon.

Life in The Grove was, well, groovy. The air was calm, most of the people were too. Often, Russ wondered if there really was something to it that with meditators and chanters doing their thing (and sometimes doing someone else's thing) that the raised vibration of their brain wave activity had an influencing effect on the residents of the world. It's that pebble in the pond concept, how it ripples outward peacefully and enveloping all in its path. Encouraging at a peaceful pace. He wondered this, then, because tThere was a Buddhist temple a block off of Bird Avenue that started their day around 3 in the AM. Sometimes you could hear them chanting in those wee hours. You couldn't tell if the smell of incense was wafting from the temple or a house nearby, but the odors in the neighborhood were delightful. Hooch, incense, garlic sautéing, coffee brewing and the smell of salt in the air. Some were just bedding down at that time. Loose with their lives and their waterbeds. Free to let life unfold in front of their eyes, no effort needed.
Chapter 2

The seven friends met when some of them we were kids still in college:, they were surfers, smokers, partiers and they enjoyed each other's company, sharing and caring. They shared apartments and many hours of many days they were together as they started a community effort to recycle all they could: glass, plastic, paper, cardboard, even motor oil and cooking oil. It was a challenging effort that demanded taking baby steps to get people comfortable with bringing their deep-frying oil and containers that told the stories of their lives. Metal and copper were demanding high price for recycling in those days, and the oils were used in the creation of fuel, now called biodiesel, to be used instead of gasoline in cars. Of course, converting the car to use the new fuel required adapting the carburation and the process was so costly that they decided to stick with the recycling of household containers of oils. There were a lot of recyclables, and as the business grew, the group found that they needed larger trucks especially equipped for the task of taking the product to the buyer. The fleet grew. Bookkeeping was mind boggling. They found the effort was demanding and tiring, but worth the positive effect they felt they were having on the ecology.

Those days, hell, those years, were consumed with intoxication from herb, shrooms, beauties, crossroads and eventually liquor, wine and beers. The times were enhanced if one didn't spend it alone. Girls and guys were "getting together" and exploring that Age of Aquarius. There were some limits but they were few and flexible. Russ told me of an escapade in high school and recalled a cute and voluptuous young maiden who wanted to stay the night while the house, his home, was empty. The folks were away, gone somewhere as they tried to upright their unhappy marriage. That was followed by what we might now call a flash party that developed when word of his parents leaving town got out and it was the first time he had dropped orange sunshine acid. Russ got pretty messed up and remembered hearing "Light My Fire", "Dear Prudence", "Blue Jay Way", CS&N, Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Derek and the Dominoes and Eagles in a very different way. There was also Zeppelin and Canned Heat, many stoners and lots of beer cans but there was no way that Russ could clean that mess up, but in the morning, he found all was good and the folks, when they returned, were so involved with their own shit that they never noticed that some blowout stoned acid party had happened there, in their home the night before. Some of the partiers made it a plan to clean up the place for Russ, considering how he, the host, was blasted into a hallucinogenic haze.

The fair maiden and he shared many evenings together after that and elsewhere. She told him that she just "loved making love." They took a blanket to the beach at night. Swimming at a friend's pool offered a chance to explore what they found with each other, and luckily for him, he was liking it too, being a relative newbie and all. They were doing it daily, according to Raxter, and the desire was fulltime. It was so easy for them to connect. The heat they built between them was understandable, without much preparation and with very little foreplay.

One night, when Russ had moved into his own shared place, they were hugging and petting, and their lips met, tongues poking out from their lips, wondering if it was safe to continue out. She grabbed his jersey, tugging it up and over his head. She kissed his neck and nipples, working her way down to his waist and started to undo his belt and jeans' button. Down went the zipper and he could almost hear her smile, then she gave an approving sigh. He was supposing she was looking at his bulge. After all, he was turned on too. "Come back up here for a minute", he said. She did and he started to release her buttons from their captives until her top was open. She had no bra on. Her beautiful soft chest skin was light and silky. Her boobs were just right. Not too big, not too small. They were beautiful. Her nips were darkish, almost olive color and the size of a quarter. They were firm and at attention. This was a wonderful sight! He kissed and licked just above her breasts. His tongue, then his nose slid down between her breasts, into the sweet cleavage. He was kissing her boobs and continued working his way all around the nipple but not touching it. Yet. His mouth met hers again. They kissed, one tongue seeking out the other, as he fondled her tender breasts, from the soft underside, lifting one up as he sought out the areola and nipple, gently squeezing and rolling her other nipple between his thumb and index finger. He knew she liked this because her breathing accelerated as she expressed the increased pleasure verbally, with subdued moans.

Her hand felt him hardening, though his briefs separated her from him. He just knew he had to be releasing prep fluid. She probably was too. He wanted to find out on both accounts. His mouth met her nipple as he circled his tongue around the little bumps on her areola. He said the bumps were Braille. Suddenly he sucked her entire nipple and some breast into his mouth and licked the nipple inside his mouth. He sucked and released as much of her breast as he could, moving over the entire surface of her breast and more if he could. She was orgasmically excited. He released her breast and found the other. Telling her how glad he was that she had two, she added, "I am too." Getting all he could of the other breast was exciting him as well. He wanted her!

Their mouths came back together as he blindly worked at getting her jeans undone. Russ laughed as he told me that he wouldn't have been able to undo a bra in that heated moment. Employing a zipper is sometimes a two-hand job so he separated their oral connection and helped undo her zipper then grabbed her jeans at the ankles and pulled them off as she squirmed and wiggled to help the process. She had nothing on under the jeans so her pubes shown, neatly trimmed down next to nothing and it was a beautiful sight. He went down for a closer look. She spread her legs for him little enough to tease but not enough to please. As he moved in for a closer look, he saw her lips were just a shade darker than her skin. Taking his fingers, he touched her lips and they were wet. She was dripping with her own lube. He saw what he knew was her button, standing out proud and excited. Wanting to be touched. Touch me! When he did, she wiggled and moaned. As he circled and brushed across it, it hardened and after some speeding up and slowing down, her breathing and writhing accelerating, quickly, she came to climax, with the wetness there soaking her along with his hand. Putting her hand to his hard rod, she rubbed across the head of it and felt his lubrication coming out, allowing her hand to glide easily over the head. He wanted to be inside her, so he got on top of her and aimed into her. The warmth and wetness inside her was so exhilarating! He pushed further in, she grabbed him internally and clamped down on him, pulling him in. He retracted just a little, then a little more, then just enough to almost exit but immediately pushed back in, and in unison, they moaned. It was in, a lot, then out, just a little, over and over. She rolled him over and somehow, they stayed connected. She hunkered down on him and rocked back and forth till he climaxed and all the slickness inside her increased and they slowed their rocking till they stopped and held each other closer. Eventually he shrunk and slid out, they chuckled and he said, "I love making love too!"

Chapter 3

Colin was the old man of the group and long ago, when Colin was 25 compared to Russ'18, he seemed much older. Colin was the sailor with far more experience than all of them to get their boat back home after a journey into Biscayne Bay and the Atlantic. Many days were spent sailing into the open water as they weren't necessarily looking for a new adventure but many times one found them.

Flash Forward: There were seven of them who hung out together for most of the past forty-three years since that time in the Grove. Five guys including him and two lovely ladies; the girls so happen to be two of the college's professors and advisors to Greentree Institute. Together, they worked in getting Greentree, an educational/vocational non-profit off the ground and now the institute provided educational and financial assistance to underserved kids and grownups alike, and the seven of them agreed to fund this institution that provided social and academic excellence to those attending. Courses and degrees were taught in agriculture, sustainability, citizenship, the arts, LEED building, and others that were considered progressive at the time.

They were organic farmers whose business had grown to be in four locales in the US and they grew everything from radishes to sunflowers, cannabis and bananas, to garden variety and specialty green and black beans, corn and roses. Coming from hippie roots of the '60s, they had developed strong farming skills from knowing little besides growing pot in the backyard and listening to The Gardener's Corner on the radio back in North Carolina to leading sustainability seminars the world over.

Surprising as it is, their industry had grown from one 50 foot by 20-foot greenhouse to three acres of greenhouses at their home base in Virginia and over 200 acres of fertile land spread out over four locations in Utah, North Carolina, Michigan and Virginia. They were proud of what they'd done with themselves and their joint ventures but most of all, they were dedicated to their longevity as friends and business partners.

That weekend, though, it was their time to celebrate a fallen comrade, Colin, who was with them in the beginning working as a mentor and grandpa of their stoner family. Colin had some troubles with his health and diabetes as he aged, and The Big D had finally won. He was 67. We had lost Glenn Frey at that age. Lou Reed was about that age. Dan Fogelberg, Nicolette Larson, Patti Santos and Nick Drake were younger than that. Way younger. David Bowie too. Harrison, Lennon. The list goes on. Russ often wondered how and why they'd been so lucky to have excellent health, with some exceptions: a bout with gout, some had contracted Hep C and some of them drank too much alcohol and/or smoked too much weed, but generally all six were healthy, cognizant, none overweight, eating well most of the time and are into things like sleep, vacations, yoga, meditation and their hobbies, like woodworking, disc golfing and arts, like sculpting, pottery and watercolors. Hard-working, some were trust fund kids, some musicians, farmers and all were concerned citizens. At that stage of the game, they were all equal partners in the Greentree Farms, advisors at the institute, and loved their vacations, with and without business partners or life partners.

This get-together was about celebrating a 43-year friendship and partnership in doing something good for civilization. Planned in a New York minute, where Colin lived when he transitioned, Wike booked an Air BnB house in the Grove for 3 nights, they all landed at Miami International Airport within a few hours of each other, and some were lucky enough to fly on an Airbus A380. FYI, Miami International Airport is one of only eight US airports that can accommodate the A380.

The Grove would be home till Friday, offering time to rekindle their love for each other and say goodbye to a friend, going where he loved going and doing something he loved doing and sharing...sailing. Trying to coordinate the incoming and outgoing flights for seven was quite a juggling act for Greentree's logistics people. They wanted to arrive and depart within an hour or so of each other, which would make the ride-sharing more copasetic. When the seven met at the airport, there were hugs galore, lip kisses, hair messing (pissing Russ off), and tears shed, both of joy and of sorrow. Their beloved history was made up of late nights, mellowing out with good conversation, good smoke and good music with good people. They often got free tickets to great concerts, like The Who in quadrophonic, Pink Floyd's Dark Side of The Moon in quad as well. Moody blues. The Band. Music was an important part of their lives. They used to love imbibing and partaking, and in those days mornings were as good as evenings to wake and bake. These days were different though. Some had progressed beyond that stage for the most part, and there they were, bringing back memories of a great time of life. Celebrating life and those who were imbedded in each other's soul. They all chattered vibrantly and retrieved their luggage without incident and they were on the way to their temporary home in the Grove. It was five bedrooms and $725 a night. Cheaper than a hotel and it came with a private pool.

The SUV was loaded down with all their "stuff" and the poolside was a great meeting place on a pleasant winter evening. When you came down from the north in the winter to south Florida, there was some magic in the cool night air. Wearing a light jacket (or dark one for that matter) or at least long sleeves was just about mandatory. The air had aromas ranging from barbecues to booze to salt air. They couldn't take responsibility for any of the three. There was a bit of uncomfortable feelings that night because they had all messed around with the opposite sex in the group and there'd been divorces as well as interventions, and now the inevitable death had fallen on their doorstep. The tenseness in the air was calmed with maturity and loving words. Tired from the air miles, it was agreed it was time to crash, as there was a big day planned for tomorrow.

WIn the morning, the seven would be heading out onto Biscayne Bay to spread their brother's ashes and do something they all did together so long ago when Colin was the captain of the ship. After some good sleep, they were going sailing!

ColinHe had always showed great confidence as he tacked the craft out of the Grove's dock through rough waters and he meant so much to each of them. Colin was musically immersed. He knew the folkies and the classics. He was a skilled guitar player and offered free lessons to many. Russ told me he was so glad he took Colin up on it, though he didn't play as much as he'd like. Colin was generous and lived single for over 40 years, was a vegetarian and an evolved spirit. Colin was cool. He had done yoga eons ago with Lilias Folan, meditated personally with Maharishi and was a big fan of Wayne Dyer. The plan was to dropping spread his ashes out in the Biscayne Bay; at the time they were so moved to commemorate him in some wonderful act of love. Rustling through the fridge for some apples, munchies, and a ceremonial goon of Lake Country Red, and a corkscrew for the filling up their water bottles, throwing them in their backpacks and off they went. Just like old times. And don't forget the Sucrets box. It was a great place to keep your hand rolled smokes.
Chapter 43

Arriving at the Coconut Grove Sailing Club to pick up the rental sloop, the six of them were excited and anxious to get that journey in the water. The new captain was Rocky, who seemed to be able to do most anything. He was smart, took good notes and had a very creative mind. Making his millions starting and building one of the largest cloud storage services in the world at the time, he stored over 200 petabytes of data. A petabyte (PB) is 1,000 terabytes (TB) or 1,000,000 gigabytes(GB) or 10 followed by 15 zeros bytes. 200 PB of them! That's a lot of storage in the cloud.

Rocky brought his daughter into the business and she went crazy with money and fame. We laughed when we first heard her name, Paisley. She had her Harvard Business School shingle, now she was running a multimillion dollar company with a penchant for finer things, including two Martini lunches.

Parking their SUV rental and backpacking down to the slip the rental was in, Rocky was finished with the rental details and not far behind them on the dock. Even the sound of the six bouncing down the dock to the sailboat created a syncopation that detailed how the group vibrated so well together for all those long years. Boarding the boat was easy because of its size and the excitement of the sojourners. Packs were tossed into the air toward the boat deck and one by one, each found their way onboard. Once the sailors were aboard, each was checking that great vessel out. Galley and living quarters down below. Nice. Well-appointed with dark mahogany-looking paneling. Upholstered couches were clean and inviting. They could be beds. One could live for a while down below. Galley had a small two burner stove and refrigerator. All the comforts of a studio apartment.

Rocky's loud, "All Aboard", caught them by surprise.  
Leemun yelled up from below, "This isn't a train, Rocky!"  
"But it'hs so comfy down here," we heard Graffi say.  
"Ok, Ok! Chips ahoy. Shove off, matey", was the official send off, spoken to Russ.  
Barken was already buzzing and Wike's awakedness was, "Looks like this is going be a lot of fun. It's been too long since we've been here. Wish Colin could have joined us." That's when they realized that the urn with Colin's remains was still in the car.  
"Cancel the shove off, Russ!", from the Captain.  
"I'm holding the shove, Rock!"

Quickly, Leemun ran off the boat and to the car and on return, carefully handled the urn with utmost respect. In her hands, out in front of her. Running as if the train was leaving without her.  
Graffi yelled at her, "Don't be too careful now!"  
"Let's get this party started," said Barken.  
And "Now, let's shove off, Rusputin!"  
"Aye, aye, Craptain Sir", was Russ' reply. And they were free from the cleat and dockage. The punnage and disrespect had just started. It had been a long time since they heard the jocular ways of each other. Stiltsville, look out! They're on their way!

There were many boats out that day of all sizes and it was a rainbow of color. Not a surprise with the beauty of the day, so they headed southeast toward the Biscayne Channel and Stiltsville, thought to have been birthed around 1930, some say 1922, for gambling and partying. Defying Prohibition, the structures that make up Stiltsville were built on timbers or concrete pilings about ten feet above the low tide when the water would be three to four feet deep. When Russ saw places like that in places like that, questions popped into his head. He wondered what became of sewage and where's the fresh water come from? Maybe they had a chemical toilet and brought in fresh water. How quiet did it get there? Getting groceries there must be a job. He may never know the answers so he got back to enjoying all of the beauty of sailing with friends like they did so many times in the past. They needed the most-often-present breeze, at the least, to tack through the water traffic, forward and back, side to side, on their way to open water. Once they got there, it was usually much calmer more open and they could find a place to drop anchor, drop their coverings and even drop in for a swim.

Their boat today was a Catalina 28-footer that rented for $150 for a half day and that was just about right for them in the Florida sun with all that white Northern skin exposed. She was so smooth when you had a cap'n who knew his stuff. It seemed a lot like the boats that they rented back when the boats were 16 footers or so, but this baby was dee-luxe. That day there was the slightest wind and the water was remarkably clear. The warm south Florida winter sun felt so good and only teased you to strip down to as little as possible, close your eyes and let the sun reach deep inside. In no time at all, they were out in the open water and almost in synch, each of the guys pulling off his tee-shirt, only to notice that the aging and beautiful, sexy and voluptuous ladies have beaten them to the punch. They were already topless. Gorgeous white breasts with brown targets basked in the Florida winter sun. Rocky, piloting at the big wheel, injected, "Ah, I love my job!" The ladies' bodies had aged, they've matured, with a little extra fullness and maybe a bit of relaxed tissue, it was such a beautiful sight, remembered Russ, to see that these guys respected these women and the ladies trusted those guys to treat them as they always had. Looking at their bods was a necessity. Being tubby and flaccid, well, most of the boys anyway, they had no room to talk. All was accepted, including a few loving comments about "keeping abreast" of the sun and other such dumb idioms.

A pungent odor was suddenly in the air (someone's vaping), the gallon jug of red got it top cap unscrewed and was swigged and passed. Oh yeh. That was how it was done so long ago. Again, and almost simultaneously they all mentioned how special that time was, that life is, and how, right then and there, none of them had a care in the world. It was so beautiful out that day! Like no day any of them could ever remember. That day might even go down in the record books. And off in the distance, like a mirage, the view of Stiltsville came into focus and then, just as slowly as it was seen, it faded out of focus.

The sight of Stiltsville told Russ that they were about a mile south of the Cape Florida light at the edge of Biscayne Bay. The colors of the warm Biscayne Bay varied from sky blue to deep navy, depending on the depth and growth on the bottom. It could be overhead or waist deep, but don't let the color fool you. The further they sailed out into the Bay, the quieter the air got and so did they. Listening to a sound so far away. From long ago. The excitement and mental freedom that lived in each of them for many decades before was fresh in their minds, like something new had come back to nest inside their souls. It was such a pleasant deviation from hearing the traffic, the emergency vehicles and so many unintelligible languages that were spoken on the mainland. Now, each was hearing the world's most beautiful and soothing sounds: the wind, birds and the splash of water on the sailboat's hull as the tropic winds propelled the Cat 28 out and away from the humanity.

When they looked back, seeing where they'd been, the landmass still towered with high rises on the southeast Florida coast as far as the eye could see north and south. Now they were shrinking and getting shorter. The wind was picking up and what was, just moments ago, a beautiful day with full sunshine and warm temps was cooling off just a bit and they could see tall thunderheads starting to build far away to the west, way beyond the concrete jungle. This approaching storm came out of the proverbial nowhere.

Chapter 54

In Florida, you could expect any weather at any time. A stray shower could pop up out of nowhere, it seemed, raining on one side of the street and not the other. If it was warm enough, the earth would start to steam, causing a fog with visibly rising plumes and the air would get thick with humidity. And all would sweat just by being. That's something that can take time to get used to.

Captain for the day, Rocky, announced, "From the looks of things, we might need to change our plans and head back in."  
"But it's such a gorgeous day. The kind that the Chambers of Commerce brag about," added Graffi.  
"Our sense of security must have been getting skewed because we kept on sailing out of Biscayne Bay and into the Atlantic Ocean. The wind felt so good!" mentioned Wike.

The ladies and most of the gents were bare; they all looked pretty good for their ages, now in their 60s and they looked comfortable. Most of them had imbibed in the red wine. Most smoked some herb, just for old time's sake. Regardless of whether all partook or not, they were feeling relaxed and feeling good, even the one who had 42 years of sobriety, so he was high on life and it was well-known who to offer to.

The group of six had long ago chosen to call themselves the Sepal Group, the sepal being the outer part of a flower that encloses and protects the new bud. They had all been through so much with Colin's illness and transition, Rocky's kid problems, Leemun's numerous divorces, Graffi's poor choices, Barken's drug abuse, and not to mention Russ' continuing lack of good judgment. Wike was the clean one. They hung in together over the scores of years, in partnership and appreciating each other for what each brought to each individual relationship.

And now they were on a memorial mission into the Atlantic with these life-friends and it looked like a storm was brewing in the west. Maybe there was a storm brewing in each of them, sickness, separation, depression, sadness? Whatever might be stirring inside one of them, they could all feel it. There was tension building like the tall heads growing in the western sky. Russ complained that he was getting tired of the slurred speech from Barken, who had been in and out of at least six treatment centers and rehabs and did so well for as long as 12 years. Something inside him would trigger an uncontrollable desire for a drink or a toke, a snort, or a pill. It was like he couldn't, so he wouldn't, say "no". He was serious for the most part and was talented, smart and friendly, but the years of getting high had taken a toll. He'd developed a nasty side that could come out at any time, straight or high. He was self-righteous, probably due to his upbringing with a very successful family business that he took over after his parents retired and his siblings were doing other things. Russ knew him, and wouldn't say he was a prick, but he was darn close. But that wasn't a reason not to love him. He was quite buzzed before we hopped on this Good Ship Lollipop and kept taunting his ex, Graffi, to lick his own lolly. She wasn't interested, of course, being an ex, and he didn't take "no" nicely. They exchanged a few words; she said, "why don't you go jump in the lake?", and so he did. The water was chilly for this time of year and he was cool, literally and figuratively speaking, for the remainder of the day.

The ship's captain, Rocky, who we call Cap'n R, said again that he needed to turn back as the thunderhead was building fast and that meant it could be growing and definitely getting closer. Russ thought about that and didn't like the possibility of getting stormed on, in the ocean, in the first place and the chances were improving by the tick tock. All turned their heads from left to right, up and down, some of them towards the ladies and not the west, in almost perfect synchronicity, a collective "Wow!" was heard. The clouds reached ever higher. Conversation onboard turned to stories of past storms and hurricanes survived, and what kind of clouds are those? Cirrus, stratus? Cumulonimbus?

Wike was visibly losing his coolness as he yelled out, "Let's get this rig turned around and back to shore before we..." Before the next word came out of his mouth, a mighty gale rose and puffed their mainsail and jib from the opposite direction, so the mainsail boom swung around very hard and swift. If they had been less attentive or less lucky, someone could have been seriously or maybe even fatally hurt if hit by the swinging hunk of anodized aluminum. It was lightweight and swung quickly. Lightning flashed across the sky and it looked like off in distance was bouncing off the ocean's surface. The thunder was so loud and traveled off into the beyond. Things were getting very eerie. Skies darkened to dusky grey. The rolling waves were getting taller and whiter. They needed to regroup, and fast, and prepare to hold on as each put on their personal flotation device. Some had a life vest, others a life jacket, but the PFD was your best friend over or in water, in a boat, plane, canoe or kayak. Looking like the party was over, for that moment at least, everyone manned or womanned their stations, and in a moment, would head down below into the galley, taking the weight of the group to the lowest point. Just above the keel.

The wind out of the west gusted and pushed them further east as that rogue storm made its way closer, Russ supposed, to the east coast of Florida towards Miami and Coconut Grove. Though probably tens of miles away, the leading wind and rain was carving its path in their direction. It was getting very scary now as the ladies got braver and the guys worked as a team to secure and batten down for a bucking bronco of a ride. The rain arrived and drove at them harder. It stung, like being shot with pellets or Daisy BBs. The faces, the hands, shoulders and eyes were all getting stung by driving rain. They had raincoats down below and someone smart enough to grab them handed them out. It was Wike. Figures. Quick thinking, Wike, him yelling for each of them to put them on. They barely took the sting away. Rain, hard rain, big drops, gale-driven, hitting their plastic raingear was loud and the wind was howling like a coyote on a spring, full moon night.

Rocky was working as hard as he could to keep them upright and trying to aim them back to the mainland. The rest of them were pretty much helpless, though were available if needed. The sails puffed, pregnant and whipping in the gales, pulling the boat to an unnatural and almost horizontal way in the waves. It seemed the keel would come out of the water anytime now. The ocean was ferocious! It might be called a fer-ocean. The white caps and waves arched over the deck, crashing and splashing, and the sea was getting very angry. They rode up one wave, almost straight up, then jetted down from the top of that one, diving into the next swell. Repeatedly, this seemingly never-ending, stomach-churning ride went on and on. It was getting to be too much. The head, the toilet, was getting customers who were sometimes vomiting on the way and sometimes all over the boat galley. Just the odor could trigger that reaction. Russ said it felt so different being out there in the Atlantic and not all that far from shore compared to being on land and now a terrible bad storm was making you them seek cover. And cover was at a premium out there. If they were on land, one could hunker down in a building, in a car, on the side of the road or in a gas station with covered pumps. They were way past scared.

They were all talking about this storm in the offing as Cap'n Rocky is noticeably uneasy and troubled. They took turns coming up from the galley to check on him and always found that he was fighting with all he had in handling the Cat. Some of them were yelling louder to be heard. "We want to go home!" and someone else yelled that "We will and things will be okay." At least that was the prayer being offered up, even by those not religious or even spiritual. The winds were steady and strong. The boat was hauling ass. The mainsail and jib were full and pregnant with power. They're all on the high side down below, keeping balance as well as possible. The port side was dipping into the wet darkness. Russ said he felt they were going over and imminently headed from big trouble. That day that started out so beautifully, with nothing but the highest excitement had quickly become one of possible doom. It wasn't long before things began to settle down but not until they huddled together down below except for the captain who had commanded them to retreat there.

Chapter 65

Apprehension, fatigue, and fear had now consumed each of them. The winds had died down, the rain became a drizzle and Russ had coome up out of the galley and could again see some tall buildings in the far distance. They were small and for some reason they were getting smaller. "Oh no! We're heading out deeper into the Atlantic!", he yelled at Rocky, their intrepid captain. No answer. "Chris' sakes!" Russ saw him unconscious on the deck and ran over to him. He founding him with a pump knot on his forehead and unconscious. He was out cold and the sails were freely flying.

There was a swoosh, like something flew through the air at a high rate of speed. "Look out!" Russ yelled at no one. The boom was swinging back right at his head now with no mercy. He ducked just in time and made his way over to Rocky to find him breathing but still out cold. He checked Rocky for his pulse. It was weak but steady. Russ wouldn't know normal right now if it slapped him in the head. Yelling down into the galley, "Rocky's out cold. Anybody know how to sail?" It surprised him to hear Leemun and Graffi collectively say, "Sure!" as they both got up from their place down in the galley and headed towards him. These girls were on it! But there was no other verbal response on their ability to pilot this ship. Inside, they all knew these grown women, whom they had known since they were all in their early twenties, were quite capable of faking something even if they knew nothing about it (or in a case where that something didn't actually happen). Graffi and Leemun spoke, almost in perfect unison, yelling out, "We're your captains and you have nothing to worry about today. Welcome aboard".

Apparently, Barken had heard that announcement of imminent mutiny and also came up from the galley, noticing the mainsail had ridden down the mast. The gale force winds must have broken a line somewhere and looking at the mast, Russ saw that it was slightly bent, preventing the mainsail's ability to smoothly travel up or down the mast. It seemed something had slapped the boat during the storm, (maybe a wave?) and the aluminum gave way. Barken slurred, "We're screwed, man....and captainesses." He's obviously high. The ladies took over the helm, cooperating and giggling like little girls and doing their best job of navigating the Cat under their control, at least as well as they could, under the circumstances.

Russ checked on the mast to see how bad the damage was and found the mast wasn't as bad as he thought but the problem was at the top of the mainsail where the sail was usually pulled up or let down, at the main halyard. It's the rope used to raise and lower the mast. To remedy this correctly, the mast would have to be brought down to a horizontal position and the connection remade. It would normally be a simple fix, but then under those conditions right then, it would be a difficult fix. Russ took his sneakers off, then his socks and finally his shorts. He was down to his Fruit of the Looms and the girls giggled again, wondering what he was up to. Like a Jaguar jumping for its prey, Russ shot up the mast, wrapping his bare legs around the mast and shinnying up to the problem. He found the carabiner-type clip broken and unable to close and was ripped from the grommet it normally secured to, and his decision was to wrap the pull-rope, the halyard, around a bunched-up corner of the sail and the canvas corner. It was true rigging and taking all they've been through so far, it was the best that they could hope for.

They were all checking for land anywhere around them. Eventually, off in the distance and straight ahead, Wike, who had also come up from below, was first to glimpse a small hump in the land. "Can't say it's a tall building. And our radio started to squawk with unintelligible things. Broken words. Like a foreign language? The compass shows us heading southwest. So maybe the mainland is over there", pointing to the hump. The waves were still large, but not nearly like just 10 minutes ago, rolling them up and down like a toy in a tub. The wind died. It seemed the waves were catching them and driving the Cat towards shore but that might not be such a good thing. The keel, the big rudder and ballast under the boat, wouldn't necessarily let them come into shore because it's five feet below the boat bottom, so they now had a decision to make. Was the water deep enough to port the craft, to come to shore? Probably not. Considering they were no longer powered by the wind, do they abandon ship (they did have a small life raft) or do they power up their diesel engines and try to find a port of entry to assess any damage and figure out where they were and how do they get home?

Being democratic and believing in equality, they took a vote. It was unanimous that they crank it up and get that baby into a hopefully safe harbor and determine their next moves. The inboard motor cranked quickly and before they knew it, the Cat 28 and its crew were heading away from shore, potentially avoiding running aground. The captain-ladies turned the boat eastward and headed in a direction that they thought was correct. Why did they do this? To avoid any shoals and sandbars, they decided to head east, hoping for deeper water and they could keep an eye on what they could see westerly, toward land. Wike, the recognized source of info on the ship orated, "We should head east because the Gulf Stream runs northerly and we're probably out in the ocean far enough to be in the Stream, which runs as little as two miles offshore, is about 62 miles wide and at least a half mile deep. It moves up to 5-1/2 miles per hour, carrying warm water up to Newfoundland and Western Europe."

His calculations may have been incorrect, but everyone again was all in and each wanted to find out where they were and how to get back to The Grove and terra firma. Russ told me he had gotten an uncomfortable feeling about this but there were no dissenters of the plan.

As they approached land and got a better view of it, it looked vaguely familiar but something was odd. The Florida coastline or what they thought was the Florida coastline had no tall buildings where they were looking. In fact, they saw no buildings of any type except for some structures partly concealed by trees and bushes. Leemun and Graffi were still very concerned about running into shallow waters and running aground and getting stuck. They didn't want to get stuck on a sandbar or in seven feet of water. Scanning the shoreline to the west, it just didn't add up. Concern and wonder filled each of them, as one by one, they remarked that what they saw now was primitive from what they remembered it looked like just a few short hours ago.

As far as the eye could see through the new fog, and they had no binoculars with them, there was nothing but green scrub and some palm trees, sprinkled with pines, way off in the distance. And they still couldn't figure the structures partially concealed by the greenery and the mist. "Checking the water color," Wike offered, "can deceive us but also may give us an idea of the depth." It was dark blue, no bottom. "We don't have an unlimited amount of diesel, so we really need to get to safety, on land, and get oriented." A group consciousness was taken again, and it was decided that they would tiptoe in with a scout on the bow to survey all around. Barken agreed to scout with "Far out, man. I'll do it. I never dug being a boy scout. But a boat scout! Yeh man!" Eventually they saw a small dock maybe a few hundred yards away in the distance. Questioned Wike, "That's strange. A dock of any size must take a whooping from storms in the ocean. That makes me wonder: are we in the ocean? And where are we, still in the ocean or....?"

Talk was becoming tense about whether making landfall and exploring the land was a good idea or not. Everyone just wanted to get back to south Florida and The Grove, but they had them-selves a mystery there, and many unanswered questions. Where does that lagoon wind up, how far inland did it go and what was on that land? A puff of wind reminded them that they were in a wind-propelled craft and they could now shut down the motor and let the Powers once again carry them. They were tiptoeing into the dark blue waters of the lagoon, the dock grew in apparent size and the air was quiet, so quiet in fact that the birds of prey could be heard but not much else. Russ said later that he heard a humming motor or something like that coming from far away but couldn't name it or place its origin. Sound carried so far and misleadingly over water. The land on the right and above the dock, looked fairly steep and covered in brush and trees, bigger of course as they approached closer.

At the slowest speed possible, they pulled up slowly to the dock, bumped it lightly and everyone noticed the tie-offs were old, corroded and crusty but they were able to hook a cleat with their tie rope, and the water, whether bay or ocean or something else, had calmed but it was murky from the storm and indigo from the depth. It was impossible figuring the depth and they felt fortunate just getting to the dock.

Chapter 76

Rocky, now recovered from the konk on his noggin from the rogue boom, came to in the galley and ascended up to see the girls guiding the Cat to this unknown dock and questionable safety, inquired, "Who wants to get off first and test the dock?" No reply.  
"Oh, brave sailors!" No volunteers, so he asked Russ.  
"All right, all right", he replied, hesitantly.  
Russ then walked to the port side of the boat (left) and worked his way to the deck walkway, stepped one foot up and onto the deck and put some weight on it. Crash! His left foot broke through a few rotten boards, throwing him off balance and he was straddling the perimeter frame off the dock. Like a Warrior yoga pose, one foot was on the dock, one still on the boat deck and the boat was drifting away from the dock and Russ was trying to keep that from happening by working on keeping his feet as close to each other as he could. His thighs were getting a workout there. Graffi made a sexual innuendo about how she'd like to feel his quads right now and he yelled back to her, "Later for that. I'm about to do a split I never wanted to do. Would you pull us closer?" She obliged him and grabbed for the rope around the cleat and reeled them back tight to the dock. Russ found some good deck to stand up on, grabbed the rope from the cleat and pulled the rope and in turn the boat, closer to shore as he looked for a better place on the dock for the crew to unload.out

The dock was much better nearer the shore and the water was much calmer as Barken and Rocky stayed on the boat and the others, Russ, Graffi, Leemun and Wike, made their way to shore. There was a path, an old and overgrown trail that wound up a hill. The sides along the path were covered with wild and old-growth sea grapes, sea oats, Australian pines, stickers, paddle and bayonet cacti. It had all of the Florida ingredients.

When the search party could see over the top of the dune line, they couldn't believe their eyes. A hillside enclave of seven or eight old concrete block buildings were strewn without thought across the slope. These were apparently earlier residences, and someone had since dropped old shipping containers on the natural stone roadways, blocking any traffic that might roll through here. There was no sign of life there. No cars, no people, no debris, no sound anywhere. It was an eerie ghost village from who knows when, left to weather any storm. An emaciated dog appeared from between a couple of the windowless and doorless buildings. Let's call them blockers. It was odd seeing the open holes in the buildings. Dog looked like he had not eaten for some time. He looked at them and almost smiled. They were checking him out too, looking for foaming at the mouth, teeth-bearing, growling, any sign of sickness or aggression. They weren't seeing any. Then a goat was seen picking up something off the ground, followed by fat pig. Looks like the pig was being himself, and was getting food or at least scraps, from someone somewhere. It was not a wild boar, (no tusks) but a domestic type of pig or hog, depending on its weight, whatever you wished to call it.

The four explorers walked into the dirt street (if that's what you want to call it) and the animals scrammed into side yards (if that's what you want us to call them) and they heard a human whistle, a "come here" whistle. It was Leemun who called out, "Anybody here?" They weren't fast enough covering her mouth. As she was calling, she wanted so badly to retract. The recon team had been announced, and almost immediately were greeted with a swarm of vertically challenged dark skinned men, women and children. It was like they had been discovered as the locals' saviors. Had no fair skinned human been there lately or ever? One of the Mayan-looking people, a woman with beauty and grace abounding, stepped forward and introduced herself as Maida. Her English was broken but very understandable and she said she was given no authority or power, that they were a very autonomous group that knew how to come to a decision. They met in council that included all who wanted to participate and brought things up for discussion and a vote and said that they were descendants from a pre-Colombian tribe, the Aqguardientes. Pre-Colombian? Where had they landed? Maida could only tell them that her tribe had been there for many suns and moons and their history that they knew of reached back at least 8 generations. They called a generation a life-root.

If anyone's calculations were correct, this civilization existed in the 21st century, was reachable by boat, had no power or vehicles so was very independent of modern man, regardless of how much the intrepid exploring adventurers liked bringing people into their fold and watch them flourish and thrive. This group of 20-25 four-and-a-half foot-tall natives were warm and smiling as Russ then Wike told Maida and the group of their trip and the storm that apparently blew the Cat and crew way the heck off course.

Had they been transported into a different dimension, time or world? There was some figuring out to do, but dusk was arriving fast and they had not a clue where they were and they needed to look for a place to crash. Maida said there was a building on the frontline that was vacant and they could stay there. Smiling, Graffi said that that would be great. Until they saw what they got. Oh, my sweet Lord!

The block "house" had no doors or windows but did have a dirt floor. From the looks of things, it was a sort of guesthouse. With no walls, no furniture, kitchen or plumbing, it was just a four-sided building with rough timber roof rafters supporting a barn-type metal roof nailed right into the rafters. No plywood or other type of roof sheathing. And the roofing had nail holes in it from previous use, so when it rained it could rain inside to keep the dust down on the dirt floor. Nice touch. What a trip.

An odd thing was that there were a few hammocks already strung from the walls from earlier pioneers and there was hardware anchored into the block walls to fasten the new arrivals' sleeping gear. They had had such a long day and the sun was setting. Darkness was approaching. Fortunately, they had fruit and nuts with them and were told, in Spanish and loosely interpreted by Graffi, that they just tossed their peels out the front window and the garbage-pigs and goats would pick up the refuse. They didn't see any litter anywhere. Things they did see, though, were not what they wanted to see. Keeping in mind the lack of indoor facilities, it was very primitive. Infrequently you'd see an outhouse; sometimes it was just a tree or large bush with a crude bench in front. For what? Newspapers? Magazines? Waiting line?

The fearless twosome, Russ and Graffi, were left alone to crash and while Leemun and Wike went back to the boat for the rest of the crew who were patiently waiting yet becoming apprehensive about the explorers' gone-time. Rocky and Barken secured the boat for the night, locking all they could lock, the storage boxes and galley, and brought the least they felt they needed for the night and they all headed towards their new abode. This time they topped the dune line and way off in the distance they saw the first sign of electricity in this place that Maida called Nueva Taganga.

Chapter 87

The next morning as they awoke, each mentioned the solitude of that place and walking outside, looking around, nothing looked unusual, things just blended in with the trees and the natural seemingly untouched setting. They also mentioned last night. There were dim yard lights or maybe they were street lights, a quarter mile or so back behind those block buildings that someone may have once called home. This had made Russ more curious than normal. As a group, they talked about how they brought their goods into their new block shack, put them up in their chosen hammocks, and had decided to explore a bit. They grabbed their flashlights, and, as a group, walked the rough and rutted road that led back toward the light and what came into view was a very large metal building, green in color to blend in with the surroundings. As they got within a few hundred yards, they looked for a fence and saw none. No guards on duty, no dogs either. That they could tell. What was going on inside this building that didn't need some kind of security? Suddenly, a noise above. "Watch out!" A blur and Ka-thunk! The sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and within a foot of them.

They saw a palm frond fall to the ground driven by the wind that had just kicked up. As it fell and caught their eyes, they could see, for just a split second, a red laser line on it. Someone seemed to have some type of laser fence to keep that place protected. Rocky wondered if a momentary break in the beam caused any concern for whoever might be monitoring the perimeter. "Dear God, we may have been busted!" Or is somebody even watching a monitor? Apparently not because they stood still for what seemed like 10 minutes and there was no activity in their direction. At least none as far as they could tell. Their breathing was so loud, their hearts pounding like a jungle drum. At least none as far as they could tell. They felt that all was clear and they were all inquisitive and nosey enough to want to know more of the mystery of the green shed.

Russ told me that the hairs on his neck and head hair suddenly roses. His hackles were up. He felt a hot blast of air on his neck and a tug on his sock. "What the...?". They all turned and saw these four big guys behind them, each with either a good-sized Rottweiler or Pitbull on leash. "We didn't even hear them sneak up on us!", whispered Russ. The dogs didn't bark. No stepped-on leaves or snapped twigs. Four guys, big guys too, and four dogs and none of the six heard them. Had they all gone deaf? It was obvious that they were busted big time. One of them said, "Look us in eyes! What you want here?" in broken English. "We no like uninvited visitors to our facility. Where you come from and who you come here for?" These are probably not people who grew up in this village named Nueva Taganga. They seem wily and professional.

They were clean cut, nicely and comfortably dressed in Columbia-type fishing shirts. You know, the kind with the flap on the yoke, the kind you could wear in the bright and hot sun? Rolled up sleeves with a strap to keep them up. Military type pants with the thigh-high side pockets. Shiny boots and black ball caps. They were quite possibly futbal players in their youth but this group of gringos certainly weren't challenging them. That wasn't their style or forte. They hadn't landed there by any intention. Rocky, Russ, Leemun, Graffi, Wike and Barken came in peace. And by total coincidence. Was there really such a thing as "coincidence"? Or was every event in life either asked for or intentional?

It was intentional that with their heads, hands, feet and wallets they supported with our heads, hands, feet and wallets , causes that they believed in, that could make this world better, including supporting the creation of the US Department of Peace, to counter the Defense Department. The Peace Department was in the process of bringing the greatest humanitarian minds together to help solve hunger and housing issues globe-wide. That was another story but worth mentioning. Through free education supported by fair taxing on the wealthy and discouraging offshore tax havens on American corporations moving to other countries to shelter assets, funding to the Department of Peaceh was quite generous.

This group of age-old friends didn't really have a named leader and hadn't ever thought they needed one. Rocky spoke up to the group of four guards. "I Deja vu'ed this place. I feel like I've been here before. Around 1970. Today wWe sailed out of Coconut Grove and got into the Atlantic. A storm hit us quickly, our mast got bent somehow and we limped under the diesel here. By the way, where are we, if we can ask?"

"What you here for?" one of the men asks. His embroidered name tag on his shirt says he is Fuman. Russ think to himself, "That's odd. Fuman. Something about smoke or smoking. He's a smoker! Pot, hash, opium? Tobacco?" Fuman saw Raxter looking at his nametag and smiles. "You gringos quick. I quit bacca a long time ago." Okay, he was opening up to them and seemed to be friendly enough. Was it their presence or attitude? Maybe there really was something about a person's vibes. All six we're on edge but curious. This place looked so familiar. Was it in a dream? Maybe a dream they all shared? Seven of them had taken a dreamlike trip to a similar faraway place long ago. It was a time machine kind of trip.

They each introduced themselves and made mention of where they were from and how they traveled around the south years ago. Fuman held his hand up in a stop motion. He had heard enough.

Fuman took control of the meeting, "You have made a mistake coming ashore, but here you gringos are. What you expecting? Room service? Boat valet? We wanted no one to interrupt us. You are here now and you will soon know we are here in peace. We grow plants and make medicines from them and from synthetics. We here smoke the local herb, which we have seen has healing qualities, gives us spirit visions and enlightenment and is being tested by a few governments, including four in home country, at least two in Europe and here." The other "guards" were silent but agreed with head nods. Fuman said he's from Santa Marta, Colombia, South America and was brought up in a similar fishing village of the same name, Taganga. He asked them if they wanted to see the "facility". Leemun looked at Wike. Barken looked at Russ. Graffi looked at Rocky and winked. Looking at each other, they knew their answers were all "yes, of course", so off they went, loading into the four wheelers that so covertly approached them with zero notice or hint. Each of the six looked at one another with stoned smiles.  
Fuman laughed a deep throaty grumble, the kind a longtime cigarette smoker hacks.  
Graffi spoke up, practicing her Española and it wasn't probably a great time to try it out. "¿Estamos en los Estados Unidos?" (Are we in the US?)  
Fuman: "Bueno, muy Bueno, amiga. Si, Pero en una isla privada, soberana." (Good, very good, my lady friend. Yes, but on a private, sovereign island.)  
Graffi, "What was that, again, por favor, despacio?" (slowly)  
"Isla privada, private island, and soberana. Not drunk. HaHa", he chortles again. "Sovereign, senorita."

"I appreciate your interpretation, and the senorita part", Graffi chuckled. This is not her first poor choice of flirtation. She's been picked up and put down more times than a garbage can. But they all would laugh and say things like, "There's our Graffi." Russ had quite a thing for her once upon a time. They were a group of heads that took some Mind Control workshops in the very early '70s, loved Dr. D and Jose. Graffi was so cute and huggable. She had it bad for another guy, a druggie, and told Russ that she wasn't romantically inclined toward him, but he was the kind of guy she'd like to take home to her parents. She said they'd love him and his kind ways. They agreed to be siblings then, of different mothers. Russ moved on, but not without an internal struggle.

Fuman added, "We are actually in international waters but the US government claims us but we are really, really sovereign. They don't mess with us nor do we them. So, what do you want here?" Leemun, who often spoke without thinking much, chimed in. "What are you guys growing here?" popped out of her mouth before she knew it. Lordy, Russ told himself, "I hope that was my ESP and not real words." Well, it was not his ESP. Russ added quickly, "I visited a place like this land before", trying to change the subject, and unsuccessfully. Barken let one fly, "Far out. Growing some good weed in there?"

"I've read about some serious bomb research going on in offshore facilities like this", said Wike who may have been the calmest person any of them had ever known. Always in deep thought and responding in due time to questions fielded to him, he had thought much about what shall or shall not come forth from his mouth. He was wise.

Fuman's reply: "I feel safe to tell you more. I'm in charge of security and safety here. We need no one snooping around here. We are legal and protected by a high-tech surveillance system that connects satellite and ground security. We saw you come to our land. Well before you reached the dock. The Warrior pose was very nice, Russ. We know all of your individual backgrounds, personal histories and your fabled trip to Colombia in the early '70s. Technologia es muy magnifico." Fuman's fingers snapped and the group of nuevo amigos belly-laughed. The six's jaws dropped.

"We even know where that Cat 28 (their sailing vessel) came from in The Grove. You all are hippies! A commune! Welcome to Nueva Taganga!" All four guards are belly laughing, again, then suddenly stop and snap to proper attention. Fuman continued, "Maida is top researcher here. Also from Taganga, Colombia and educated at Johns Hopkins. She's muy brilliante! Cutting edge researcher in HIV/AIDS and Hepatitis, creator of natural and homeopathic treatments for many old untreatable conditions or prescription treatments. And she's great organizer!" Maida appears seemingly out of thin air. "Gracias, Fuman. We are doing and have been doing medical research for years on the positive and negative effects from consumption of cannabis or marijuana as you may call it. We have been finding that smoking it is not so good for you, but baking with it, ingesting it and vaporizing it has many positives. Oil is best. Let me add that having great discretion in consumption is highly recommended. No pun intended. (under her breath, with hand at mouth) High-ly recommended? Get it? Being high all the time is detrimental in the long run, which increases both minor and major adverse effects, and is beneficial in the short run. We find cannabis can do a lot to relieve pain, increase appetites, help the sleep and now we have found or should we say "have" a secret strain. Its beyond "found", but that's why it's called a secret. And we have many institutions, including foreign governments, that are closely watching as we are on the cutting edge of using a natural combination of cannabis and some other plants and organics in successful treatment of diseases and illnesses like ulcers, food allergies, mental illness and we're finding hopeful possibilities in treating, not just calming the symptoms, but actually treating cancers of different types. One of our studies here with delta-9-THC reported potential anti-tumoral activity." Graffi, who worked in a cancer research lab in the '70s, was all ears. The six were astounded about the advanced stage that their "discovery" was experiencing. They had stumbled across an experimental laboratory, working with a natural weed that was outlawed by the US and other governments back in the prohibition days of the late 1930s and reviving its public medical usefulness.

The second to speak was tagged Risa, which meant "laugh" in Spanish, so it seemed that these guys were all pseudo-named for ID protection and by their unique personalities. "'Maree-huana' was used to calm vomiting and nausea during and after chemotherapy, bringing on the munchees as you gringos say, and to HIV/AIDS patients, for chronic pain and even muscle spasms. We are privately funded by international interests and are researching the weed's effect on children's epilepsy and stroke. Medical cannabis that contains the active substance THC is legal in at least 10 countries including Canada, Israel, Spain and the UK. Only 23 US states have decriminalized or made medical marijuana available. Still, though, amigos y amigas, possession of marijuana in the US is still illegal under federal law."

They all admitted that hemp had its good, healing properties but it also had some not so good effects like laziness, nausea, dizziness and sleepiness, but the six had thrived in their separate and unified lives and done a lot of good for mankind, regardless of possible overconsumption at times. Barken added, "even if we do say so ourselves."

Maida, who first greeted them to Nueva Taganga, mentioned that she was honored to have the gringos there but must make the visit anonymous and brief. She said, "There are many trademarks that need protection, two of which have been born here. Namely they are the oral cannabinoids dronabinol, which actually is synthetic THC, and nabilone, an oral spray. These are not yet legal in the US, but are in several European countries, Canada and New Zealand. We are also working with hemp fiber for long lasting clothing and ropes. The usefulness of hemp and the entire cannabis family ranges from treating dementia and Alzheimer's, diabetes, Tourette's, cancer to epilepsy."

The six guests were so impressed with the introduction to that research facility and the facts and possibilities of cannabis, all they wanted to do was ask questions. The future of a natural product that came from the earth was so anticipated by so many who may benefit from the use of it. Imagine that loved ones might get some help with dealing with side effects from cancer chemotherapy and other dreaded diseases and treatments. That research seemed to have come a long way from the days of jailing people who smoked weed for relaxation and recreation. What harm was done anyway? The positive effects were being noted and the negative implications were diminishing, along with decreased crime in areas of decriminalization and increased tax revenues collected in those same areas. Had they really come that far? Colorado, Washington state, Alaska and Oregon had legalized, along with a handful of countries.

Their attention was abruptly pulled away by a familiar sound. Off in the distance was the approaching sound of choppers in the air, getting louder and almost instantly. Maida and Fuman looked at each other with coolness, and they both calmly start what seems to be a well-rehearsed drill, Fuman giving orders over his voice-operated radio attached to his shirt shoulder, to start what the six heard was "Bright star". Apparently, that was code for the execution of a drill where all things in the facility were locked down and protected from the federales, the authorities, and anyone who might want to either shut this place down, take it over or confiscate everything there that they could. Someone may want to do worse. Maida and Fuman told the group to "come on" as they turned away from Russ and the group and hauled tail back toward the building complex.

Chapter 9

They were hearing big machines humming inside building 1011. It sounded and felt like the buildings were moving! Maida told them, as they entered 1011, the largest of the buildings, that the structures were designed to be technologically advanced and effortlessly upgraded to the latest technology. That included wireless internet-based communications that ran at 1 terabit per second (1Tps) using a 5G connection, which is about 65,000 times faster than the average 4G network. For critical split-second communications like that, you needed dependability and speed. You needed ample reserve power in case you lost power. One advantage of being 100% solar powered like that facility was that it allowed total independence from the grid. Battery storage there was at a premium. It was like gold. Things were powered up there! They could actually feel the earth shaking.

As the group entered the 1011, they were dumbfounded to see the floors rotating like a rotisserie in a grocery store with chicken on the forks. The research floor, Fuman told them, was going underground and the plant nursery, which was what they'd been smelling ever since they got there, was coming up and expanding out to cover any evidence of the covert concealment. Russ said, "It was amazing to think about the planning that had gone into the development of this plant plant. Any evidence of advanced study and examination of the ubiquitous weed had all but disappeared. It was a huge undertaking to convert this place into a plant nursery, but it was all appropriate and in the good name of protecting what was rightfully to be explored."

They could hear the helicopters getting closer and figuring there were probably no helipads to land on anywhere on the island, they'd have to land in the water or drop their payload from above. Maida and her associates were so cool and collected that they quickly removed their research white coats, revealing casual "nursery" clothes and switched their jobs to being propagators of native plant species, grafting in their exploration of new and natural treatments for diseases and deficiencies. It looked legit. That whole side of herb research had been going on down below the ground all the while the new visitors had been up there, getting to know more about the facility and not much about the people there.

Everybody was calm and knew exactly what to do and how to act. Normal was a good word to use to describe the function there at that time. Fuman and his three cohorts were armed with remotes that operated both booby traps and an electric perimeter fence that was invisible to the naked eye. The booby traps included triggers for sinkholes and "trees" that shot out plastic string webs, like for your grass trimmer string, that wrap around their victims and hold them till the real authorities can get there. Those real authorities were the men and women from Interpol, the international police, since the island was sovereign.

The choppers started dropping fatigued militiamen. As each dropped to the ground, they collapsed and writhed as if in abdominal pain. They seemed to be getting an electrical shock and were totally incapacitated. Fuman looked at Russ and friends and they all laughed. So did the other three of his men. It was as if the laughter was contagious. You could hear the chortling, roaring and howling from all over the island. Rocky, Graffi, Leemun, Barken, Wike and Russ could feel safe there, now. Things had been planned and executed there to thwart the bad guy who wasn't supposed to be there.

Fuman explained to them that when the Cat's crew landed there, they were expected and had been tracked and vetted well before landfall. As early as 50 yards offshore, they were each tagged with an invisible, nonlethal and temporary tattoo that deactivated the security system. "Remember the beam?" Graffi later asked Russ.  
Fuman: "If you didn't have the disarming tattoo, given by invitation only, the beam enclosed a low voltage charge that would drop a person to their knees, or in this case to the ground writhing with what felt like abdominal cramps. It'd make a grown man cry and he or she would be absolutely incapacitated. They wouldn't even be able to scratch their nose or bottom." Now they were looking at maybe a dozen "tough" guys, whimpering like a bunch of babies with skinned knees. They might have even had skinned knees, the way they fell. They hit the ground running, that was true. And they fell like a serpent of dominoes.

The Bright Star call was so well conceived and achieved. It was a time when all systems went bright. That was the emergency plan put into action. Interpol was contacted when the Cat was first observed. They were there quickly. Turns out they were alerted with some chatter online and in cell communiques. Five minutes was about the time it took for the invaders to be totally subdued. The two choppers that brought the militant army were escorted to the Bahamas (Russ was later told by Wike) by Harrier Jump Jets, Hawkers and Osprey 2 for processing and trial before the Caribbean Court of Justice, which probably would include a long detainment (read: prison in chain gangs and unclean conditions). It must have been a delight to have seen that little Osprey flying with the Big Boys.

Bright Star was a success. That island was a success. Rocky later found out that the thwarted invasion was a joint effort of Russian and Chinese cartels who wanted intelligence, having intentions of confiscating and total overthrow of those facilities. They said the legalization of the cannabis and lab-can(nabis), as it had become known, was ruining their business and therefore it's dark money.

The peacekeeping forces from Cuba, Mexico and the Bahamas had all joined forces a few years ago and collectively put together a kick ass team of enforcers, called the Beryls, who were sworn to be loyal and true to the cause for the people of the region for the protection, delivery and preservation of justice in the region encompassing the Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean. A team of unknown numbers, the Beryls were the ones who took charge of preventing the most recent invasion and failed coup. They were tipped off when the six arrived from Coconut Grove that something was going on there. There was the usual satellite surveillance and that pretty much hidden island had recently become an intended target for crime and intrusion.

When the Caribbean Court of Justice convened in special session to process that group of invaders and banditos, they were found guilty of murders, conspiracy to commit theft across national borders and intent to defraud and distribute unlicensed Schedule II and III drugs, heroin, cocaine, meth, opium to name a few. New laws had made it tougher for criminals and cartels to work the loopholes of their criminal activity. Away they went to satellite-protected detainment. Guilty as charged.

Then, in the 2010s, many high security detainments worldwide had conformed to a new high tech standard. The physical walls were gone. The fences were invisible beams of light and virtually foolproof, using the same technology that protected us in Nueva Taganga. Experiments and studies showed that escapes were very unlikely and over the 14 years of onsite research, none had escaped from any of the seven worldwide light prisons, as they were named, and fewer observers (guards) were needed for compliance. Solar powered, extremely remote, simple, with an agricultural theme. No more abuse, no more country clubs, no more corporate incarceration for profit. El Chapo and the worst of the worst were now in these types of prisons. They must grow their own food and learn to live/work together. Violent and repeat offenders, street and war criminals together. Like Manson, Capone, Dillinger, Unabomber, Gacy, Zodiac, Dahmer, Gotti, Amin, Khadaffi, Assad, Hussein, McVeigh had or are spending time here. They would have all been securely confined in those places had it not been for their execution or death where they were. Supplies and some food were air-dropped in monthly. If they wanted it clean, the inmates cleaned it. They'd lost their civil rights. They got a chance to figure things out. Remember the invisible fence, the beam of light? One very similar surrounds the prisons. From the ground up, the prison had a secure dome protecting it. No one gets out, period. The only way in was by parachute. That's how the thugs check in and start their repayment and punishment, chuting in. That's why it's nicknamed Ultimo Recurso. The Last Resort.

Chapter 10

There was a reward offered for the arrest and conviction of all 18 of the intruders. Coincidentally, because those that were bad enough to get dropped into the compound, all 12 of them, suffered minor injuries and major embarrassment. They, along with their six compadres in the choppers, were all wanted internationally for previous robberies, rip-offs, wranglings, death and destruction. The entire group was involved in a few large drug thefts around the world and will see the sun shine again. It's very bright in the high-tech prisons.

And the six who got caught in the storm and wound up in a very ingenious, covert and discreet place actually brought attention to the island pre-invasion, and they got a share of the reward money. Maida and Fuman put trust in them and they were the benefactors of landing there and getting to witness that wonderful place and the dedicated people who made it happen. It turned out that Maida and company received ample funds from governments and benefactors around the world to allow them to continue their research, so Maida told Russ that the six was entitled to 1.7 million USD for their waking up and testing the system that defied unauthorized access and possibly worse. Soon it would most likely happen again. Someone else would probably attempt to gain entry. As for the six, they needed to lie low for a while. Contacting the Sailing Club back in Coconut Grove, Rocky told the rental manager, Popeye (his real name is Orville) about some of their trip but mostly about the horrible storm that blew them into an astonishing land called Nueva Taganga. He'd never believe the rest. Or would he?

The six were wasted tired. The next daybreak must be only hours away. Their day had started with anticipation for a casual sailboat trip. They survived the hellacious storm, a strange but inspiring island, a criminal invastion and then were invited by Maida to retreat to a couple of rooms with six single beds in a separate bunkhouse on site and safe. A nice hot meal of grilled mahi-mahi, rice and spicily prepared black beans was offered to them and of course they accepted. Afterwards, they got to shower and were offered clean coveralls so Fuman's men could serve them and do their laundry. They were pretty stinky too. It had been a long day. Food, showers, clean clothes and they returned to their rooms. Leemun wanted to get in some fresh air before settling in for the night. She headed downstairs and when she grabbed the door handle, it shocked her. It wasn't the kind of static shock that pops in the winter when you walk across the floor. It was a pulsing shock like an electric fence. What is this? Were they being held against their will, captive? Things had flip-flopped. All thought they were in safe hands, among friends. Maybe they were wrong. Had they been hood-winked into believing that Maida, Fuman and the rest they met there were friends and all on the same side or was it something else? It wasn't long before they found out the truth.

A baritone voice came over the loudspeaker inside their bunkhouse. "This is the Bahamian Chief of Intelligence Rodolfo Bain. You are all under arrest for trespassing, production and distribution of narcotics, with intent to destroy the future of our fine country." They looked at each other with great questions. "Narcotics? Bahamian? Trespassing? Intent?" Russ remembered they were told that the island was sovereign and that the US claimed it as a territory like Puerto Rico. What was a peaceful land like the Bahamas doing here and why weren't they picked up by the security system? Aren't they a group of islands? What about Maida and Fuman? Was this a bad dream?

The voice of Rodolfo Bain continued, "You are now confined to your building until further notice. You will be escorted to Nassau for processing and due process of our laws. We want to know who you are and why you're here. We joined forces with Cuba and Mexico to fight the trafficking of cannabis and have come to shut this island operation down and to prosecute all responsible to the full extent of the law." The six looked at each other with great concern. What had occurred here? They knew they were exhausted after such a harrowing experience with the storm and landing in a place like that, with all of its promise for healing and defeat of illegal drug dealing and distribution. But now, they'd gotten trapped in a dragnet of suspicion of being part of the operations there in Nueva Taganga. Russ told me he wanted to pinch himself but didn't. The six talked about what could be done. Wike spoke first. "It makes sense to me that we just tell them the truth right now, that we are not part of the work here and keep our personal feelings about the herb to ourselves." There was an immediate response over the intercom. "We don't care what you have to say at this time." This Bain thug was listening in on their conversations. "You will be taken to Nassau for processing and that's final. You will be wise to keep your mouths shut! You'll have your day. Some day." Some day? Were they being held by police or military authority or some militia? Maybe a paramilitary group? The booming, Bahamian voice came right back, "We are a multinational law enforcement coalition committed to wiping out drugs and the carnage they leave behind. We are crushing the entire drug trade which supports the biggest cartels in the world, including the oil cartels of the Mid East and the US."

Bain went on, "Your friends here on this island you call Nueva Taganga have been supplying the world's hunger for getting high with the purest forms of THC, grown organically and in the la-bor'-a-tory. You will be under our supervision as you are taken to a holding facility and given a fair trial. You are now our prisoners." The six discussed what they'd just heard and couldn't believe their ears. Over the decades, they'd been fed so much propaganda by the US government about fear, WMDs, Facebook lies and such that they'd developed the habit of being careful of believing anything until someone in their group had done an in-depth analysis of the facts, keeping in mind how the so-called sources and outlets of these "facts" are sleeping with the enemy. And that could well be their own government.

"We're needing to get out of here," snapped Rocky. "I question whether or not this is a multinational bunch of thugs or just a bunch of thugs. Something doesn't smell right." Barken, who surely hasn't been high for a few days now, using his higher self replies, "Let's dissect this whole scenario." They all looked at each other, then back at him, in utter amazement at his eloquence, which they hadn't seen for so long. Thinking he had surely burned too many brain cells long ago and would only be drooling and mumbling by now, they tried not to let it show that they were astounded.

Barken continued, "We get storm-blown to this island, perplexed as to where we really are, are led to a facility that "legally" (he did air-quotes) creates and manufactures products that can help treat and maybe even cure certain human conditions. Now we're under arrest? What the fuck is going on here?" Russ and his friends were again astounded at his expressiveness but still very much concerned for this, their moment of alarm. Leemun suggested they tie sheets together and go out a window and the five looked at her with that "you are so dumb" look, because surely the building was surrounded, either physically or technologically. They were in a stew.
Chapter 11

It suddenly occurred to Russ that this whole time on the island none of them had received a text, a call or anything at all and quite honestly had been too consumed with all that they'd seen and heard there to have even been aware if an outside communication did come through. He said, "You know what?" And without hesitation, the unanimous response was, "We were thinking that too!" It was like they were all on the same wavelength, and it was not the first time. Instantaneously each grabbed their cell phones and checked to see if they had cell service. It was like Manna from heaven. Each had probably enough bars to make a call out; that was a big if. They discussed it and each agreed to call at least one friend or relative or whoever might help them get out of there. A lifeline of sorts. They were getting really concerned there, being held captive and all.

You might ask yourself the question each of them asked themselves. If you were in serious need for help and you had one phone call to make, who would you call? Some of Russ' friends immediately dialed an all-too familiar number. Graffi was tapping her phone screen and flicking up then down as if she was scrolling thru her list of contacts. She found one and tapped to call. Russ could hear numerous conversations from the five, but when he tried to call, all he got was the message, "That number cannot be completed as dialed. Please try again later." That usually meant that he neglected to use an area code or maybe a country code first. He looked at his phone and had to go back to his recent calls to discover that the area code was in fact missing, and he remembered it from his life there as a kid and from memory reentered his all-time lifetime best friend's number.

They'd been friends since early high school, Thom Bronson and Russ Raxter. Russ didn't recall details of how they met, but ever since that day, they honored their friendship and brotherhood. In his youth, Russ knew turmoil, alcoholism, and abuse at home, verbal, mental and physical. In our talks about this book, he said that there were many sunny days at home when he was young, but a few bad ones sure did muck up the picture. Bronson had many siblings and loving parents. Surprised that Russ stayed with them very often? He ate with them. He stayed with them for long weekends. Buddied up with one of his sisters. Bronson married a neighbor who Russ had known since early elementary school. Bronson was trusted and loved like a brother. You could say he saved Russ from a hellish home life. So, Russ called Bronson. He knew Thom could help. If Russ could only reach him. Cilla Bronson, the missus had worked for years in a US Senator's office. They'd know what to do and how to help.

Russ heard Bronson's cell ring two, three, four, five, six times. "N'yello, Bronson condom", he answered.  
Russ had to chuckle. "I hope you're not too deep into happy hour. Thom, it's", and he interrupted Russ.  
Bronson: "I know who it is! How the hell are ya?" Quickly Russ told him their predicament, Russ: "We took a sailboat out of The Grove, a storm hit us, we're being held against our will." "Where are you?", he asked.  
"I have no clue. All of our electronics are fritzy and GPS doesn't seem to work", Russ responded, feeling helpless.  
"How could you not know where you are...oh forget it. Let me call Cilla (his wife). She'll know what to do."  
Russ: "Thanks, Bronson." He likes to be called that, for obvious reasons. "You know I love ya, brother!" Russ reminded him.  
Thom gives, "Love ya too." Russ tapped his call off and looked around at the others.

"Who'd you call, Rocky?" Russ inquired.  
"My daughter, Paisley", he replied. "She's very connected with some clandestine types in Manhattan, and her mom is a badass jock who wouldn't surprise me if she's in touch with some militants herself. Who did you call?"  
"My best friend, a guy named Bronson," Russ said. They all roared and guffawed when he said that. "Really! Thom Bronson's his name. We've been best friends since forever. Met in high school and have stayed tight ever since. His wife works in a Senator's off...."

Russ' words were interrupted as his cell phone rang. "Hot damn! Bronson to the rescue!" He listened closely to his cellphone as Thom was introducing him to someone, "His name, as far as you are concerned is Z. Here he is. Z, this is Russ." An unknown and raspy voice came on the phone. "Listen to what I'm saying. Use as few words in your answers to my questions. Yes, no, ok. OK?"

"Yes," Russ said.  
"You have an iPhone?"  
"Yes,".  
"Good", said Z. "We need to know where you are. You know how to turn on your location services on your cell?"  
"No", was Russ' honest reply.  
"OK. I understand, especially in this case. Go to 'settings', then scroll down to 'privacy'. Is 'location services' on? Tap 'On'; 'location services' must be green. If it's not, tap it to turn green. Move down a few lines to 'share my location'. Tap it and move slide next to 'share my location' and slide to switch to green."  
Mumbling to himself, Russ repeats, "OK. OK. OK." Out loud, it's, "Ok."  
"Now, without disconnecting this call, reply to the text we just sent you." As Z is prompting Russ, he hears a tone that tells him he's getting a text message. This was happening fast. Russ taps O+K and sends.  
"OK."  
"Great! We've got it, your location. We're on the way!" replies Z.  
"Thank you from all of us!", Russ said, forgetting his order for short replies.

All of these friends, in this room, apparently all being held captive by a group of unknowns, looked at Russ and asked who he'd been talking with. He told them in a low tone "a guy with a raspy voice, maybe from a life of smoking or getting whacked in the throat too many times or maybe from too many desert sandstorms. A guy only named Z and he seems like the type of guy we want to rescue us."  
"Did he say who he's with?" asks Graffi.

She's the one he heard, but a similar question came from all of them, again, in near-synchronicity. "I have to admit, I don't recall if he said. He just sounded like he had a plan all ready to exe..."

They all jumped when they heard rapid fire from large caliber weapons unexpectedly outside. It had become a war zone there on that once peaceful island. Many, many different weapons' sounds coming from many directions. Maybe they've been listening in on the call with Z. Probably. Russ heard choppers and the scream of a few jet fighters again presumably buzzing the island and shooting from the air. Was it just a show of force or are the brave men and women in the air actually targeting? The six get skin tingles, their hackles rise up, like a dog pre-fight.

Over a loudspeaker on one of the choppers they heard, "We are the United States of America Marines, Army, Navy and Coast Guard. Release our citizens in your capture immediately and we will provide you with fair legal process and safety. Surrender now! If not, we'll release our wrath on you, as many of you are already in our sights." One of the captors tried to head for the research building. Rat-a-tat-tat. The ground around him exploded, just like in the movies, in a circle, and the guy froze in his tracks with hands up and on the back of his head. He then fell to his knees. From hundreds of feet away, they could see him and almost feel him sweating proverbial bullets. Probably soiled himself too.

"This is your last chance. I'll count to three. Then we unleash the dogs," the voice from the chopper proclaimed. Now the four choppers were overhead and stationary. The jump jets were circling what must have been the perimeter of the compound. The yard between the hostages' building and the facility were now occupied by a dozen or so well dressed armed men, for militants anyway, their weapons now on the ground.

Simultaneously, it was like angry ants coming towards the yard from every direction. There must have been at least 50 United States Army Rangers and Marines, in green camo and armed for the cause of rescuing the six.

At this moment, Russ felt so proud and so fortunate that his cries had been heard, their prayers and petitions answered. The bravest had come to save them. The band of captors had lost. The good and brave have won. Six were humbled.

The bad guys, who were in fact from the Bahamas, Mexico and Cuba, were wanting to take over the research operation there and crank up the black market that had been diminished drastically by many of the states in the US decriminalizing or at least permitting for medical marijuana possession. Tax revenue in Colorado alone, for the new pot-ulation for 2014 was over $62 million, nationwide estimates are around $45 billion.

The attempted coup of Nueva Taganga had been thwarted. Rocky found out later from Z that the captors were actually going to take them to Cuba and try to get them a room at the recently closed Guantanamo Prison. The six met with Maida, Fuman, Risa and the others as they told their tales of capture and captivity by the Bahamian, Mexican and Cuban thugs. Those locals said they were jailed in their own invisible fence that pulsated enough energy to knock one down and more importantly, when the system sensed an animal or human trespassing, it alerted all the security monitors on the island. They had been under house arrest as well.

The group of six was told by a military woman who rappelled out of a chopper 20 feet off the ground and ran to the hostage building about how Bronson alerted Cilla who somehow reached Z, and no one seemed to know who Z worked for, but it was an awesome show of power, might and support for justice. Russ said the story was still so fresh in his mind but the details were starting to fade with time, like in a dream.

In a dream. Once in a while, Russ later told me, he had that recurring mental departure from the present to a reality that made him think weird and act weird. Like he's been spiritually removed from his body and became just an observer. Before he was able to realize it, he'd come back to his friends and his body. He said his nature after those frequent spirit-trips was to look at each of his friends, with greater respect, love and a bond that transcended all of time. This whole event was one of those times. Each of the six all gave their respect to their rescuers and their mighty war machines, Mother Nature, to God and to whatever each person's Higher Spirit was. Some kissed the ground, some hugged each other or an emancipating military person.
Epilogue

Russ, Rocky, Leemun, Graffi, Barken and Wike all fell to the ground and rolled over onto their backs, laughing and celebrating their restored freedom. They sat up, cross legged and looked around, realizing their connectedness, unity, and victory in life.

In fact, they were all together, safe and healthy, again. They all looked so young, and Colin asked Russ why the strange look on his face.

"Having a flashback, Russ?" he inquired. "No, no I'm not, Colin. I don't think so. Maybe it was a flash forward. But it's so great to see each of you! Have I got a story for you! Let's go take a sailboat out for the day and I'll tell you all about it." A loud boisterous round of "hell yeas" and "great ideas" fill the air.

"We'll get some wine and twist up a few," said Barken.  
Leemun added, "It's always such an uneventful but delicious trip."  
"Always a great trip!" from Graffi.  
Rocky said, "Let's put the top down on my Mustang and trip down to the Sailing Club!"  
And of course, Wike, Mr. Calm and Logic, thought it was a great idea, too, "Let's go right now. The day is young and so are we!"

Russ added, "Oh, have I got an adventure under my hat to share with you all, my friends. You're not going to believe it! It's really Deja vu all over again. We went to celebrate one of our fallen comrades, down to The Grove, and took a sailboat out into the Bay. And it's like a dream to me now."

The End.

Twenty

Written & Published by HB Halsey at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 HB Halsey

I locked the door behind me. The one I just came through. Exhaling and putting my keys on the side table, I found my armless chair and gently rested my tired aching body on the soft seat with the padded back. My fingers grabbed the cold steel frame. The antique wind up clock on the fireplace mantle showed 5:15. "What a long day!" I said to myself. Barely did I have the energy to stay awake for the 20-minute ride home. My energy had waned.

As my bottom sank into the foam, something inside me went "ahhhh." My shoulders relaxed. My head, as though being pulled by a string attached at the crown, lifted and sat itself gently on those drooping shoulders, and a wave of peace traveled throughout my entire body. First the top of my head, where the fontanel was so evident as a baby, suddenly expanded and became smooth and I could feel it, like freshly ironed clothes. Not a wrinkle to be found!

My forehead, eyebrows and ears "let go". It was so obvious that I was home, wherever it was that I had actually landed. Even the sounds outside had subsided and I knew my eardrums had even relaxed. Before I could think it, it was dark. My eyes were closed and comfortably resting deeper and deeper into their sockets, with little movement or scanning. In a matter of maybe two minutes, my body had geared down and my respiration had slowed. If only I had bought that BP cuff and learned how to use it, just for curiosity.

The wave was taking over! Cheeks and mouth, lips and chin, tongue and throat, I envisioned, "relax"! They had obeyed way before the thought was recognized as such. My spine became tall as though a golden column of light was giving me the support I needed to sit upright for a while.

What was happening to me? It was feeling like I had no control over this nor did I want it to stop. It felt too good. I instinctively knew I was safe and in the place I was supposed to be in. As the wave of calm continued down my body, I felt like jelly or tapioca. Stable and flexible.

My grip on the chair released. I knew it but it didn't register. There was no physical reaction. Subconsciously, I noticed my arms were being picked up by some unseen power and they were gently lowered down onto my thighs. No thoughts-no feelings of body-just dark. My brain felt warm, full of comfort and softly thick with contentment. All I could do was sit there with my eyes closed. I tell you, I couldn't open them even if I tried.

In the distance, I could hear something. Was it people, a large crowd, cheering? Oh my goodness. You know the feeling when you're telling someone about a very awesome experience you had and the willies overcome you? Hair on your body stands up out of many pores, especially on your arms. Somebody was playing music. Not the boom-boom-pow but a very familiar beat and melody, and they were so far off. This was not making any sense. Where was I and what was I doing here?

There were so many questions that ran through my mind: who, where, what, when, why? Let me regroup: I came home, sat down, weary, took a deep breath...what then? Man, it was so dark! And the sounds ceased, as though unplugged unexpectedly. I think I opened my eyes. Something told me that it was okay to, but it was black as jet. I saw nothing.

Wait a minute! Faintly glowing through the darkness was a red light, but how far off was it? Could be right in front of my face. I reached out and my hand touched something hard, a box of some kind. The red light was attached to the box. I heard a faint whisper. The feeling I was getting was high anxiety. I sensed that there were many spirits in this expansive area but there was no sound at all.

Without warning there was an ear splitting squeal. Feedback? Steel on steel? Nails on a chalkboard? Amplified a million times? God only knows that my ears were blown out, bleeding. Eardrums that had become so relaxed were now pounding, the hairs in my ear canals screaming in misery and instant death. Oh geez Louise! What was that?

What in the name of all that's good had gotten into me? Was I dead? Was I tripping? Was I alone in a strange place? Did I have enough questions that would go unanswered until who knows when? Whatever was happening to me had unexpectedly taken a turn towards the positive when the brightest lights, stage lights, flashed on. The multitude went nuts as the boys in the band started playing, each perfectly syncopated and playing the greatest opening tune I'd ever heard. It was "Hot 'Lanta"! The twin drummers filled the building with amazing fullness of tempo. It was Duane, Berry, Gregg and the other brothers, and it hit me: I had journeyed back in time to experience the best rock and roll band I'd ever seen or heard. And I had a backstage, or to clarify, side stage seat to witness the Miami Jai Alai Fronton's concert of the century with this new group from Macon that would go down in history as the original jam band. It was the Fillmore East live tour of 1971! How did I get to be here? I saw myself out in the crowd, high on mescaline or psilocybin shrooms, blown away with this bunch of musicians playing their hearts out and showing us the connection each had with each other. Man! This is so freaking cool! And I don't care if it's an illusion, a dream, a flashback or whatever it is. I'm here, it's real to me, and my soul is so full of...love, music, and peace. The music has brought me to transcendence. I was time traveling!

And then Eric joined the brothers on stage for the next tune and it ALL broke loose. The rafters were rockin'! The music in the air was permeating my soul. My ears were utterly delighted. Never before had such a sound filled the space around me. I loved it! The work between and among the guitarists was heaven-made. There was harmony in every note and in the heart, my heart.

I stood up to observe this phenomenon and there were Jaimoe and Butch beating the skins, Berry cutting one mean bass line, Gregg dancing on the keys, and then there were Dickey, Duane and Derek, trading licks, calling and responding, sliding up and down the frets, shredding their axes. Who was Elizabeth Reed, anyway? She must have been pretty darn special to have a song written to her memory. And jammed to in such a dedicated way.

Twelve minutes later, the song was over, the crowd roared for more, the lights went down and all, once again, went silent. My ears rang. The little hairs in them vibrated and whistled from over-stimulation. It was very possible that I'd gone deaf. I heard nothing now! Listening closer and holding my breath so I could hear more acutely, it became apparent that total silence had swallowed my presence. I even thought I spoke out, just to check, and I heard no sound. Oh crap! I was told over and over again that listening to rock music would make me go deaf. I hated to prove "them" right.

At the very least, I could honestly say that it may have been all worth it to enjoy the headphone experience of Dark Side and Quadrophenia, Who's Next, Ammon Duul. Who? Space noise. There were Cheech and Chong, Conception Corporation, Firesign Theater. I sure wished I'd hung on to those LPs. Even Whole Lotta Love was a trip in headphones. Set a head right, I'd say. My mind was so far ahead of me. Thoughts went through my mind, like, I won't be able to hear people talk to me, or listen to music, or hear birds, wind, water, whispers, especially from my lover. Worst of all, I realized that if I had lost my hearing, I might never hear my daughters or granddaughter or anyone else ever speak a word to me again...for the remainder of my life.

Reality kicked me in the butt. Maybe it was possible that I had had some kind of trauma that shut my hearing down for a while so things could normalize. That's a word I don't use too often. Normal or any form of it. Like the word "straight". Get it straight, be straight. It's about mindset not sexual preference. Dear God, I prayed, please restore my auditory senses.

Imagining a voice, I heard, "Pay attention to all your senses. See how they've increased?" Rubbing my left index finger and thumb together, I tasted mango. I know, crazy, right? Even the stringiness from a mango tree grown in our backyard in south Florida was so real to the taste. And right now, I'm salivating reliving it all as these words gush out of me.

Taking another deep inhalation, I "heard" the ocean waves crashing below Atlantic Avenue in Lantana, next to the LaCoquille Club. My wires had short-circuited similar to the way I've heard LSD did. Oh who am I fooling? I know for a fact it did such things. Crossing the sensory wires. Seeing a piece of driftwood and feeling the sandblasted surface, with my eyes! I didn't even have to touch it!

A cool thing happened when I thought of how good a cherry cola Icee would taste and my attention was distracted. Like magic, an Icee manifested and appeared on the hood of my VW bug. This was getting stranger by the minute. How did I arrive here, at the top of Atlantic Avenue, at the guard rail/dead end, looking at the blue Atlantic Ocean? With my first car, a '58 VW with a larger windshield and rear window. When did I teleport and, oh how I loved my first car. Installed a shoulder harness in it because I'd seen them at SCCA racing at PBIR and thought, well, why not? It might save me some day, or maybe it would encourage me to speed up some. I could tell you about the roadblock set up by the PBSO the 4th of July weekend for me, tow truck waiting, but that's for another time.

I found myself grounding to the "now", trying to recall the events of the evening. Came home, sat down, tripped out apparently. Allmans. Deafness. Beach of my youth and high school days. Manifested Icee. The things that were happening were...wait a minute. My mental vision was filled with some of my favorite things of life. My life was flashing by before my eyes. Was I dying? Had I already died? Damn! I don't know! So many thoughts were going through that wonderful CPU in my head. But my RAM could only hold so much.

Ever heard the acronym "GIGO"? Garbage in/garbage out. We receive what we contribute. Kinda like karma, wouldn't you say? Whatever you do will come back to you. Man, I want to do some soul searching and be so cognizant of how I live and act, so my path will continue to clear and good things will continue to get better and continue to come my way.

The brain is such a wonderful organ. And mine was running rampant. I was trying to figure out the whys, but they weren't coming to me, so I sat as my body and head were exhausted. I got into the driver's seat of my bug, rolled the window down and "listened" to the ocean gently crashing on the sandy shore. I couldn't tell if I was actually hearing or if my brain was filling in the blanks. I decided to let go, rest my little eyeballs and just enjoy the "sound" of water on the sand, crashing on the shore and then it receded back into the depths of the Atlantic.

Tap tap tap tap. I heard drops of water hitting metal. Faster and louder. TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP. I let some light into my eyes, (just barely opening them). There I was, looking towards the Bahamas and rain was falling hard and heavy on my car's roof. The wind howled and blew sand at my Bug and sounded like sandpaper scratching for bare metal. The car rocked with the blast of wind. The breakers in the sea were freaking huge! Ten feet at least, some maybe 12 or 15, lots of foam, loads of surfers on the shore checking the break, evaluating where to get in and how to get outside. This is like hurricane surf! The power of nature, the uncontrollable elements. For the moment, I didn't dare open my car door for fear it might get blown off its hinges.

It must have stormed for 20 minutes. How had I missed all this brewing around me? Was I so deep in my trance that I wasn't aware of all that was happening around me? The downpour stopped as suddenly as it started.

I thought, "That's the way the rains can come in Florida." Some call it a sun shower or liquid sunshine. Rain one minute and bright sun the next with the snap of your finger. Raining on one side of the street and not the other. When I finally opened my car door I looked down and saw how well the beach sand washed down the asphalt dead end of Atlantic Avenue. That was one whopper of a rain!

I saw the ocean as it appeared to have receded, and receded, and receded further, revealing a reef a couple hundred yards offshore, leaving a transparent cover over the reef so the fish, urchins and lobsters could go on as usual the way they do, and we could all see them, if we'd just look. At first I thought maybe we were experiencing what comes after some tectonic plate shifts, a tsunami. I didn't feel anything. And just as gently as the ocean tide went out, it came back in, bringing with it twenty-some wave sets in beautiful and spectacular tubular form with lines as far as the eye could see north and south.

As I looked south, I could see the lines rolling our way, giving plenty of time to get outside and prepare for the waves coming. This was the surf that Kenton, Diane and Lorraine would just love, had they not been spoiled with Hawai'i, and they did love it all they could while they were here. There were Eddie, Paul, Wes, Spaghetti, Bob G. and so many more.

Now there were so many surfers paddling like crazy, getting outside the break, flipping and nosing their boards toward shore, gals as many as guys. This was dreamy surf. Glassy six foot curls now, rolling from the south, they were long and strong continuous waves. Ones you could ride and ride and ride. There was no reason for one to pull out of the wave's fury and power. They were beautifully formed and powerful enough so that very little paddling was needed to drop in and get carried into the strength and fun of the wave.

I took my Dewey Weber off my rusting green roof rack, laid it down on the sand, waxed it up and went to park my car, years before they installed those parking meters. Guess the revenues help keep the beach accessible, clean and guarded. I headed back to the beach to get my board, tucked it under my arm and hustled towards the waves. My heart pounded harder and harder the closer I got. The smell of salt in the air penetrated my sinuses. They started to open and run. I sniffled back the drip and threw my board into the water and jumped belly first on it. It was like swimming but on a piece of foam wrap in fibreglass.

There was a ginormous logjam. Surfers almost elbow to elbow as far as you could see up the surf and down the surf. No wonder! This was bitchin' surf! The sets were rolling in so perfectly timed that you could paddle out, catch a wave then paddle out in the lull between sets. There were at least six catchable waves in every set making long lines for long rides and this went on until sunset, which seemed later, because of the event.

I caught one roller after another. I dropped in, slid down the face, hunkered down then cut left, saw the wave break, and dug in hard with my back foot, slamming back into the wave and heading back out to sea, to see what the joy meter registered when I grabbed the next breaker. What a rush! The adrenaline was flowing through my body with the greatest excitement I could ever remember. Expending all my energy, my final ride of the day took me to shore. I turned to face the blue and white expanse, and sat in the sand, the incoming surf splashing my torso.

I grabbed a deep breath, retained it for a moment and everything went silent, I exhaled and closed my eyes. A subtle and obscure word went through my head. There was no thought. Just rest. Then I thought, "I like it here. How can I stay here longer?" It was so peaceful and soothing. And the thoughts started to roll into my consciousness like the trains that used to run through Penn Central Station. I had just learned what was above that Station now. And I was amazed that such a structure would be replaced with a commercially sanctioned arena. And that's how my brain rambled.

Somehow I'd gotten back to my car, tossed my board on the rack, stretched the strap and secured my log, sat in the driver's seat, totally wasted from the hours of swimming, paddling, surfing. I closed my tired, burning eyes. The salt was like....well, salt in the eyes. You know the feeling?

The event I mentioned earlier was this great momentary pause, apparently and unexpectedly felt worldwide, when some but not all people were connected in consciousness as they sat in their meditation practice. Something, some divine, greater and higher power brought them into that connectedness with others meditating at one exact moment and a shift occurred where they each in their own way transcended deeper than ever before into a consciousness where everything in their own personal illusion of life was felt differently than usual, as though their neuro-wires were crossed and their senses were doing what they had never done before.

We were tasting what we saw, touching our smells, seeing sounds. It was so disturbing at first. As our deeper inner voice spoke to us, we began to understand that we were, for some anyway, feeling and grasping understanding of what life really was about. And we were experiencing it like no had ever been able to describe before.

If you can't imagine how this might feel, maybe I can explain, at least to my best ability. In the explosion of the Age of Aquarius in the mid and late 1960s, many citizens of the world experimented with hallucinogens like LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, peyote, and also got a dose of THC. The effects on the brains of those using these recreational and experimental drugs have been long digressed, dissected and described by researchers, users and observers. What I've personally experienced was a cross-wired effect, temporary as it was, of sensory moments. The Doors Soft Parade was felt in the fingers, Sergeant Peppers had a sweet aroma, and anything from the Moody Blues made my skin feel soft, like Silly Putty.

Music still emotionally affects me, but especially in my experimentation days. Some things affected me in a way that every nerve ending and sensor in my body was inexplicably pleasurable. I realized in the event that my senses were doing more than they were thought to do and to feel. They were jumping over the lines of perception and touching other senses.

The event has occurred many times since, and probably many times before, though I wasn't aware enough to know them. Some meditators became cognizant of it, some had no idea. It's always different.

After reading Hartranft, I began to comprehend that "focusing with perfect discipline on (a) friendliness, compassion, delight and equanimity, one is imbued with their energies; (b) the powers of an elephant, one acquires those powers; (c) the sun, one yields insight about the universe; (d) the moon, one yields insight about the stars' positions; (e) the polestar, one yields insight about the stars' movement; (f) the navel energy center, one yields insight about the organization of the body; (g)the pit of the throat, one eradicates hunger and thirst; (h)the "tortoise channel", (apparently providing energy to the emotional centers), one cultivates steadiness; and (i)the light in the crown of the head, one acquires the perspective of the perfected ones; (j)the heart, one understands the nature of consciousness...Or, all these accomplishments may be realized in a flash of spontaneous illumination...Following this insight, the senses-hearing, feeling, seeing, tasting, smelling- may suddenly be enhanced." A flash of spontaneous illumination! Multiplied by millions who came home from work or play and sat for 20 to meditate and still the mind.

Then it hit me! All my life, I've had mostly pleasant times, not always, but most of the time. There were many bumps, stumbles and bad judgment calls, but I want to focus on the good. Period. My daily practices and habits joined forces and were aiding my senses and brain to collectively entertain me with fun, thought, exhilarating moments, nature and good recollections. The things I loved were in the forefront of my memories: music, nature, my first car, and experimentation/recreation. My fellow inhabitants were all there and the so-called "broken road" lead me home. Wherever that is for this moment.

A thought, one I understood, this time of food suddenly came to my mind. I heard a noise. It was my stomach grumbling for nourishment. Sitting for a few more minutes with my eyes closed, I then stretched my arms out and moved other body parts, feeling whatever it was that I was sitting on. A cold steel frame with a soft seat and padded back. I'm home! Home is wherever I've been and quite possibly everywhere I'm going. Was this a dream or had I traveled to a time past? It seemed to be a ride I call "my life timeline."

My eyes slowly opened. Very slowly. Eyelids barely slit. Sure, I had some thoughts. I was returning from a very pleasant trip. Now my eyes were wide open.

I looked at the antique wind up clock on the fireplace mantle. It showed 5:35. Only twenty minutes had elapsed. You've got to be joking. All those experiences in 20 minutes? I felt so refreshed.

Walking outside, I looked around and saw and felt I was looking at a new world with new senses. It was and is good, and now that moment is gone. Here goes another, and another. I making the most out of each one. I brought my hands together to my heart, bent my head down, connecting head to heart, and said thank you for my life. Like no other.

The End

Hartranft, Chip, The Yoga-Sutra of Patanjali A New Translation with Commentary, Shambala Publications, Boston, MA, 2003, pp. 106-107, 3.24-37.

The Camping Adventure

Written & Published by HB Halsey at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 HB Halsey

I was lying down sleeping on the airbed, trying to make camping a little more comfy. No more sleeping on roots! It was loosing air, as usual. It was gar-un-teed not to leak. There was just too much hassle trying to make it right with the retailer and manufacturer. It just plain leaked. Sure, it was fine when you filled it up at bedtime, but midway through the night, you could feel the ground as you bottomed out, and you could feel something (was it a mole or other digging critter?) tunneling under the tent and your body was like a divining rod, feeling the vibrations in the earth that you wouldn't normally feel. This was normal for our latest camping excursions.

We'd get the battery powered pump out and fill the bed in the middle of the night, breaking the silence with what must have sounded like a jet preparing for departure. Now, we are good till daybreak, which comes slowly in the woods. The light creeps into the sky, overriding the darkness and welcoming another God-given chance to get things right. Maybe today will be the day I won't judge, I won't demean, I will smile at people and say nothing but nice, kind things. Yes! This will be the day! The dawn deepens but I notice that the sky is not bright. I can't see the sun or feel its presence.

The morning light can play tricks on even the most seasoned campers. You wake up and notice the light. It's early, you might say. I can go back for a catnap or maybe just meditate, and you've told the first fib of the day. It was a mistake for me to even consider meditating lying down with my head full of melatonin or whatever you might call it and closing my eyes. Who knows how much time passes and some noise or voice brings me back into consciousness. Was I dreaming or what?

My bladder has yelled at me in the middle of the night. I knew that this was the real thing. Getting up in the middle of the night to relieve oneself has its unfortunate consequences. Either you pee on your sleep ware, usually the clothes for tomorrow because you showered after you flipped in the river, ate campfire food, including chocolate covered marshmallows in your s'mores, or you suddenly and without any notice got this major cramp in the back of the thigh/hamstring. It's crippling for the moment. The muscle is hard as a rock and painful as all hell. You beat the crap out of it, you grab it and massage it, and eventually it chills out. But it was going to hurt for some time.

I can't speak for any verically challenged folk, but for a tall person, getting up out of an airbed and into some kind of footwear without disturbing anyone and either pee at the "property" line of your campsite or haul butt to the bathrooms, if there are any, before your bladder lets go, is a feat that defies the biggest hurdles man has ever known. Groggy, clenching, pinching, physically holding, it's embarrassing and you're all alone and embarrassing to only you. The rest of the universe does not care if you wet yourself or not. I feel sorry, though I laugh when I see a woman laughing or sneezing and crossing her legs. I now know what's going on there.

There was one time one of us went out for relief at dark :30 and we heard the most god-awful sound like nothing we'd heard before or since. We had apparently disturbed this "thing" and direction in the woods at night is bad at best. The pee-er-to-pee couldn't tell which direction it was rustling through the bushes as it belched and whined and was obviously pissed at us for disturbing its rest. What about us? Our sleep was minimum for the rest of the night. Darkness amplifies fear. This must have been something prehistoric that lived amphibiously and had come to rip us apart. I was sure of it. As we later that day described what we heard to a ranger, he comforted us with his guess that it was probably a wild hog. It was a horrible sound and noise as it headed for us, ready to eat us alive. Maybe it couldn't decide which he or she it wanted first. She's too sweet and I'm too sour. No Goldilocks here.

When we go to camp and kayak, I intentionally leave my watch home. We have the time on our dashboards, on our cells and who knows where else. River-time is different. There's no rush, though we do want to know when the water is coming down. It's released from the bottom of a lake or river, through power-generating turbines and it's very chilly! We want to make sure we are ready to shuttle our kayaks to the put-in early enough to beat the chance of an afternoon thunderstorm. We notice that every outfitter in the area was on that exact same page, get there when the river comes up.

This about the daylight: the actual clock time can be deceiving. Sunday morning, usually our last full day of camping and kayaking, I awake, do the snooze/meditation thing, finally got out of (air)bed, stood up outside the tent, stretched and noticed very little movement or any sign of life. It must have been the hog. The HOG! Had all the campers, moms and dads and sweet children been viciously eaten by a wild razorback, a killer tusked Wild Hog? His terrible horizontal surgically sharp tusks must have shredded them to pieces. "Oh the humanity", one reporter said of another terrible tragedy.

As I walked to the bathroom, I saw no such disaster had visited our well kept and peaceful campground. People were sitting around their delicious smelling campfires drinking coffee or something else, some breaking camp and packing up, some delirious with the drug-induced peace that camping can offer. I get full of it. If you don't believe me, ask anybody who knows me. They'll tell you I'm full of it. I hope that's what they are referring to.

My walk to and from the bathroom was a nice trip. Can't quite believe I said that, but it's nice just to be. No performance is required, just be. So maybe an hour has passed since I first peeped at the new day. I met up with my peeps, had coffee, realized we were going home early and by looking at the sky, I could see rain in my immediate future. I got into my car to charge the girls' cell phones. Yesterday I was in charge of paddle retrieval for those who flipped in the Hiwassee and today I am cell phone charge guy. What a great life I lead! I'm finding a need.... and filling it. I turned my key on to power up the charging ports and saw it was already 8:30. I figured it had to be at least 10. But that's the thing about river time. Up before sunrise and down at dusk, like the farmers and Grandma and Grandpa.

We don't usually meet a storm while on the river, but in the campground it's not a surprise to get dumped on. It's all part of the adventure that so many have experienced. Whether at Fish Eatin' Creek near Lake Okeechobee, the old Boy Scout camp on Lake Osborne, Trinity National Forest near Mount Shasta, Hot Springs, North Carolina or Gee Creek/Ocoee on the mighty Hiwassee, camping is fun and refreshing, if you let it be. We're working on condensing our equipment to the least we need. It's quite a job. Maybe next time we'll improve on our trip prep. Even if not, we can depend on it being another new and unique adventure. Now we bought a used popup camper. It was described and advertised as on '03 and eventually turned out to be a '97. Pisser. Let the buyer beware. Dumb rookies, us.

Let's go camping and kayaking! I see a weekend opening soon.

The End

Ride The River

Written & Published by HB Halsey at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 HB Halsey

The success of doing something to the best of your ability depends on your attitude. You don't have to do it perfectly, just the best you can give it. It's based on practice, not perfection. As we learn a new thing, whether it requires our handiwork, our brainwork, or our skill, like cooking, if we pay attention to what we think and what feel and learn, we could well experience the feeling of success.

I've had a lot of successes in my life. From cutting and edging the grass as a young boy in south Florida, painting my model cars without the paint running, applying decals on them and placing them right where they belong and not on my fingers, to slicing the surf with my Gordon and Smith Surf Rider and riding it for all its got, the successes in my life stack up to the sky. It's become evident that we can change our vantage point, shift our place of observation, alter our way of thinking; we can turn any negative label we put on events in our own lives into a positive just by changing what we see as we recall it.

As time passes and I gain experience (I have a treasure trove of memories), putting the positive spin on things by developing PMA (Positive Mental Attitude), the colors on my life palette have become brighter and more alive. I attribute that to the color I put on each event. Not saying that all is rosy and wonderful, but the vast majority of events in my life have been pretty great to me. A big understanding of this concept comes from my believing that everything, with no exceptions, that has occurred in my life has been intentional, as if I invited them into my life, for my growth, well-being and better understanding of life-things. It's pretty amazing how the gloom falls away and the light empowers those things as I accept and begin to observe what lies ahead.

My point is, we can learn anything, regardless of our age, and is only limited by our thoughts and of course our physical limitations. I have read and heard of people with mental or physical challenges who have bravely challenged their "hold backs" and have pretty much defied what is possible and what isn't. Being open to new things and saying yes to life can bring on some absolutely amazing things. Like learning to kayak and taking on whitewater at the age of 60 or spending time in a new way of body movement and community called Sacred Circle Dance or starting to go to yoga classes and achieving my 200-hour Yoga Teacher certificate and committing to teaching weekly to a group of newer yogis the basic elements of yoga and exploring deeper yogic philosophy. My partner, Linda and I have shared teaching such workshops as Partner Yoga for Valentines and Exploring the Chakra System.

When Lin told me about their kayaking trips they were making and mixing in some camping, I said I'd really like to try that. I had so many camping experiences in Florida as a kid, and North Carolina, Arkansas and California as an adult. There was kayaking gear available at her place of work, Vanderbilt, for a small rental fee. I could be outfitted with all the equipment I needed to enjoy a day or weekend down the river of my choice. All I had to do was take the time to go get fitted and pick up the equipment, haul it to the river for the long weekend and return the goods. So, I did. And over time I've learned to respect and enjoy the thrills and rush of whitewater. I was introduced to a fellow adventurer who had gear that he was willing to part with for half the cost of new gear. A new flatwater kayak alone could run $300 for a flat-water model and $700 or 800 or more for a more durable whitewater boat. The sky's the limit.

My first kayak and camping trip was to Hot Springs, NC after Labor Day in 2010. We floated on both the Pigeon and French Broad Rivers. It was on my first trip down that I met a potentially dangerous event. Hot Springs is a funky area that laid claim to the healing essence of natural hot springs. Now the health facility offers privacy shelters with spas filled with healthy milky liquids that are hot to the first touch and healing to the body, so they claim. It was late summer as I recall when I first took that maiden kayak trip. I hadn't camped for a few years, in fact, not since camping with an old girlfriend out at Trinity/Shasta National Forest in northern California, five years earlier.

On my very first run down one of the rivers outside Hot Springs, the boat got wonky, I stopped paddling and before I knew it, I flipped and found myself upside down, in fast moving water, skirted in a kayak, and the water was cold. This now reminds me to find a nose clip. When we were practicing emergency water exits, it was taught to grab the loop on the front of the skirt that fits snugly around the cockpit and is supposed to keep water out. I agree it keeps most of the water out. It can be very disorienting being upside down, underwater and it's so eerily quiet. One moment it's the sound of whitewater and everybody's having so much fun, then you flip and hear some bubbling but not much else. Thoughts go through your head. You get a moment to orient and my thoughts were, "So this is how people drown. And I will not be one of them." I decided I wasn't going to drown, not here and not now and I was running out of breath. I felt stuck, for a moment anyway. Our safety instructor told us earlier that if we had trouble getting out of the skirt then try to stand up, pushing your feet into the bottom of the kayak, forcing the skirt to release from the lip and freeing the boater. Sure enough, I forgot to pull my loop. I struggled to get out. Felt trapped. I got my knees free of the ears they were up against and somehow pressed against the kayak bottom to forcefully push my body out of the cockpit and my successful water exit was closer to complete. When my head came up out of the chill water, I was overdue for fresh air. I breathed it in and had to swim to the safety of the rescue boats who had grabbed my boat and paddle for me. I reached for Bobby's boat. He is always our sweep. He's last in line and kind of the lifeguard. He helps when we get in trouble and need help.

When you swamp or flip your kayak it will fill with water but not sink if your floation pillows are aired up. Mine were, so all I had to due was hitch a ride hanging on to Bobby's boat, somebody else was pulling my kayak to shore. There I would have to pull my kayak out of the water and up on some dry land, unscrew the stopper at the tail of my boat and tip the nose of it to the sky, letting it drain. I was shaken but not defeated.

When you have an incident like mine and you lose your balance and flip, everybody either tries to assist the boater by paddling towards them or working to collect both boat and paddle, which are floating downriver, and waiting to bring the boater and his elements back together. Kayaking can be a team sport.

As I recall, my flipping my kayak was due to over-confidence coming over ledges and in rapids and my hot-dogging as I would get through a rapid, turn my boat around and bring the nose of the boat into the whitewater and into the rolling wave as it rolls over the rocks. Balance is a must here as the wave actually starts to pull your boat into the wave and the natural action is for your balance to be challenged, as the wave may actually suck you in, pulling your boat's nose down and into the wave, trying to swamp your boat, then spit you out, or throw your bow left or right with very strong force. It you're thrown out, it'll be fast and hard! Your balance is always tested on the river and sometimes compromised.

I did promise, so let's take a trip down the Hiwassee River in Delano, TN. The river is operated and power is generated by TVA in the late mornings of summer and water doesn't get to the power house put-in area till noon, so you can sleep in, have a big breakfast, take a hike (maybe Gee Creek Falls?), hit the Amish farmer's market (great produce across Highway 411 from Gee Creek Campground), sit around and read, do some yoga to loosen up for an afternoon of paddling and share some mellow conversation with your fellow boaters, rangers and campers. I'm not sure I can trust someone who says they don't get antsy just before a kayak trip down a whitewater river. So be ready for it, as your brain and body get the adrenaline drip going.

The boats and gear are loaded and checked for each person's five pieces of equipment: helmet, life jacket (we call it a PFD (Personal Flotation Device)), paddle, spray skirt for whitewater, and of course, your kayak or canoe. We've got drinking water secured in our boats, some snacks in our dry packs for energy midway down the river, along with sunscreen and we check our float pillows in our kayaks for flotation should we roll and have to exit our ride, and make sure our foot pegs are properly adjusted for bracing and comfort.

NOTE: If you wear polyester or fast-dry clothes, you'll dry fast and stay warm. Cotton stays wet and hangs heavy on the body. Wear some kind of river shoes that wrap around the ankles and secure to your feet. Sandals that can slip off will in fact come off if you flip and I speak from experience that walking barefoot on the rocky river bottom is pretty bad on the feet. The shore and gravel parking lot are not good for the feet or the head. And if you wear sunglasses or any other kind of glasses, be sure they're attached with a Croakie or something similar. The first time I went kayaking on whitewater I flipped my boat, lost my prescription Ray Bans and Mick Fanning's, and to top it all off, had to finish the day in bare feet amongst the rocks and gravel in the parking lot, so just a word to the wise. Lesson: bring secured items only. Nobody wants to see flip flops, water bottles or sprayable sunscreen bottles floating down a river. If you bring it to the river, be sure to haul it out as well.

We've already figured out the who and where of (shuttling), parking our cars and trucks at the put-in or take-out because when we're done with the river for the day, we'll need to get back to our vehicles and gear. Just below the powerhouse there's a large parking area where we unload our things and pay our $3 to the state per vehicle so we park one there and the rest at the take-out at the outfitters. We drag our boats over towards the ramp leading into the cold clear water.

While outfitters bring in their paying customers and unload people of all ages, some for their first taste of whitewater kayaking, tubing or rafting, we get ready for a 2-3 hour blast in the wet. When we feel we're ready, we pull on our spray skirts that will keep us mostly dry when the noses of our boats dive into the water as we travel through whitewater and waves and descend down rock ledges covered with powerful, fast moving water. This is fun but demands respect when it comes to the power of water.

One by one, we get into the cockpit of our kayak, slide the feet up into the nose and place each foot onto a foot peg, squeeze our knees under and outside the knee brace (ears), pull our skirts up and away so we don't sit on them. Then after we sit in our padded seats, we reach back with both hands and work the perimeter cord of our skirt onto the rim lip of the cockpit, grabbing the front loop, taking a deep breath, letting it out and pushing the loop away from us, stretching it over the front lip and working the cord all around so we have full contact with the cord over the lip for water protection.

Allowing water into your boat first of all soaks your lap. In warm weather, it feels pretty good. Cooler weather not so much. And you would need to stop frequently to drain the water from you boat, which requires you to get to shore, pull yourself out of the cockpit and repeat this process. So, a good spray skirt works wonders.

One by one we slide into the cold water. It's just past noon and the river is filled with colorful rafts, tubes, kayaks and canoes. We want to travel together in a group down the river, so we ferry across the river to the other side where the river flow is slow and the river is so clear you can see the bottom. The green river grass is so vivid in color. The water's not deep here. Maybe its three feet to the bottom. This is a good place to wait for all of us, usually 5-10 of us, to gather, get comfortable, shoot the bull, and try to allow the adrenaline to settle down a bit.

Getting across the river in a current as we did is called ferrying, and it's done by letting the river carry you to a visually sighted object across a river. You can actually paddle upstream (the river helps you) if you angle your boat and paddle without killing yourself.

So, we've ferried and meet in the grass. When we're all ready and the order in which we'll try to maintain for the run down the river is decided. The fun has begun! We have a leader, it's usually Laura. We have a sweep, it's usually Bobby and those of us in the middle are "in the cradle". Laura and Bobby are the most experienced, both are certified kayak instructors and have plenty of time on many rivers to lead us the best and safest way and make sure if we have troubles or flip or get stuck, they are there to do all they can to make for a safe trip. They've been to kayak schools and we have a lot of confidence in them. We peel off into our position, paddling on the right, on the left, trying to keep the boat pointed straight and leaving a space of 5-10 boat lengths between the one in front of you.

The rule of thumb from the Power House put-in on the Hiwassee is, first whitewater to the right, the rest are usually to the left. We follow Laura over to river-right for a bit of bumpy and wet rapids that sweep to the left, as you're right by the road that leads to the put-in. Prudential Rock is on your left, named for obvious reasons, and the current grabs your boat and you have to paddle to keep off the rocky wall to your right. It's bumpy and tickles the whole body. I smile and let out a loud "WhooHoo". At the bottom of the "V" that the water makes, you get spit out and are sent on your way. Your face may get wet, you might even get some cold water in your lap because the nose of your kayak might have gone deep into the next wave, but it's all good and on a warm summer day it feels so refreshing.

After we've passed the white waters here, we slow and allow our boats to float and they tend to turn around so we can see the others pass through the white and bumpy liquid fun. This day has just hit excellent on the fun-o-meter!

We all gather together and smiles are on almost all the faces you can see. Our group stays pretty much in the waves, others in rafts and on tubes stay river center and left. Looks to me like everyone came to the river to chill and possibly get a little thrill. Between the rapids and the drops, we have a bit of calmer water though the current carries you if you don't paddle. It's a place where the people in our group gather and we talk about the whitewater we just came through and most likely anything about the next obstacle or directions about the upcoming event.

We weave our way over rocky water-covered ledges that may drop three or four feet and get our boat bottoms scraped as we pass over rocks. We might need to get a bit technical as we go over one ledge and have to paddle hard to the left or right to get to the best sweet spot for the next drop. The difficult thing here is that you obviously can't see the best place to come over the edge because all you can see at a distance is the infinity pool concept. You can't necessarily see the downriver side of a rocky ledge. What you might be able to see is those ahead of you or your group and watch them from a distance where they mostly drop out of sight, and all you might see is their helmet.

One must look out for partially submerged logs or trees, rocks and shallows. They can be big trouble when you are in the current and hit them, get stuck on them, or worse, get trapped against a tree or outcropped rock (called a strainer). The current can pin you there and if you're underwater, it's not good. Where you look is where you want to go. Stare at the rock and you'll find the rock. Look ahead for the path and your leader's direction, that's where you'll most likely go.

Oblique Falls is a nice drop where the rocky ledge forms a kind of chute where the water funnels into a brisk waterslide, and if you can get your boat there, it'll grab you and you need to keep paddling and be ready to brace with your paddle in the water to keep your balance because the water may spin you; it may even try to turn you sideways and maybe even try to tip you over. You might lose it and actually roll over, but don't panic! Hold on to your paddle, keep your head cool, pull the loop on your skirt because you are upside down, after all, or if you roll your boat back up, like you learned in roll school, you're good to go. You did go to roll school, right? Right? It's on my list. And as I write this I see the need to go get my roll, whether a "C" roll, combat roll or Alaskan roll. Or egg roll, for that matter. My preference has been a homemade buttermilk biscuit, but this roll could be fun to learn and great to use.

About midway down this part of the river there's a rock garden, and that's what it's called. There are a few places you can get through without bottoming out; a veteran guide will take you down in a place where its smooth sailing. If there's enough water flowing, and that depends on how many generators are being used up at the powerhouse.

We're approaching a spot where many stop for lunch, kayakers mostly, so you slide to the river right, avoiding ferrying all the way across the river and dealing with the movement of the river. We're at Lunchbreak! Once you get through the rocks and arrive at the bottom of the garden, you can turn your boat back into water running over the rocks, into the wave that flows so gracefully and powerfully. You can edge the nose of your kayak into a wave and the river might hold you into the wave and slide your boat left and/or right. This type of playing on the river is called surfing and you have to be sure to keep alert and keep your paddle in the water for balance because if the water wants to, it will suddenly push you sideways or even pull the nose of your boat into and under the water. It'll get your BP up and challenge your balance. Some kayakers even work on their balance with coming into the wave and whitewater and tip their boat on its side and work on balance. I'm not there yet. This is Lunch Break and it has a nice shallow and fairly smooth bottom at the shoreline for easy exit from your kayak or canoe, but be careful when you work to get your boat up to the area where you can actually refuel the body. You may realize that you've burned up a lot of energy coming down the wet fun way.

Along the shoreline there are trees roots and a bit of current to deal with, and usually you'll get help from someone already on the bank. Here you get your body ashore, drag your boat out of the way, drop your spray skirt, relieve yourself in the woods, eat your lunch, chat with friends and new acquaintances and just chill for a few minutes. Many on this river run it often so don't be surprised if you see someone you've met before if you're one of those regulars. We usually hit the Hiwassee twice a year.

After your break that may last 30 minutes, depending on how many are in your group, you, one by one, start to get skirted back in up on the ground and slide back into the cool water and wait for your gang to all gather and get ready for the bulk of the run down this scenic river, surrounded by green forests and big ridges, people having fun in the wet and wild and a relaxing way of life. The scenery is breathtaking! You're low in your kayak. the mountains and clouds are well overhead and it's just a really beautiful place to be.

Coming up soon is Thread The Needle, where you can go around this island left or right. Going right is tricky because the current is fast here and technical. Going left is fun but not as much fun as threading it. There's a big rock that splits the river flow. The water climbs the boulder and goes both ways and if you can hit it right, you'll feel yourself get pulled into the flow going right and you slide down this chute and you'll know you've threaded the needle. I've been through it maybe ten times and the most recent trip was the first I actually threaded the needle. Once through the needle, you can paddle through the calm and back up into and across the current and try it again, but you will have to paddle hard and get in the right place as you give another shot. Can you succeed this time? It's a blast! And it's another good place for lunch if you didn't catch LunchBreak, as well as a good place to bail your boat.

There are quite a few nice rapids and low falls to paddle through, and between them, time to just float, gather with your friends, recall the previous event and soak in the sunshine, the cool water and relative calm and quiet of the river. You might even splash your arms with the river's coolness if the sun's heating them up. It gets warm wearing a life vest, helmet and dark spray skirt. At times, you might even take your helmet off, scoop the river and pour it on your head. Ahhhhh.

We're getting near the end of this trip down the upper part of the Hiwassee because I see the creek off to the left where many kayakers pull into as they gather the other ducklings for one final run through whitewater that will get you humming. It's Devil Shoals and there's a lot of water running over a lot or rocks. It's a Class III and is over before you know it, so pay attention and watch your leader. A rollercoaster ride full of bumps and splashing that refreshes, this is the perfect finale for a day on the river that satisfies your longing for excitement and relaxation all at the same time. It's not the Ocoee, but everyone can do this river with some teaching and openness to doing something fun with friends.

Devil Shoals can be swum if you desire to after riding the waves. The only thing is that you have to climb up to the railroad tracks, about 15 feet up, walk back upriver and get back in. You must wear your lifejacket and helmet, keeping your legs up, belly up and your spirits will naturally soar. Make sure that as soon as you get through the whitewater that you swim like hell to river left and get to the shore or you'll find yourself past a good place to get out of the river. We usually gather again, smoke 'em if you got 'em, chat about the trip down the river this day and know that with quarter mile or so, you'll reach the takeout at the railroad trestle or you can stay in the water and proceed down what we call "the ice cream run" because its anticlimactic after the past three hours you've just survived. You've succeeded, we've succeeded as a group, to run the upper Hiwassee River in southeastern Tennessee and what great memories to replay in your head anytime you want. Now load the boats up in the trucks and on the car roofs, and back to camp for lots of hot food, a campfire, s'mores, libation and good nights' rest. It's been a long day. Tomorrow we can sleep in because, after all, the river doesn't run till noon. Maybe we'll go to the Amish Farmers Market off 411. Right now, we relive our day on the Hiwassee, with friends, around the campfire, feeling successful. We did all right!

The End

About The Author

HB Halsey, in this collection of shorts, finally releases to the world some of his imaginings and fantastic journeys. Steeped in his youth in the love generation, and just like you the reader, his past also colors his present and future. HB lives and loves his retirement in the hills of Tennessee, where his journals continue to fill with travels, dreams and what might be true and real.

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Halsey's next ebook, "Eventual Buddha", is coming to your favorite ebook retailer December 1, and is available now for preorder at select retailers. Here's a selection from it:

" I realized I was reclined on a soft leather couch with the arm rest raised at such an angle that it could also be a head rest. A soft voice asked, "How does that make you feel?" While the answer was sliding forward to the tip of my tongue, it hit me: was I awake or dreaming? It has been said if you think you're dreaming and want to find out, just pinch yourself. Or reach for a book and read it.... twice. The text may well change if you're dreaming. But I'm lying on a shrink's couch and not knowing how I got here or why I'm here.  
My response is, "I'm not even sure why I'm here. I just realized where I am and just don't understand."  
Dr.: "You were found sitting on the ground by yourself in Golden Gate Park. When asked your name, you couldn't remember. Do you know your name?"  
Me: "Sure. It's Russ. Russ Raxter. I remember lying on the ground with some friends and laughing about our freedom and just being high on life."  
Dr.: "We've been here before. Remember me? Guuna, Guuna Fitzhugh? Tell me, Russ. You were found sitting by yourself in the Japanese Tea Garden in the Park. No one around you seemed to know who you were or why you were there. Will you tell me more?"  
Me: "Wow. (I went for so many years without a flashback and now I need to pull it together, I told myself.) Ok. I called my friends that I met when I first moved to San Francisco and asked if they wanted to hit the Park and do whatever."  
Dr.: "And by whatever, what do you mean?"  
Me: "Doc, I've gotten to a point in my life where I don't need the drugs, the pot or the alcohol. It's been a struggle, but I'm able to have fun, more fun, without the artificial stimulation. I wanted to go to the park and enjoy the warmth of a July day in San Francisco. Out there in the Haight and the Park, 72 is a warm day. I loved it when my work was on the roof and the coolness from the Pacific, even the occasional fog, would roll in and it felt like working outside but in air conditioning."  
Dr.: "So did your friends meet you at your place?"  
Me: "Hmmm. No, I met them at the Beach Chateau on the Great Highway at Ocean Beach and down from Bird Rock and The Cliff House. I love that place!"  
Dr.: "What do you remember?"  
Me: "We wanted to have a dinner at my favorite place, kind of a going away party. They were Barbara, John, Tee and Don. We got together often to honor our friendship and life itself. We would have a drink or two, usually their onsite brewery specials, some of the broccolini and salmon and watch the sun set out the full length ocean side window." Long pause, while scratching my head and realizing we never got to eat.  
Dr.: "What are your thoughts right now?"

Me: "Of all the times I went to the Beach Chalet or Park Chalet, this was one time I don't remember actually eating anything. I had a draft Copper Ale, well, maybe it was two."

I was slowly remembering and told the Dr. that our waiter came back to our table for six at the window looking out at the Pacific which curled deep blue beyond the parking lot and beach sand. I recounted the higher than normal stools and table and how calm the mighty Pacific was today. A Chamber of Commerce kind of day. The waiter's name was Danny. He was Asian looking and had mentioned he was from Hong Kong. The details kept coming at me. I've seen this guy before somewhere.

We had our first round, then the second was arriving. Danny came back to our table and asked if we were good and if we were ready to order. We were ready, for sure. He also said there was a call at the check-stand for me. It didn't even enter my mind how anyone outside our group would even know me here or know that I was here. I guess I felt momentarily important. That sometimes happens just before I realize I'm maybe not that important after all."

"Eventual Buddha" is now available by preorder, for release December 1, 2018. You can preorder at your favorite ebook retailer.

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