I got there early.  I parked my truck in front of The Empty Glass on Elizabeth Street in Charleston, WV.  From the front it looked like it could be a deli, but the  music posters and the congregation of smokers by the front door let me know that this was going to be a fun place to play.  I said hello and introduced myself to a few guys before I entered the club.  One man was a rough handed coal miner with a voice as gritty as his finger nails.  His shirt was ripped and his face seemed to be stained.  He spoke with great intellect and knew a great deal about the history of Charleston, the West Virginia State Capital. We talked for a spell about folk music and the current state of pop music.  He mentioned John Prine, Steve Goodman, and Townes Van Zandt.  We spoke at great length about the works of all three songwriters.  It was great to talk with someone about the music that I love and I was excited to see what he thought about what I had to say once it was my time to perform.  As always I hoped that there would be more people inside with similar appreciation for lyrics.

I pulled open the glass door and was slapped in the face by total darkness.  This was certainly one of the darkest bars I had ever been in.  I wondered if the lighting was intended to make the coal miners feel comfortable or maybe they were trying to cut down their utility bill.  Regardless, dark is cool with me.  I followed the light of a Megatouch machine straight to the bar and grabbed the first seat that I felt.  I introduced myself to Heather, the veteran bartender, and ordered my usual Budweiser can.  I sat there with a few other drinkers and waited patiently, hoping that my eyes would adjust to this lack of exposure.  But it didn’t happen, at all.  I scanned the room and noticed that in the back corner, near the sound board, there was a miniature casino complete with four Game King machines and two slots.  I ordered a dozen wings that looked like a plate of chili, but they were good.  Everyone in the bar was very friendly and enthusiastic about the subject of music.

Long story short, I stepped onto the stage at ten and noticed I was surrounded by mosiac tiles on the three walls I sat in front of.  I played my set the best that I could and tried to do a good job of getting the crowd ready for Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion.  I met some great people and had an overall great time in Charleston.  I hope to play the glass again sometime soon.

I met a children’s portrait photographer, a music editor, a tattoo artist, a tombstone designer, an independent film director, a sculptor, a miner, a widow, a business man with a broken hand, a singing soldier, a promoter with the flu, a bouncer, a councilman, and a fisherman.  All people, all cool, all friends.

On the soap dispenser in the men’s room I noticed someone had written…”Where I Was Is Good and Gone”, I would like to meet the author of this piece.

The day crept into my eyes this morning and I stayed in my sleeping bag feeling refreshed, peaceful, and aligned.  It felt as though I had somehow skipped the usual groggy chapter of this morning’s book.  Without lifting my head, I reached below my cot and grabbed one of the many books that I have brought with me on my journey.  The book was “Peace Of Mind”, by Joshua Loth Liebman.  It is a book I bought at a rummage sale that I passed in the Pocono Mountains for ninety-nine cents.  My copy is old and coverless.  I read the first chapter, it felt like it was a great way to get my mind moving.  As I laid there trying to get into the book and what Leibman was talking about, my mind refused to stay attentive and instead wandered as usual.  Whenever I read, it makes me want to write.  I can’t help it.  My eyes will continue the trained left to right movement that is associated with reading, but my mind and my eyes are two independently operating systems.

I realized then that I needed coffee…badly.  I also realized that when you are camping you deal with zippers quite often.  I unzipped my sleeping bag, zipped up my fly, unzipped the canvas door of the tent, unzipped the screen door of the tent, unzipped my fly, zipped up my fly, unzipped my food bag, unzipped the coffee, and started a fire. I bought a perculator from Gander Mountain before I left that would work perfectly with a campfire flame.  Last time I traveled cross country I brought a tea pot and a bag of instant coffee…I realized quickly that instant coffee is horrible and would not suffice.  I got the fire ripping, dumped the coffee in the filter, and placed the perculator just above the flame.

As I waited for my coffee I watched the fire very closely.  What is it about a burning fire that evokes thought?  Is it the smell? Is it the warmth or is it the association with comfort? Is it the constant change like the rippling of water or the waves of the ocean?   Is it all of it? Whatever it is, it works.  Some of my greatest self-discoveries and philosophies have been the result of flame watching.  I could watch one all day long.  But not today…my coffee was ready.  I filled my thermos with the boiling hot coffee and hopped in my pick-up truck.  I traveled eleven miles out of the woods and finally hit a small town consisting of a deli market and a gift shop called, “Cornucopia”, and as the name states, they had a wide array of “things” for sale.  They had tin yard flamingos,  rubber trees, women’s shoes,  Nascar flasks, yo-yo’s, chocolate covered crickets, the Redneck Dictionary (which was a fun read), and dream catchers.  I bought a dream catcher and got back into my truck.  I burnt my lips on my coffee…again, and rolled down the mountains, destined for Charleston.  I traveled very slowly down the steep decline consisting of aggressive switchback turns.  I have noticed that at each corner there is an elevated shop mirror mounted to the pine trees that line the road to prevent drivers from making blind turns, but to be honest they are useless because your angle is only good for about two seconds.  Finally I reached the base of the mountain and noticed a large bridge that stood above a two hundred yard wide river.  On the other side of the river sat a beautiful city that appeared clean and very populated.  I crossed the river and noticed many young professionals were walking the streets very quickly.  None of them were smiling, they seemed like zombies, or robots, they had obviously already been programmed. We were operating on two separate vibrations.

I traveled down Quarrier Street and found a coffee shop called Capitol Roaster’s.  I sit here now, typing to you.

I just watched an older women ask a young man to show her how to retrieve a text message on her shiny new cell phone.  She seems so frustrated that she can’t figure it out. What in the world is happening? Why is instant communication so important, even among the oldest generation?Is it that appealing?

Anyway, I play my first show of the tour tonight at a music club called The Empty Glass.  I am really excited to play and meet Sarah Lee and Johnny.  New material, new crowd, new crew, new day.  Something new is just a heartbeat away.

Lastly, I just watched a parking enforcement officer place a paper item under my windshield wiper.  I need to get back to camp…it is too expensive in this concrete jungle.  RETREAT!

I have relocated the points and greased the fittings.  The fuel is overflowing and the rig is road ready.  I am back on this highway, chasing dreams and answers.   In 1814, an amauter poet, named Francis Scott Key, wrote a four stanza poem which he called “Defence Of Fort McHenry”.  At the tail end of the first stanza Key refers to our nation as “The Land Of The Free”.  I believe him.  Freedom is a choice and to live free is to fly.  Society consistently preaches what they believe to be the proper way.  They push us down popular avenues and corral us on the open plains.  They bring us back to the farm where they staple a tag to our ear and from that moment forward…we are a just a number.  With that being said, they can’t capture what they can’t find.  I guess what I mean is that it is not society’s fault if you become captured, it is yours and yours alone.  Freedom is a choice.  Anyone can fly, we all have wings.

I lay on my back in the middle of the Kanawha State Forest in Loudendale, West Virginia.  My cot is narrow but provides cloud-like comfort.  With one turn of the dial, the light of my lantern transforms from a strong glow into a shade of deep orange and eventually turns into the only color that matches the night.  Some would say that I am in the middle of nowhere, I would say that I am in the heart of everything.  No gadgets, no disguises, no distractions.  Just life in its intended form, simple.  I pitched my tent in a deep valley next to a stagnant stream that once housed brook and rainbow trout, but now provides perfect breeding conditions for the West Virginia state bird, the mosquito.  As I lay in the darkness, completely motionless, I can’t help but focus on the music that is happening all around me. The melody of life echoes off the canyon walls and creates an orchestrated sound that puts me in a trance.  I have heard those “nature sounds” CD’s that are available at Cracker Barrel’s and convenient stores.  People in cities buy these CD’s so they can close their eyes along with their office windows and hopefully find peace somewhere deep within them amidst the chaos.  Well, I must say, nature is way better live.  I could hear the constant buzz of crickets making a sound that ironically could be compared to that of an electrical current.  I could hear the occasional screech of an owl and the rustling of leaves from a passerby.  And once I heard a coyote call, I knew I was right where I was supposed to be.   Just before my eyes closed, one last thought stamped itself on my brain…there I was with the crickets, the mosquitoes, the raccoons, the owls, the spiders, the bears, the deer, the trees, and the coyotes.  There we were; together, alive, and free.  On this particular night Francis Scott Key could not have been more accurate. It is good to feel it again.

There is a fire in my mind.  A blaze of persistent questions that echo like canyon screams. With unknown origin and mysterious meaning, they rattle off my valley walls and drip down the depths of my consciousness.  These questions reach my legs and lengthen my stride.  These questions force my feet to hug the corners and ignore the blisters. For it is questions like these that create the callus and heal my heels.  They prepare me for battle and provide me with promise.  They slither in my sheets and jitter me restless.  They butterfly me open and butterfly me closed.  They whisper when I’m screaming and they call out to me in silence. Timely as the sound of a church bell, these questions drive my drive and sail my ship.  I need them; so I feed them.  I Seek, I seek, I seek.  I Soak, I soak, I soak.  Without the journey there is no treasure.  Without the treasure there is no chest.  Without the chest there is no heart.  Without heart, there is nothing.  May this fire rage on forever. 

He who floats highest will be he who sees the furthest/He who travels furthest will be he who sees the most

Wisdom lies in the eyes of the experienced and dies in the lies of the stagnant.

Phony is the man with the buttery skin/Show me a man with a million scars and I shall listen.

When the oceans grow tired of listening to the wind and the waves measure twice the expected.  When the crust spiderwebs and the landscape  shatters.  When the trees sink into their root holes and the birds have nowhere to nest, nowhere to rest.     When the heat can no longer be handled.  When the water rises along with our concern.  When burning and looting is necessary.  When our computers refuse to reboot and our government loses all control.  When the wolves don’t need to hunt any longer.  When the world becomes what it will.

At twilight, a large wolf encounters a scorpion in the middle of the Mojave.  The wolf lowers his front shoulders, pressing his snout to the sand, and bows to the burning-red scorpion.  The scorpion looks up at the wolf and asks, “Why do you bow to me wolf?  You are much stronger, faster, and bigger than I. You could easily trample over me or be like all of the other creatures I encounter and simply pay me no attention.”  The wolf remains in bow pose and responds, “I bow to you because I respect you scorpion. On this particular day, at this particular moment, I find my mind at ease and firing correctly.  I have no reason to harm or ignore you.  You are a beautiful creature scorpion and simply the sight of you reminds me of how lucky we all are to be able to breath this air.”  The scorpion retreats from the striking position and relaxes into a more comfortable posture.  The scorpion then says to the wolf, ” You are the most friendly wolf I have ever met.  Actually, you are the only wolf I have ever met. If you are so friendly, why is there blood all over your fur and teeth?  I know we just met but I can’t see you harming anyone or anything.  You seem too level headed to kill.”  The wolf takes a seat next to the scorpion and says, ” The blood on my coat is my own.  The blood in my teeth is berry juice.  I was eating berries when a farmer shot me in the shoulder.  Now I am dying. He thought I was after his livestock.  I can’t blame him.  I have seen members of my pack devour innocent animals.  Which is why I chose to head out on my own and follow a new path, my own path, under my own oath.  We are nothing more and nothing less than everything else.  It is simply our turn, our try, our effort, our attempt, our chance, our journey.  It is up to us to make a difference.  I don’t need history to tell me where to go.  I don’t need the future foretold.  All I need is now, here, with you…the scorpion.”  The wolf let out an amazing howl and gently surrendered into the sand.  As the dying wolf took it’s last breath the scorpion climbed on top of the wolf, raised his stinger towards the heavens, and began to chant…

“Let the spirit of my friend the wolf not make it all the way to heaven just yet.  Let it ascend until it reaches the clouds.  Once it reaches the clouds let it stop there and gather.  Then let his spirit rain down for years and years and years.  Drenching all of us.  Flooding the land with understanding, knowledge, wisdom, purpose, and fearlessness.  He had it all figured out…he knew it was up to him.”

The scorpion remained on top of the wolf and protected his body from being attacked by predators.  He remained there so long in fact that the scorpion ended up dying on the back of the wolf just a few days later.

All we have is now.