The last time I lived in Asheville, the year was 1981. What’s so odd is, I’m more homesick now than I have been in the 35 years I’ve been gone. Last night, I browsed images of the Blue Ridge Parkway, Craggy Gardens and Craggy Dome in particular, since that’s where Aunt Tudi’s and Granny’s ashes are scattered.
I don’t know why I do shit like that to myself. I know it’s only going to serve to make me feel like someone has patiently and carefully picked out my solar plexus with a dull spork, yet I do it all the same. I posted some of the pics I found on Facebook last night, and the response they received was as I expected: awe and wonder on behalf of those who took the time to take a gander.
And that is how it should be. The sights available on the Blue Ridge Parkway are a feast for both the eyes and the soul. Add to the mix the deep connectedness of loved ones whose last physical presence was designated to be amongst the rhododendrons and Faerie structures partially hidden in the silent mists of the Smoky Mountains, and you have yourself a perfect recipe for mental chest-clenching and a losing battle with that giant lump in your throat.
I haven’t been able to suss why I’m more homesick now than I was just a year ago until now. I believe it’s because, even though I’ve been gone from Asheville for decades, I still had the comfort of being able to visit at least every once in a while. I no longer have that option. Asheville is almost 2500 miles away from me now, a far cry from the 75 measly miles that separated Duncan and the Land O’Sky. Even when I could no longer drive, I still had more of a chance and opportunity to return home and visit Craggy Gardens.
Now, that lifeline has been severed. I really am a stranger in a strange land. That said, I have decided on something just today: in the very slim chance the Mother Unit passes before I do, I'm going home. I'm certainly not staying in San Diego with Matt. I know he'd be as dead set against such an arrangement as I obviously am.
A Facebook friend and fellow hedge Witch, Granny Kate, posted a link to an independent movie project called Asheville: The Movie. Here’s a little bit on the story. Click the image at the top of this post to read more about that and the company instrumental in making the film a reality.
A story about a young man’s journey into the cultural creative world of Asheville, NC. John Craft is a middleclass community college student from the Midwest who is studying business to prepare for a career in his father’s paper company. He hears about a free spirited town in the North Carolina Mountains called Asheville. It is where the new age/indigo people of America are going and John wants to check it out before settling into a life of running the family business.
After a series of coincidental messages, John packs up and heads to this conscious town in the land of the Cherokee. When he arrives he finds himself at the Friday Night Drum Circle. A young raven haired free spirited girl name Star Seed, pulls him out on the dance floor and after some exotic inspiration, influences John to let loose and join in the tribal festivities.
John is invited by Star Seed to stay at a community house called “The Vortex”, where he meets 10 eclectic young adults and one wise elder who shows him the way of “Fully Living and Being Aware.” The house is full of unique characters who each share their passions and metaphysical/progressive beliefs.
Ayahuasca even plays into the film’s plot, which is monumental, considering I’ve been doing extensive research on that and DMT and their potential to help heal psychologically and spiritually broken people like myself. Yet another one of those inescapable interludes of synchronicity.
The film is currently in production. I’ve saved the webpage so I can keep up on its progress and when/if I’ll get to screen it. This is definitely a must-see in Tin’s World.
In other news, I stumbled across a picture of
Adolf Hitler Donald Trump that reminded me of a cute puppy I’d seen before. I’m not saying Drumpf is cute, because he’s not. He never has been, never will be, and he needs to have that orange thing he calls a face removed by an industrial belt sander, but the resemblance in expression is eerie. Judge for yourself.
One final word about home, here are some of the images of Craggy Gardens I posted on Facebook last night. To see the larger image, just click on the ones here. If you aren’t spiritually moved by the supernatural beauty of found in these photographs, you might want to see a psychiatrist.
After the past 36 hours of pining for Asheville, North Carolina, like never before, one thing is certain:
I NEED TO GO HOME.