TATE
bhikhu rejecting the samsara of modern society. I saw the perfect opportunity in the impending winter break.
SSAGE
can and then lovingly squeeze it all out on the rest of the world. At empting to dedicate myself to that endeavor has been
awkward and frustrating. I’ve come to feel that our big iron world of credit and debt doesn’t encourage true living. Instead, it enforces a shallow existence in a vacuous culture of material glut ony and spiritual starvation. Once I started seeing the world through those eyes, I could
sense the bedrock of melancholy upon which our streets are paved and our homes are built. It’s a coarse yarn woven into the fabric of our civilization; the panicky narcissism that emotionally isolates us from one another; the quiet resignation that closes our minds, sours our hearts, and saps the daydream luminescence from our eyes. As my senior year waned, I started to feel desperate. I had to do
something to test whether I could reasonably live my life the way I want to live it. I had to do something big, something spectacularly stupid, to fi nd out whether I was indeed a fool, or an inspired
My parents had moved to Sarasota, Fla., and my brothers and I were aiming to drive down to spend the holidays together as a family. I decided to hitchhike home alone. It was perfect. T inking about it made me giddy. T e inherent
dangers others reminded me of couldn’t trump the holistic design. T umbing the 1,218 miles from Sarasota to Ypsilanti would test all of my ideas in a way no other experiment could. It would mean limiting my cowardly reliance on money, investing in the kindness of strangers, and learning to more deeply appreciate the divine poesy of Fate.
“Pain or love or danger makes you real again...” —Jack Kerouac, T e Dharma Bums
I had to make it back to Ypsilanti by January 4. I leſt the day aſt er Christmas, around 2 p.m. My grandmother
was my fi rst ride. T at seemed oddly fi t ing. She dropped me off one exit north from my parents’ condo. I could see how scared she was for me. Everyone was. It hurt to know I was upset ing so many people, but it wasn’t something that could be helped. I gave her a hug and told her I loved her. T en she was gone. And I was alone. But I wasn’t alone for long. About ten minutes aſt er my
grandma leſt , a car pulled to the side of the road. Perhaps it was a sign or perhaps a novel coincidence, but it seems oddly fi t ing that the fi rst person to off er me a ride was named Jésus (though to be fair, he introduced himself as Jesse).
O
ne of the things this trip taught me was that every single person I meet has the potential to play the role of prophet, guiding me toward enlightenment. If I have an open heart and an active mind, then there
is wisdom and inspiration derived from the banter, musings and anecdotes of all conversation. Jesse was a prophet. T ough a U.S. citizen, he emigrated from Paraguay about 12
years ago. Despite stern admonishment from his family, he took a dishwashing job on an international cruise ship. Aſt er several years traveling the world, Jesse got a job on land in Florida. Soon aſt er, he fell in love with the women who worked at a kiosk at the mall where he bought postcards to send his parents. Now, Jesse and the woman from the kiosk have been married for eight years. Jesse took me as far as Brandon, about 50 miles north of
Sarasota. I grabbed my prayer fl ags from my backpack, cut one of them off the line and off ered it to him as a token of my gratitude. He seemed moved by the gesture. T en I was back on the side of the road. I felt exhilarated--
Eastern | SPRING 2013 27
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