Moses has faxed handwritten notes.  I will attempt to transcribe here.  I apologize for typoes.  His handwriting is not the clearest.  More to follow.

M. Matthews

6/24/2011

Notes to myself:

– I am on a 7 something morning train to New York City.  The day, it’s like sunshine and humidity rolled into a cigar of transit ready to be lit.
I watch the commuters around me.  They are trying to grab the last moments of self before disembarking at NY Penn Station and jobs and demands that support a life.

I, free, float, time flying past me unable to find perch, use these moments to see my old life one last time.  I will travel now.  Move in rhythms undefined yet foisting the lesson on me.  Lucky.   Yes.  I have money and freedom for this exploration.  But, I think I would trade my freedom for their cage.  They know who they are and what they fight for every day.  I follow whim and metaphor searching for answers to questions I little fathom.

– The train pulled into New York Penn Station on time.  As memory serves, for commuting  this is unique.  I stood in the middle of the large room, a
big board announcing all the departure gates hung from the middle of the ceiling.  Standing there, no clue what to do next, I thought, “This is what it is to be feral … wild.”

I had a backpack, cash, no cell phone and no direction.  So, I watched for a moment.  People scurried about with what appeared determined direction.  But to my observation, it seemed false.  I remembered rushing to meetings, to deadlines important then but meaningless now.

In retrospect, my next step was synchronous, a path laid prior to any decision of my own.  I walked out of the bowels of the train station and into the Border’s Bookstore.  Why, I don’t know.  At that moment the concept of a directionless pathway was almost paralyzing.  Two floors of books, videos and coffee was a momentary mooring for this waterless wayfarer.

My first impulse was to seek out the science section but whim spun me towards fiction.  I browsed down the aisle reading titles and author’s names.  At “Shepard” he jumped out at me like a snake surprised in a rocky crag.  Grandfather, or his earthly avatar, Sam Shepard had a new book of stories.  I pulled it from the shelf and his picture stared up at me from the back cover.  A picture I have used on my blog with that cat who ate the mouse grin and “I know things” twinkle in the eyes.

Grandfather.

It appeared I was not on a journey or vision quest but rather a scavenger hunt set for me by the gods’ of chaos.  Flipping through the pages my next step became clear.  I bought the book and left the store.  Picked up a coffee as I walked up town.  My vision became tunneled as I moved north.  People parted way for me.  My crazed look comes in handy at times.