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test-traveler/polar star

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desks
salt water solution
polar star
crumbling
miracle manor
lithium
woodstock nation
63 frozen sirloins
cleansing the senses
main street


© photo by Dona McAdams 2000

scene 2

salt water solution

A test traveler doesn't know where he's going but has an excellent nose for the way. Test travelers don't make wrong turns, require transit visas, miss flights, topple governments, enlighten the masses, provoke social unrest or step on toes.

They are simply there at the moment any profound or not so profound event takes place. I was there as I'm here - as the biker was there. On the way, sensitive to the environment, ebb and flow of unrelated events, oblivious to statistical research, financial realities and formal logic.

Test travelers enjoy climbing and descending ladders, opening doors, crossing bridges, sailing against a strong wind or floating in the river.  Their predicament is often that of a passionate salmon swimming upstream to find a peaceful spot, lay her eggs and die.

Test travelers don't like barriers or blockades and have difficulty with forks in the road. They often travel both roads only to retrace their steps.

This takes time. Test travelers often arrive unnanounced. No one is expecting them.Where they've arrived is not officially there.
But they return to arrive again when the landscape has changed and there is someone to meet. Like walking on wet cement and returning to the hard pavement a few days later to see the original impression: "Test traveler was here."

I was a 'test traveler' before I knew what that was. That's an essential part of it, not knowing. Each test is the first test for the first time, each time a new beginning. There's an element of the unknown. On the way, not knowing how the road will curve or collapse but committed to the beauty and possibility of each test.

As a boy, a simple question like, "Where ya going, Peter?"  had enormous implications. "To get a paper or some bagels," was a code phrase for 'urban nomad!'

Buying a bagel in Far Rockaway took on the exploratory qualities of first locating a world in which bagels existed.

A salt bagel, to the sea, the beach blankets, blue skies and pounding surf. I was a small boy and usually wound up on the beach summoned by boisterous but friendly beachgoers looking to coax me onto their gigantic beach blanket to toss me sky high watch me soar and plummet into the outstretched blanket. Up and down, higher and higher, higher and higher, a formidable flight, the atmospheres' uproarious tickle, fear mixed with finer things and then thump, crash and semi-consciousness: free flow of tears, fears of the revellers. I missed the blanket crashing against the hard sand. When I came to, my face splashed with a bucket of saltwater I knew I'd been higher than the time before.

 

 

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