The Glow off Giants Head

Hitchhiking is a truly beautiful thing. This past couple of weeks I've done a whole lot of it because I don't have a car up here, but I have to say that I haven't once not been picked up. I wouldn't so much reccomend it down in the city though. Up here there's a great small-town-feel (kindof like new car smell) where most people are pretty friendly and it's also pretty safe so you don't have to lock your doors on your house or car or anything. Also it's pretty safe for hitchhikers and for people picking up hitchhikers... which is the way it should be because it is quickly becoming a lost art. The other day an awesome burnt out old hippy dude picked me up. he was totally white bearded and white pony-tailed and had his two dogs, Peanut Butter and something else in the back of his car, a great experience. You meet interesting people when you hitchhike. Actually, come to think of it, you meet interesting people anytime you choose to open yourself up and put yourself in a position of vulnerability. I guess that's pretty much me though, I wear my heart on my sleeve for perfect strangers, but it's hard for me to open up to people know. Wow... self discovery in a public forum... that was profound. Whatever, here's The Ballad of Miss Weatherby (she sang it in my dream (not the exact words (except the I was a Canadian and I was dying bit)) when she was on a riverboat (the story's the story from my dream)).

I was a Canadian
I was a Canadian
and I was dying

I came down from the mountain
to the valley of the shadow
where I made my home
but I really should have known
I really should have known

I was a Canadian
I was a Canadian
and I was dying

In time I taught their children
about the mountain and the sky
thought they understood
now I think I was just blind

I was a Canadian
I was a Canadian
and I was dying

In the night the cloud came down
while everybody turned their eyes
and my blood was shed
on their sacrificial knives

I was a Canadian
I was a Canadian
and I was dying

now I'm on a riverboat
and I'm telling you my story
and a bird sings hallelujah
so I couldn't say I'm sorry

Zen Master