Traveling has a way of helping a person get into the flow of things.  Many people have written, or conversed about this – in fact, I would wager a bet that every traveler has experienced it at one point or another.  There is something about escaping your comfortable, daily routine that opens you to grander possibility.  It’s also in the people.  As a traveler, you throw yourself open to the world of people out there – people in their generosity, fierceness, beauty, and unending perspectives.

My spirit father, Michael, taught me about synchronicity.  Synchronicity is the word given by Carl Jung to those coincidences, those confluences of the universe, that are just too magical to be made of chance alone.  When we start to see the synchronicities around us, the world unfolds in inherent intelligence and threads of beauty connect everything.  The spirit of traveling seems to attract synchronicity, or at least an awareness of it.

The people of North Canton are good people.  We spend our last few days in town in great company and great fun.  The only worry we had while there was finding oil; it was like a new kind of digging for oil, and just as difficult.  We tried the factories – potato chip and peanut butter – to no avail.  We then called restaurants.  Many hung up on us; a few were quite nice, but ultimately had no oil.  Out of the dozens we called only one restaurant, a Japanese steakhouse called Wasabi, offered us oil.  As might be imagined, this proved somewhat discouraging to us, but we didn’t let it get to us too much.  We decided to leave Canton Saturday- with or without oil.  If we left without oil, we would find it on the way.

Aside from our challenges, we had a great time.  One of our host’s (Ed) brothers, Rob, was in a Neo-Futurist play taking place locally at the Second April Gallery.  They suggested we go speak with the owners about setting the bus up in front of the gallery and cooking food for after the play.  After inspecting one of the most disgusting oil dumpsters we have ever seen at a local hospital, we traveled to Second April.  It turned out the owners were uncomfortable with us setting up outside due to restrictions on the play rights.  Not wanting to leave us with nowhere to go, they suggested that we go to the farmers market the next day and gave us the number of the woman who organizes it.  We called her as we drove home and she was so enthused about the project that we decided we would go, even though we had made plans to leave town early the following morning.  We followed the good omens of people wanting our presence.

The play turned out fantastic.  Afterwards, we invited several members of the cast and audience to join us on the bus for tea and popcorn.  A lively conversation ensued about our travels and what truly nourishes.  One of the more powerful topics that came up is how crying can be deeply nourishing – that nourishment includes a full range of human emotions.

Returning home, our hosts had invited a crew over after playing broomball.  We showed the bus off and then cooked a turmeric-garlic curry with chicken.  By then, the evening hours had escaped and it was near midnight.  Derek, one of our hosts, had expressed interest in dumpster diving a few days prior, and we had decided that this night would be the night.  Rob and Nadia, another of the play’s cast, were also interested.  Around 1am, we departed.

We sought both food and veggie oil.  Food was first on our list.   Dumpstering for food is best done at small to medium sized independent food stores.  Stores that stock a significant amount of produce are ideal, as fresh produce is something that is constantly going “bad” (meaning unfit to sell, but plenty good to eat).  We tried several likely candidates, but were disappointed to find that every market we explored had a compactor dumpster, which is nearly impossible for the dumpster hunter to access.  After trying markets, we moved on to bakeries.  On our first attempt – at Panera – the police showed up.  Our conversation went a little like this:

Police (through megaphone) – “What are you doing?”
We turn around and walk toward the car.
Police – “Just get out of here.”
Me – “Sir, we are…”
Police – “I don’t even want to here it.  Just get out of here.  Don’t let me see you around here again.”

So they left and we left.  I felt a little bad for the neophyte dumpster divers.  This was not a good introduction.  I explained to them how if you find the right places, dumpstering attains the magic of a treasure hunt.  I explained that it’s some of the most fun I have on a regular basis.  Not tonight though.

We decided to try one more spot – an artesian bakery in the next county over, where the police would perhaps be a little more friendly.  We drove there, found a out-of-sight place to park, and located the dumpster.  It was unlocked, which was good news.  Everything inside was in bags, which meant no puddles of sludge on the floor.  I decided to jump in and see what we could find.  Feeling the bags, one by one, I eventually located the characteristic firm lumps that meant we have found bread.  Tearing open the bag, we found 5 rounds and 2 baguettes in beautiful condition.  There were some cookies and a few more baguettes, but they were questionable.  When in doubt, throw it out. Or in this case, leave it in.  We left with a decent haul nonetheless.  More importantly though, we had established a dumpster in the area worthy of dumpstering.  It was a cornucopia that would go on feeding these new friends as long as they returned to it with care and sufficient caution.  Such is the beauty of dumpstering – once you establish a good spot, and if necessary, a schedule, the guesswork is minimized.  A dumpster – something vile and disregarded by most Americans – suddenly becomes a magical source of adventure, fun, food, and if chosen, community. This last quality surfaces because the food found in a dumpster is usually in large quantity, and is best utilized when shared.  A dumpster haul can easily become a feast around which ones community gathers.  For all of these reasons, a dumpster, seem from the right perspective, is deeply nourishing.

At this point – around 3 AM – Derek and I were feeling exhausted.  We decided that we needed to shift gears and look for oil.  We made the trek out to Wasabi, who said that we could have their oil, but found their dumpster empty.  It was time go home.  As we approached Derek’s home, now at around 4 AM, I thought once more about heading out to look for oil.  We were waking to go to the farmers market in 3 hours, but I just couldn’t understand what we were going to do without oil in the tank?  I was especially confused because I had prayed that the oil would be found with ease, but it simply wasn’t there.  I realized though, that there was no way to dewater and filter any oil that was found that night in time to drive on it tomorrow.  It looked like we were supposed to leave Canton without oil.  I trusted that we would be fine.  Maybe we would find oil as we drove.  If we were destined to buy and run on diesel, so be it.  Though I felt some disappointment, I trusted that everything what in place, and that my prayers would be answered, though I did not know how, when, or in what way.  And with that, confused, exhausted, and still somewhat disappointed, though happy for few loaves of bread found in good company, I went to sleep.

Check back for the rest of the story, to be posted soon…

One Response to “Synchronicity, Following Intuition, and Living in Trust, pt 1”

1. Dustin says:

   14 August 2009 at 7:05 am

   Veggie Bus from LoveCanton on Vimeo.