I was cruising back to my camping ground at Laposa South LTVA the other day when I spotted Bridget by the roadside. I pulled over, hopped out, and said hi. She was struggling with back pain, trying to walk it off, and I just stood there, listening as she vented. Before we went our separate ways, I gave her a proper hug—one of those “Disneyland hugs” where you’re just fully there, feeling the other person’s presence. She grinned and called me a ball of sunshine, saying my energy always lifts her spirits. I laughed, admitted I still don’t quite get what that feels like. Maybe one day. It took me back to a moment two winters ago by the Colorado River in Cibola, when Angela—tripping on mushrooms—hugged me before I drove off and swore she saw rainbows and colors. Moments like that stick with you, y’know?
After saying bye to Bridget, I headed to Quartzsite, Arizona, for my last day in town. I stopped at a whole-body repair clinic, an acupuncturist spot that just felt right for sharing some Agroverse ceremonial cacao. Andrea, who’d invited me, accepted it with a smile and said she’d chat with her boss, Dr. Leesa, about selling it there on consignment. While waiting, I tried out an ionic foot bath. There was a bookshelf nearby, and a title jumped out at me: True Love: A Practice for Awakening the Heart by Thich Nhat Hanh. I grabbed it, flipped through the pages as the machine did its thing, curious about what it might reveal.
Here’s where my head’s at—I’ve been chewing on this concept of love, and I’m pretty clueless. I know physical attraction isn’t it; that’s just dopamine firing off in your brain, and if you don’t keep it in check, it can spiral into destructive addiction cycles. I’ve heard this echoed by nomad friends lately—some have given up on dating altogether because the people they’re drawn to just drag them into negative loops. The book didn’t spell out what love is, exactly, but it framed it through gratitude and benevolence, like an ethical way of being. I didn’t get far before the foot bath wrapped up, so I shelved it. Andrea said she’d call me tomorrow after talking with Dr. Leesa.
Next, I zipped over to Blythe for groceries before heading to Ehrenberg for the Skooliepalooza festival at Llama Camp. That night, the bonfire marked the start—Matt, who I hadn’t seen in two winters, crushed it setting up Pirate Cove. I was wandering around, vibing to the music, when a nomad came up to chat. She opened up about her partner, how she never thought she’d feel love again after losing her spouse of decades. I listened quietly as she shared her story, then told her I’m still trying to figure out what love even is. It’s like someone describing an apple—I can picture it, but I’ve never tasted it myself. She looked at me with this gentle warmth, called me a beautiful soul, and said she’d be there if I ever needed help. I felt something in her words—maybe that’s a glimpse of it?
As the night turned cold, I edged closer to the bonfire. Cheetarah sneaked up and nabbed my spot on the bench, joking she hoped I’d just sit on her lap without noticing. I cracked up, said I’m glad I didn’t—I’d probably send her to the hospital with broken bones. I’m not light. She mentioned she’d been sick for a couple of days, feeling helpless, and how Josh had been taking such good care of her. It’s hard, she said, relying on someone like that. Josh, patient as ever, had taught her ways to manage her snark when she’s annoyed, instead of snapping at him. I told her vulnerability is its own kind of practice, almost like yoga. And annoyance? It’s not really about the other person—it’s tension in your own body, discomfort you’re trying to push away. Why not just notice where that tightness is and let it go? It’s less effort than lashing out. She paused, said she’d never seen it that way. I mentioned it’s all psychosomatic, how the body reacts to what’s around you. She reflected on that for a bit, then invited me to visit her camp once it’s ready, before heading off to find Josh and their crew.
It was late, so I trudged back to my car and crashed. But this morning, something hit me. I woke up with this quiet realization about love—or at least, how it might feel in the body. It’s so subtle, you’ll miss it if you’re not tuned in. When you act with kindness or gratitude, there’s this tiny moment where your chest just… eases. If it’s strong, that relaxation creeps up your neck, your face, maybe even to your eyes until they well up. Suddenly, the ideas in Thich Nhat Hanh’s book clicked. I’ve read about studies—Paul Ekman and Fritz Strack’s work—where forcing a smile can lift your mood, or a frown can sour it. It’s connected, right? Practicing benevolence seems to trigger this softening. I’m guessing it’s tied to the vagal nerve unwinding, reshaping how you think, leading to more compassionate actions. Could that spark a positive loop in your world?
Reflections for the Day: Tying this to my oracle casting—9, The Taming Power of the Small, with its “dense clouds, no rain,” and 53, Development, hinting at perseverance and good fortune. I’m thinking love might be that small power, a quiet force that grows through tiny, intentional acts. It’s not a thunderstorm—it’s the dense clouds, the slow build. Perseverance in these little moments of ease, of kindness, maybe that’s what develops into something lasting.
Have you felt this quiet softening in yourself, this physical hint of love or connection? Or are you still chasing the taste of that apple?
- Nomad Life
- Personal Growth
- Spirituality