Well, I almost got to see the man, he of the Insitute for Sacred Activism. I really wanted to, honestly I did.
The lecture and book signing was heavily advertised as starting at 7:00 p.m. I left the house at about quarter till seven and headed for the San Geronimo Lodge. As I pulled up into the gravel parking lot, I counted about nine cars. Figures, I thought to myself, these kinds of gatherings are always sparsely attended. I was a little late but felt virtuous for showing up, knowing that the organizers would be glad to see another body. I walked into the lobby, where it was quiet as a tomb with no one around. Approaching the desk, I found a gentleman about my age sitting behind the counter at a computer.
“HI!” I practically bellowed.
“Hi!” he replied, much more softly.
“Andrew Harvey? The lecture and book signing?”
He looked at me quizically: “Who? Thomas Harvey??”
“No, ANDREW Harvey. I thought there was a lecture here tonight.”
“Well, there’s a Tai Chi group meditating upstairs…”
That explained the silence. I said that I was sure I’d read that the event was scheduled for that evening. He did a quick Google search — nice to see someone who knows how to enter the right search terms — and reported that the Harvey talk was at the Anglada’s Building, just down the road.
“It’s right –”
“I know,” I said, stopping him. “Thanks!”
Forty-two speed humps later, I was at the Anglada’s Building. I could see at least a few cars in the unpaved, unlighted overflow parking lot across the road and quite a few in the main lot next to the hall. Generally one who believes “there’s always a space,” I turned into the main lot and was completely flabbergasted: not only was it utterly full, but there were cars stacked up two deep outside the entrance! I immediately made a U-turn and headed across the road for the overflow lot, where my headlights revealed a second sea of Subarus that stretched as far as the beams would reach. Geez! But I’d come this far, so I headed for the far end.
It was muddy and bumpy. Furthermore, for the first time in living memory, people had spontaneously parked as efficiently as possible, leaving nary a gap for me to squeeze into. I pressed on… Barely visible outside the glare of my high beams were several huge mud holes where cars had sunk and disappeared. When I’d gone as far as I could go, I found the absolutely last possible place to park (a tiny bare spot in the weeds and trash), and pulled in with the Vibe, cursing. Nonetheless, I turned off the engine and got out, fully intending to go in. It was very, very dark.
I hadn’t brought a flashlight, I realized. I could see the Anglada’s Building several hundred yards away, the only bright spot in the darkness. I thought about the bogs lying between me and the door, hidden in the gloom. I winced at a mental image of a thousand frustrated mystics trying to get out of the parking lot all at once and piling up at the stop sign. The virtuous air was gone and Harvey didn’t need me. As I was already part of the choir, I didn’t need the preaching, either. Just then another Taos Subaru turned into the lot and and slowly clambered its way in my direction, looking for a slot that wasn’t there. AHA!
The moment called for noble sacrifice and I delivered. Soon the Last Car was pulling into the spot I’d just vacated, and I was counting speed humps again on my way back home, as great wads of wet clay bonked against the inside of the fender wells. I can always read a bad article about the talk in the Taos News, I told myself. After all, by my standards, I was already a sacred activist.
No need to be a fanboy!
Related posts:
- Return of the Black Madonna [revised]
- “Bushvilles”
- Weird Doings in the Night Sky Over Taos
- Looking for Special Taos Home
- Stranded Here in Llano with the Taos Blues Again
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
42 speed humps. that was my favorite part, but i have absorbed the rest and gone to his website. thanks!
He’s a very special dude who speaks for a lot of us, including you, I’ll bet. Someone to know, that’s for sure. Still sorry I missed him!