Travelling with No Loss of Hope

I’ve been on the road so to speak for about 4 months now. I started this journey with purpose of writing my book, and documenting my travels the best that I could. Like any life endeavor, and I assure you that putting my life story into text is indeed, a life endeavor; anything unexpected can happen along the way.

As much as I talk about embracing uncertainty, and I surely try to do, sometimes the unexpected happens, and it hits you like a freight train. When I learned of my father’s death, I was in shock. I couldn’t believe that this would be the ending to my book. And as hurt as I am from the ambiguous circumstances of his death, I can finally say and know in my heart that me, my father, and my entire family are finally done with this Doomsday Cult.

I continued on my travels, because I know that it is what I need to do. I had no idea how I would go on, how I would continue to write, but somehow it happens. The first draft of my book is more or less finished. And although I haven’t been publishing much lately, it doesn’t mean that I haven’t been adding to my material or that I have stopped video taping and taking pictures of my experiences. With all that being said, it is true that most blogs have a life span, and it’s not all that long usually. Eventually I will stop travelling, and there will be no more pictures to take. Eventually I may use up most of the words I have to talk about compassion and honesty. However maybe not. Either way, all things pass, and now that my life story is more or less put down in a way that I have tried to put it down for over the past decade, I can finally start focusing on new chapters from a completely different vantage point.

I feel a bit different after everything that I’ve been through. I honestly feel more like a man, and perhaps I should when I remember my father’s weight as I picked his body up and out of the coach. And perhaps I should also feel like a man, knowing that I couldn’t have done that without being there with my Aunt, my Sister, or without having the love that I received from the Coleman Family. I finally feel a sense of closure now, that has allowed me to set some things aside, as I reside to new behaviors that parallel my evolving beliefs of compassion.

Here I am in Morocco, sitting on a hostel bed, in room that I will share with a new mate, a new friend that I’ve had the opportunity to express some serious feelings to. And in the process, he told me I made him think; and this made me think. I’ve often heard from people that I’ve made them think, that I make others think, and that sometimes I make people think, and they don’t like it. But feeling that inspired me. I needed to put something down again, because it’s been a while since I’ve said something publicly. So maybe I’ll just talk a little bit about what’s happened most recently.

I finally switched to a room from the rooftop of this hostel in Chefchoauen. The mattresses smelled like cat piss, and the roof is hot as hell for most of the day, including the night. That wasn’t the worst part either. Most of the guests are really relaxed, and really cool, but as always, there’s a bad apple or two that pose potential for spreading their slime in the bin.

Hash flows through Morocco like any big story flows through the main news stations in the U.S. Except here, it’s always the same story. And sometimes, people can do a bit too much and it throws them for a loop. So unfortunately, the apple in the bin on the rooftop, sincerely encouraged me to share a room with a Brit I met a few days ago.


Today I did some hiking and cliff jumping into a river. The scenery was rich, and the water was cold and refreshing. Just what I needed to relax and write. It has been incredibly hot here lately, and it’s also been nearly impossible to do more than a little walking due to the heat. Hell, down south it was 61 degrees centigrade a few days ago. A couple days before this hike, two younger guys and I decided to improvise our own path into the mountains. Needless to say we really desired a guide to lead us back, and we did.

All and all, Morocco is an interesting place. Probably the most different place I’ve been. It’s Ramadan now, and perhaps you could say that the country is more Muslim than usual? Aside from the religious aspect, I feel like I can’t leave any dwelling space here without someone trying to swindle money from me. Sometimes it blurs the line over into thievery, and let me tell you, this is very confusing and frustrating.

A part of me doesn’t want to recommend travelling here unless all you want to do is smoke hashish at your hotel, and pack your bags with souvenirs before you head back home. If you can speak Arabic, you’ll probably be alright, and not treated like a walking money tree. If you are interested in seeing this country, plan on moving around a lot, dealing with lots of heat, and come with incredibly thick skin. I hate to say it, but I’m incredibly surprised that during Ramadan, so many people are trying to swindle money in the most pushiest ways I’ve seen anywhere in the world. At least the food is good, and the hostels are cheap.


Leave a Reply