About halfway through our drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, Vicci and I stopped at a tiny oasis on the side of the mountain called Gorda. It was the only sign of civilization along the incredibly freaky mountain cliff road that we had just spent an hour trying to survive. I saw a coffee cup in the gift shop that said, “I survived PCH” and wanted to buy it, but it was $12.50 and as amusing as it was, I thought that was a little pricy. Now I wish I had bought it, because now that we have officially survived PCH, I feel like I deserve a trophy.
The day began bright and sunny in Oxnard, CA, where we started the day with a tarot reading and a little bit of meditation. I wore some of my Mystic Eye oil, which always makes me feel sort of hippie-ish and connected to my Isness. The early morning coastal air was crisp and damp, and reminded me of what it felt like when I used to live in Sherman Oaks, California, many years ago … alive and fresh. Life was good.
Almost immediately, though, my camera took a dump. I’ve been greatly challenged by technology on this trip, with my computer acting up so badly, and now the camera died. So we spent about two hours trying to find a Walmart to buy an inexpensive digital camera to replace it, since I didn’t really budget in a new camera. I was pretty upset and had a mini-meltdown, because I’m getting a little tired of all the tech probs. I don’t have the time or interest in dealing with such mundane things, but apparently the Universe has other ideas. So we picked up a new camera in Lompoc and headed north on PCH toward San Francisco.
On the way, I had my first major epiphany of the trip. In the movie Bedazzled, Brendan Fraser sells his soul to Elizabeth Hurley (who plays the Devil) and hijinks ensue. Every wish he makes falls apart because he wasn’t specific enough about what he wanted. I realized, after the camera died, that I have always sort of felt like this, that the Universe is out to get me, to trick me into being very very VERY careful about what I wish for. Therefore, that is exactly what I get (we get what we expect life to be, right?). And since, deep down in my subconscious programming, I always assume the rug is going to get pulled out from under me, it always does.
Now, I know—logically and consciously—that this isn’t how life works. I know that there is no one “out to get me,” but apparently somewhere along the line, way back when, I learned that there is. So, Epiphany 1 was that I need to work on that.
Once we got that out of the way, we tra la la’d our way up the coast, looking forward to seeing the beautiful scenery along the Pacific Coast Highway. I’ve driven up the coast from San Diego up to Santa Barbara before, and I expected the rest to look like that. I could not have been more wrong. Our first clue should have been when we saw a sign south of San Simeon that said “Semi-trailers are not recommended north of San Simeon.”
Now we know why.
I’ve posted pictures on my Facebook page of our trip through the clouds, but they don’t do the fear factor justice. Poor Vicci’s knuckles are still white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. A couple of times on this trip it got so intense that all we could do is laugh hysterically. It was either that or scream and scream and scream.
Don’t get me wrong, it was exquisitely beautiful, but we found Jimmy Hoffa up there in Gorda and he ain’t dead. He’s just afraid to come back down those mountain roads. But we have an Epiphany Quest to continue, and appointments at the Berkeley Psychic Institute for some readings to get to! And that’s what we’re doing today—spending the day in Berkeley and getting our “auras healed and cleansed.” Can Epiphany 2 be far behind?
Vicci’s about ready to go, so I’ll write more later. See ya then!