I figure that the first thing that should be written is an explanation of the name. An enigmatic figure that has been repeatedly involved in my life for the tiniest and most profound of moments. I referred to him throughout my life as the Bus Depot Prophet, previously Bus Station Jesus and before that a very private memory that I now share openly. While I am sure that there will be another, more in depth post at some point about my days as a hippie, know now that I was. I spent close to a year wandering the country as a vagabond, a drifter. I lived aboard a school bus with four other lost souls trying to eventually make our way to Seattle, although we would certainly take our time getting there.

  We were students of the human experience. Prioritizing life’s basic essentials was our way of life. These people were my family for a time, wandering the American Southwest and West Coast in search of answers that we didn’t know the question to. As I mentioned, I am sure that I will elaborate at another time. For now, it is safe to say this was an experience in freedom that has haunted me for a lifetime and eventually it ended. 

  We did finally get to Seattle and we scattered. While the other four were staying in the city for various amounts of time, I practically bounced off of it to drift into the American countryside again. I caught a bus to Tulsa Oklahoma and when I arrived; I sat on a bench. I sat there for the better part of two days, torn and confused. Should I have stayed in Seattle? Should I wander again? Where? Should I head back to New Jersey? Back to New Mexico? Should I go see about that girl in California? This period of ultimate freedom and endless possibilities had paralyzed me with indecision. When you have decided that nothing matters, how can you possible decide the course of your life?

 I sat on the bench smoking a cigarette on day two when two legs appeared before me and voice spoke.

“Go Home Man”

“What?” I asked seeking clarity

“You look like you could use the arms of a new lover and the words of an old friend… go home man”.

  By the time I had processed the words, this voice was an echo with no owner. It would echo through my mind until this very day. It will live there still tomorrow. The moment that I processed the words, I knew where I was headed. Home became a feeling, and I knew instantly where I was being called. I still think about the Bus Depot Prophet to this day. He has come back a handful of times into my life. Different people, obviously, but the role was the same. A voice to the words of the moment that have given me clarity. Having ever experienced him in my life, I have found a philosophy of questioning the status quo that I build for myself. Defenses against the grind and a light shown on my true desires. 

  The Bus Depot Prophet has always taught me to evaluate my happiness, my situation, my life, purpose, meaning. Perhaps I put too much weight in the words of a fellow drifter, if that is even what he was. Perhaps I have romanticized him to no end over the years. Perhaps. Or perhaps we all have our Bus Depot Prophets in our lives, that guide our objectivity down a new path. No matter the truth of it all, this blog which only myself and perhaps my mother will ever read will hopefully if even for an instant, bring new ideas to you all. Perhaps my experience, thoughts and ramblings will bring you some value in your own life. Maybe, just maybe, I can help you find your way home.