Since 2007, I’ve been practicing Vipassana meditation, both formally and on my own, taking part in multiple ten-day meditation retreats. I give the meditation credit for helping pull me from many unproductive and destructive life patterns that I’d developed over the years. We’re taught that bad habits come with three levels of intensity: those equal to a line drawn in the water, which easily disappears; those on par with a line drawn in the sand, which proper winds and waves will cover over; and finally, bad habits so deeply ingrained, that to change them is like smoothing over a line etched in stone.

After completing my first of these meditation retreats, which run exclusively on donations and volunteer work, I felt compelled to take part in the exact same volunteer work from which I’d benefited while a student.

Regarding the origin of the Walk of Inspiration Across America, in the lead up to Thanksgiving of 2008, I had signed up for a series of volunteer work commitments across the winter months, in Latin America. Upon enthusiastically receiving my volunteer work confirmation, I purchased my plane ticket. Once I clicked “purchase,” it was as if some misunderstood clouds of confusion had cleared, and in a moment of the most extreme epiphanic clarity, as sure as the sun rises every morning, I was to embark on an epic Walk of Inspiration Across America in 2009, upon returning home from a voluntouristic semester in Latin America.

“The Walk is about 98% mental. Sure, I need my legs to get from one town to the next, but without faith and devotion, these legs would go nowhere.” Meditation has been my primary tool to keep me mentally strong. Meditation can simply be explained as focus– solid, refined focus– the greater the focus, the more effective the result.

Spending the summer at home, I was privileged to be able to spend a month at Vipassana meditation centers, both as a volunteer worker and a student, placing me in a premier mindset for returning to the road.

Vipassana meditation is a meditation technique open to all people– including all people of all faiths. I strongly believe the technique would be of use to one and all, and scientific evidence now points to tremendous benefits from specific meditation practices.

For some, Vipassana is the only ingredient in their “spiritual soup.” This is definitely not the case for me. While it’s 100% true that I still experiment in the kitchen, it’s just as true that I remain open to all interpretations of faith and spirituality, practices which lead to the greater benefit of one and all, perfectly in line with Jesus’ “love thy neighbor” teachings…

My grandfather had less than a week left to live, my dad told me, as I began shifting my direction back home for the summer. My budget for the Walk was of course severely limited, and Dad wasn’t recommending that I seek any emergency flight home– as my grandfather, who hasn’t remembered any of our names or faces for years, was gasping through some difficult final breaths.
After catching a ride to Phoenix, to spend a handful of days with beloved friends the Shamhart family, I found a Craigslist rideshare to Los Angeles, which delivered me into the caring hands of Pamela “Maravilla” Samuelson on the evening of June 18, 2010, the 25th anniversary of my mother’s death from cancer– the date I’d originally set to arrive to the White House– the day Grandpa George, after whom I was named, passed away.
I slept outside that evening, on Pam’s porch, relaxing into the fresh coastal air seeping into Pam’s Hollywood Hills home. I awoke the next morning to an introduction to Pam’s hello. Pam had been recommended to me seven months earlier by Alissa Eva, a Bay Area friend whom I’d originally met at a meditation course in the lush hills of central Mexico. Alissa & I had remained in contact, and after I’d reached San Francisco on foot, within a minute of meeting up with me she somehow felt compelled to tell me that I needed to meet her friend Pam, in L.A.
Alissa placed Pam & me into contact via Facebook, and as is the case with many of the people I’ve felt directed to across the miles, I somehow knew I’d be meeting Pam in L.A. I arrived to L.A. on foot in mid-February, and Pam was out of the country for weeks. I wandered into some confusion that I wouldn’t be meeting Pam (??). I continued on my way out of L.A. a few days later, not really considering not meeting Pam. Then suddenly, months later, I’d received a Facebook invitation from Pam to attend a weekend spiritual healing course that she and a friend were hosting, June 18-20th. Perfect timing.
Having arrived late the previous evening, the following morning I joined nearly a dozen fellow students at the course. We worked on meditative, healing exercises. Charo, my first partner, a woman from Spain, ended up telling me that she “sensed” the presence of my grandfather, who’d died less than 24 hrs earlier, over my right shoulder. I’d not told any of them anything about my family, so this was quite a revelation– especially given that Pam’s course had absolutely nothing to do with any sort of “readings” of spirits beyond.
I met and worked with some of the most amazing people during these brief few days in Los Angeles, with Pam and friends. I also finally was able to witness a crowd of people my age who love their L.A. lives– markedly different from the endless torrent of transplants who relocate to the Pacific NW and elsewhere, seeking “liberation” from Los Angeles.
Toward the end of my handful of days in the palm of Pam, she brought me to an aerial acrobatic workshop she was teaching, in an up-and-coming co-op, near LAX airport. I met the owner of the co-op, Andre Freimann, who explained to me that he was converting his leased space, an old airport hangar, into a co-op for classes ranging from sewing to aerial acrobatics. Mission Control , built from a hangar which dated back to Howard Hughes’ construction of Spruce Goose– (the hangar’s original purpose) was now being renovated with frequent 20-hour, labor-of-love workdays by Andre and Derek, his business partner, to build their dream. A man my age, Andre was also pouring all of his available resources into his dream.
As I’d soon be returning home, I’d been keeping in contact with my father almost daily. Spiritually, Dad was not in good shape. He was experiencing an enormous amount of stress with my grandfather’s recent passing. Though I knew it wouldn’t be effective for me to “offer a hand” to pull my beloved father up from his misery, talking to him about where I was, and what I was seeing and doing were sufficient to redirect the destructive pattern of mind into which he’d fallen. I told Dad about Charo telling me of Grandpa’s presence above my shoulder. And as I was talking to him from Mission Control, I revealed the current in-progress story to him. All of this utterly fascinated him– tying up the pinnacle of his interests and redirecting him toward a very positive state of mind, out of the mud of misery he’d been dirtied in in recent weeks.
By the end of the week, Barbara, beloved cousin born shortly after my mother’s passing, and named for her, was leaving from her college home in Orange County, headed home for Grandpa’s funeral. Barbara picked me up, and we enjoyed a 15-hour drive back home, in which we talked at length, getting to know each other much better than we ever had at any other point in our lives.
We all came together in time for a funeral led by Pastor Michael White, who had also led my mother’s funeral, 25 years earlier. With the advent of easy video, we saw a variety of funny Grandpa moments compiled by Dad, pulling us from our sadness and leaving us with the best, fun memories of Grandpa.

RIP: George Calvin Throop, Sr., 1924 - 2010

Juarez, the most dangerous city in the world, is but a stone’s through across the Rio Grande from El Paso. The Rio Grande is such a skinny river, that Luis Camacho, one of a handful of locals who hosted me here in EP, told me a person could easily wade across it. This past weekend, I was at the banks of the Rio Grande, looking straight across, seeing the people and reading the street signs of neighboring Juarez, where murder, police corruption, and grave fear amongst the innocents are part of the local daily reality in the virtual anarchic/mob-ocratic metropolis. Of course, I was reading the street signs from the safe side, El Paso, the second safest large city in America. The contrast seemed to tear at me from within: we’re in a safe zone, El Paso, where even the mayor of Juarez lives, and there were all of these people living in chaos just across the Rio Grande– a river far more narrow than almost any neighborhood street. The grave injustice to the overabundance of innocents is just not right. The narrow line is bordered by a high wall, and countless Border Patrol, a very prison-like environment, where the most serious crime that condemns you into the anarchy of the prison is to simply be born on the wrong side of the fence.
“El Paso is America’s best kept secret,” says Celia Pechak, professor of University of Texas – El Paso’s graduate physical therapy program. Professor Pechak has lived in many parts of the country (including Seattle) as well as other parts of the world, and has been in El Paso just a couple of years now. She explains that the winter weather is superb, the mountains are in their backyard (causing El Paso to horseshoe its way around them), El Paso is very close to White Sands, snowy mountains in New Mexico, and more. Summers can get a little hot, but the dry heat is vastly preferable to east coast humidity, and generous winds will often mitigate the powerful sun’s punishing summer impact. Indeed, having spent some two weeks now in the El Paso-Las Cruces corridor, I completely comprehend Celia’s points.
Locals easily rank among the friendliest people I’ve come across so far. The majority of the population is Hispanic, and many of the second and third generation children and grandchildren born here, on the safe side of the fence, still maintain the strong tie to the Spanish language. There are parts of the El Paso area which are so Hispanic, that I’m spoken to in Spanish when entering a store. I actually really like this– as I often think of the extended periods of times I’ve spent in Latin America, and am very optimistic about my next opportunity to return.
Though I’ve stayed with a variety of hosts here in El Paso, I’ve received more hospitable invitations here than I’ve been able to accept. Having arrived here just as the weather was reaching triple digits, with long, lonely, often waterless stretches ahead of me, I’ve decided that El Paso is the place from which I’ll be returning home for the summer– something I’ve felt called to do for the past thousand miles. I’ve left off on the southern end of Dyer Street, near Fort Bliss, and I will continue my Walk of Inspiration Across America from this exact point when I return to El Paso. For now, feeling the calling to return home, I’ll soon be accepting a series of rides which will bring me back home, to my family.
Intuition has worked in some most fascinating ways for me: I followed the “God Compass” within me to leave my job of seven years in 2007; to spend eight months traveling and volunteering through Latin America; to meditate deeply and do much volunteer work back home; to plan, prepare, and embark on a Walk of Inspiration Across America in 2009; to return home to visit my grandfather after reaching California’s central coast, this past fall; and now– to return home again, where my family awaits me. We’ll see what comes to pass…

On the left: El Paso, the second safest big city in the United States. On the right, Juarez, the most dangerous city in the world.

From El Paso's Franklin Mountains, around which the entire city of El Paso curves, is the view of downtown El Paso and the high hills of Juarez

My last stop in just over 120 miles of New Mexico– fastest state yet before stepping into the great big Lone Star State.
Yoga Teacher Karen Nichols is hosting me here.
Karen is the friend of Dr. Rona Thau, who provided free, helpful treatment to me in Ventura, CA. Rona told Karen I was coming, and the doors opened widely.
Karen introduced me to Robert, a special friend of hers who in his twenties spent seven years bicycling around America.

Robert & Karen take me to Mountain View Market – their local grocery co-op. Mt. View ended up giving me groceries for my travels– great people!!

After spending the night at the famous Adobe Deli restaurant, just a mile south of Hwy 549, I’d decided to start the morning by walking Solana Rd, a dirt & gravel road extending due east of the restaurant, before reconnecting back to 549.
When I walk dirt and gravel roads, the majority of my attention is focused on choosing the … See Morenext step or two– I carefully select thousands of steps daily so as to minimize any pain to my feet caused by walking over big or sharp rocks.
The first time I saw a rattlesnake was on a dirt road in eastern California, just a few miles before Blythe. It was dead (recently run over), and clearly showed that rattlers had emerged from hibernation for the spring. The first time a live rattler rattled at me was on my walk from Coolidge to Picacho, AZ. It was warning me from a safe distance, hidden amongst some grass at least 12 feet away. I’ve received many similar rattler warnings since then over the weeks– allowing me to feel reassured that they’re typically aware and warning me before I have a chance to get too close. I typically won’t wear my headphones unless I clearly see the paved road shoulder in front of me (if it exists).
This morning, within about the first ten minutes of my walk east on Solana, ears wide open, moving swiftly, attentively choosing every next step, I suddenly spotted the shape of a large, curled up rattlesnake camouflaged into the dirt road before me. I was just a step or so away from it, and about to firmly meet its scales with my swiftly-moving shoe soles. Within a crucially perceptive and reactive nanosecond, my momentum broke as I jumped like a jack rabbit off to the left, and bolted twenty-five feet forward– fast and far enough to safely look back and find it still in rattling in the coiled position it quickly shifted into upon feeling me spring dirt and pebbles at it as I leapt out of its way.
Coiled, head up, still rattling, I now found the experience to be pretty fascinating– from 25 safe feet away– fascinating enough to attempt a couple of pics from my bottom-of-the-line cam on the phone.
One can’t help but to feel blessed and thankful after such a close call. I even found myself slightly bowing to the snake, wishing it well, sending peaceful thoughts its way before turning and proceeding on– now often looking at more than just the next couple of steps…

“Hey!” I heard through the dark. I was walking a dead end frontage road east of exit 116 on Interstate 10, having avoided the freeway entrance and cop with driver pulled over. It was dark, I was nearly 25 miles into the day’s still-to-be completed walk, and after mistaking a baa-ing lamb for a human voice just ten minutes earlier, I decided to not respond to what I may or may not have been hearing. Then I heard more: “Hello!”
I was walking by a small group of mobile homes– some of the only homes I’d seen all day. This human voice coming from one of them sounded very welcoming. I approached the chain link fence to say hi to the silhouette across from me.
“How’s it going? Why are you walking out here?” an inquisitive man named Adam was very friendly with his questions.
I delivered him my standard answer.
“Well, you want some water? You want something to eat? Heck, we could probably put you up for the night!”
Score! Another excellent family met, more new friends made! Adam is the grown son of Rick & Stacy, who live in a very cozy home here, close to homes of fellow relatives. Adam invited me inside his parents’ house, then called his soon-to-be-home parents to inform them.
I haven’t showered since before leaving Deming, and now, nearly forty warm miles later, my nearly exhausted human engine was sooo happy to suddenly get invited in by this nice, generous family who proceeded to make me dinner and set me up in their guest bedroom before we really even got a chance to start a conversation and get to know each other.
Adam was on his way to bed when he caught site of me (good thing I stood for a few moments to admire the beautiful pink backdrop behind the distant, rocky desert picks–spiky yuccas in the foreground– or I may have missed him!). He went to bed shortly after joining me for my dinner.
Rick and I stayed up chatting a while longer. He was born and raised on just the other side of what is now I-10. He’s lived all over the US, and he has many interesting stories to tell– especially about life in the desert Southwest.
He set me up with fresh towels for a shower and internet access before turning in for the night, and I stop to shake my head in utter satisfaction of how great things can work out– how lovely life can be… My alternative was to head to the Border Patrol checkpoint, a few miles down the road yet, and stop in, ask for water, and ask to camp nearby. No need for that anymore…
25 miles down for today, and tomorrow should be just over 25 to reach central Las Cruces. I’m told it’s slightly downhill to get there, and as I’ve heard many great things about the town and its people, I’m excited that Las Cruces is my next rest stop. I’ve been invited in by a couple of different people there; I’ll be meeting Allyson, my first host, when she gets off work tomorrow evening at 8:30. I’ll stay two nights at her place just before she flies off to Italy and the U.K. (pending Icelandic ash approval). She’s lined up a friend of hers to host me on Friday.
In the middle of back-to-back 25-mile days, a comfortable bed, hot shower and fresh food are at least as welcome as cool sunshine to the bride and groom on the day of their outdoor wedding.

More hot walking weather awaits me– temperatures in the upper 80s, reaching the 90s. Once again, I venture out to take steps on a path unfamiliar to me, this time guided toward an invitation to camp near Adobe Deli, which is just over 11 miles from the RV park on the east end of Deming, NM, where I’ve spent the last 36 hrs resting, recuperating, and chatting with the seniors of the RV park. The local United Methodist Church paid for me to stay two nights here– a wonderful gift which has allowed me to meet a handful of happy people here, in addition to the crusty-mannered owner/manager. One of my elder peers here tells me that the retiree-rich town of Deming is nicknamed “God’s waiting room.” If Cory is going to call Deming God’s waiting room, then it’s not fair to simply single out Deming: the whole Southwest is rich with retiree snowbirds, so many of whom I’ve been meeting ever since Palm Springs, CA. Most are great people, and their desire to escape the freezing weather of the northern climates is well understood– as I’ve acted similarly three of the past four winters, and will be south this coming winter as well.
Last week, I sent a message to the universe asking if anyone knew of a contact in Deming who would host me. Tamara, an acquaintance from high school (who I haven’t seen in fifteen years), appeared and had gave me the contact info of a friend of her husband (a man I haven’t met), Brooke, and I will be hosted by Brooke’s family, owners of Adobe Deli, tonight. Fortunately, I seem to have been having the best luck with all Brookes in the Southwest! (I’m so thankful to Tamara for lining this up!)
From Adobe Deli, it’s another 50 miles to Las Cruces, where I plan to spend a handful of days, with more than one host. I’m told it’s a cool town (most college towns seem to be), and I’m very optimistic about making it there soon.
After Las Cruces, I will continue walking near I-10, all the way to El Paso, where the NBC affiliate has been waiting to cover the Walk story ever since Tucson. El Paso is less than 50 miles from Las Cruces, and though my plan is to return to New Mexico and walk east through White Sands, Alamogordo, Artesia, and beyond, I love the idea of piercing through Texas’ spur-happy borders as early as next week. And since El Paso made the list of the ten fattest cities in America recently, it also makes sense for me to go there and promote a message of physical fitness, walking, etc. To add to this all, there’s the social interest: as few seem to have good things to say about El Paso, I somehow find myself more attracted to paying a visit there– especially given that I already have a handful of invitations from locals there. I’d love to gain a visual of the El Paso, which I find I’m totally lacking– we all have a visual of the Statue of Liberty or Empire State Building before ever setting foot in NYC, of the Sears Tower before reaching Chicago, the beach before bathing in Miami’s waves, but El Paso..? I draw a blank– but not for long…
I’m within just a few weeks of my summer recess. I’m not sure yet of the exact date or destination, but some time next month, I’ll be postponing the Walk, at which point I’ll return home for the summer months, strategize the PR of the next chapters of the Walk (including speaking to many schools), do some volunteer work, visit family, meditate, distribute lavender freely, and perhaps even walk across the State of Washington– all while missing out on torturous Texas summer heat.
For now, hotter miles to come and more happy people to meet, I continue east this afternoon through the dry, gently rolling valleys of God’s Waiting Room…

I write this from the Lordsburg library, whose filtering policies are so strict that I can neither answer messages on Facebook or Couchsurfing.org, because “we don’t know what kind of content can be found on sites like that.”

As careful as I always am to make sure it’s in the top pocket of my backpack before leaving every room I sleep in, I had a hard time believing that I’d left my phone charger in Bowie this past Saturday, at the home of the energetic 82-year-old Bill Hoy. I didn’t realize it was gone till I was in San Simon– fifteen miles away. I scoured through all pockets and bags within the backpack to ensure that it wasn’t simply misplaced into one of them, but no luck. Luckily, I do have a backup battery which often comes in handy on long rural stretches; both batteries are nearly dead. I’ve mostly kept the phone off since this past weekend, and thanks to my dad, who sent me a backup charger on Monday, which arrived general delivery to Lordsburg this morning, I’m now charging one of the batteries here at the library before beginning the long trek into Deming in the afternoon heat. The batteries charge very slowly, and I don’t know how much juice I’ll get before making it out the door, but I’ll make it all work out somehow.

It’s 120 miles to Las Cruces, where I’ve been invited in by some Couchsurfing hosts, and I plan to spend some days. Except for Deming, which is almost exactly 60 miles from here in Lordsburg, I’m told there’s really little more through the next 120 miles of valley land. Fortunately, I’m told the land is mostly flat. I hear that I’ll be crossing the continental divide within a couple of days– exciting! There are gas stops every twenty miles or so, which to me means that there is a place for water– since virtually every gas station is accompanied with a small junk food market nowadays. Especially in the heat of the desert, finding water is a most strategic planning exercise for me, as I always need to know where I can get it through rural stretches, and as heavy as water is, I seek to only carry as much as I need till the next stop. I’m a couple of miles from the eastern end of Lordsburg now, and there is no water in my pack. I won’t be filling up till I reach the truck stop on the east end of town, simply to spare myself that extra weight in the bag till then. Every ounce counts!

Though I’ll seek shelter in Deming (perhaps at a church), it’s not likely that I’ll be receiving any other shelter between here and the next 120 miles to Las Cruces. It’s pretty remote, and I’ll have to search around for the best and safest camping spots. I like the idea of building a fire to sleep next to at night, which keeps unwelcome animals, some of the large, away from the food in my backpack. That said, besides the sudden, unpredictable popping of some burning branches which throws flaming embers at my tent, a fire could quickly attract the wrong sort of human attention, so I have to be very careful and strategic about how and where I camp for the night. If no fire, I’ll rely on the boater’s air horn to squawk painfully loudly and shoo off all large, wild dogs, cats, and pigs…

Venturing out and camping in the “unknown” like this often brings a bit of nervousness with it, given that I’ve never been an outdoors man, I’ve never been in this part of the country, and I’ve been unexpectedly well-sheltered for the past weeks, by so many well meaning locals that I’ve met along the way (more on them later). I’ve actually done very little solo camping outside of official campgrounds or other properties– less than ten times this whole trip, I believe… That said, what was once overbearing nervousness is now just a fraction of what once was. I venture out very optimistic and enthusiastic– knowing that I have to be!

Much fun to come!

Apache cross, for strength, finger-painted onto me this morning before leaving Bowie.

Host Billy Hoy painted the Apache cross finger-painted onto me this morning, for strength, before leaving Bowie, Arizona.

I’m told that this cross, which consists of cattail pollen, is of great significance to the Apache. I will find out more later regarding its overall significance. At this point, I happily walk forward to San Simon, feeling its helpful, beneficial strength through the miles…

On Saturday, April 24th, I left the eastern Tucson home of ultra-kind Couchsurfing host Delissa Jimenez, unsure of whether or not I’d be receiving any hosting invitations from anyone over the course of the next 267 miles to Las Cruces, New Mexico. Invitations are always nice, but whether they happen or not, I have to move forward on the walk. Well, it’s been nearly two weeks since I left the Jimenez home, and there’s only been one night that I haven’t been invited to rest or camp somewhere, on someone’s property. I’m so thoroughly satisfied with the good nature that I’m witnessing in sooo many people!!
Bowie awaits! (I’m excited!!)