The Liturgy
of the Tour Van

Countless hours of driving led to only 30 minutes of stage time at small subterranean music venues. That is the reality of the road-dog lifestyle, and it taught more than any book could ever offer.

I felt like Jack Kerouac - crossing the expansive void of the American frontier. Along the way, I was finding nuggets of truth in the shared subculture of punk rock and witnessing the realities of small-town gas stations that littered villages separated by desert landscapes.

The silence, or the lack thereof, of surrounding myself with 6 friends stuffed into a 15-passenger van was my temple of contemplative practice. Second row, left window - I starred out and processed each night prior. I unraveled the stories of people longing for connection, townies, and punk rock kids, wondering if they were all alone in feeling paradoxically disconnected from their town's culture yet deeply connected to this genre of music that bore witness to their lived experience.

I sat in silence, or at least relative silence, as we each took turns playing our favorite albums. The music of Jimmy Eat World's "Clarity" lulled me into moments of holy gratitude for this opportunity, this moment of learning.