Anxiously I figured that if they search my bag and find them there will be trouble and maybe even time spent in a Mexican prison. Reaching into the pocket and grabbing the matchbox I throw it into the nearest garbage can. This relieves the stress but is unnecessary. By the time we reach customs I realized they aren’t scanning for drugs or plant material but for bombs and weapons; a consequences of September 11th.

After customs we walk through the crowded airport, have some Americanized food and head to the terminal.

THE END

Thats the end of the ‘Last Day in Mexico’, there is much more to come. Want to keep updated on novelog? join the facebook group http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2518897072

Walking down the sparsely lit hallway, a breeze rushed by. Coming to the end of the hall just before the stairs I spot a security guard. He is a young Mexican who can hardly speak English. I ask his name and he says “Jesus.” Then with broken English he asks mine. “Sandy” I reply.

It is difficult to communicate as we can not speak each other’s language. I notice another security guard ascending the stairs, he asks what my room number is, nervously I say “I’m in another building” and point in some random direction. Filled with paranoia I say “good bye” and walk down the stairs. I step out of the the building and run full speed back to my room.

In the morning, only an hour later, I meticulously pack up my things and have a shower. There is a loud knock at the door as my father yells “Hurry up! were leaving in twenty minutes.” I wake my brother as he is still asleep, the two of us scrambled to get ready.

Thirty five minutes later we pack into a massive air conditioned bus headed for the airport. It will be a long drive and a great opportunity to check out the diverse Mexican landscape. Sleep isn’t an option as the sun is too bright and there are no blinds. Sunglasses cover my blood shoot eyes and keeping them hidden.

The line for customs extends outside of the airport and into the parking lot. As we get closer I notice customs are scanning every bags. This frightens me as I have a matchbox filled with Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds in the front pocket of my navy blue suitcase. I had planned to smuggle them back into Canada.

The guy from London who has been most active in the conversation is with his sister. She has been lying on the bed next to him with her eyes closed. She opens them then motions that she wants to leave. Standing up he announced “It has been a good night but my sister wants to sleep.”

I stand tall and confidently shake his hand and ask his name. “Matt.” he replies, I then say “Nice meeting you Matt” helping to establish his name into my memory.

Turning back to the girl from Montreal she laughs again as I sway.

Being high and a little paranoid I ask “Anyone have eye drops?”

Sarcastically the joint roller says “Why do you need eye drops? Its 4:27 am, who’s going to see your eyes?” laughing he continues “Like your brother is going to say ‘Let me see your eyes!’ Then go tell your parents”

I laugh “Yeah I guess not”

The thug and his friend from Calgary grab their Mexican wrestling masks from a drawer and put them on. They have an extra so the guy from Ottawa grabs it and puts it on. The thug’s friend tries to drink a bottle of beer through his mouth hole. The mask is confining and the hole too small, he spills the beer all over himself and soaks the mask. We all laughed hysterically as he struggles to clean up the mess.

There is a knock at the door, the masked men run drunkenly to answer. It is the food they have ordered from room service. They are handed trays of food while they joke about the masks, the delivery man chuckles along, waiting for a tip.

It’s late and I have to get up in an hour, so I say good bye.

Stopping for a moment I think ‘I usually don’t like to sell, but this is my website and I believe in it.’

My monologue continues, I can’t help it, the words just kept coming out. “The bible is the story of one man’s life and experience, it has been passed on recorded and remembered. The goal of Novelog is to create a book, online of course, about the lives of many.”

Stopping for a moment the eyes remain fixated on me, I continue “All of our experience is worth remembering and passing on, the problem is that it hasn’t been practical until now, this is what the internet is doing, it’s the great equalizer”

The room is hushed aside from the fan over head and the flickering TV in the background, no one else says a word as they wait for me to go on. “Have you ever had an experience you thought was worth telling someone about?”

“Sure… but why would anyone else care?” asked the shaggy haired punk from London.

I answer with a question “Who would have thought Jesus would have been remembered 2000 years later?” I go on “My point is that if you think an experience is worth passing on then other people will probably feel the same. Everyday we have encounters that we can learn from, these lessons can be passed on to other people, that’s what this is all about.”

“This is a good idea, I’ll definitely check it out.” said the guy from London enthusiastically.

He goes on “So you’re making an online bible about the experiences of many people?”

“Sort of… its a online epic about experience, moments, lessons and life. I was using the bible as an analogy.”

“After smoking weed I feel connected with the flow, I become more aware while thoughts and insights race though my mind at incredible speeds… its mind blowing”. A look of confusion comes across her face, she doesn’t seem understand, presumably she figures I am just blabbering nonsense because of all the herb I have just smoked.

Speaking loudly my comment grabs a lot of attention, heads turn and eyes become fixed on me. Fascination fills the room. I am the center of attention! This was new. I’m never the center of attention, I don’t often say much…. but today was different.

Continuing with conversation “The flow surrounds all of us like an ocean of life or maybe its love… actually its probably energy….. regardless it’s flowing around and between us, it connects us all together whether we can feel it or not”

“But how does that relate to right now?” someone interjects.

“Right now we are in this moment, can you feel it flowing through you? It’s the flow, it connects us all together.” Stopping to think for a moment, there is silence, the room is captured in my words and is left hanging, waiting to hear what will come out next…

A moment later I continue “We are here right now, this is how it happens, this is life, this is now, this is the experiment!”

“The experiment?” asks the typical American Eagle jock.

“The experiment of life, of living in the moment and being here now. On my website I want to explore this, I want people to participate and get involved in the experiment.”

“What’s the website called?” someone asks.

“Novelog, novelog.com, its really easy to remember” spelling it out “N O V E L O G dot com.”

Conversations were flowing back and forth as I gained the confidence to start participating. It’s easier to be myself in situations when my family isn’t around, it must have something to do with my social identity.

A gentle voice whispers “Come over here” immediately my head turns towards the balcony where I suspect the voice has come from. There sits the girl from Montreal, her long black hair waving in the wind. All by herself she sits outside to avoiding the smoke. I look at her for a moment, but she doesn’t notice me, I wonder if I am hearing things. Contemplating the situation I consider going to talk to her, but realize that would mean missing the joint, naturally I decide to stay where I am.

A few minutes pass, the joint is dead, the smoke starts to clear the room. The girl from Montreal gets out of the chair on the balcony and steps inside taking a seat on the bed beside me.

Confidently I ask “Do you ever feel like you’re in the moment…. living right now?”
“Yes definitely, not often though. It usually happens when I go for walks in the woods or play sports, but the environment and people need to be right.”
I thought to myself ’set and setting’.

Blitzed out of my mind I swayed to the rhythms inside my head, stopping occasionally to sit still and contemplate as though I were going to say something important. The dark haired girl from Montreal watched with interest and laughed at my routine.

The story continues Monday