One Traveler’s Testimony

As I continue to change and grow, my blog will reflect my journey. 

Minnah and I have been on a road trip since we left Miami in June of 2014. Minnah was an energetic red puppy of mixed origin who looked to me like the Chocolate Lab I always knew would travel with me. I was a high school teacher awakening to the spiritual world and heading out on a Vision Quest to find my own Truth.

Along the way, we picked up a friend, whom I named El Juglador in my prior blogs. The three of us headed West to find the Hopi and other Truths that can only be found in the deserts of America. Then we continued our travels, from sea to shining sea, essentially, following a Higher Call.

One thing I’ve witnessed on this spiritual quest is something I have fought to admit. I pride myself on being Pollyanna, believing the best in people. It’s been sad, however, to have to admit the truth – people have only their own interests at heart.

I know, I know. I can hear the groans from the studio audience. What proof do I have? How can I come up with such a blanket statement?

We have witnessed a lot these past two years, we have met very special people who don’t know they’re special, but we’ve also met people who are the reverse of that. The most-telling experiences have come since we set out on the road in our precious BT Cruiser, whom we have nicknamed MammaJama, or MJ for short. That’s when mechanics started seeing dollar signs when they saw us.

I mean, I can’t blame them. Isn’t everyone just out to make a buck? They expect an RV to mean a vacation home, meaning money in the bank, not a rolling Genie bottle that’s home to a couple of gypsies.

The truth is any businessman gets that impression in his quest to Do What He Will for himself first. Wandering merchants approach us with their wares. Homeless panhandlers know there’s something for them. It’s a recreational burden, I must admit.

Except this isn’t a vacation home. It’s my home. I live here, so my biggest gripe with what I’ve seen these past two-plus years is,

Mechanics! Not one mechanic over another. I mean the entire breed of mechanic.

We give them access to our vehicle, which just so happens to include everything we own. I hope to be able to trust that my home is safe. So, yeah, that is my first Consumer Gripe. It’s gotten to the point where leaving MJ with any mechanic feels like I’m handing my child over to a pedophile.

From the wrong ball joints being replaced, at my cost to correct, to a wrong diagnosis that took months to diagnose and repair, much of which was paid for by me, I have grown to doubt these workmen I used to trust because, honestly, I couldn’t fix my vehicle myself. My heart ached a little this summer for the mechanic who insisted one day in Fallon, Nevada, “This is a small town. You can trust us.” They did not take advantage of us at that mechanic shop, C-Bar-R; in fact, they went out of their way to be helpful, but their brothers in gray have not been as honorable.

How can I trust these strangers in my home without my supervision?

I will not bore you today with every sordid detail of the mechanic-nightmare we have lived, except to focus on one main frustration, the men (and women) who insist they know what is wrong with our vehicle. They proceed with the costly work, either with or without our approval first, rarely to be correct in their initial diagnosis. Again and again, they take advantage of us just to make a little money off something they’re not sure is the real problem.

Do they stand behind their work when their diagnosis turns out to have been incorrect? Aah, therein lies the rub. Mechanics can never be wrong, we assume, and no mechanic will agree that another mechanic could have been wrong. It is almost like mechanics work together. It’s like if the secret got out, if people realized mechanics lie, the long-suffering glory-days of America’s love affair with their car’s mechanic will be over. It’s like a clan of Brothers in Gray.

So this addition to my The Dragonfly’s Student blog will present real-life parables that speak to the life we’re each living, every one of us who functions in this world. I will take you back to my ordeals, not to slander someone’s good name, but to comment on our specific situation, similar to a Letter to the Editor from an opinion-filled customer. I will even post this blog on their customer comments section to keep it real.

This blog will function as my testimony on the people I have met along my journey.

In June of 2014, I was a high school teacher awakening to a spiritual reality. Just like other New Agers, I believed we are in a reality where we all have an ability to be One with God. Unlike other New Agers, however, I know we are not gods. There is only one God, the Most High. Those who pretend to be “like God” are those tempting us to repeat the sins of Eve so that we will continue to be their slaves when we, too, will be banned forever from the Kingdom of God.

That’s a pretty heavy-handed statement, I know.

Along our travels, El Juglador and I have come to realize that we humans have learned to justify ourselves, to set our own ethical standards. Good people do less-than-honorable things when it comes to watching out for themselves. When it comes down to it, they have learned to excuse themselves from judgment, claiming, “God knows my heart.”

Let me tell you this from my own personal experience. I used to repeat that to myself as I continued sinning against God and against my soul. The Truth I’ve learned thus far is not as forgiving. Yes, God knows my heart. He also knows when I am not living the truth of my heart, when I am living a lie. That is what The Most High knows. That is what He objects to the most.

There is a difference between “thinking” you are a good person and actually “being” the person you believe yourself to be. There’s a difference between Clark Kent and Superman, and it has everything to do with Being super.

So, as I sign off on my Traveler’s Testimony, I leave you with one overarching thought – today, I am when and where I should be as a servant of God. This new blog is a graduation of sorts from The Dragonfly’s Student, and because my birth name, Mariolga Fernandez, means, The Beloved (or Bitter sea) (Mary) and Blessed (Olga), Traveler (Fernandez), the graduated Dragonfly’s Student will sign as the Happy Traveler. …

Nah … I am always still simply,

The Dragonfly’s Student

Much Love to you, my fellow travelers.


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