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Talking Story with Arlo |
By Arlo Agogo
Man, oh man, dig this scene: I’m out here, adrift on the mighty Colorado river, a ribbon of liquid silver slicing through the raw, red rock heart of the Topock Gorge.
It’s fall, a Wednesday, and the world’s gone quiet—no summer party boats, no jet skis screaming like banshees, just me and the river, Arizona on one side, California on the other.
This is my journey, man, my quest for absolute essence—that pure, unfiltered hum of the soul when the world’s static fades, and you’re just you, naked in spirit, dancing with the universe.
I’ve rented a houseboat out of Pirate’s Cove, that lagoon marina with a name like a pirate’s wink, packed it with the essentials: a sleeping bag, a stash of snacks, a jug of chocolate milk, and my professional-grade telescope, a stargazer’s dream machine that lets me pierce the cosmic veil and eyeball the heavens like some celestial beat poet.
The houseboat’s my ride, a floating sanctuary for this pilgrimage. I shove off at noon, the engine purring soft and slow, no rush, no hurry.
Whenever the current’s got the groove, I kill the motor and let the river carry me, a leaf on the wind, through the 26 miles of Topock Gorge, a cathedral of nature from Topock, Arizona, to Lake Havasu.
This ain’t just a place—it’s a sacred space, carved by the Colorado through eons, with cliffs towering like silent sentinels, no bridges, no highways, no human clamor to break the spell.
It’s a national wildlife refuge vibe, untouched and primal, where the earth whispers secrets if you’ve got the ears to hear. The gorge is alive, man, its red rock walls pulsing with stories older than time, its waters flowing with the patience of eternity.
I’m here to listen, to shed the noise of the world and find that absolute essence—the joy of being fully, truly alive, connected to the rhythm.
By late afternoon, I find my spot—a sweet little beach, a crescent of sand kissed by the river. I anchor the houseboat, tie a rope to a big ol’ rock so I don’t drift off into some unintended adventure, and set up camp.
I cook some grub, simple and soul-warming, some beans and cornbread, the kind of meal that grounds you.
This is where the work begins, man—the deliberate peeling away of the mental junk that clogs the mind’s arteries. Neighbors griping, traffic snarling, news blaring, barking dogs—all that daytime noise has gotta go.
I sit, I breathe, I let the river’s rhythm wash over me, clearing the static until my soul steps forward, bold and unburdened, ready to lead the dance.
The joy of absolute essence ain’t just clearing the mind—it’s diving deeper, into a state where you’re not just thinking but being.
It’s like meditation, but wilder, freer, a full-body plunge into the now. The river’s lapping against the shore, the cliffs stand silent, and I’m part of it all, a single note in the cosmic chord.
This is what I came for, the moment where the soul shakes off the body’s chains and plugs straight into the universe’s mainline.
Night falls, and the full moon rises, planned perfect like a cosmic cue. The gorge glows silver, red cliffs shimmering like they’re alive, the Colorado a mirror reflecting starlight and dreams. I’m not on shore now, but out on the water, anchored steady, the houseboat my floating temple.
I sprawl on the deck, up front in a cozy nook, wrapped in the night’s embrace. My telescope’s set up on the beach, a sleek, professional beast that pulls the stars close enough to touch. I zero in on the moon, its craters sharp and stark, a giant rock jamming across the sky as the Earth spins. I track planets—Jupiter’s swirling storms, Saturn’s rings like a cosmic hula hoop—and the Andromeda Galaxy,
a faint smudge of light that’s been traveling millions of years just to meet my eyes.
The stars twinkle, each a note in the universe’s grand symphony, and I’m the only cat in the audience, soaking it all in.
This is absolute essence.
It’s not just about seeing the stars—it’s about feeling them, knowing you’re part of the same cosmic soup.
My body’s gone, dissolved into the night, and all that’s left is this pure, pulsing me-ness, connected to everything.
The river’s flow, the cliffs’ silence, the stars’ ancient light—it’s all one, and I’m in it, man, wired into the universe’s circuitry.
The joy of this moment is electric, a high that no drug could touch, a clarity that makes the soul sing. I’m not just a guy on a boat; I’m a fragment of the cosmos, awake and aware, vibrating with life.
In this state, I start sending messages—not texts or emails, but soul-to-soul transmissions, pure and vibing. I send love to my mom and dad, gone from this plane but alive in my heart, their warmth still guiding me.
I send waves to friends who’ve crossed over, their laughter echoing in my memory like a favorite song. . It’s like praying, but freer, a direct line to the eternal, no middleman needed.
The joy of absolute essence is this connection, this sense that you’re not alone, even in the vastness. It’s knowing that every thought, every feeling, ripples out into the universe, touching lives and stars alike.
My chocolate milk’s hot, steaming in the cool night air, and my snacks hit just right—salty, sweet, perfect. I’m warm, wrapped in my sleeping bag, at peace in a way the daytime world can’t touch.
The moon cruises the sky, a slow-motion traveler, and the stars shift with the Earth’s spin. I don’t want to sleep, man—this is too alive, too real. I fight to stay awake, to soak in every second of this connection, this absolute essence where I’m not just existing but being.
The hours slip by, unmarked, unhurried. Around 4 a.m., my eyes finally betray me, and I drift off, but it’s only for a couple hours. Sunrise wakes me, painting the gorge in gold and pink, the river sparkling like it’s got secrets to share.
I make breakfast—simple, hearty, some eggs and toast to fuel for the soul. I take a deep breath, let the morning air fill me up, and grin.
“That was bitchin.”
I say to the river, to the cliffs, to the universe. And I mean it, man. This journey through Topock Gorge, this dance with absolute essence, it’s not just a trip—it’s a pilgrimage to the heart of what it means to be alive.
The joy of absolute essence is hard to pin down in words, but it’s like this: it’s the moment when you stop being a separate thing and become part of the whole.
It’s the river’s flow in your veins, the starlight in your eyes, the cliffs’ silence in your bones. It’s knowing that you’re small but infinite, temporary but eternal.
Out here, with the Colorado as my guide and the stars as my witness, I’m not just Arlo—I’m a spark of the cosmos, burning bright.
I pack up, fire up the houseboat, and head back up the river, already dreaming of the next time ........
I’ll chase the stars and find my essence in the wild, quiet heart of the gorge.
Groove is in the Heart - Arlo
It’s fall, a Wednesday, and the world’s gone quiet—no summer party boats, no jet skis screaming like banshees, just me and the river, Arizona on one side, California on the other.
This is my journey, man, my quest for absolute essence—that pure, unfiltered hum of the soul when the world’s static fades, and you’re just you, naked in spirit, dancing with the universe.
I’ve rented a houseboat out of Pirate’s Cove, that lagoon marina with a name like a pirate’s wink, packed it with the essentials: a sleeping bag, a stash of snacks, a jug of chocolate milk, and my professional-grade telescope, a stargazer’s dream machine that lets me pierce the cosmic veil and eyeball the heavens like some celestial beat poet.
The houseboat’s my ride, a floating sanctuary for this pilgrimage. I shove off at noon, the engine purring soft and slow, no rush, no hurry.
Whenever the current’s got the groove, I kill the motor and let the river carry me, a leaf on the wind, through the 26 miles of Topock Gorge, a cathedral of nature from Topock, Arizona, to Lake Havasu.
This ain’t just a place—it’s a sacred space, carved by the Colorado through eons, with cliffs towering like silent sentinels, no bridges, no highways, no human clamor to break the spell.
It’s a national wildlife refuge vibe, untouched and primal, where the earth whispers secrets if you’ve got the ears to hear. The gorge is alive, man, its red rock walls pulsing with stories older than time, its waters flowing with the patience of eternity.
I’m here to listen, to shed the noise of the world and find that absolute essence—the joy of being fully, truly alive, connected to the rhythm.
By late afternoon, I find my spot—a sweet little beach, a crescent of sand kissed by the river. I anchor the houseboat, tie a rope to a big ol’ rock so I don’t drift off into some unintended adventure, and set up camp.
I cook some grub, simple and soul-warming, some beans and cornbread, the kind of meal that grounds you.
This is where the work begins, man—the deliberate peeling away of the mental junk that clogs the mind’s arteries. Neighbors griping, traffic snarling, news blaring, barking dogs—all that daytime noise has gotta go.
I sit, I breathe, I let the river’s rhythm wash over me, clearing the static until my soul steps forward, bold and unburdened, ready to lead the dance.
The joy of absolute essence ain’t just clearing the mind—it’s diving deeper, into a state where you’re not just thinking but being.
It’s like meditation, but wilder, freer, a full-body plunge into the now. The river’s lapping against the shore, the cliffs stand silent, and I’m part of it all, a single note in the cosmic chord.
This is what I came for, the moment where the soul shakes off the body’s chains and plugs straight into the universe’s mainline.
Night falls, and the full moon rises, planned perfect like a cosmic cue. The gorge glows silver, red cliffs shimmering like they’re alive, the Colorado a mirror reflecting starlight and dreams. I’m not on shore now, but out on the water, anchored steady, the houseboat my floating temple.
I sprawl on the deck, up front in a cozy nook, wrapped in the night’s embrace. My telescope’s set up on the beach, a sleek, professional beast that pulls the stars close enough to touch. I zero in on the moon, its craters sharp and stark, a giant rock jamming across the sky as the Earth spins. I track planets—Jupiter’s swirling storms, Saturn’s rings like a cosmic hula hoop—and the Andromeda Galaxy,
a faint smudge of light that’s been traveling millions of years just to meet my eyes.
The stars twinkle, each a note in the universe’s grand symphony, and I’m the only cat in the audience, soaking it all in.
This is absolute essence.
It’s not just about seeing the stars—it’s about feeling them, knowing you’re part of the same cosmic soup.
My body’s gone, dissolved into the night, and all that’s left is this pure, pulsing me-ness, connected to everything.
The river’s flow, the cliffs’ silence, the stars’ ancient light—it’s all one, and I’m in it, man, wired into the universe’s circuitry.
The joy of this moment is electric, a high that no drug could touch, a clarity that makes the soul sing. I’m not just a guy on a boat; I’m a fragment of the cosmos, awake and aware, vibrating with life.
In this state, I start sending messages—not texts or emails, but soul-to-soul transmissions, pure and vibing. I send love to my mom and dad, gone from this plane but alive in my heart, their warmth still guiding me.
I send waves to friends who’ve crossed over, their laughter echoing in my memory like a favorite song. . It’s like praying, but freer, a direct line to the eternal, no middleman needed.
The joy of absolute essence is this connection, this sense that you’re not alone, even in the vastness. It’s knowing that every thought, every feeling, ripples out into the universe, touching lives and stars alike.
My chocolate milk’s hot, steaming in the cool night air, and my snacks hit just right—salty, sweet, perfect. I’m warm, wrapped in my sleeping bag, at peace in a way the daytime world can’t touch.
The moon cruises the sky, a slow-motion traveler, and the stars shift with the Earth’s spin. I don’t want to sleep, man—this is too alive, too real. I fight to stay awake, to soak in every second of this connection, this absolute essence where I’m not just existing but being.
The hours slip by, unmarked, unhurried. Around 4 a.m., my eyes finally betray me, and I drift off, but it’s only for a couple hours. Sunrise wakes me, painting the gorge in gold and pink, the river sparkling like it’s got secrets to share.
I make breakfast—simple, hearty, some eggs and toast to fuel for the soul. I take a deep breath, let the morning air fill me up, and grin.
“That was bitchin.”
I say to the river, to the cliffs, to the universe. And I mean it, man. This journey through Topock Gorge, this dance with absolute essence, it’s not just a trip—it’s a pilgrimage to the heart of what it means to be alive.
The joy of absolute essence is hard to pin down in words, but it’s like this: it’s the moment when you stop being a separate thing and become part of the whole.
It’s the river’s flow in your veins, the starlight in your eyes, the cliffs’ silence in your bones. It’s knowing that you’re small but infinite, temporary but eternal.
Out here, with the Colorado as my guide and the stars as my witness, I’m not just Arlo—I’m a spark of the cosmos, burning bright.
I pack up, fire up the houseboat, and head back up the river, already dreaming of the next time ........
I’ll chase the stars and find my essence in the wild, quiet heart of the gorge.
Groove is in the Heart - Arlo
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