Chapter 81: The Name That Grew
In the humid swirl of Miami’s underground couchsurfing scene, Seed meets Meryln—a shapeshifting soul known by many names—on the edge of a changing world. After hosting him during a psychedelic odyssey through the Republican National Convention, the two journey through visions, ceremonies, and synchronicities that lead them to a Rainbow Gathering. It is there, around a fire among strangers and starlight, that the name “Seed” rises from the depths of memory and mystery—spoken aloud for the first time. A name not chosen, but remembered. A beginning that had already begun.
THE TIN CAN AND THE TOMATO GARDEN
Keith Kalm
7/2/20252 min read
"Seed and Meryln meet through couch surfing in Miami, I had a couch, and Jacob, Wizard El, and many other names I can't remember, was surfing. After our LSD journey through the Republican National Convention, and after another ceremony, we traveled to a rainbow gathering, and when asked for my name, Seed, was the answer. And how that popped into my head, well, that's another adventure."
Chapter 81: The Name That Grew
Miami was humid and humming. The ceiling fan never helped much, but it spun with rhythm, like the pulse of something ancient and alive. The year was blurred at the edges—2012, maybe 2013. I was cooking plant-based feasts out of a shoebox kitchen, hosting couchsurfers through an app that felt more like a portal than a platform. The Vanagon was parked outside, and my life was less a schedule and more a soup—slow, rich, constantly changing.
That’s when Meryln arrived. Not spelled like the wizard, but close enough to catch a whisper. He had a backpack full of crystals, a grin full of mystery, and a stack of spiral-bound notebooks full of dreams, poems, and something like prophecy. He introduced himself as Jacob, then Wizard El, then just Meryln. Names were fluid in our world. So were identities.
We sat on that broken futon night after night, sipping yerba mate and peeling back the layers of reality like citrus rinds. Others came and went—sleeping on yoga mats, camping on the balcony, disappearing into the Everglades or back to Europe—but Meryln stayed.
And then came the RNC.
The Republican National Convention rolled into town with a force that felt anything but human. We didn't go to protest. Not exactly. We went to witness. To see with psychedelic eyes what was really underneath it all. One blotter tab each and a pocket full of sage, and we were off.
We saw men in suits with puppet strings, helicopters that hovered like hungry flies, and a deep, psychic fog oozing from the convention center. But within that fog, we saw each other too. Clearer than before. Not just as travelers or wanderers, but as something older, something tied to the soil and the stars.
Later, after a quiet ceremony under moonlight, we made our way to the Rainbow Gathering, following whispers on the wind and chalk signs in the dirt. No phones. No plans. Just trust.
And that’s when it happened.
Someone with dreadlocks and eyes like honey looked at me across the fire and asked, “What’s your name, brother?”
And without hesitation—no thought, no plan—I said:
“Seed.”
Like it had been waiting there all along.
Meryln blinked at me, slow and knowing, like he’d heard it before in another life. Maybe he had. Maybe we all had.
The name wasn’t a label. It was a mission.
And the rest, well—that’s another adventure.