took me a few minutes of solid deduction to trace my path from the Tuscan countryside in Italy, to the beachside town of Nice, and finally, to my solitary single bed in the Latin Quarter of Paris. I lay there, half awake but sane and sober, wondering what’s shaken me loose, unhinged my conception, thinned the veil between the real and the abstract. I’ve been a tangled mess of wires lately. A sordid weave of thoughts and emotions. There are so many impulses firing through my brain, so many scattered thoughts and ideas, such a dissonant tapestry of conflicting feelings and unanswered questions that the mad rush of noise streaming through my nerves almost creates a vacuum of space and swallows them whole as they pass though - empty, silent, nothingness. It leaves my mind open as a blank canvas, ready to accept whatever reality is splayed across it. My dreams, taking on a vivid realism rarely found outside the lucid, have overpowered my sense of consciousness and left me at their whim. I never know when I’m going to wake up, destroyed at the loss of a loved one, puzzled at how I got to
Greenland, or sorrowful at some imagined choice that can’t be taken back. It’s completely perplexing and defies all logic and rationale that used to come so naturally to me. My only explanation is I’ve come to a pivotal milestone in my life and along this journey. With my impending return home on the horizon and a finite amount of time left to me on my travels, it almost feels like my brain has shut down, willfully blind to the inevitable, escaping into a dream world to avoid the crushing reality of the situation. I feel numb. Overflowing with strained emotions but muted by their dire constraints. Like I’m submerged beneath the calm blue waters below a crashing waterfall. Motion and noise and turbulence all around me, but here in this place, nothing but the perpetual hum of deafening silence. It grips me when I’m most vulnerable, in the throes of sleep when my guard is down. My mind most open to the world around me, recreated in the memories and sounds of a life forgotten. Someday soon I will return, and my visions will change to the things I’ve learned. Of ice capped mountains and gold sand beaches. Of the rush of life in Indian cities, to the flutter of peace on a Thai bird’s wing.
Of the broad smiling faces of so many people, to the awe and inspiration from ancient cathedrals. Eventually my sight will turn to the memories I’ve made along this sojourn, and when I wake and look around, just for a moment I’ll pray for a life still unbound. This may be why I’ve tried to find escape from all the swirling emotions dwelling at bay. Morose and sorrowful acceptance at the end of a long road, tired but willing to let my soul wander free and roam. I don’t know what the future will bring. All I know is I’m finding it harder and harder to live in the Spring of my life as the dusk starts to fall. Fearing my nose will always perk at the scent of change around the corner, and of life’s unheeded call.
Lately I've been waking up extremely disoriented. Not knowing where I am, what day it is or even what occurred the previous night. Somewhere on the cusp of dreams and reality, the unconscious visions from slumber weave their way into my memories and place my mind in the grey areas of the unknown. I open my eyes thinking to myself, "What country am I in? When was the last time I saw my family? Why do I feel like I’m in a dusty sun scattered room somewhere in El Paso?" It’s the most bizarre feeling, to have the fabrications of your own mind warp your grasp on the present to such an extent that you have to back track from the past few weeks to determine what country you’re in and where you’re waking up. This morning it