Written in: Stockholm, Sweden
Date: October, 2008
To move
is to cherish,
to take enjoyment
in what is
seen.
To see the
unseen.
To see the
world as it
appears
and
then
disappears.
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Our minds are in continuous motion. Writing serves to immortalize this movement of space. Here is a collection of my nomadic reflections; experiences of internal travel, re-lived.
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Life seems to be and endless assortment of journeys. Some physical,some emotional, some mental.
On occasions we have a destination, perhaps a route too. Other times, just a direction away from.
Distance.
The kinds of distance that seem to be taking me away from those I love, and loved. The kind of distance, forced through by mental and emotional traveling that ultimately manifests itself in physical distance.
At the moment I feel this trip is one-way. at the mercy of prevailing winds. Trying to avoid the doldrums. Away from the cliches, it seems to be leading to a point of singularity. Where the old life, the old me, contracts. Out of this insular state a new life will emerge and expand to fill the recently evacuated void.
I think sometimes I feared I was journeying to a cliff edge. A precipice separating indeterminable immortal beauty from a wasteland in which noise has replaced colour and beauty. I feared I would only have one option, no choice.
I was wrong, those words were written three years ago. I stayed, I stopped the fleeing, and traveled around myself and the immediate world. A less obvious beauty and direction can be found, one that feels more personal and profound.Now if the prevailing winds blow, and I am just a passenger in the course of this life, I can deal with it, and love it.
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