Wandering and Coins

       The correspondence between my journal and I have been as sporadic as a lunar eclipse lately. There are many reasons for this, all of which are pretty irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. As I stand on the precipice of the 6th month of the year of 2006, I take a humble glance back, resign the time to history and look hopefully at the next 6 months.

       One of the reasons I could legitimately blame on my absence on these pages is wandering. In the last couple of months when the walls closed in around me, I did one of the things I'm remarkably good at doing, disappear. I've traveled like a nomad. My gypsy tendencies cried out for attention and I willingly succumbed to the calls of diversion.

       I've driven, I've flown, I've rafted rivers. Done some flyfishing. Played in the ocean. I've hiked mountains. I've gone to utterly atrocious commercial attractions with my daughters and I've hidden myself deep in the forest alone where no one could find me. I've been to Mexico, California, Oregon, Washington and all over Idaho. I've been home for 3 days now, after an 8 day excursion in Oregon and still can't stand the walls of this reality. Montana is chanting my name now and I must go..............I believe I'll try coming back again sometime in August..............

       My travels have provided an unbelievable opportunity for people watching. I've taken enough pictures to break the travel funds bank if I decided to develop them all. You never know when and where a photo op will present itself. For instance, at the wild kingdom of Wildlife Safari, this coin slot perspective was shouting for concrete visual via the digital camera. I resisted the urge to try a quarter drop and opted for sneaky photography. Why, oh why................Ladies, unless you are taking deposits, I suggest zip it up, hike it up, pull down the shirt, and always and I mean ALWAYS, do a simple hand check. If you can feel the valley, people can see it!!!

       Speaking of unexplainable photographs. Upon downloading I've discovered a picture in my system that defies definition. When I tried to delete it from my computer I was given a threatening warning with specific posting instructions. In honor of the photo gods that be, I fear serious retribution if I do not post this strange and mystical photograph. 
                                                                 

                                                                                                                        

       You never know, what type of photograph will make it's way to the world wide web!
Of course, you also never know what the true definition of turn about is fair play, until you've tempted the powers that be~~~

Be well, and have a great summer.              

On Writing

"Writing would be merely an act of crazy hubris were
it not a means of discovery, cunning and patient."
~Mary Rose O'Reilly

       After I have made a deposit of some random thought on these pages, I resist the urge to go back an hour later, the next day, a month from now and read what I had splashed like paint on a canvas to the page of this public journal. When I have braved doing a backward glance, I will sputter and gulp at my admissions. A personal cringe at my erratic carnage.

       It is with that thought, that I've been toiling, as I typically do with this subject, why the hell does one subject their struggles to the concrete means of writing?

       If I assign concepts to it, I can come up with a few meaningful possibilities.

        Writing for me, is like binding the inside universe that is me to the outside world. Each sentence I write is from within, a silent word or emotion, a concept or complex contention. The real point of departure is when I can pen the inside to letters and sentences removed from me. Hence writing. Until that happens, all that I think is swallowed and digested over and over again until I can finally transfer it from one dimension to another. 

       Perhaps the simple twist I seek in life is a feeling of continuity between the inner workings and the outer workings. The division of who I am inside and who I eloquently portray on the outside have extremely contrasting qualities. For me, writing is the only bridge that connects the two.

       Writing also has the ability to connect the present person that is me with the former self. When I write, I find a lot of the time I am bridging a gap between past and present, the person I was yesterday, with the person I am today. Writing is a way to extend a hand of friendship or berate the choices and chances my former self already experienced.

       I write to lay neatly in front of me what discovery I've accomplished. I write to extinguish flames I've callously let burn inside and I write to divide importance from insignificant.

       The trick to writing honestly is finding the fine line between memory, thoughts, imagination and truth. Memory is an entity all on it's own, a powerhouse that has the ability to keep me up at night, berate me or comfort me at any given time. It's within those memories that I unravel them, write them, dispose of them or continue to harbor. Writing is my medium, the pen or keyboard the device in which to transfer, the blank page my cradle of acceptance.

       I have to assume others have found different strategic ways to handle their zone between inner and outer workings. For me, it has always been writing. Conversations between my former self and my current person. Memories clashing with reality. Discovery blending with experience. Knowledge merging with wisdom. Nothing extraordinary about any of this, people have done such means of transfer since the beginning of time. But it helps, to think about it, especially when I question the 'why' in my writing, the 'how' in my placement of my words and the 'holy shit did I publicly display that' in my choice of concrete.

       My inside is constantly fighting for a voice, my outside is as quiet as a river. Perhaps, someday, I will feel as big on the outside as I do on the inside.

Purge of Thought

'There is nothing worse for mortals, than a wandering life'
~Homer~

       I think the most difficult part about wandering, is not the unknown, but rather the distinctive trail one leaves behind. When I take temporary pause in this atmosphere I call my life, I feel overcome with a nausea that brings me to humble knees. Hello ground.

       The clicking of watchtowers, a dime spinning on the ground. My metallic moments in motion are all mine, all my justifiable harboring of the heart. When and why I gave myself such carte blanche in life is beyond my current scope of understanding. Life, shouldn't function as sort. Love certainly doesn't, and reality never plays by those rules.

       Habit. Human nature. Creatures of the known and predictable. Brilliant tail chasing and sorrowful wound licking. Such a divine cycle, I can only scoff at myself and descend right back to where I started. Perhaps lessons are learned. Maybe even a slice of wisdom collected here and there. Although........I still haven't found what I'm searching for...............

       Whether it's the illusion of contentment, or the comfort of balance, or simply a sense of complete and utter freedom, I know I've only grazed what I seek. I've experienced moments of clarity, smooth cool ice beneath my touch, but it always cracks open to reveal a precarious liquid uncertainty. Clarity, like ice, is transparent and unpredictable.

       When I wrap it all up in my vigil of life, I'm disappointed by what little progress I've achieved. John Burroughs said "The lure of the distant and the difficult is deceptive. The great opportunity is where you are." Yet, I look around and have to honestly ask myself who the hell I am, what the hell am I doing, and where the hell am I going. Because this, my right here and right now, doesn't reflect what my mind and body ache for.

       I know I am more then this. I know I can achieve more then this. I have no doubt I can reach there. Being satisfied with mundane has never been my nature. Being content with ordinary was never really an option. Embracing so-so and mediocrity makes me feel crazy and trapped. Cause and effect. My mentality warrants my discontent. My desires strap me with restlessness. My choices constantly backlash me with the consequences.

Its the way of it. A wandering life.......