vol. ii : goin’ out west (where they’ll appreciate me)
there was a moment
when all seemed forfeit
years of darkness alone
blind to abundance
bereft of joy
now, all is transformed
even the night holds warmth
the moment has passed
and I am well
growing sideways

#e24260[fever dream; Chicago, Illinois]

Chicago streets outlined in the dark of a quiet September night. The wash of wet tires on asphalt seeped in the misery of missed sleep. Neon cuts through the fog as a nondescript sedan quietly prowls empty avenues; jazz standards lightly drift out of the cracked windows. The most harrowing ordeal yet to face — one of bleak, lonely city blocks and biting autumnal wind signaling the finality of a harvest, an end to cultivation, a time for preparation and burrowing deep into the familiar hovels my psyche haunts. If I am to become myself, I must find my shadow somewhere deep in the throes of desolation amongst the bones of a once great metropolis crumbling beneath time’s unceasing march. 

We won’t stop here tonight; we must continue on. Far to the west, beyond the plains, lies the patch of earth promised to us nightly in the realm of the unconscious. There we find ourselves at one with the mother from which our bodies were extracted, just as the rusted iron of skyscrapers becomes dust at the slightest touch. Be reminded of the fragility, the beauty of the cycle which creates greatness and decay in equal measure; all is a balancing act. At the moment, the balance must be forward. Onward lies destiny, peace, sleep. In the Black Hills, I will find rest and guidance to prepare the way for a meditation upon the infinite complexities and expansiveness of the American West here on Turtle Island.


•••

#e24261[catoctin ceremonials; Merrick State Park, Wisconsin]

The embers of a fever-induced ritual of shamanic deliberation, a meditation upon the flesh of the earth, have at last found their fervour quenched in the coolness of the autumn sunrise. I laid my mat upon the shore of the aorta of Turtle Island, which divides the continent in the physical and spiritual; here, ancestors found beneath their feet, between their fingers, in their lungs, in the breath of this land, a wellspring of antediluvian memory. The elders here nurture all others; from this land flows the collective understanding upon which the truths of this existence are founded and forgotten. 

I slept, finally, after making it through Wisconsin. I am relieved; now that the fever has broken, my wings are pinioned no longer; my heart is free to soar with purpose, to seek joy, awe, wonder, and love. Life begins again and I find myself increasingly grateful and whole. 


•••



#e24331[late arrival; Stanford, CA]

California autumn in full effect. I don’t recall such a vivid and marked seasonal change during my years here; I marked transitions by the ebb and flow of my sadness. On this morning’s walk, I was struck by the vivid reds nestled between the muted dullness — enamored by the mundane. The brightness of the world is held within the hues of the landscape. Where before, my skin chilled in the bitterness, my senses now yearn for an intense, all-consuming embrace, to accept warmth in the welcoming of decay. I explore the lonely places to gather the pieces of myself I once scattered so carelessly. The world is quiet, slipping gently back into snowy slumber.