it rained on me. hot, heavy drops of humid air falling from a flattened and glaring grey sky. i walked and it smelled of wetted asphalt and smoky gasoline and dirty brown grassiness dampened by those hot, heavy drops of humid air, delivered to my t-shirt and my toes and my hair from this near-white seattle sky with no dimension or texture or clouds to decipher.
i remembered what he said when he told me how the earth breathes. he told it to me in waterfalls, that man with missing teeth and black hair tucked behind his ears. he showed it to me, the heartbeat, the rise and fall of her lungs, the way she moved as earthly sounds spread, echoing across her skin. and it moved. it did. the earth, she breathes.
and i remembered this as i walked along a stretch of coastline that brought me back to myself. as i stopped and watched the clouds, the sea, moving and breathing with me as we tracked along steep cliffs that plummeted into the wild aquamarine. crashing waves and blackened rocks. rolling hills and rocky trails. trees and flowers and shrubbery. just three friends and me. we trekked lightly as she held us up and pushed us forward in soft wind and light shadows from rolling clouds above, all warmth and cool, just right and just enough.
i don’t know why i stayed away so long, when i know, i always know, one breath of clean, crisp air, one step into the wilderness, one more step away from all sounds of civilisation… and i’m free.
i spent the day with ginsberg and kerouac, cassady and ferlinghetti. i spent it sitting in a rocking chair, next to a window with that cool and cool san franciscan breeze keeping me wide-eyed, reading big sur and eating, devouring, soaking in the energy that filled the room like liquid inspiration.
that energy, it lingers there. in that room, filled with pages of stories, of lives hidden in hardcovers.
i was alone when everything stopped, just for a minute. everything was still and i felt the vibrations, i heard the vibrations, i sensed everything with overwhelming clarity. where the beat stood still in my chest and instead exploded around the other souls of that very generation living in the air between and inside those walls – there was not a sound, or a murmur or a whisper of blood coursing through. and my breath was stuck behind my heart, in a place of intuition and feeling. in a place where my imagination was blossoming and dreams were unfurling and i felt everything and all of them all around me all inside my soul. the magic of the place. the stories and the writings, and the musing and the poems, all alive, all physical, all waiting for me to reach out and grab them and pull them into my flesh and blood, in the space between my ribs, between my fingers and my toes, in my ears and my nose, on my eyelids, skin and tongue. urging me to thrive and discover it all all over again.
city lights, so full of the life and spirits of those artists, pioneers and legends. those greats who will forever move me to want to write better, be better, feel more, live faster, document it all in any way possible, as a poem on a page, in my mind, as a photo or just a lingered glance.
urge me to forget my name, forget everything i know. forget life as i learned it. that it’s all it is and all it should be. that i’m ready to go and be something more incredible than i imagined. because perfection lies in the grace, but extraordinariness lies in experiencing life on a phenomenal level – with all the devas and the spirits and the genies and the magic – on an plane so ethereal you can only describe it in your dreams.
extraordinariness lives in the everything else. extraordinariness lives in the people who were here before us all, who laid the paths and showed us how to change the course, who made it about living, not existing, but moving moving moving, travelling, growing, uprooting and revolving, living passionately. explosively. wildly. and, for fuck’s sake, loving with all the strength in our pulsating, hungry, throbbing hearts.
i’m so confused. i’ve crossed so many time zones, my body is yearning for stability: in motion, time and place.
but my heart beats heavy against the now. the only reality that matters.
travel is what i was born to do.
i find my feet and walk. across the jungle of adventure staring me down. people, faces, accents, names, time zones. that reality. not dissimilar to what i know, but new enough to make my skin growl with frenzied exaltation.
it’s feeding time for the wanderlust that ravages my soul every ordinary day and night.
i’ll savour these moments, while time reigns supreme.