From the lake, I walked until I came across a fork in the road. Each road appeared equal in measure and traffic – neither appeared good or bad, right or wrong. It was, for lack of a better way to put it, this or that. Each had aging green and orange trees on either side – each had light peaking through the horizon. Each appeared well-travelled and worn.
I went left.
Slowly, the other road became less and less visible through the obscurity of nature. Perhaps, in another world, at another time, I went right. I would have the same name, same back-story, same past, same deep stare, but my future would differ, by how much is hard to say.
Constants, and variables – in other words, some things would change, others would not change.
An infinite number of possibilities that we make without even consciously thinking about it. In ten years would I like the person that went right? Again, it is tough to say.
What I can do is nod in passing, at least philosophically to the one …tell me more
Walking through the woods, the moon casts shadows that multiply the trees three-fold. One of those nights where clouds dim the light of the moon every so often and, upon receding, the moon casts a different picture of the woods than seen prior to the dim. Just enough sky visible through the clouds to see the stars, bright enough to beckon our imagination and far enough away to give us something to honor.
Sometimes day can seem like the present, and night can seem like the past. There’s a pond not far off in the distance – I can see it through the trees thanks to the reflection of the stars and moon off the dark water’s surface – that has a tree trunk right up on the water’s edge.
How many imaginations and thoughts has this tree trunk captured, you wonder. Sometimes, you can feel the past filter through your own thoughts like an echo through time. Tonight is one of those times, you think, as you rest upon the tree trunk and listen around you to the symphony of nature’s …tell me more
I walked along the road, I walked for a long time.
Along the way, wind hit me, memories hit me, emotions hit me. It’s funny, but sometimes you just keep walking after something hits you. Never minded one bit once you voiced your opinion, things just kept on happening.
It changes you, more than you know. I mean, you can’t very well be the same person forever, right? Forever is a long time.
Sometimes you look at a something trivial, like a rock, and you just stare long and hard, never did you any good you just kept on looking, formulating opinions about the rock, and then your perspective changes, suddenly you don’t see a rock you see…something else.
I’d have to say that’s what this was like, seeing something else, it changes a man.
Only if you think about it though.
Of course, given my nature, I thought long and hard.
Sometimes, when the melody of a song takes you away, makes you forget about the meaner qualities of life, you lose yourself, quit thinking …tell me more
After some time I came to a beach of fine sand and an ocean that appeared to be set ablaze via the reflection of the sunset. The appearance of the ocean sedated and subdued my weary legs as I fell backwards somewhat involuntarily into a sitting position. I pulled my hands into view in front of my face and remarked to myself of how the lines across my hands looked like trails dragged in the sand. I breathed slowly as the scene around me devoured me.
As I let my hands fall to my sides and move through the fine sand I came across a hard object buried a few inches below the surface. I knew what it was before I pulled it out of the sand into my field of view – an old timepiece from some other era. The timepiece didn’t just look old, it looked other-worldly, alien, some mechanical utility that some mysterious being used for time keeping purposes. I tried to envision who would own such a thing, but I could see nothing. Like straining eyes trying to make a figure out in a very dark place, …tell me more
“Were there a thousand dreams to dream, and a thousand dreams of dreams. Where would the poet lie? And where would the dreamer cease to think? Forever and a day we live wish to live, in a world so different as this. Though who among us can say that we have fully given our heart and fist? Our heart and fist to change the world, or at least to lift the mist. The mist that covers our eyes, so thick, it glistens prisms of light sources unseen through the thicket of drifts. But here I say to you, or rather I speak quick in hisses: What difference is it if you were to see the sources of light unseen that are covered by mists if all that you truly wish know is what the prism splits upon your own instance?”
Thus spoke the wind to me.
Spoken in alliteration, nested in reason, carried through the air like a choir of whispers accompanied by a dance of earthly matter. I wear the wind’s words like a light shirt, and my mind tries to find the meaning of its poetic verses. Like a …tell me more
(Should be read to the song Moss Mountain Town from The Album Leaf)
I continue to walk through the forest until I get to the foothills of the mountains which steeply incline. I climb and I climb, at certain points reaching such landscape that requires me to use my hands to grip the earth and terrain as I traverse upwards.
I travel upward at a pace indicative that I am moving with purpose as I swiftly scale the dynamic landscape of the mountainside. As I dig my hands down to support my ascent and subsequently lift them upwards to their next anchor point some of the earthen particles on the ground grab onto me and then eventually fall back down slowly and cinematically. I wonder how long it has been since each part of the ground I touch has been disturbed, and how many years may have passed since this gravel has been brought to life by those who make use of it as they pass it by.
I wonder what life I may have disturbed by penetrating the surface of the ground, and for how …tell me more
(Should be read to the song Rano Pano from Mogwai)
I awoke to some half-concerted efforts from the daylight trying to reconcile me into the idea of jumping full throttle into the day. Damp from the sweat-induced dreams of the night I feel like I should be temperature cold, but instead I feel more fever cold. Sweaty, weak, anxious, more inclined to accept the help from strangers though more cause to be skeptical of their intentions. Like a proud pack wolf that suddenly falls prey to something larger then themselves I accept help because I cannot deny my need for survival and thus I yield to my surroundings.
“We don’t need anyone”, the wolf inside says, apparently accustomed to life as a self-reliant non-companion. “I need my dreams,” I say, “for they give me answers to a puzzle I didn’t know I was trying solve.”
“What do your dreams know of you?”, asks the wolf. “Give me a man who solely relies on his dreams, and I give you a blind shepherd guiding a sheep among wolves.”, …tell me more
(Should be read to the song “Ships in the Rain” by Lanterns on the Lake)
Such deep sleep that I dreamed I was a resident of a lighthouse on a remote shoreline. The lighthouse itself standing on the edge of a cliff surrounded by earth that was painted dark green with grass and dark, almost black, rock that clawed at the side of the cliffs. It stood against the grayish-blue clouds like a relic of a past civilization.
In the dream, I awoke in a bed somewhere within the lighthouse which also functioned as a place of residency. I couldn’t remember how I had gotten to the lighthouse or how long I had been there, as if I had just been transferred there and had my memory erased. Strange, it felt as if I was always meant to find this place – no, as if I was always supposed to be here at this point in time.
Somebody needs me.
Did I just hear my mind tell me that, or did I feel it in my chest? At any rate I climbed out of my bunk and walked towards what became a spiral stairway …tell me more
(Should be read to the song It’s Dark, It’s Cold, It’s Winter by sleepmakeswaves)
Sunset peaks its head over the edge of the mountains that I have been walking towards for the past few hours. Like an explosion in the sky moving in slow motion it expands and then slowly contracts across the slowly fading blue and black backdrop. I slowly keep walking until I come across a tree with bark like dark dry skin, a very tall trunk, and branches and leaves as complex and intentional as an ant colony’s underground tunnels.
I decide to rest awhile against the tree and eat an apple I picked along the way for a light dinner. As I eat the apple, the wind starts to pick up and I can feel the trunk of the tree moving so slightly that I can barely tell if it is the tree that is moving or if it is myself. Rhythmic – like leaning against another who is breathing slowly and peacefully I subconsciously match my breathing to the rhythm of the tree as it wanes back and forth, in and out.
I look …tell me more
(Should be read to the song September Song by The Album Leaf)
So it was that the forest became a clearing, and the clearing became a lake upon which I paused to sit awhile. The perfect reflection of the mountains and the clouds above were in the midst of being disrupted by the life nearby: bugs, birds, the wind, and me as I threw a stone across the surface. Skipping with each successive confrontation with the water though bouncing less high and producing less of a wave each time. The reflected mountains become a quaking earthquake and the clouds become a menacing storm as the water reacts to the stone just thrown as the reflection attempts to regain composure. The stone continues throughout the mountains and the clouds until it ultimately gives into gravity and sinks with a splash.
So to, do we, as people go through life perceiving our own altered reflections of our surroundings as reality until our manipulations of such superficial constructs end with a splash. Were I a …tell me more