Walking through what looked like a former farm I quickly made my way to a place shrowded in trees and shadows. Making my way across mountain cliffs and only stopping to gaze at the horizon in quiet contemplation. Through the brush and the wind I moved like a ghost, only real when I pushed my imprint into the mud or bent a branch as I slipped through.
These roots I step over – they’ve been working for quite some time to get their grounding. Those leaves overhead – they’ve been pushing inch by inch for a long time to get to the point that they’re at. I have only been here for a minute, and yet I have been pushing myself along for quite some time.
I touch the earth with one hand as I gain steady ground with the other and feel it crust and then slowly fall away between my fingers. I calm my mind and quiet myself even further to hear that which is around me. The quieter you become, the more you able to hear.
I heard times passed, steps walked, anger absolved, I heard loud voices and love lost. I was, of course, alone.
Sometimes, experiences can imprint themselves on a place and that imprint isn’t easily avoided. It’s like hearing echoes from the past. Like you get the feeling that something important happened there, but you’re not sure why, and you’re not sure what you can do to contribute towards it.
Then one day you see a very familiar footprint. It looks like somebody you used to know, but haven’t been able to keep touch with. You examine the footprint and become shocked when you realized it is your footprint. How long has it been since I’ve been here, you wonder? Perhaps I thought I would never return, always looking forward, never looking backwards. Until today.
The person who walks over this ground today is not the person who walked through it years ago – there’s something different. Something alien about the footprint. Would I would to have a conversation with that person, who I was years ago. Perhaps I was everybody? Perhaps I was nobody.
I stop awhile, and realize that thoughts are like endless caves. The dark lines and dark shapes provide a mechanism for awe due to the fear and uncertainty that beholds them. These endless caves lend themselves to uncertain thoughts. It is very easy to go down the rabbit hole and not understand when you’ve come out the other side. Perhaps though, I have gone too far down the rabbit hole, and what I gaze upon now is a mirror of what I use to see on the other side. Like a pilgrim looking through a fogged window, I stare about the world as I see it through my limited perspective.
Though I know, the road can’t be rationalized like that. It is ever present, always in front of you, and what’s left is always behind you. The love for the unknown and unexpected is a wanderlust that can’t be reconciled easily. And perhaps, shouldn’t.
You realize perhaps that’s the purpose of the road. For it is only when we’re idle that we become complacent, and the road provides us an avenue to venture when we want to venture from ourselves.