Places to be

I feel that a special bond arises out of a visit to a town or a country. As if they were part of me or some special friend to whom I were strongly connected. It may be a sort of affection due to fascination or sympathy. But in a way it also helps soothing the path of loneliness through this world. They play the role of phantoms always remembering pleasant experiences, inspiring bold behaviours, promising wonders.

Towns and countries I once travelled to are not only scenery but also and mainly characters of my best stories. Those based not on real facts, rather on would-be ways of living. Escape routes. They are the few frames still alive of a film almost completely forgotten.

My travel memories help me keep track of the roads not taken. In the past and while passes allow.

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photo: pottery by Mieko Ukeseki, from the town of Cunha, Brazil

Then again

It feels like travelling in a double-decker heading for the unknown. Most of the time on the ground floor, busy, in a constant thrill, looking at many directions. Once in a while you go upstairs and from the first floor perspective daily problems seem to weigh less, since the great truths prevail. The journey seems less obscure and therefore you may be tempted to go on, but actually you end up messing around on the ground floor where in fact you earn your living. Maybe you hear a call for jumping down. A loud call. Louder than all the mumbo-jumbo and the hustle and bustle you are supposed to go through.

That bus doesn’t make stops. Some views may be rewarding. Sort of soothing, sweeetening, swooning. They allow some breaks that give way to travel other scenery that entertains you and cheers you on.

Your journey seems to pay off on theese experiences basis. And it has come the time to get off. You just start thinking of the best place to quit and then all the sights seem to gather in a very familiar picture. Those same old streets and scenes. And you are sick and weary, not knowing what to do. But you continue.

A sole link

What if we ran out of supplies, no friendly faces could be found and faith was lost? Would we just sit down and cry?

The road is long and winding and it’s getting darker and darker. No soundtrack available. No remedies. Only a sense of direction and a stock of words. Will they build a story to pass on?

Unless it's all right

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April is not the cruellest month. At least here below the Equator where we live Autumn time. Even considering climate changes due to.. you know what. So the poet had a slanted view on human decay. It doesn’t matter whether class-oriented or hemisphere-bound...

Fruit keep on coming, Earth is still spinning and yet when it comes to civilization it seems the hollow does not meet the void any more. Hollow men are just empty, completely disconnected from nature. They lost that sense of void, i.e. the meaningful relationship with everything else that brings awareness of the oneness of life and universe.

April should never be blamed. Unless flowers or fruit insist on defying men’s will to power.

A weaker sort of balance

I spend hours of a week day afternoon doing nothing. Rather, being an opposite to any role I am supposed to play. Drifting sideways in a quick flowing world.

Some day it will be over. In the meantime it feels like sliding on slippery soil. Restless. Reckless.

A loose loner. Longing for a lounge
... and for leaving.

The unusual suspects

When you have enough time thinking about life can bring you sorrow, concerns, boredom but also some insights that can help you through the journey. More often than not there comes a word or an image apart from the daily routine. It doesn’t matter if they result from weariness. They can be nonsense. Inspirational nonsense.

Words or images alone may be used as starters, food for thought when you are high and dry. A glimpse at a tree nearby can remind you of your connection to a larger reality – in fact, to the so neglected nature. Or take you back to old days home. Can make you move.

It seems the more distant the more powerful. Remote control? Elective affinities? Maybe just the overlapping forces of the universe.

So far so near

Overlooking is somehow
Being at their feet

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photo: Andes Mountains, Chile, by Ricardo Imaeda