leaving new york

i remember why i stay away from new york city. it's 5 am, and though the city is half-asleep, its highways are a tangled mess of confusion and intimidation. crossing the tappan zee proves effortless- the city glitters in the distance, giving the illusion of allure- the waning parties, the intoxicated masses stumbling out of bars and clubs at this ungodly hour. i'm glad to be watching from here.

the saw mill parkway is missed and the first bout of frustration ensues. the wrong highway is unknowingly being followed nearing wits end... and the final straw: mount kisco. what are the odds that the only exit i decide to venture off to pursue a dunkin donuts turns out to be a wild goose chase through a known and feared abyss of a NY town? miles and minutes of aggravation finally reward. the florescent lights of the dd are the only sign of life in this sleepy hollow. and somehow we do end up on the saw mill after all, and now much farther south than ever anticipated. and yet i still find inspiration as i clutch my coffee- driving as fast as i can on the road out of NYC.

i am meant to be in motion. though 19 hours of driving is by no means fun for anyone- it is the hilly roads that wind us through the small country towns of southern ohio that inspire. wishing you could stop at the local festival in bainbridge. gaping as the setting sun sets the oranges and reds of the autumn leaves on fire. realizing that a tiny desire to live the simple life exists deep within. or maybe not so deep.

travel is a relief to those who feel that life as we know it isn't enough. not necessarily lacking, just very single-minded. we only know this. day in and day out. here. if we could know that, too, how much more satisfied would our perspective be? what would there tell us, teach us? i seek to live everywhere- to try everything. i fear this cannot be the case. but the desire to know- to broaden the horizons of the mind, the soul- will always move me forward.

as i drive along the familiar new england roads, the leaves are falling, swirling around my car and i snap out of auto-pilot to smile and acknowledge that i can find beauty here. now. the colors of october trees are more brilliant than they were 18 hours away. i couldn't smell the ocean in ohio and i know where to find the best sushi north of boston. but this is not home. and neither is there. or anywhere. this sense of detachment- not from moment but from place- this desire for movement is freedom that makes it okay to just go...

echoes in the memory

a hypnotic retreat into memory can be the most dangerous adventure. and there are pockets in the memory- like wormholes- that are not the recollection of an event, but the memory of a feeling, a dream, a vision... something that never actually happened but your mind at one point sought to explore. this could send you reeling into the mental cosmos of so many places in time, so many portals with no real grounding for where and when you came from. going from reality to imagination into a sensation that no longer exists except as a remembered feeling. it's the closest thing to tripping out i'll have- this journey through the mind.

time travel is possible in that sense- i can go back to any moment in my past, to any feeling of any moment- and the experience that follows is so strange and beautiful. to feel a feeling again but outside of it's context- to see something in an illusory way that reminds you of a place you have been to only in your mind. to be in a place you have been so many times but b/c of the memories that reside there, your experience of that place and that moment is so different from anyone else's. and these instances of time travel through the memory are how i imagine the real concept of time travel is. we can't control to what time or place we go, we only know we have found a portal somewhere, and not to take it would be ignorant of the exploration of the soul.

And as my boy t.s. says...

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.