Often times, to conceptualize and rationalize an experience is to miss the point — after all, the essence of any experience can not be distilled in thought. There is that intangible, ineffable, that sublime “something” in the purity of the experience. And yet, all experience must necessarily occur within the construct of time and consciousness; within that singularity meeting of the two as one. In this irony of time/consciousness, all is found and all will be lost; after all, the procession of time engenders the fading of all conscious memories. Thus, lest the experience be lost forever, I shall endeavor to concretize a passing few words to record this annus mirabilis before time relegates them to oblivion.
Respite for the Weary in Istanbul
Ah, so many miles have I roamed — and, as yet, still finding myself neither here nor there. I find myself pausing for a few days respite in Istanbbul, Turkey to sort out some technical and equipment failures; but above all, to allow this weary-worn body to some much needed rest at this junction of East and West.
This proverbial road is long and winding; every bend leads to further vistas, prompting the adventurous spirit to seek further the unknown and untried. The folly in this, if there be any, is that the tried experiences become increasingly less interesting and one tends to seek out more daring and precarious adventures, unique cultures, and less ventured paths. For good or ill, such is the predicament and I welcome the unknown journeys without reservation.
Ode to the Bulgarian Rose
In a distance valley, hidden by hills and shrouded in mist, there lies a mystical rose. In a vast valley of common flowers, legend speaks of one eternal amarinthine with spellbinding fragrance. It’s existence is much rumored, but seldom, if ever confirmed. At most, passing travelers occasionally claim to have sighted it at a far distance, or caught a waft of its scent. For centuries, poets have spoken only of it in verse as some fanciful legend; and in time, this legend, too, faded to myth.
I wandered through a valley in a distant land; and there in a most unexpectant of circumstances, chanced upon this most enchantingly recherche beauty. Well-hidden below the prosaic blooms, it bares no distinctive tincture nor distinguishing mark; indeed, one can easily pass and not notice its presence. Yet, it emitted an exquisite fragrance that is at once alluring, entrancing, enthralling. Oh, did its fragrance enchant the vastly fields between heaven and earth.
I thank fortune and fate for the breeze that chance to blow my way; for never could I have imagined a bloom so rare nor scent so sublime. For long did I linger enchanted by its beauty and inebriated by its fragrance. And though I much admired its rarity, a wild rose it is, and none for the keeping; for this wild beauty belongs in the verdant fields under the sun, moon, and stars with no names. Sweet
And so Begins an Unwritten Journey
Were it easy to be content, purely content, our small corner of the world and simple pleasures would suffice. But, the nature of mind is not at rest, hence the horizon beckons me to wander; not so much in search of any particular destination, but simply to seek after new experiences just to dull the doldrums of the cycle of day and night. Long have I accustomed myself to the sparse comforts and adventures of travel… never remaining to linger too long in any locale; to stay or to go? Each has its own rewards. In the end, we must concede the limitations of our existence, knowing we can never reconcile the dichotomy — and so one is ever trapped to the contradiction of being a stranger at “home”, and adopting temporarily as home new strange lands.
But the world is wondrous. We are so small and our time so limited, why not seize the possibilities before us? For years, I’d the spiritual landscape of the high Colorado plateau; visit the temples of ancient Mayan Yucatan, wander through Eastern Europe, etc. Fortune for once lends a favorable turn and I’m manage to secure an inexpensive ticket. Considering my relatively lax work schedule, it is an opportunity not to be passed. The next 7 months will be filled with new vistas and experiences; offering the new, and yet, appeasing with the old comfort of being on the lonesome road into the unknown once again.
March 7 – 13, 2014 Grand Circle tour of the Colorado Plateau
March 17 – 25, 2014 Yucatan Mexico to see some Mayan ruins, especially Chichen Itza on the Spring Equinox.
March 26 – April 3, 2014 The Big Apple yearly swing.
April 4 – October 17, 2014 London to kick off Eastern Europe tour.
Time and Tide Bide No Man
Again, the full moon in due course sets over the turbid waters. The luminous glow of the cold complexion dances off the shimmering waves. How many days has it been since this sojourn on the waters’ edge? Measure by measure our days are metered out. And time and tide bide no man. On this penultimate night on this drifting abode, the setting moon yet reminds me of the transience of all things. Beginnings end, and each ending leads to beginnings anew. So with this, the gentle waters do their currents ebb, and the calm wind ever whispers into the night. I will remember fondly those days spent floating on this humble home.
This and That
This weekend prior, I spent some time catching up with a friend whom I had met in central China. She, being one of few who has had more travel experience than myself, proceeded to engage me in various stories of her wanderings. To this, I as oft reciprocated my own tales. But, as with all things, travel is poison and cure.
Travelling. This makes men wiser, but less happy. When men of sober age travel, they gather knowledge, which they may apply usefully for their country; but they are subject ever after to recollections mixed with regret; their affections are weakened by being extended over more objects; & they learn new habits which cannot be gratified when they return home. Young men, who travel, are exposed to all these inconveniences in a higher degree, to others still more serious, and do not acquire that wisdom for which a previous foundation is requisite, by repeated and just observations at home. The glare of pomp and pleasure is analogous to the motion of the blood; it absorbs all their affection and attention, they are torn from it as from the only good in this world, and return to their home as to a place of exile & condemnation. Their eyes are forever turned back to the object they have lost, & its recollection poisons the residue of their lives. Their first & most delicate passions are hackneyed on unworthy objects here, & they carry home the dregs, insufficient to make themselves or anybody else happy. Add to this, that a habit of idleness, an inability to apply themselves to business is acquired, & renders them useless to themselves & their country. These observations are founded in experience. There is no place where your pursuit of knowledge will be so little obstructed by foreign objects, as in your own country, nor any, wherein the virtues of the heart will be less exposed to be weakened. Be good, be learned, & be industrious, & you will not want the aid of travelling, to render you precious to your country, dear to your friends, happy within yourself. I repeat my advice, to take a great deal of exercise, & on foot. Health is the first requisite after morality.
-Thomas Jefferson
Farewell musings to many a happy return
The book of this life turns page by page, each chapter necessarily follow the last. And so again I ventured unto distant lands. Without so much as fanfare or pother, I had come with no impressions and will leave without a trace. So too, the passing pleasures of this floating life have come and gone, and I alone, remain to recollect their fugacious fancies like a dream recounted.
We all are but wandering shadows in a crowd, and all too soon, our deeds will be scarce remembered. No matter where or how our individual lives are lived, the essential nature of all experiences is fleeting. For one memory retained, how many hundreds are forever lost to the recesses of time gone by? As such, know that experiences will come and go, whether they be piquant or poignant, bliss or blight; only the essence of experiencing itself remains constant. We ought live the moments nigh, for the uncertainties of the morrow is never more reassuring the the present breath drawn; indeed, present mirth hath present laughter. The essence of all there is to experience is now.
To all the paths I have traipsed, the variegated scenes I gazed upon, and the many faces smiled upon, humbled am I to have received your graces, but also apologies tendered for my slights and trespasses. I was but the wandering guest who for a moment in time drifted pass your towns and country, to follow your footfalls and learn of the customs and legacies of your ancient cultures; and though not born or counted amongst your proud heritage, I am blessed to have rejoiced in your triumphs and common humanity, and honored to greet you as brethren.
Our paths hereon diverge like two branches of a stream, whereto their effluence follow is unknown to either of us. Wherever your path may lead, irrespective of place or circumstance, may you always have joy in your hearts and peace on your minds.
Random musings en route to Nicaragua
I’m currently on a bus heading from La Fortuna, Costa Rica to San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. So as to stave the tedium of the six hour ride, I thought it opportune to write a bit to chronicle musings of my experience, if only partially. It’s Friday again, and perhaps it’s more apt than aught that I try to record my thoughts with some simple words. To indulge my whimsical side, I shall essay to ramble a bit to ignite the imagination.
Toady, the skies loom gray over the lush canopies as the bus meanders through the hilly terrain. The daily business of living unfurls here as with everywhere on earth — after all, we’re not so much different. Perhaps only as an outsider observing can one find salient charm in the mundane life here; withal, the ordinary and the extraordinary are merely matters of perspective. Just now we drove pass some farm land (which, no doubt, was only recently thick forest) where a young boy was leading a calf to pasture; what to me is a scene brimming with idyllic charm must, to that boy, weigh with much ennui. Still, to us both alike, it’s reality. Yet, to me is all the difference in the world being afforded the small luxury to partake, even passively, in such rural escape — no place to be, no appointments to keep. In some sense, I fain say that the birds that sing here, sing for me.
The road moves under me, and the scenes of this vast countryside recess into the distance: now a guava tree, a hibiscus hedge, a trickling brook, the myriad flowers and bloom, natives striding along the dusty road well-worn, horses grazing in delight, a lone shack long abandoned, the wind that beteems the grasses; all happens, perhaps, as they should. Who knows for whom the rains fall and the flowers bloom. Such as now, I’m merely a passenger along for the ride, all too willing to partake in this drama.
I marvel at the locals sharing the bus with me as they prate along in lively conversation. In some sense, I am the silent intruder trespassing their world. Despite the language barriers, we all follow human protocol enough to grant each other a friendly smiles. Imagine the possibilities if we could share in easy conversation — what stories would they tell? and what questions would they ask? I’m inclined to know the story of the elder gentlemen seated a few seats down, worn with weathered complexion and tired look; what fascinations of joy, heartache, and travails those wrinkles must hide? and were life only to pause long enough to beggar me his tales of triumph and woe. Or the restless school boy in full attire looking every bit the part of a fresh soul braving the world, kicking the stones as he traipses down the dusty road. Does he even know the wonders that lay ahead?