The Wanderer

One thing always proves true for me…

I feel some measure of comfort when I wander.
I am at home when I roam.

To be certain, there is a shadow of loneliness that tails the rogue spirit–sometimes covering completely, at times just barely touching, and I would say most often hovering like the annoying younger sibling holding a finger within an inch’s distance from you, while asserting with fortitude that no touching is occurring. This is of course, much worse than actually touching. It has a distinguishable lingering presence about it. And I think depending on one’s head space, it can either be debilitating or welcoming.

There is this thing that occurs when I wander. When I simply walk the bustling or empty city streets at night, or meander along a secluded mountain trail during the day. It happens when I explore. When I move about, aloof, as a bear. For that is my way. I feel two things simultaneously — and generally quite strongly.

  • longing – it is difficult to define. It is almost as if there is some presence or force that is within, that is somehow also missing and without. It is quite peculiar. And quite usual.
  • calling – meaning and purpose within my movement. And I don’t believe it is within the act of movement itself. I do believe it is within the WAY in which I move, with my heuristics, my experience and lens, with my kaleidoscope eyes. With my bear-like aloofness. Seeing things and people in ways they are not often afforded or privileged to be seen as.

I mean not to sound or be haughty or conceited, as if I am some great disruptor–here to provide the proper way of seeing things and interpreting the world, as if I could accomplish it better than anyone else. I only mean to say that the way I tend to perceive the world–the lens I view through–with value and worth in every direction as far as the eye can see, it is good and fitting for me. And when that happens, I like it. I am called unto it.


And yet. The dichotomy of longing and calling together is strangely paradoxical to me, bitingly uncomfortable, and ever unsettling. It is as though my calling is to be longing. And all the while there is some warmth, some loveliness about it–which even occasionally leads to joyfulness. It is in these moments when my Spirit is full and present, and everything seems right, or at the least, completely okay. No. Even if it doesn’t seem okay, it still seems right in these particular moments. That, I think, is a special thing.

IMG_9177 (2017_06_08 16_50_05 UTC)

My life is strange. It’s course has been nothing, if not completely unexpected and not at all how I anticipated or hoped it to be. Is it better or is it worse? Who am I to say? Who am I to determine how my life should go? Every day brings a form of struggle. Life is hard. Choices and decisions are hard. Relationships are really quite very dramatically hard. But it’s…I want to say it is good. I might not be quite ready to say that.

But I do think with extravagant amounts of grace that I am getting there, and will one day proclaim confidently, with all of my belief, that life is good–and this regardless of any circumstances. That is going to take some real special sauce. I like it. I want it. I don’t always want it. But I do want it. Tack and Pine, my friends. Tack and pine. This is me.

 

 

 

 

 

Denver, CO  ¦¦  October 14, 2018

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Tack & Pine, All rights reserved.

 

 

 

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