Contemplating the clarity.
20/04/08 22:00
The road to serenity is
always long and filled with obstacles. I was however
surprised to see that the road would be roughly 250
miles long and take us to Ashland, Wisconsin. For the
last five weeks we’ve been on the road. We’ve seen
much, heard much, tasted even more and felt an
unimaginable range of feelings. We’ve participated in
the celebration of Jesus’ return. We’ve lived the
life of the rebellious artist, trying to understand
the life of the true boheme. So many people, so many
views and somehow we carry it all with us.
Although we move around and often seem as though we leave people and places behind us, we never really let go. We hang on to the memories and lessons learnt and try to prepare for whatever our journey might bring our way. Desperately we try to make room for new sensations, new experiences and the forever changing color of the horizon. Our primary means of this ‘cleansing’ is writing.
As if rinsing our bodies in a fresh spring, we shed ourselves of experiences had through our writing. The expression becomes necessary to comprehend. Everyday we travel through uncharted territory and everyday we seek the catharsis that lies in understanding. We fight to put theme and thesis in the context that they deserve.
And this - like the road we’ve traveled - leads me to Ashland.
Ashland, the first glimpse of serenity in a long time. It isn’t as if we’ve had a hard time or have been treated badly anywhere. Everyone we’ve stumbled upon has helped in any way possible for them. Strangers go out of their way to make sure we have a bed - others take a day off from work to make sure that we are shown around.
They will make sure to show us the old white tree in the forest named ‘Grandfather’, make sure that we taste the exquisite broiled whitefish, served with a particular brew from a local microbrewery, obviously brewed on herbs and plants only found locally. And in an art gallery in Washburn, and small town up the coast, I find myself talking to the hearing impaired volunteer about the wonders of teaching the elementary school kids the words and language of the native american tribe that used to own the land - the Ojibway.
I learn of the fox and the squirrel, and learn about the travel made by The Original Man. I learn how he walked the earth in wonder and named all the beings and plants. I learn of his travels with his friend the Wolf. I learn of brotherhood and equality and how Gichie Manitou told them that they had to travel separate paths, although they would endure the same torments on these paths. I learn to see The White Tree, ‘Grandfather’ in a new light, and I try to learn the importance of understanding nature as it is in front of me - as my brother.
Three hours later I’m back in Ashland, standing at a lake named Superior, watching the sun slowly descent on the horizon and giving the last of its warmth to its beloved children. I slowly freeze and wonder when man and wolf will walk the path together again, if ever. I once again feel the need for the cleansing. It is as if I haven’t really been rinsed from the path that I have walked. Somehow something is still there. I have walked the path and named the plants, named the beings and everything that the light would show me.
Here, sitting on the shore of Lake Superior I have named serenity as well. And tonight I will sleep well, aware of the wolf and the fact that he is my brother.
Although we move around and often seem as though we leave people and places behind us, we never really let go. We hang on to the memories and lessons learnt and try to prepare for whatever our journey might bring our way. Desperately we try to make room for new sensations, new experiences and the forever changing color of the horizon. Our primary means of this ‘cleansing’ is writing.
As if rinsing our bodies in a fresh spring, we shed ourselves of experiences had through our writing. The expression becomes necessary to comprehend. Everyday we travel through uncharted territory and everyday we seek the catharsis that lies in understanding. We fight to put theme and thesis in the context that they deserve.
And this - like the road we’ve traveled - leads me to Ashland.
Ashland, the first glimpse of serenity in a long time. It isn’t as if we’ve had a hard time or have been treated badly anywhere. Everyone we’ve stumbled upon has helped in any way possible for them. Strangers go out of their way to make sure we have a bed - others take a day off from work to make sure that we are shown around.
They will make sure to show us the old white tree in the forest named ‘Grandfather’, make sure that we taste the exquisite broiled whitefish, served with a particular brew from a local microbrewery, obviously brewed on herbs and plants only found locally. And in an art gallery in Washburn, and small town up the coast, I find myself talking to the hearing impaired volunteer about the wonders of teaching the elementary school kids the words and language of the native american tribe that used to own the land - the Ojibway.
I learn of the fox and the squirrel, and learn about the travel made by The Original Man. I learn how he walked the earth in wonder and named all the beings and plants. I learn of his travels with his friend the Wolf. I learn of brotherhood and equality and how Gichie Manitou told them that they had to travel separate paths, although they would endure the same torments on these paths. I learn to see The White Tree, ‘Grandfather’ in a new light, and I try to learn the importance of understanding nature as it is in front of me - as my brother.
Three hours later I’m back in Ashland, standing at a lake named Superior, watching the sun slowly descent on the horizon and giving the last of its warmth to its beloved children. I slowly freeze and wonder when man and wolf will walk the path together again, if ever. I once again feel the need for the cleansing. It is as if I haven’t really been rinsed from the path that I have walked. Somehow something is still there. I have walked the path and named the plants, named the beings and everything that the light would show me.
Here, sitting on the shore of Lake Superior I have named serenity as well. And tonight I will sleep well, aware of the wolf and the fact that he is my brother.
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