As the wind pats softly on my back and the sun warms my face I wounder why I came here; why did I climb this mountain, I awoke early in the morning and rose from my restless sheets to quest, but to quest for what, is this the beauty that I seek for? or is it another it reminds me of?
If another, does it lie in a far and distant land awaiting to be discovered, or did I leave it behind in the places I once knew so well, the very places I have run from.
Why run, the sweet odors of the new-growth shrubs surround me. The rock I have perched upon, though dull and harsh to the touch, brings comfort through its warmth and well shaped contours that please your body as it rests.
Rest, perhaps that is it, as I look out over the horizon to the distant mountains and countless places of beauty, I long to be there. But for the time being I am quite satisfied where I lay, basking in the visual ambiance of the horizon,
The horizon, the horizon to come, I know it must come, I cannot stay here forever, if I indulge in this place long enough the harsh surface of the rock will cause my body to ache, the insects of the shrubs will begin to crawl on my body and let me know that I am no longer welcome, and the wind will shift and strengthen; stealing the comforting warmth of the air.
Time to move, to explore, to seek out a new nursery to nurse my obsession. But my obsession for what? Comfort? Rest? If it was these that I seek I could have very well stayed in bed, there is something more that drove me from my sheets where I laid restless and unsatisfied. Perhaps I quest for change? No, this cannot be; I begin to long for the places I have even before I take my leave; the great trade-off of being in one place and not the other.
Is it possible to have both and not just one or the other; to be in both places at once? Or is there a place that is both; one in the same? Perhaps not, for the most prosperous places in nature the only constant is flux; the change of the seasons, the rise and fall of the sun and tides, the intermittence of rainfall and the varying soil moisture it creates for plant life; a place with a constant state of any kind leads to the weakening and even death of its inhabitants.
Change, flux, it seems so directionless, notionless, but is the nature of change truly random? The natural world changes so unpredictably, while so predictably returning to its original state; it’s not just change that makes life flourish, it cycles.
If this is life, then mine is certainly no exception; to venture off into the horizon with no clear direction and eventually come about, back to where I once started, completing the cycle, a cycle, of many to come I’m sure. Perhaps this is why the world is round, no matter the direction you take you will always come about, it’s the cycle that allows life to continue living, in both the body, and the mind.
Even as I write my welcome in this resting place is overstayed. The wind has strengthen and robbed my warmth, guls that have landed on a nearby post have broken the peaceful whispers of the mountain's peak with their aggravating squaks, and the rock upon which I am perched, though very nicely contoured to my body, is firm and I have begun to ache.
Time to leave, to explore, to wash away with the low tide and slip into the horizon, the horizon to come, the horizon to come about.
I am both, coming, and going, home.
