I have been moving thousands of miles and I have been silent. Perhaps you wondered where I was.
As the miles were chewed up and spat out under bumping bus wheels, as the borders rolled by, my words were somehow stopped up, stilled. I wondered why.
I travelled south through Bolivia and Paraguay, to Brazil – through little worlds of wonders. Yet somehow I was not moved in the way that I was before. I looked on at beauties. I thought I that I should feel moved, that I would feel more, later when I found the memories packed up in a odd drawer with entrance tickets and dog eared receipts. And yet I felt nothing much at all.
My heart had gone journeying. Somehow my journey, my spaces and distances had become a little irrelevant. The pulse of me picked up a patter, the soft tempo of something gaining speed elsewhere.
I could not complain. For me this adventure was always inside outside in and that is why I have written; the bloom of night skies blacked out into my own expanses, the blaze of the hills taught me to burn brighter. I wanted to hold onto that even when the photos fade and memories dim.
I suppose it was natural that there came a point when my internal world grew more vivid than the vistas the guidebook spelled out for me, when the journey was de-linked from the trip, leaving me a little lost as if I’d forgotten my baggage..
My dreams were fleshing out, live, loveable, elsewhere and I was standing looking for the pictures my camera was ready to swallow.
I felt a future waiting that I was impatient, greedy for. When I fretted over national parks and cityscapes neglected, I asked myself why a thought, a hope should that be any less real, any less beautiful or worthy of my attention?
Of course this time has still been an adventure. There are plenty of tales to be told. I’ve danced drunk, raced waves, laughed out loud at stolen kisses. But I have not written what I’ve seen and done, and it has been lesser for it, as if my words give life and I have decided to let another place be where I breath.
My heart has been journeying hard. It travelled without telling me, kept secrets, cheated me to take me where it wanted to go. It wanted what I would not date to ask for.
I thought I knew why I was doing this. I did not. I was not asked. My heart went uninvited. I can only guess it went simply because it was written that it would, that it was meant.
I have come many miles and found myself here alone, with a handful of wishes, a prayer I don’t quite understand wrapped round my wrist and a little hope happy still in my footsore heart. But I am choosing to believe in the voyage I didn’t pick and didn’t expect and in the value of this jumbled bundle funny little of joys. Perhaps this too is meant.