Tuesday, September 3, 2013
I feel very far away from the girl who ecstatically washed her face seven times at Providence Dam at the outset of a cross country journey on foot. I'd go back a thousand times and live over the last summer, even the one night of homeless hell in Cincinnati, walking through the crushed beer bottles in search of some place to lay my head. Even the day my leg was broken, my dream postponed. If life isn't about experience, about really having it all happen and feeling it deeply, its nothing to me. So a broken leg and rethinking everything again and having everything be differently than I planned - that's to be expected, really. If I've learned one thing on my stroll from Ohio to Missouri, its that everything I've learned can be unlearned. My grip on reality is shaky, at best. But I'm happy with it as it is. Everything changes and stays itself all at once - the same atoms undergoing transformation forever and ever. But we're getting into deep shit here, and I don't exactly know what I'm talking about in all the philosophical runs. I'm just an troubadour trying to redefine herself.
I had seen this journey as sort of an orderly line from Ohio to California. But how does that line up with the true wildness of the world? All I know is I have this deep craving to know all that is and I can't be everywhere at once and that truly distresses me. But I did learn from the transience of the walking time that if I want to actually know the people as I say, its best to dig into one place awhile. So that's what I've done in Indiana, not by choice but I'm glad its been so. I've gone fishing in abandoned coal fields, sat around a campfire with the good ol boys, made homemade wines, kissed a boy with a tramp stamp that says "balla", seen one of the 42 8th wonders of the world, and what else I've done you'll have to ask me... But its damn good story, this summer, and better for the grit in it.
And now, here I sit in a room alone, at my parents' for a visit to babysit my three nieces. My leg is healing quickly now, I even danced a hopalong little dance to ring around the rosy with the girls. When we were out in the sun earlier today, Juliana, the six year old, told me that we were "in the great big room that goes on forever, the biggest living room of them all." So I claim the world as my great big living room, and roam like Jesus, clothed like the lilies and with no place but everywhere to lay my head.