There are always new things to experience, internalize then write about. It never stops.
What must be said, must be said.
What must be written, must be written.
There are no waterfalls in my town. Too bad. I would like to go and just sit by a waterfall today for an hour or so, even a small one. When I was hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire I would find small falls off the beaten path I could hear them, in the woods, a few moments walk away from the trail. It was a delight to discover them and to sit and watch them.
To watch one is to watch a three part natural miracle. The pure, lively and life giving water gracefully moving through the forest, winking back at the sun, held up by the strong, stoic, determined rocks and then suddenly dropped into the invisible arms of gravity to be embraced in the bosom of the earth beneath, and then continue, reborn, on its sparkling way to fulfill its destiny.
My vagabond journey, like any journey, is not a smooth one all the way. It's getting over and around obstacles, personal ones and those imposed from the outside. The difference between my journey and that of the brook or river is that they never get discouraged unless someone dams them up. It's those life dams that create stagnancy and smelly despair. True, the dam will prevent flowing into something unexpected. But at what price does someone avoid the surprises of life? There are the sudden frightful plunges into the unknown, which, when taken and survived can revivify us and grant us a whole new perspective on things.
For 2 weeks in the early November of 1960, I hitchhiked from Boston to Los Angeles. I traversed 3,000 miles of land I had never seen before. Sometimes I didn't even know where I was. It was an exercise some people would consider extreme folly. Not as dangerous, perhaps, as sky diving blindfolded or swimming with sharks, but it had its own inherent threats. I faced some animals I didn't want to see, I never knew what kind of a crackpot was going to pick me up (and there were a few), I had to find a place to sleep every night and I had to think about getting across a desert.
All of the experiences I had and the fact that I made it, turned that journey into one of the many important and unforgettable things I've done in my vagabond life. People have asked me to write about that trip. But, truly, I think the real journey can best, and perhaps only, be recorded in the lessons I learned and the wisdom I gained. That trip into the arms of the unknown and unexpected has given me an endless supply of new things to internalize and write about. It continues, to this day, to flow through my thoughts. Obviously, or I couldn't have written this entry or a lot of others.
DB - The Vagabond
Flick away the creepy blues..