Looking Up

Images of the future coming in, moving back through time and mixing in my awareness of the moment. As the days before my departure dwindle, the more I start to recall the Life I used to live before I moved back into the city. How good it was and how often I used to smile and say what an awsome life I lived. Now I shake my head when I again see images of the woods and mountains I left behind in the wild. What madness, to choose this over them, the whole beautifull world is out there, why would I want to be here? The urge for a home must have been so strong.
That belief in the relation, the farm, the fammily, that drew me here, and made me stay. But I heve never felt like the city would harbour me. Do not feel there is ground to manifest myself. I feel like I keep trying to make a life here, but am unable to take root in the city stone. I feel turned back, like a child who, with genuine entousiasm, is told that his ideas are foolish and his dreams invain.

Eventhough this is the town I was born in, and I know it better than any other, I do not feel at home here. Perhaps traveling is a bit like time travel, one constantly has the oppertunity to re-vieuw ones conditionings. One has to learn, has to grow, and thus changes faster, without actually getting much older. Last summer, when I was on the road again to eastern europe. In just those two months, I gathered so many memmories, those warm days live withing me still, with such vigor, and inspire me daily. That seems like my real life, like the real me. Pictures of that time show me so much more alive and centered. And of those ten months since than? Feels like hardly anything happened.
In the mirror I see a empty shell, a white ghost of my former self, drained by the stress and monotomy of the city life.

Now that the temperatures have risen again, and I can sleep with the garden doors open I find myself thinking; 'Ahh, finally normal wheather again'! It always feels like I need to fight the winter, struggle, eventhough winters have become so mild these days. It's the light, the light intensity, the green life and relaxation of not having to worry about the teperature when going out.
Whereas some folks might feel estranged when traveling to other countries, I feel that that's where my life is. I noticed that I do not connect to the Dutch proverb of "Een te ver van m'n bed show". Nothing seems too strange to me, other than the willingness to permanently live in this crazy little over developed and cultured river delta called Holland.

Nomad Born

The City is dead to me. A growling hungry beast of dust and dimness. Life turned to stone in the eyes of freedom. Freedom truely is a great treasure. As is health, Freedom within the body. The world seems to invite me. There is a lively itching in my feat to wander. There is nothing I need to do. It is a matter of choise. This is the first day of the life where I will no longer do things because I have to. It is an illusion. Why do we do those things, that don't feel right? For fammily? For fear or Glory? For gain of unnessesary material gain? All my life, I was aspiring. Reaching for a goal, trying to prove myself worthy, able, good. Yet life is not about that. My father would rather plant Roses, and that is as good a porpose as any.

Iye do not consider myself a religious person, but deeply spiritual. Spiritual in the sense that I believe/feel/see a universal inteligent spirit that unites all beings, all things. I feel like a leaf on a tree. As soon as it gets separated from the tree, it starts to wither. The leaf cannot live without the Spirit. When life ends, some part of the spirit does not live on somwhere else. All that we recognise as spirit are just different manifestations of the same soul. Like tentacles stretching out. For a tree it must be so obvious that is it an integral part of the soil. Yet for us, as mobile organisms, we tend to forget that we are just as attached to the earth as the greens. The moment that we are separated from the planet, we start to wither too. We need constant nourishment in different forms like food, air, water, support, warmth. So I feel cradled, in the womb of Pacha Mama. A womb, that actually, have never left.
And so I wish to live where I can feel her precence most strongly. Surounded by her beauty. That is where I belong, and that is where Iye flourish.

There is nothing I need to do

Iye have this strange sensation. Moving on now no longer a question. Going south seems a repetition, looking for something that has Changed. Moving East feels like ambition and learning. The fullfilment of duties, yet looking West..... It fills me with an open feeling of freedom and uncertainty. Space to develope, to expand my Self, into the unknown, into true adventure. A great relaxation befalls me when I feel there's nothing I need to do, nothing to achieve. Within me has re-kindled that spirit of travel soley for the expirience, to see, that I deemed lost for years. 'America' I whisper to myself, the word itself an entrancing Magic. The oh so amazing Nature of the New world, the open spaces, the Dessert and mountainous woods. Oh you call me, and I must answer.