I am alone. I am getting used to it. A friend told me that I needed to learn to live alone, to be OK with my solitude. I believe I have been practicing the art of being alone for quite a while. Will solitude bring me the door to the end of solitude? Will the desert ever end? Will I find land floating adrift through the Pacific? My mind stays restless night after night; I seek the peace of my room early in the evening but I fight the never ending battle of staying in the moment. Visions of the future pile up in my mind and steal the peace I should be finding today, the peace I have been experiencing for quite a while now.
The images in my mind are once more becoming lies; again I feel like I live in a fake world and all the dreams I am building up will come crash down to my reality in an explosion of regret and chaos. The big monster of reality, the big evil reminder that life is not what you dream of, the voice in the back of your head that reminds you of the responsibilities the normal brings to all of us, the voice whose loud sounds quiets down the dreamer in me, the seeker of extraordinary themes.
I go back in time to the open spaces of Alaska; the place where everything made sense and I was able to hear her voice reminding me of all the amazing moments coming my way. I remember the movement of the clouds the same way I see the waves crashing with gold in the sunset light that repeats night after night. And solitude fills everything, mixes with the music of the poet and in that moment I can heard the dreamer, I can fill his energy. But I feel like giving up, stop opening doors, let my body move down the hallway most have chosen; it would be so much easier!
I heard a friend today talking about me; I was listening at what he sees in me, about my life, about my dreams. He listened to the dreamer and said he could see my path, the passion for a future filled with extraordinary images. He served as my mirror today and I needed his words to resonance loud in my mind, louder than the monster of normality, the evil of good, the enemy of extraordinary.
Will I ever be able to look in the mirror again without panicking about the eyes looking back at me, panicking about having to live with all my questions, all the mysteries that steal my sleep night after night? I am not ready, I am not ready, I must prolong my journey, I must pursue more answers by opening doors that bring me close to the edge, to the dangerous edge of total liberation from the monster. I need more strength to quiet down him and let the dreamer come afloat, come loud to the surface and fill my dreams once more. I need him to help me sleep as she once did. I need the dreamer by my side as I continue my journey.