Alchemic Verse

Anchors are aweigh again, and the journey continues on the pivot. The car re-tetrised, I have returned to the road, determined to find where I can call home for some true comfort, at least for a time, as the last slip figuratively crumbled. If the past 2.5ish months have taught me anything at all – it’s to try it. Go and see for yourself, stay curious, be open to the lessons both harsh and sublime. You’ll find yourself there, when everything is stripped away, and you hear what your inner self values most, in the crests and troughs of gratitude and lack. Splitting up what I’ve written each night so far, let’s start with the first two-night stay about a week ago.

The first two nights on the road found me lying on my back in the bed of a compact sci-fi nerd’s dream trailer, staring out of a skylight that held the promise of stars later. Aligning my spine after 6ish hours at the wheel, I reflected on the choice to weigh the anchor and set sail again, as where I was had become increasingly unfriendly. The hope those first nights was that I find within my newly realized strength the perseverance to heal things that I thought were irreparably broken, including myself.

There was no chair to sit in upright in the trailer, which was fashioned after a Space Capsule, containing a lamp fashioned after a rocket launching, glowing red and pulsing like robotic respiration.

I gratefully enjoyed the healing days with quiet reading, sudoku, and soaking in a hot tub, a priority indulgence I chose for several of the stays on this voyage, to soothe the tension in my body wrought by long hours on the asphalt seas. I learned over the past weeks how to sit with myself in the quiet and feel my energy relax, the influences of outside inputs and demands having been removed. The flipside of that coin are minutes where I can feel so alone that my shallow breathing and racing mind threaten to keep me mired in shadow, even in the daylight. The truth I arrived at is that sometimes grand adventures look like packing up your car and driving thousands of miles to somewhere unfamiliar, and the only thing you find there is yourself.

I watched the sunset from the bed through the panoramic wrap around windows, filtered by the light of early autumn trees offering on extended arms their chartreuse leaves proudly before the great fall. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the glare of my image illuminated by my phone obscured all vision of the sky until I had achieved near-blackness inside. When I laid still and silent in the darkness, having unplugged the rocket and pressed random objects against LEDs that lit up interior tech, I saw the brightest stars and held tightly to hopes of feeling the presence of something greater guiding me toward fulfillment and purpose.

My dog snored boisterously by my side while my head filled with circles of wishes and loss. Still, I reflected on the little over 2 months since I initially left home; in the intervening days, weeks, I was guided thoughtfully by friendly people and equally played with by unfriendly actors. In the aftermath, I enjoy my own company now more than I ever have before, the deep lesson echoing – no company is better than bad company.

So many false narratives were woven about me in the wake of this journey, particularly my motivations, my history… Part of me felt compelled to chase each down, to right the wrongs, to erase the falsehoods and paint over them with the vibrant murals of truth, with a demeanor somewhere on a sliding scale of righteous to vengeful. Ultimately, I chose to be silent if saddened, releasing the need to convince anyone who makes it their mission to misunderstand and write their own narratives about my life. I have chosen to trust that the truth will prevail or that, at the very least, I will find my way forward and leave behind the compulsion to explain.

Outside of the capsule, the stars were numerous given the remoteness:

The stars visible through the skylight were understandably fewer. First, I saw Vega, in the constellation Lyra, depicted in the shape of a harp, the first lyre, gifted from Hermes to Apollo, who then gifted it to Orpheus. Orpheus’s tragic love story tells of his beloved Eurydice, bitten by a snake and thus taken by death to the underworld where Orpheus bargained with Persephone and Hades for her return. If Orpheus could lead Eurydice above with his song, without looking back to be sure she followed, he would have been able to be with her again in the land of the living. The story ends tragically, as he did not hear her steps behind him, and so he looked back. Maybe the message in the vaguely-remembered myth for me is to not look back.

Goodbyes always make me cry, and that first day departing I cried several times, saying goodbye to the kind people I met during my stay. When I crossed the boundary-forming river, I cried again, saying goodbye to the place that was home for those 9ish weeks. Lastly, I cried thinking of Orpheus and Eurydice while praying I keep my own faith to look forward, persist in my song, and bring forth miracles.

As the night deepened, new stars appeared in the shift of the cosmos – the turning of the Earth. Deneb, in Cygnus – that silly goose, the bridge between Vega and Altair. That legend comes from a different myth and a different civilization, with all of humanity staring at the same stars over eons that I stare at in 2025. I wondered, what legends should we write about the stars now? Whose names should the stars take in modern society; who is truly worthy of such an honor? Do we simply keep the old names now, preserved as long as humanity persists, or until something entirely different prevails? I suppose I prefer that to “Behold! This constellation is Cyber Truck, its brightest star, Amazon Prime.”

Every day, the news seems to circle in red pen the doom of our race and our planet, hastened by shortsighted and greedy powers, the masses feeling unable to impact the story and rename the stars. If I can accept myself and the lessons of this journey, I staunchly refuse to accept defeat.

That night and still now, I don’t know what’s in store for my path, but as the stars shift, so will I. I will rename my stars and sail by them, and I will trust that love will surface with me to the land of the living.