Alchemic Verse

Progress and travel generate a build of momentum, the mass of the decision multiplied by the velocity with which the moves are made. After some time in stony but familiar soil, I have taken to the sea again. The course I charted was an aggressive one, 6 hours in the car with a dog being the outward limit of what either of us is comfortable with at this time, the momentum I generated being the outward limit of what my body can handle in its current condition.

It’s worth including some of an unfinished blog post I never published, rewritten in past tense, recalling the winter months that preceded new physics:

Three full months back home comprised the longest I had sat still/lived in one domicile since leaving and selling my home at the end of last June. I was grateful for the shelter, for reconnection with and closure of prior chapters of my life – and became acutely aware that I couldn’t grow there anymore. To those having read my blog with any regularity, this wasn’t exactly news – only a confirmation of what was previously felt and met with soft denial, some well-meaning level of “But what about [some flavor of nostalgia]? What about safety and familiarity?” that served as a harbinger of my return at the Fall Equinox, and again at December‘s start.

I spent the holidays from the day after Christmas or so through the New Year sick with some hell-flu, along with a different health scare that kept me in cold survival mode for some weeks. I finished a music theory course and signed up for several other online classes to further the dream of creation magic. Once I was feeling less infested by microbes, long drives began to take their place in my routines [See: Sanctuary] to alternate finding privacy with making noise – be that unbridled singing practice or screaming questions at the sky with my whole chest.

Snow events then began in earnest which impacted this method of routine catharsis. A minor car accident on ice the weekend of Jan 17th, followed by Snow Prison 2026 the next weekend into the following week meant the final week of January had me at the end of my ability to cope, and once again in planning mode for warmer horizons. I tried to keep my evening dance cards full with shared dinners and helpful friends, cherishing the time I had with them knowing it would be relatively short.

In an effort to be an accountable adult and a responsible, growing human being, the task list started from the lessons. What do I understand now that I didn’t prior to December? How can I honor and carry forward what I’ve learned to improve in myself, both inwardly and outwardly? Having established the emotional needs for continued change, I took on the practical – how to cull/reorganize the belongings I would be storing to be moved when roots are established. Visits to the storage unit were regular and more emotionally painful than expected; each chest pang was followed by a quiet “why did I keep that” said to no one in particular. A blessing to have so many tools and comforts, needs and wants materially met, if a burden when looking to move, particularly in the way I have been since June last. I once again gave away with new eyes that which was replaceable; each sail had shown me what I actually bothered to take inside or unpack, what I didn’t, and what I’d sorely missed left in storage.

And so, the holds were slightly less over-packed for this sail, lessons learned from journeys past. That said, the car felt more like a boat than ever as when we set out, strong mountain winds pummeling the taller profile, the top box acting as a sail despite its relatively aerodynamic design. High speed interstate highways threaded through peaks and valleys, waves of Earth that rolled toward our first destination.

The first stop was so brief that I would question how memorable it is to stay in a place for just one night, but nonetheless certain images stick with me. I had arrived holding memories of a completely different version of the city from when I was looking at places to go to college some poignant number of years hence. The area since has seemingly experienced economic challenges, the historic and charming lanterns that lined each bridge and overpass dim and in disrepair, the stately brick and stone battered, dirty, and often abandoned. Among the images that stayed from my visit, I remember the faces of the weary and struggling folks that I greeted on the street, standing with desolate signs under the breathtaking boughs of pristine Dogwoods and Callery Pear trees laden with purest white blossoms. The trees remained the only image that aligned with memory.

The Airbnb had a wooden swing with a view of the mountains rolling off through the woods where new growth was just starting to show at the fingertips of winter-bare arms. When I woke in the morning, the trundley mattress had formed a nest around my overheated form, but the bird-calls that heralded the dawn were like morning bells in the quiet peachy light.

A quick pack up, a ritual of coffee, and 6 hours of driving with two breaks led me to softer, rounded mountain shapes and to a vintage cottage reminiscent of my grandparents’ house when I was growing up. It featured a pink flamingo-themed bathroom, posters of local parks, an oddly geometric fireplace, vintage toys and scalloped wood framing over the kitchen sink. Post-Its plastered every cabinet from prior visitors lauding their experiences there.

By dusk, a storm had followed me to the new shelter, such that shortly after my arrival and a feverish brief nap, the sky itself poured down. I sat underneath the tin roof of the outdoor patio listening to the raucous music each droplet made. I slept deeply that night having traded the swirling ice crystals of late season snow for softer torrents of flurrying white petals plucked by storm winds from the nearby trees. The melting of my frost-lock increased the desperate urge of momentum pushing in my dreams to continue on.

The third travel day carried me over the first of new lands I’d never seen before, flatter and greener. Hours were spent motoring through the seas of gridlocked interstates surrounded on three sides by tractor trailers, an exercise requiring coordinated high-speed dances lest ships collide and capsize.

The third stop had been easy to select given its amenities; I skirted the nearby city by design, knowing I would be less eager to immerse myself after three days of extended driving. Though there was some confusion initially as printed house rules stated no pets and my reservation clearly indicated my dog would be present, the home itself was beautiful and a little older. The property reminded me of all that I felt was luxury as a child in the 90’s, featuring ornate wrought iron storm doors, yellowed intercoms, glass drawer pulls, a mirrored wall in the kitchen and cherry stained hardwood floors.

While the host did not respond to my query confirming dog-permission, I resolved to be clean and considerate, abiding by the receipt from my reservation relative to the pup’s existence, and fell readily into another fitful nap. Upon waking, and after consuming an egregious portion of BBQ and a tall cup of banana pudding the size of my face, I slid gratefully into a hot tub to melt some of the tension in my muscles and bring the color back to my whitened knuckles. I found it difficult to sit still, swirling in circles while the bubbles roared through my thoughts of continuing on. Nonetheless, weary from road and time travel, antsiness gave way to sleep early, and slumber stayed heavy into the mid-morning.

The fourth day of travel would lead me to where I would stay for a week, a few short hours from the intended destination that would shelter me through the spring. Of all travel days, this day proved the most arduous while also proffering beautiful sights I’d never seen before. Roadways ran miles while raised over glittering water interrupted by patches of emerald reeds and topped by half-submerged trees, their blackened wet bark and tallest fronds reaching for the sun. The road split, with shallow-bottomed boats skimming between the East and West-bound halves. When the roadway descended to softer earth, rice paddies and shallow pools flanked the highway, the lush and verdant growth completing the defrost of the winter that had locked me in stillness.

Each stop I experienced some level of inertia, a resistance to no longer moving, like the mind and spirit tore onward while the body was forced to stop. This latest stay is a longer study in that sensation, where my body aching for rest begs the mind and spirit to slow, and the mind and spirit beckon frantically toward the movement of flight. The stay here and my return to work become immovable objects, the impact bringing to mind images of crash dummies thrown forward and jerked backward in the sudden halting. Thankfully a comfortable bed here has served yesterday and today as the airbag, the seat belt the strong winds sweeping through the backyard carrying birdsong – Blackbird, Catbird, Titmouse, Kinglet, Gnatcatcher, Woodpecker, Warbler, Wren, Robin, Mockingbird, Cardinal, Dove, and Blue Jay.

As I write, I still feel the current of momentum yearning for more travel, more progress toward the goals that form a new life, a legacy of love, compassion, community, and creation I can be proud to call mine. In a week, I will be where I hope to begin realizing that vision, each day thankful for breath and for the opportunity to learn to balance momentum and inertia.