“The only journey, is the one within.” Rainer Maria Rilke.
With forlorn I gaze upon the sky. My drifting amongst clouds has ended. Limitless blueness has shrunk with distance, as have the days shortened by a withdrawing sun. Endless formations have been chased by temporal realities, and grounded pathways reaffirmed.
What remains of journeys? Images embraced by photos, nostalgically reminded by memories. A fading sense of new delights, now engulfed by familiarity. Trinkets which have already receded into the background dust. An aching feeling of loss of paradise, which cannot be revisited.
My thoughts have become jumbled with a descending fog of jet lag. As a restless tiredness overwhelms me, confusion distorts my pathways. I struggle with myself, and with mindfulness and living in the present. I seem only to be able obtain comfort with dreaming. My mind wanders to visualising desired scenarios. I find that this even aids my sleep and creativity. For what are we without a dream, but just empty shells. Our journeys start with a dream, and as my travel odyssey comes to an end, another dream develops. I contemplate what I desire, and immerse myself in the prospect of it actually happening. I find it very affirming, and I wonder if this is an indulgence other people utilise?
As my travels have afforded me time to float my thoughts, my dreams return to my passions to embrace music. I feel an emptiness without it, and have an urgency to return to it. I feel blogging, also, as another form imagining, which benefits clarity, expression, and finding a voice. Additionally, the possibility of connecting with other people is so affirming. We are social animals, and we need others to survive.
So too my travels have reaffirmed my dream, and my sense of self. I have now returned to music’s embrace.