The One Who Wanders

I am the one who …

craves adventure in different places and parts of myself.

through traveling believes I can find the true self by
comforting the unknown.

believes there are frontiers of the human heart and mind
to explore.

searches out my own truths and stands up to those who think
they know what is best for me.

begins in captivity – captured by conformity and cultures.

needs to learn respect for another’s journey and encourage
their embarking quests.

creates boundaries and knows where I begin and end as well
as others.

*** Notes

For many years, I have, in the places of my dreams and
imagination, traveled the streets of Paris. I have an extensive
collection of magazine articles and random maps, some books
about living modestly and cost efficient. I read of poets and
artists and purchase posters of Cezanne paintings. I am attracted
to Monet’s love of brilliant yellow kitchens, fresh cut flowers
of vivid blue, and preparing brunch with friends in a warm country
sun each day.

Each morning with excitement, while drinking coffee, I read ‘Paris Breakfast’
on the computer. I purchase CD’s at the book store and listen to
French singers who I don’t know.

There is a phrase in art speak called ‘Women With Wings’. Beryl
Markham comes to mind each time I see the phrase. She flew planes -
the small Mickey Mouse type, through Africa, so long ago. I fly
with her and am the wing walker when not rescuing safari hunters
caught in the endless rain. I walk in the coolness of African nights
and hear the growl of strange animals close by. I try and converse with people
native of their vast continent who have so much to teach me. Yet one more place
I long to wander and wonder.

In reality, I have gone to New York City on the whim and inevitably become
lost. How does one describe a good ‘lost’? I was overwhelmed and tearful
at the vastness of a city built upon the mouth of the Atlantic Ocean.
In the twilight of the winter evening, captured by traffic, I watched the endless
number of people walking to and fro. I asked myself, where have they been and
where are they going? The city is the ‘Wanderers’ playground. One can be anomaious
and yet surrounded by people here. Each person walking is in sink, holding
white, plastic shopping bags in a clutched fist. As one moves with the traffic,
the sound of brakes squeaking and grinding becomes a comfort instead of an irritation.
You know you are moving – slowly, and you can take the scenery in of changing streets with
ethnic groups beginning and ending on the numbered street signs. The world changes
in a starling manner from one street corner to the next. When after hours of
stops and starts you find your way out of the city and ride the bridge of vast
lights an emptiness grabs hold of your soul. I am a wanderer and must keep
going if only to return to my home base – the place I feel stationed at. I will
find myself yet again planning another journey.

I have read the shadow side of the wanderer, the traveler, the vagabond, or nomad
could be called, ‘the lost soul’. Someone perhaps on an aimless journey without
direction …  disconnected from goals and others. Isn’t it more the idea of
adventure – seeing the unseen? Does each experience we have always have to be goal
oriented, with goodness towards another? Isn’t that concept staying inside the
four corners of the dark box? By taking a journey real or imagined isn’t that
stepping outside the box for a few moments and returning not only refreshed,
renewed but perhaps growth has taken place – if only a touch?

I will remain one who wanders. I never realized what a big part of myself this
archetype was. I know I will also return to the home base – perhaps bringing with me
a more authentic self which has been enriched by the very process of wandering.