I'm not sure anybody works here anymore. I came into the office expecting to hear sarcastic and snide remarks from the dutifull staff about my lengthy and unexplained absence. Instead, all machines were shut down, a layer of dust had collected like a late autumn snowfall, the plants withered in the darkness and choked on the dust, and an echoing silence prevailed when the door shut behind me. "Huh," was my only response. Well, the hell with those lazy fuckers, I'll do this myself.
A few weeks ago I went in search of something that I was pretty sure didn't exist anymore. A fool's errand, you presume. Probably. On my journey I drove 2,993 miles in 11 days. At times I was invigorated, others I was exhausted, sometimes I was numb, others contemplative. My first stop was Albuquerque, and immediately after spending 13 hours alone in the car I regretted the chosen destination (not my final). After killing time and realizing I had no business going back there again, I was back in the car less than 36 hours later. On to Steamboat, Colorado. Though this was not my final destination either, it was my turning point, it was the point of my journey, and it was where I thought to look for something that doesn't exist. I felt as if I was holding a key searching for the door it unlocks, knowing that the door had been taken down long ago and there was nothing at all the key would open, but keeping it anyway.
Over my lifetime, and more so over the last ten years, I feel that I have lived an exceptional life, and for this I feel more gratitude than I could ever express. One of the questions that I have always posed to myself in where ever I have gone is, "What am I searching for? I must have come all the way here looking for something. A person doesn't take themselves all the way to the ends of the earth if they're not looking for something." In the wisdom of all my gained life experience, I realize now that in the places I've gone, near and close, on every journey that I've taken, I've only been looking for two things. God and Home. On my first significant journey taken almost ten years ago, I saw God and I wasn't ready for it. After going to Mexico, Chile, and countless places in between, I finally found God again among the drug addicted in Puerto Rico. I was ready.
Lately, I have been on a search for Home without even knowing what it signifies. My constant travel has left me disconnected with always one foot out the door while I'm still unpacking, and a void where ever that idea of Home once was. I knew it wouldn't be there, but I had to take one last look to see if Home was with someone in Steamboat, Colorado. The door was not there and I was still holding the key. The journey back to San Diego was exhausting. Feeling an emptiness beyond words I almost skipped my final destination, but in a state of numbness I kept driving my planned route, and did not turn south. Four days in the wilderness in Yosemite cleared all the junk out of my brain and left me with a spring in my step (pictures are posted somewhere on this page).
Still unsure of what I had hope to find in my journey or the reason I found nothing at all, some undiscovered words from Bob Dylan hit hard tonight. Almost two weeks after I got home and finished "decompressing," it all made sense. "I didn't leave anything behind. I wasn't anywhere close to where I was supposed to be. I was born far away from where I needed to be. I just went looking for home that's all."
All this time I had been looking for Home through the trails that I had already traveled. Now it seems that I'm still on my way, only with no direction Home.
(to use your own metaphorical construction)
Arriving on that doorstep only to find that the door has been removed (and consciously, by the One) has to be one of the most soul-crushing experiences on earth. It makes you question whether the door even ever was reality, and not just a projection of your own desires.
I truly believe that there are some doors, some with the One on the other side even, that are meant to just disappear, trace unseen.
Maybe it's better for some of us that way...
Posted by: Brian Faust | August 23, 2006 at 06:10 AM