Tomorrow, I strike for the Yukon.
A long time in the works I have striven lately to make only the decision of where to go, which direction to face. Instead of feeling drawn to any place in particular, I feel like a criminal in the dark ages, being quartered and drawn in each direction by horses, men, and machines.
Residing lately in the lower mainland I find it extremely difficult to tear myself from this beautiful paradise.
Beautiful women, cliffs galore, and forests that poets write essays about, as the beauty can be to overwhelming to be captured in but a few stanzas.
But I know its time to go again, to thrive in isolation and make amends with whims of the universe, ever striving to teach young men to listen and hear the language of the soul of the earth. And to eventually converse in that language of the universe that we might speak as simply to a star as a neighbor.
So hark Father time, Mother Nature,
I go to seek Brother Winter. Having been warned only about the dangers of the land, I strike north to find the beauty. If all else fails Sister Spring then will unthaw my remains. Body damaged but soul intact, my curiosity might have even been sated.
So I go to find quiet, peace, beauty, and inspiration.
Pleased to be fearless in all endeavors I hope to scare the shit out of myself repeatedly.
check in for videos, poetry, updates and hopefully not an obituary column.
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