An Outlawed Wanderer's Saga

"Is this liberation ?" I muse, reclining upon the expansive and picturesque prairies, my gaze fixated on the night sky adorned with an abundance of stars akin to bioluminescent droplets. Observing the celestial waves flowing effortlessly in the galactic stream, I ponder, "Have I arrived at the coveted stage of serenity, the inner peace ?"

Throughout my existence, I harboured no desire for stasis, to be confined within defined spaces, specific cities, amidst a particular company. For me, a dream, a passion represents emancipation- a liberation not solely from physical confines but from the chains within my psyche. I’m a human being, an entity breathing and pulsating with life, fortunate to be bestowed with existence. As long as I tread upon this earthly realm, my quest is to live by my dictums, guided by my unique principles, employing this distinctive mind of mine- this intellect with which I presently express and articulate. As the eminent thinker and scientist René Descartes philosophically proclaimed, "I think, therefore I am."

One particular destined day, it is meant for me to depart, set forth to see what’s in store for me, unravel the mysteries that await me, somewhere, everywhere. I feel it is not meant for me to be in a certain place for long. I belong to the winds, I’ve surrendered my soul to the drifting clouds long ago and entrusted my heart to the migratory birds until my return to reclaim what is rightfully mine.

Spending a day wandering through the forsaken cities, endeavouring to listen to the tales the crumbling edifices wish to convey- the empty and desiccated wells, the relics of past lives left by people- broken refrigerators, rusting bicycles, and the abandoned and unfortunate toys of children- all yearning to speak of bygone days, of the days that are long gone but are not yet forgotten. While listening to these stories, reconciling with the reality of now, the present denizens of these towns- the coyotes, squirrels, rattlesnakes, wildness incarnate, and above all, the ghosts, and thus, ghost towns.

Then, to spend the night in a Mexican carnival, dancing and singing amongst strangers in a diminutive town, absorbing the folktales narrated by the indigenous folk until dawn signals its arrival through the sweet melodies of chirping birds.

Some days roaming in less-trodden places and alleys, talking to strangers, helping people, chirping, laughing, the other days, trying to decipher the language of the other cultures- visiting Temples, Mosques, Churches, Jinjas, Buddhist temples, synagogues, Sikh Gurudwaras and shrines- not to affiliate with any particular religion, but to capture the essence of human spirits within.

I’m not structured in a way where I have a schedule to complete deadlines, have obligatory coffee breaks and need a break to even breathe. I desire to live my life my way- the way it ought to be originally- the way which I ordain for myself and nobody else. I yearn to soar, to sprint, to roam unburdened by the weight of the past, the commitments of the present, and the non-existent yet palpable anxieties of the future. I am a wanderer in heart and soul. As enchanting and mysterious as it may sound, it is an unconventional path, nearly impossible to tread. However, since my heart and soul have seized the reins of my existence, aided by the brain, I shall endeavour not to be swayed by conventional norms, irrational beliefs, and unhealthy societal standards.

"The ones who wander are lost" is a common adage. I am lost. Lost in the rhythms of the celestial music that "graces" my ears. Lost to the harshness of the world, detached from the realities of this earth, and unaffected by the opinions of people. I value my way of life and have no wish for the bustling world to squander its precious time contemplating my existence. It's all but a fleeting moment- yesterday was ashes, today is a blaze, tomorrow a mere spark.

Ultimately, I reach at my final destination- somewhere uncharted, a petite wooden abode, nestled at the heart of nowhere, honey-coloured armchairs, telling of the long passage of time, of the truth tends to be forgotten amidst bustling cities, somewhere in the nowhere of the Japanese countryside. The garden looks as if it's a blend of wilderness and civilization, creating a beautiful melody of the chirps of birds and the rustling of winds which leave the sweet yet sad scent of nostalgia. In a realm of nowhere, it becomes the haven for shattered and wounded souls, hearts that have endured the tortures of time and reality but cannot anymore, a sanctuary for recuperation, a shelter for the life remaining. This signifies the termination of both the journey of departing from the monotony of the known and the odyssey of experiencing the beauty of the unknown. This is home, my home. A home where I belong.

As I lie upon the rustling prairies, harmonising with the symphony orchestrated by the chirping of the crickets and the gentle glow gifted by the fireflies in the serene stillness of the backdrop, the wanderer in me, the stargazer in me contemplates and tries to fathom, hear, sense the millions of stories untold of the aeons lost, of the ages swallowed, of the dreams absorbed in the vastness of the beautiful ballet above. To these whispers, I offer my reverence, my love, and declare, "Indeed, this is Freedom."

In the words of Walt Whitman, "Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me."

Image by lim chuan shin from Pixabay