I want to be lost—
sitting as the bus takes me where it goes, through fields and valleys and snow-covered streets, through beautiful midwest sunrises--I want to be lost and alone, I want to see people getting on and off, I want to sleep and wake in the middle of the night and sit alone in wonder, I want to live there, to rest my head on the window and cry, to be part of this music, the road and the country--I want to get off in the middle of nowhere, spin around and have no idea where I am, I want to walk the road, meet another traveler, hop a train, ride where it will--to live the sadness inside of me. This is not "on the road", running to parties and cities and being wild, this is being the road, losing everything, being lost. I want to find myself in Des Moines, sitting in a diner, getting cheap eggs and black coffee for breakfast, I want to sing the song of this life, have no idea where I am or where I'm going, I want each day to blend into the next, never special but never the same, I want to lose myself between the mountain ranges, empty everything inside of me, to be where I am and what I'm doing, become the wasteland. I want no one to know who I am or what I'm from or where I'm going, what I'm doing, what the goal of this odyssey is, to let the wind blow through me and be that transparency, to follow the path of nothing at all—
let me show you:
here this time inside the space of the mind the story becomes what we imagined it wouldn't ever be: the opening of ourselves into the moment of weakness, the feeling of becoming the very image of transparency that doomed us before-–where is the feeling going that controls our understanding of the skies and the goodbyes and the weekend’s melancholy aloneness? what if the moment of becoming wasn't a moment at all but a process, a lifetime, a spectrum, then what am I doing? I'm trying so hard to become, but all I can do is watch, pretending to live inside the moment of our awakening selves. What if we went away, if we walked and disappeared, if we were well and truly lost, with only the emptiness of the road to take us where it cannot go, to take us into nothingness and being, to walk and lose and be loved and realize nothing but just to be the sadness instead of hiding it here the whole time? the king of the hilltops has spoken--you have a quest to embark upon, my son--go forth into the land of the people and forget we ever spoke, stop questing and start being, breathe the time but never know it, hide your mind for a moment and sleep in the daylight, each time the morning comes but we've never felt beyond the waking hour. to where does this departure take us? to the land of no departure at all
I want you to get lost with me,
to sit beside my side and walk with me, to scrape together all we have and be the “other's world entire”--exchange few words and retain the sense of loss, hold each other in the night, maybe, or just rest your head on my shoulder--feel more than what it takes to become ourselves, instead be the time and the weakness that we always knew was there, despite the wandering and the closeness to be alone and know the other, to let the outpouring of our softness dam the measure of our thoughts--the very likeness of our souls is beyond the sense of each other, please come with me?
this is what it means to jump.