I live in perpetual wonder, a state of awe bordering on the mystical as if I was continually in the presence of an almighty deity whose every breath imparted mystery and wisdom. The awe is not for nature, though the natural world tickles my kibbles. Not so much for manmade objects despite my spending thousands to travel the world to marvel at ancient creations arising from kindred, artistic souls. Mostly, my wonder is focused internally as I try to figure out who the hell I am.
My literary idol, Edward Abbey, declared the Maze district in Southern Utah to be America’s last uncharted wilderness. I scoff at the great author’s declaration. My soul is terra incognita. My mind is hopelessly lost in labyrinthian canyons so twisted not even Ariadne’s thread can rescue me.
Without hope of escape, of resurrection, I simply meander deeper, squeeze sideways through curling slot canyons praying I don’t hit a dead end forcing me to retrace bloody footsteps from the glass-strewn trail.
Wander, wander, wander. Discover. Learn? Wander, wander, wander. I grow weary wandering. I want to sit for millennia and stagnate, sleep for a few eternities in the last rays of warm light falling from the sky above, light rays obscured by demons so never reaching me, forcing me to exist in darkest purgatory.
I sat once buy only for two ticks of a clock. In those ticks, my soul started to decay, crumble like grains of sand through the narrow neck of an hourglass. I have not rested since and that was a lifetime ago.
So, I wander, wander, wander, hoping unearthed knowledge will congeal, build upon itself until I finally understand myself and can rest peaceful.