Thoughts on the road...

Biding for time, I waste my days in a whirl of activity and emotion. The tides that come to wash away the debris of things left behind, they carry with them a chill and a hope of places far beyond my reach.

One step off the track... I feel lost.
Two steps, and I feel free.
Three steps, and I never feel like turning back.

Like dust our past flakes and falls apart, blow by the wind, it covers our lives , layer by layer.
That which is not used in soon forgotten under the dusty layers of past. Old sins are forgotten and new ones are forged. Time is only a modern adaptation of an old idea. Like the wheel, and all other great inventions, time was simply a facade, just an idea without a use. However, all great ideas are eventually corrupted by the power of human greed, they are marketed and adapted, made "useful". We are sold back these abominations of creativity, these perversions of free thought, made to believe that our lives will be made easier, more efficient, better.
But does one ever stop and contemplate these improvements? Should one not approach a new idea with caution and a bit of skepticism?
Does time really help us manage our actions, our ideas, our sleep. Does time really allow us the freedom to break our lives into easily manageable blocks, or does it restrict us to this form? Perhaps we are bound by the very things that we believe brings us freedom. Feed your thoughts, question everything, don't become complacent, and above all encourage differences in thinking, the individual is beautiful but the community is powerful.

Joan is Alone pt.1

Cold, alone, bitter, Joan sits on the side of the long empty stretch of road, waiting, watching, eyes fixed on a distant space beyond the horizon. The cool fall air numbs the tips of his ears; he thinks little of it. Joan has far more on his mind than physical discomfort. Joan uses an old trick to help tame his thoughts, he sits quietly, opining his mind, becoming aware of all that is around and within him. Listening to the low hum of silence that surrounded him, watching the gray sky in the distance fade to black as the sun set, Joan continued to sit. He let his mind wander, let his thoughts run free like wild sheep, and like sheep he herd them, one at a time into their proper pens. Joan was a Shepard to his own thoughts. No thought was left untouched, anger was acknowledged and put aside, and with it fear. Hunger was tamed, and old memories were gently closed into there own resting place. As each thought was taken care of, Joan began to relax and sink further into a new world, a place of light, of peace, and of absolute freedom. Joan could feel his body slowly slip away, like an afterthought, as something new took its place. This new body, this new thing, it was beyond words, beyond description, it knew no bounds or limits.

The best Joan could do to describe this feeling to you or I would be to stare wide eyed and awestruck and proclaim, "amazing". Joan would later write in his journal and describe this as a state of connection, as a time in his life that contradicted everything that he ever knew, a time when for but a brief but glorious moment, Joan no longer felt alone...