“The power of the imagination is great, and is the starting place for mapping a reality, known or unknown. As big as we think a wilderness might be, someone else has been there, before us. A gut reckoning with this is perhaps what creates yearning. To go, where others have gone. Maybe only a few others. But we’ll never know. Their footprints have been washed away, or obscured by time. We might be the first, to walk next here, or not. It’s the mystery of being newly arrived, standing at or within the boundaries of the void, that makes life worth living. No one is privy to everything. So as we enter a no man’s land, we are alone, in the moment of being ignorant of our exact coordinates. And yet, maybe among the lucky, as fate would have it. It doesn’t take much looking, to make such a landing.It might be a professional calling, for some. “To go where no man has gone before”, intones the Star Trek intro. A misnomer, perhaps, but one that has surely incited many a hapless wanderer. How many times have we gone rogue, only to find a track, or trace, of a ghost-like specter of the past? Perhaps it is only connection we seek, with those who have disappeared, taking with them, vital knowledge. What are we missing? I could not have imagined anything, without a deficit in my soul, urging me forward. And what this has brought me to, is both profound disappointment, as well as more determination, to cover what ground I can, while I’m still upright and breathing, on this earth. The small stuff, I do sweat. And examine, with an intelligence given to me for such efforts, every square inch of what has been discarded by society as insignificant.I know you do, too. If you tell me to look “here”, I look “there”. Which leads me to places, I’ve only seen, on a rendering, doled out piece meal, by those in charge. My imagination is aware, to be aware, and push beyond maps, drawn by others. This is how I’ve come to trespass, judiciously. We all should. Cameras being cheap, surveillance ubiquitous, and hunters out of fashion, someone needs to establish secret byways again, to each, his own. There is plenty of land, for now. Let us know it, while we can, our portion of it, available only as much as we avail ourselves, to it. It was a modest inroad, to find this pond. A stepping stone, for me, to entice my feet to follow other gateways, into the deeper woods. Call it research. Call me, a foot soldier. A cartographer, in the archaic sense. I have no more urgent calling. The old road, barely there now, will take you where you need to go. The early morning, will douse you, with gems of water, and light, and uneven footing, to stumble through, if you’re still able. No one is grooming trails here, or making travel simpler. The complications of this picnic spot, are too many to catalog. Rusted barbed wire, posted signs, trees blocking the way and outdated beer cans are only a few of the items dedicated to making sure you don’t feel welcome. Deer paths will confound, not encourage, or aid your way, while the rippling spring run-off will stop you in your tracks, mess with you, and force you to think, and feel things, both good & bad. There will be choices. Turn back? Or risk another half hour in the wrong direction, and an ultimate dead end? I can’t squelch it, when my heart says, onward. And this has gotten me into a lot of anguish and trouble, so I’m no one to put in the lead. Just let me slip away, and not be on anyone’s radar. Not now, not ever. It’s freedom I want, from all things that bind, and even if you tell me I will never pass go without paying $200, or offering up my first born, or anything like that, you would be assuming, again, that I choose to live a life, within your paltry boundaries.”
