Note to Self: The Nomad’s Dilemma

Funny direction signpost stock photo. Image of direction ...

Since my apotheosis as a younger self, during a pivotal change in my life, at a time of roots up personal transformation and soul shifting. Eye experienced the first step on the path of the Hero’s journey. The necessitated sacrifice of all eye knew to be familiar and comfortable in exchange for a life of novelty. Eye was laid off from the union company eye worked for, broke contact with a long distance relationship eye had with a woman in London after she cheated on me, turned down a four year academia contract in Biology studies and left my basement apartment in the French province of Quebec, which eye shared with an immigrant from Turkey. Eye joined a guild of pagans and acclaimed my life to the wandering god Odin. Packing up a small cargo that eye could carry on my back. Eye became a solo traveler of this planet. Cutting the meat and fat off so many stories and experiences already logged along the journey on this very blog over nine years, to say that traveling became enmeshed in the cloth from which eye was woven would be a core truth to admit about myself. The traveler spirit was exuded with my pheromones and was the only way eye knew how to live.

Fast forwarding the movie to when ‘rona canceled the world and eye learned to stay in one place, while integrating the nomad archetype with the King in his home. Leaving India to find solace and life in slow motion at my cabin in the forest was by far the wisest move eye undertook and it lit a new fyre for living my truth. With an authentic relationship to place and space, eye settled my land and built the systems that would support me and future family for many years to come. Instead of carrying a backpack and learning foreign languages, eye carried water and chopped wood, healed in solitude from so many years on the road, and thrived in the community setting. Eye grew gardens fished the rivers of my home-place, foraged the woods to bring food to my fork, and relied greatly on a more sustainable cycle of existence, and it all felt rather copacetic. Eye rode my motorcycle to the head of hiking trails and swimming holes, and would disappear from my routine life for an afternoon to play in the untamed. Eye adopted a husky, named him Tradition and ran in the hills and fjords of my eastern territory with my new best friend. Eye felt full from a meal of seven years of continual travels and was happy to move in smaller circles for awhile.

Yet eventually my Lion’s hunger would grow again and the reminders of the world at large would scratch at my fur and flaunt in front of me, begging to be chased, like a Lioness in heat. Eventually eye no longer lay in the sun and let the wind blow in my mane. Eye wanted to pursue again. Run down the heart of a raw beast and sink my teeth in. There was still so much eye wanted to feel, and see, and do. Eye had not yet taken the trans-Siberian railway from Moscow to Ulaan Batar. The outback of Australia and Uluru was still unknown to me. Eye had never looked at the plants in the Amazon and got lost on some shamanic journey in the rainforest. The Balkans, the Spice Islands and the vast amount of Asia was still foreign, and eye had not even stayed in an igloo with the Inuit, eating penguin or seal. Afrika too was still a blank space on my world map, eye had never been on safari to see the great herds of animals on the Serengeti or spoken Swahili, Lugandan or faced dangers in the Congo. Eye had not yet a wife or children and my dog could join my friend’s sled pack for the winter, while in my absence the home affairs could be attended to by trusted neighbors. So eye hustled some last minute work, sold my car, preserved my food for the season ahead and my impending return, and closed my cabin door with a blessing to Thor & Frigg, then left my small maritime village with an open itinerary before me. Eye was returning to the Motherland, this man needed to see and feel where we all came from.

Canada’s ship was sinking fast in light of new ‘rona measures that would not allow travel internationally or even provincially with being doubly injected with the new experimental drugs from the hierarchical bastards of the toxic pharmacopeia companies. South Africa and Tanzania would be my dry ground from the submerging vessel, and eye would set foot first in Cape Town, then in Zanzibar on the coast of the Indian ocean. The African diaspora so far is known and logged in saga form on my other transmissional blog: , and as of this diary eye look out at the landscape of the remaining twenty-one days in mother Africa, before my return to Maple Leaf Nation.

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