Sometimes I am filled with this intense longing. I want to travel. I stand and look at these stunning pictures and I want to physically reach out and touch the waters, breathe in the vapours, dust away the snow…I want to go there. Freeze in the night, scathe my skin in the day. I want to tread on those tyre marks and watch the sky change. It is a physical ache to not be able to get there. Like looking at someone you love, in your head and body, stand a few feet away from you, with this diaphanous membrane separating you. Withdrawal symptoms. And at those moments I don’t care about a thing more. Every thing else becomes insignificant and pointless. And it feels inside that the mountains have been calling me for ages. Making love with their low curtain of clouds hung over the folds of cliffs and falls. I have been there. Snug fit into a crevasse somewhere, reaching out with blue fingers towards the shiny mica pieces in the sand on the frozen lake shores.
Like returning to the womb. Where it all began. An intense physical relationship that surpasses all other. Being tied in blood and muscles to those shard rocks and chips of snow. I want to clutch my heart in my hand and throw it away when I realize that this is not the time to get there. Just not yet. But every particle in my body vibrates with this passionate desire to want to go there- rush there and collapse in forgotten graces on the barren plains, staring at the azure blue sky. The gun metal grey. The startling white and the naked sun. And let that bit of divinity seep into me, it had left me it seems as I grew older. And in a return to the basest, the most honest roots- I am clawing my way up from this abyss, pushing away every other thing, every other feeling. The worst chemical, the worst drug, the worst intoxication – the incapacity to gauge my path there. The searing heat in my toes, in my finger tips. A longing stronger than love.
Much stronger.
