“And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.”
– Friedrich Nietzsche
My, oh my.
I don’t know where to start with this one nor the slightest idea where this dance will lead.
A series of unexpected twists in this already riddled plot ended up with the separation of me and my significant other several weeks back. My gas and electric somehow still functioning, despite the shutoff date expiring days ago; I haven’t informed the respective companies of this. The rent, already several months behind, has no chance of being paid. My glass house is finally having its final rock thrown at it; my retreat from the outside world soon to be something dramatically different.
Staying in a homeless shelter is simply not an option; the mere writing of that sentence brought a lump in my throat.
The waiting lists for housing are at least a year; even then, some form of income is required monthly. Income I simply cannot provide. I must stay in this area until social security makes a decision on disability, as they are paying for a second doctor to poke around my unstable skull.
I’m terrified and excited.
Walks, becoming increasingly more frequent and longer of distances, have led me to places I never knew.
Sights, I have never seen.
Serenity, within the embrace of the forest, though always fleeting; the next piece of civilization inevitably reveals its sneering presence.
I’ve discovered the flaws in the fabric of society. I see through the carefully-concealed veneer that has shaped our culture, shoving its repulsive lies into a near-microscopic web that only the most prying of eyes will see. Cold slabs of high-rise lit up against artificial light. Consumerisms sucking our resources dry all to gain more money, more things, and more power. I’m just as guilty as the next with my love for luxuries (food, shelter, electricity, heat, and internet), so hypocritical of me. Ultimately, my panic comes from stepping out into the “real world” because I see beneath the lies. I see the hatred. I feel the pain. I shrink away because I know.
I don’t belong here.
I have a meeting tomorrow with the chairmen and chairwomen of a local organization. 8 people to prod my panic, ask the questions I dread to think of, pry me open with their stabbing eyes. They will determine my future; people who I have never met. Less than 12 hours from now, my dear readers, hands not of my own will determine my fate.
I pray the room is big.
The terror is already mounting with every word I type, so I don’t anticipate myself in a very good state for this monumental event.
This is where it gets interesting.
Some time back, I acquired a survival guide book as a gift from my then-significant other. A separate person, my longest friend whom I have known for decades, gave me a blade used for clearing brush and cutting small branches, a small emergency booklet also enclosed. Yet another gave me a checklist used for surviving in the wilderness. All of these things happened in the course of less than a year, yet far enough apart for me not to connect the dots immediately, until my walks.
I know where I’m home. The knowledge of that terrifies me; what am I to become? How can I bring another into a lifestyle that I’m not even certain of myself? I know I want seclusion, but how?
Money, the same thing that fuels the entire problem that has shaped my broken reality, is a needed thing to accomplish what I truly want. Seclusion without fear; A place to call my own far away from the meddling intrusions of those I distrust, those that make my heart race marathons. Something I can build with my own two hands on a plot of land amongst the trees. Money that simply isn’t available.
After much research and printing, plan B (while certainly not ideal in this climate in this time of year) is surviving in the wilderness indefinitely. The further I walk only reinforces my need for seclusion, save a select few; those who are true souls. The thought of this brings me peace knowing I’ll be where I belong, and terror being thrown into a raging river with only one paddle on a shoddy boat.
This “disease” I have, merely is going to end up returning me to my roots, one way or another. Though I wish the waters weren’t so turbulent along the way, I must learn to swim with the current.
More to come as the dance continues.