Tonight, walking home from mince and steamed fresh veggies on fluffy white rice at Celeste's, I was sorry for not wearing long pants, and felt aimless and empty beneath the southern cross. Stark in contrast to the high-on-ozone-and-holiday vibe that forced my heart through my chest while I, almost, cried at the beauty.
Tonight I'm aimless and empty in my valley life, feeling far away from a string of mountain top experiences. Experience has taught me, too, that it's impossible to live permanently on the mountain top; attempting to do so would, I imagine, result in a life immersed in drugs or alcohol, even anti depressants or a sex addiction.
The challenge is to find meaning in the now. Which is easier said than done. Especially when I have consciously chosen to leave behind the city's distractions and to permanently live in the country: seeking peace, quite and solitude, I'm guaranteed to be alone when staring into the abyss.
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