Song of the Wanderer
A few days ago, I discovered that Ween was going to be playing in Wellington, New Zealand on the 26th of February. Ween is among the top bands that I'm itching to see for the first time. So the timing is fortuitous, considering I leave the ice on February 21, or some time thereabouts.
With this discovery came a rather dramatic realization: The Ween concert on the 26th of February in Wellington is the ONLY future plan that I have. I have no employment or career plans, I have no travel plans, I have no recreational plans, I have no future girlfriend plans. The only thing that pins any moment of my future to any particular place or activity, is the Ween concert (which, by the way, I haven't yet bought tickets for). I don't have any plane tickets or weddings to go to. Or even a dentist appointment. My future is a vast, white, mystery.
I suppose this shouldn't surprise me, but it does. I've always enjoyed wandering, I've always enjoyed not knowing, living in-between, I've always done it by the seat of my pants, on a whim. And I've always strove to find a way to live 'in the moment'.
Well, I suppose that's where I am. I have no possible future moments planned out, so I must be "in the moment".
Now that I'm here, it's a bit terrifying. I've worked to get here. I realize that this is a novel and privileged place to be. I'm proud to be here, where most everything is light and easy.
But the fact that I'm here is a sign I need to move on.
Maybe to India. Maybe not.
At about the same time as this realization, I came upon this poem:
"The Song of the Wanderer", from "The Unicorn Chronicles" by Bruce Coville
Across the gently rolling hills,
Beyond high mountain peaks,
Along the shores of distant seas,
There's something my heart seeks.
But there's no peace in wanderering,
The roads not made for rest.
And footsore fools will never know,
What home might suit them best.
But oh, the things that I have seen,
The secret paths I've trod,
The hidden corners of the world
Known to none, but me and God.
Yes, the world was meant for knowing,
And feet were meant to roam.
But one who's always going
Will never find a home.
Oh, where's the tread that binds me,
The voice that calls me back?
Where's the love that finds me-
And what's the root I lack?
My heart seeks the hearth,
My feet seek the road.
A soul so divided
Is a terrible load.
My heart longs to rest,
My feet yearn to roam.
Shall I wander the world
Or stay safe at home?
With this discovery came a rather dramatic realization: The Ween concert on the 26th of February in Wellington is the ONLY future plan that I have. I have no employment or career plans, I have no travel plans, I have no recreational plans, I have no future girlfriend plans. The only thing that pins any moment of my future to any particular place or activity, is the Ween concert (which, by the way, I haven't yet bought tickets for). I don't have any plane tickets or weddings to go to. Or even a dentist appointment. My future is a vast, white, mystery.
I suppose this shouldn't surprise me, but it does. I've always enjoyed wandering, I've always enjoyed not knowing, living in-between, I've always done it by the seat of my pants, on a whim. And I've always strove to find a way to live 'in the moment'.
Well, I suppose that's where I am. I have no possible future moments planned out, so I must be "in the moment".
Now that I'm here, it's a bit terrifying. I've worked to get here. I realize that this is a novel and privileged place to be. I'm proud to be here, where most everything is light and easy.
But the fact that I'm here is a sign I need to move on.
Maybe to India. Maybe not.
At about the same time as this realization, I came upon this poem:
"The Song of the Wanderer", from "The Unicorn Chronicles" by Bruce Coville
Across the gently rolling hills,
Beyond high mountain peaks,
Along the shores of distant seas,
There's something my heart seeks.
But there's no peace in wanderering,
The roads not made for rest.
And footsore fools will never know,
What home might suit them best.
But oh, the things that I have seen,
The secret paths I've trod,
The hidden corners of the world
Known to none, but me and God.
Yes, the world was meant for knowing,
And feet were meant to roam.
But one who's always going
Will never find a home.
Oh, where's the tread that binds me,
The voice that calls me back?
Where's the love that finds me-
And what's the root I lack?
My heart seeks the hearth,
My feet seek the road.
A soul so divided
Is a terrible load.
My heart longs to rest,
My feet yearn to roam.
Shall I wander the world
Or stay safe at home?
posted by chubalicious at 2:46 PM
1 Comments:
I've scoured the internet for a copy of this poem. Thank you for posting it here- it twisted a knife into my gut at 11 years old and it continues to do so every time I read it.
Post a Comment
<< Home