21/01/2025
"The fact that a man who goes his own way ends in ruin means nothing... He must obey his own law, as if it were a daemon whispering to him of new and wonderful paths.”
- Carl Jung
The open road is calling and I’ve been keeping a keen ear pricked for the call for quite a while now. Life and her redirections are magical things when you wholly understand them. They may seem like ‘end of the worlds’, or, ‘spanner in the works’, but after some time and experience, you learn to slow down and wait for it all to play out. Watching. Waiting. Waiting to see a glimpse of the Genius at work. Even amidst total and utter chaos. And you’ll see that gap eventually. It will be illuminated too by a soft, but pure white glow, it will feel ‘easy’, and this is how you will know. It’s for you. It’s yours. It comes from a greater intellect and power. Trust the redirections. Trust the process. Trust life. It’s all sent to you. With your name on each page, personalised even. Gifts.
Keep The Faith.
If you do good, if you do right by the world and by everyone, your redirections will always be better even if you can’t see it in that particular moment. As I’ve quipped before I want to ‘keep the inner dialogue flowing, keep the respect’; and I’ve felt this going more than coming of late. And that alarms me. So, if you’re in tune, and you know how important that Inner Dialogue is with the Source, you realise when it is lacking. So for this very reason I need to get out there. To go to where it all makes sense.
I feel confined, I feel contained, I feel chained and shackled when in the throes of the city.
I feel as if I’m living my life at 5%, not truly being Chris.
So here’s the deal.
I’m hitting the road to quell some doubts, find some answers, interrogate myself as to what is really important to me.
To find some solace and healing in some voluntary suffering and difficulties. To sit with Nature and listen for Her lessons and whispers that carry silently on the wind. Not look in a mirror for the duration of my trip if I can help it. Shed layers, unnecessary layers that the city throws on you like an overprotective but caring mother can do. Needless clothing when the weather isn’t all that bad. Shed kilograms too. Bleed. Carry. Put down. Pick up. Ache. Sweat. Run. Walk. Sit. Cook. Write. Read. Listen. Maybe even cry a little.
And run a bit more.
But breathe. Breathe the breath that matters.
Do more, with less. And do less, with the more.
I’ll be scarce. I need to be.
I’ll be gnawing at the shackles day by day, inch by inch until they break, again. Hopefully for good. Or is that just a whimsical fantasy? Who knows.
I’ll be busy, without being city busy. But mostly, I’ll be lacing my boots up every single day, to enter the fray.
My only companions will be the Self. A team of dogs. The open road and some musical artists who conjure up inspiration and emotions. An 90kg sandbag to carry daily and to be my dance partner - even though I’m a terrible dancer. Trails to run. Many more trails to walk. And many, many miles on the open road. Going so deep into my art and craft that I don’t want to recognise my usual thought patterns afterward - they must be unrecognisable. A travelling library of books. A couple notepads. A whole lot of grand birds. And Mother Nature herself to help shape my dreams and visions.
I’ll eat simply and sparingly, but well.
And drink the purest water.
I’ll see you all on the other side.
Always chasing the horizon.