February 2nd, 1992
The wind blows gently, then fiercely, then gently again. The snow lands all around me, and the great white haze obscures my vision. I’m cold, so cold in fact that I feel like I might get frostbite. So cold in fact that I know if I stay in it much longer I’m going to die. I’m alone, of that I am certain, and the snow is piling up at my feet. It’s clear to me that I either move or I end up trapped here. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
I’m afraid. Of course I am. But I have many fears. I don’t know which is worse, the thought of being lost here without having ever stumbled upon some sort of comfort or reprieve or the fact that I was born, here and now, just to face circumstances I’m not remotely compatible with. But regardless of that, I pick up my feet, and I march. I move as if I had a purpose, even though deep inside I’m still unsure as to whether or not I truly do.
I want to be warm. Oh, how I desperately wish to be warm. At times it seems so unbearable that I feel I might cry, but I don’t. I never do. Maybe I’m frozen on the inside too. With such a lack of feeling, I question if I’m really a person at all. I wonder about all sorts of things. Will I ever find someone? Will I ever find anything? Somewhere to stay, just for a moment. A break. Reprieve. Shelter. And that inviting warmth that might tempt me to forgo whatever this foolish quest is. I just keep moving. I see something wonderful in my mind. Well, I can barely see it, but I know it’s wonderful. It’s hazy, but at the same time I know that I can see it. I can see it. I can smell it. I can taste it. I can hear it. I can hear the sentimental music that touches my sentimental heart. Maybe it’s something that I can only experience right here where I am, and once I leave, I’ll never experience it again. Here in this deep pocket of suffering and anguish.
You wouldn’t know it looking at me, but I’m sort of happy. It could be a sign of madness. I wouldn’t be surprised about that, not one bit. I’d have to be mad to be here, and I’d have to be mad to push deeper. But I just know, I just know, there’s something somewhere, maybe not in this world, maybe not in this plane, but it’s a place I can reach. I don’t know how I’m going to manage; I only know that I am. I don’t have a choice. I don’t belong here. Nobody does. I can’t stay here or else I’ll be lost to time. I’ll be forgotten. I’ll cease to exist, and I’ll be erased as if I never existed to begin with.
If you saw it, you wouldn’t think I was a fool. If you saw it, you would understand. It’s so inviting. It’s so real. Much more real than any of this here. So I’ll weather a storm; otherwise, why did I get caught in one in the first place? I don’t care much about fanciful ideas or concepts. I don’t care at all about opinions or thoughts. I don’t care in the least about the future or the past or anybody that peddles any of this as if it were the dream we were meant to chase. No. The dream is real. I only care about what’s real. I care about that sweet feeling I feel.
A vagrant wanderer feeling that draw of home that has yet to be experienced. A traceless traveler that experiences the end of exploration and embraces the seductive settling while living within simplicity. A loveless loner that can feel the overwhelming tides pouring out from a single heart and crashing down, drowning out all feelings of inadequacy. A brainless dimwit that for once understands all there is to know about the world, all that matters, and has ever mattered. There is but one truth, and although it may be whispered, I can hear it.
I can hear the music.
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