This is the introduction to my free book: Independent Journeys. Should it perk your ears, the download link is at the bottom. No sign up, no registration, no fingerprints, face scans, DNA, or blood samples required. You’ll be taken straight to the download link in my personal Proton Drive.
Journey.
To me, the word brings a sense of space more than the word ‘travel.’ Travel sounds more planned; more, let’s pack the bags, make arrangements for a particular destination, a certain time of leaving and returning, and hopefully, somewhat rejuvenated; to grab the axe again and grind it against the routine of life.
But, journey—it somehow carries a whiff of mysteriousness. And who doesn’t like a touch of mystery, the unravelling of something unknown? As long as it’s done in the safety of familiar surroundings, of course.
And so, the idea of unravelling a ball of yarn is paradoxically exciting and terrifying. It’s exciting because the thought of crossing the boundaries of a norm that doesn’t seem so normal, and passing that threshold into something new and unexpected, revives the taste of forgotten familiarity. As if we’re meant to do it. But it’s also terrifying because the thought of actually leaving the safety of our conscious familiarity strikes bitter, and we feel that of all the errors we’ve made in life, this, undoubtedly, would be the greatest of all.
This inner conflict between the opposites, where one points towards discovery and meaning, while the other restrains us from greater purpose, is called free will, and it distinguishes us from all other life. But it’s the journey there, the decision to move towards discovery, meaning, and greater purpose, the actual doing it, that distinguishes the few from the multitudes.
The true journey can only happen once we release ourselves from expectations, ideas, and the popular way of the day (or pop-culture spirituality). As its destination might be entirely different from the one we envisioned, or hoped for, when setting out.
Because the true journey is an inward one along the path of transformation, and doesn’t actually require going anywhere at all (although it might). It’s the gradual rediscovery of our story that was severed and replaced with a replica thereof, attached to strings tethered to the fingers of our enemies. It’s the conscious participation in the unfolding, non-materialistic, events of our lives. Rather than sleepwalking through them. As we seek to improve ourselves and our manner of being in this world, in preparation for something greater. A journey that takes us to forgotten scenes in the theatre of our minds, drawing us into the whirlpool of our emotions and bringing us to uncountable reflections of ourselves wherever we look and in whomever we meet.
Hesitation, of course, is normal. Because this kind of change brings in its wake our greatest fear—the unknown. But if our initial step is to discover, or rather uncover, that elusive Truth—to rediscover our story—then there’s really nothing to worry about. Because whatever happens along this journey becomes the act of poetry.
And poetry, to me anyway, is the attempt to put into words what Wisdom has written in the light of stars—no, the light of the light of stars—and is only experienced by the finer senses of the soul.
Nevertheless, a journey requires a traveller.
And, like any soulful journey, mine began against the rocky face of a steep cliff… and in a vehicle on loan.
