A new school year
is in full swing. I am doing well.
I have a job
Something sits, like a weight, at the core of my being.
Who am I?
Where am I going?
What did god
or whatever being that created my soul make me for?
What do I want to do with my life?
What is it that causes this deep well within my spirit
What is the nature of my discontent?
Alas. I know not.
I am more or less an adult
now despite the fact that I still live with my dear old mom
. She hasn't been home since Saturday before
I left for work. She is at my grandfathers house. He is deathly ill because of a substitute medication he was given in place of a medication
which the company that provides his care either could not or would not. I am unclear of this at this time. The medication in question kept him
awake for 3 days straight which is not good for a very old man such as himself. My mother and my uncle Gerald took him to the hospital where the
doctors told them that if he was to be put on a respirator that he would not be off it until he was dead
. I regret not having gotten to know my
better. All of the things I ever wanted to ask him, about The War
, about life
, there was always a certain hostility, a
certain fear of such discussions whenever I touched the edge of one of the subjects.
I don't mean to sound vile, though this will, but I do not believe my grandfathers situation is what has caused me such sorrow as of late. There
is a certain lonliness, I believe.
Someone once told me that I would be happy whever it was that I was miserable. I am as of yet unsure if he was correct, although I understand
instinctively what he ment. Truely, I must be dying from within. Sometimes a day just makes you feel like life is a slow form of suicide
I meditated on what things I could do to fill this well, or at least crawl out of it.
I must admit to having a certain fancy to going on a pilgrimage
across the great land that is North America
. Carrying out the promises of Tom
wherever I go. Walking from town to town, doing odd jobs. Exploring. Meeting the downtrodden, trying to lift them up, to see the nature of
their discontent. To know America
, and meet its forgotten children.
I must however admit to getting this idea, at least in part, from watching bizzare anime
such as Trigun
and Cowboy Bebop
Some folk lore about Rasputin
has also swayed me to this idea though.
However in order to undertake this great journey of hopefully transient sainthood, I am ill equipped. I know no spanish
, nor French
, the other
two main languages spoken on this continent. I have no money
to provide me with shelter for the night, or at least just on those nights I wish
. I would have no permanent place from which to recieve email
. Such things are difficult to set up. And carrying a
laptop across the country on my back is not an option since it would allow me to be attacked by highwaymen
, although they call themselves
something more chic in this time.
But all and all it is still an undertaking that strikes my fancy, and just thinking about it relieves me of my pains and sorrows, although just for
a moment at a time.
To walk across a continent, with nothing but a backpack
, and faith