New Song to Love:
Vein of Stars by The Flaming Lips.
I wish I was lying on the ground by a small morning fire in the sunlight. Will I ever get over camping? I hope not. I hope it continues to dog me, to leave me feeling parched, until I return to the woods that birthed me.
There is nothing I love more than the earth and her bounty. Lying directly on the worn dirt of a campground is heaven. It is rich, whole, right. It coats my skin in dust, fills my nose with reality, and quiets my head then heart then whole. I say nothing because there is so much to be heard living. I study the tiny green speck bugs ambling along their vast deserts. I listen to the birds calling back and forth and discern which directions they are in. I watch the sun chase the moon chase the sun and know where I am and where I am headed.
My doctor has basically prescribed that I move to a different place, one where I can have myself whole again. Others have said the same; profession makes no difference, they are right. Do they know that I'm fully aware? That I prescribed this myself years ago?
But I have to learn the hard way. I have to test my limits. I have to put on all these hats, costumes, and duties just to find out they're not right. I have to test out all the things I am not, before I can return to the things I am. It's a sadly exhilarating task. Chicago and I are just not finished with each other.