New York Diaries III

Of course a vacation, a trip, isn't as much about physical travel as it is the journey that takes place in your mind. When people asked me what I would do in NYC, I mouthed my rehearsed reply, "I'm going to visit my daughters and see The Gates."

We need to provide reasons for going out into the uncertainty of the big world. And when we return we have memorized the appropriate tales of meals and sights and weather so that those left behind can make sense of our leaving. We return bearing the spoils of our adventure, a photograph, a matchbook, words scribbled on a soiled napkin.

But in this journey, this time, the heart is the place where I travel. I have felt movement where long ago all were left for dead. The flutter of an eyelash from the casket, and I know that I can close the lid, none the wiser.

What will my heart reveal? How do I explore this river, dark red and dense with discourses? If I set out I may never come back. I certainly will never be the same. This is the beauty, and the purpose, of travel.