At the trailhead

I have returned to the country of my birth. And the truth rings in my ears more than ever; you can never go home again. It is never the same. Can you ever come to terms with friends and family that were never there for the events that changed the coursing of your life? So I find myself again on a hill overlooking the lights of a city, again able to see the weaving's of energy that flow around the nightscape. But it holds no secrets, no under lining meaning to me now, as if the burden of so much memories locked within the landscape keep me from seeing the reality of the land. And I want to, I had forgotten how beautiful the Northwest can be, how the fading sunset clashes with the illuminating city skyline, how the deep pine forests evoke a broad calm feeling and how coffee drunken outside on a cloudy windy day is not miserable but glorious as a reminder of shifting shades of nature.

And I think will the lofty ideas and philosophical points of view disappear now that I am seperated from the isolation and thought conductive environment? That was always at the back of mind and a small reason why I never wanted to leave that country. The fear that I will lose every insight and foothold of my inspiration gained from the long hikes through country, mountains and temples. That the periods spent sitting in my small apartment lost in thought, walking through the surreal towns and riding the trains through varied landscapes will be drowned in the overpowering culture of this country.

But I have set a task before me. One that involves lots of hiking and walking and plenty of solo time. I will be able to tell if all has been lost or merely buried under the intense process of re-adjustment. I will leave this journal for now as there is little access where Im going. Paper as always is just at hands reach.