I feel I am at the nadir of the Desert of In-between. This place is a desolate place, and I hope it is not a false bottom, with the next hill concealing another valley out of view.
I remind myself I am here of my own accord, a venture undertaken somewhat unwillingly when I felt that I could no longer linger where I was, and which will unfold into its own future reward that only hard-put toil pays. Yet the quiet, lonely plodding of today tests my will to go on.
The massifs in the distance I aim for are still inky loomings in the pre-dawn glitter, unknowable environs to scale and explore for an abode on or beyond to settle within or range from as base camp.
But here, here and now, I have no home. I am alone. It is dark. I put one foot in front the other, each step a choice to move forward and not turn back.
Ahh…back. Back, back to the intolerable comforts of having a place while being nowhere, to having love’s ribbons and bows bind me with conditions, to electric touchings powered by fantasies devoid of reality that twitch and quiver in ecstatic releases, leaving only pain in the end.
How my thirst for those trappings of happiness drown now in the choking dust of this place, with tears of mud streaking my face.
I trudge on, with dreams of sprinting in the grassy valley competing with my loves to be the first to plunge into the soothing waters of the lake, laughing, carrying me forward.