I love travelling; or is it that I love being in motion? Being in motion makes me feel alive, alive in the here and now. Is "alive" the right word? Would it be better, more precise, to use the word "rejuvenated"? Yes, there is no question that looking through a train window, the fleeting glimpse of crimson and white leaves, of towns both walled and towered, of markets with canvass and scent, all gone in an instant with the blow of a whistle and a shrill goodbye, no question that all this is rejuvenating. And so, what is next? The future beckons and the past is gone. And yet I have just been to a place where nobody else has been and where nobody else can ever go. Where is that place? It is the ever-changing past of course. At 67, I have spent a long time moving through this place and nobody has the slightest idea of what I saw there, what I felt and how it shaped me.
What I do know is that the past is a place of motion and it is motion that takes me back there.
I sometimes think that we are at our best while in motion and at our worst when we are static. Perhaps, being static forces us to think of death while movement is always bringing us to the light of somewhere new. In this sense, we are like gypsies and yet, many people object to gypsies. Gypsies remind them, perhaps, that they are no longer in motion or worse, that they are already dead.
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