sunyata

Rolling out of Kamloops now, the moon is a thin crescent as the bus races into the day. Sweet darkness no longer envelops the journey, and the horizon, which now blends so perfectly with the earth, is about to burst with morning hues. Hurtling through mountains, and past motels and gas stations, the invisible connecting string has finally broken. less than six hours away a new one is already forming, like an incredible chain of elastic bands, it pulls me along steadily. Seems to gather speed, always shorter, flinging me along to places I know. The moon feels like a good omen. Almost obscured by wispy clouds, it looks almost haunted haunted, and I'm haunted, haunted, just as Ive always been. Now the great ball of fire rises, and the whole world through the bus window seems as though I could hold it in my hand. The rolling landscape now glows, almost vibrating with anticipation of yet another day, twisted birches and pines are eager to receive their rations of warmth and light. Friday was the first day of spring. Across the country snow will soon be melting as the earth huddles in a little closer. All circles are vicious. There must be a mirror image to this life, somewhere between death and birth. I'm looking for something, but I'm beginning to think about not trying so hard.