The Travelling Bug

The Travelling Bug

Travelling is a drug, it wakes you up in the morning, gives you the most simple reason to enjoy what you see and breathe in the air. It's a joy that I feel everyone searches for and yet it can be an addiction.

Any Addiction is bad whether it's broccoli or meth. You limit yourself through comforts and daze your mind with stagnant choices. All other concepts take a backseat to the simple freedom able to choose what you eat and how you rest, not based on preconceived notions but what you feel in the moment.

None of it matters in the Grand Scheme of things, but in my humble journey by taking the path least trod on I've found indescribable acceptance with my place in the world.

Yet I feel so tired, bored, waiting like I did on the road for beauty to come roaring down at me. I'm not ungrateful for being in a place where I'm welcomed. I feel like this plateau is taking longer then it usually does.

Home in Melbourne

I want to share something: My trip to Tas and My short stay In Melbourne
Heads up;
Travelling has been the most eye opening and best experience of my life so don't let what I say detract anyone from walking, running flying or sailing.

I walked for three months 1000 Km from home chasing the mystery of wisdom and here I am sitting on the same chair, at the same screen, with the same eyes and I learnt something here that will forever change my life. 

Everything that I wanted, every skill became apparent to me here now and not at some wonderfully gathering of beautiful people, not in the splendor of natures silence it was here in my room where I hated the world.

Everything must be taken in slowly gently, like tips of a butterfly because everything is in duality. When you move slow, you also observe swiftly. I can't comprehend what came over me but it all clicked.

It finally all clicked and the stress of overachieving of being great washed over the stone that is my being . I really truly honestly thought I was never chasing fame, fortune and letting it come to me as I strive to be the best but deep down somewhere I never even knew existed there was a longing. Now I finally see that longing in all of it's unjust measures. I wanted to be good at a young age to impress myself, I didn't care about impressing people anymore... but myself, my own mind. That in its self is a trap.

I did learn so much in my travels I think it all culminated at this very moment writing this down and I don't think If I stayed in my room the whole time I would receive all of this understanding, I needed to leave and learn everything else so I could forget other things. I hope to forget again soon.

AM I?

Am I doing this to please you, to please me
Am I doing this to see me or see you
Am I doing this to find you or find me

Questions to journey
Answers for the destination
I look towards the sky and
I'm falling
In or out
Bright or dark
Fuck it, it doesn't even matter

What am I writing for? It's not like I'm angry at anyone or hurting anymore. But I guess I did hurt when I forgot myself for a little bit.

I want to write to enjoy but my perfectionism gets in the way or maybe a people pleasing trait I haven't learnt to control. I get flustered thinking I haven't got enough to say to blog but you know what? It doesn't really matter I'll just write, you either won't read it or you will. You will either love it or be bored.

Either way I'll have a smile on face and one less regret that will haunt me before I go to bed.

Peace and love

Keywords
Poetry Time Life