When I stay too long in just one place I see Him in the corner of my eye. When my desire to be on the road again becomes overwhelming, part of me skips forward.
In some of us, The Traveller sleeps deeply, in others there is only Him. He is the only god to whom we still bring sacrifices. The rest of the gods are dead and buried under Christian gods or of other new ones, Gods that sit and wait for people to bow at their shrines . The gods are powerless and evil nowadays . Beggars. Waiting to be worshiped. Weak and stupid as are the people who worship them. Gods images created only to have somebody to blame when dreams don’t become reality for free.
There are mornings when He almost separates from me and looks back at the empty shell still dormant. I get up and follow him, pulling him back inside, pushing me forward, until we get back to being one.
I knew He exists from the moment I first walked on my own. I gazed down and saw two legs that were following each other with small steps. The notions of “there” and “up there” appeared later. In the beginning, there was just the act of walking.
I was fortunate and privileged to have parents who did not killed my soul by taking me to church every Sunday and bringing home the rest of the church during the week. The Traveller in me grew naturally and He loved every step I made in any direction.
When I was a kid I was staring up at the window a week before going into summer camp, dreaming of the wonderful adventures that awaited me. When I was a student I was running away for days without telling anyone, picking-up the first train that was in the station. Sometimes the road was important. Sometimes the destination only.
For my books, I travel now into my mind and others who I meet . I travel through society on the road to make money setting a destination that will mean something after I cross over. I travel through a computer screen connecting with other people like me who want to discover the meaning of life.
This should be enough for The Traveller. I bring Him countless sacrifices along the road.
When I stay too long in one place I see Him in the corner of my eye. When my desire to be on the road is overwhelming, part of me skips forward.
All these different roads are standing still for Him. He wants me putting one foot before the other. He wants my physical shape to do the travelling. Watching, smelling, hearing, touching the world in which we live. That is the prayer He wants from me.
The Traveller is a generous god. In return for seconds, minutes, hours, days, years spent in trains, cars, walking through cities, villages, forests, sea shores, He gives me souls. Souls that I sacrifice in my rituals. Souls that I use to create words. Souls that I take from those who read my words right now.