Wandering

Staring ahead pointed somewhere. Moving around in the world. Around in my mind. I'm unsettled. The music is a buffer between me and the outside. I hear it - not really. I'm not listening but it's there. Fuzzy. Surrounding me.

So are the images. Other cars. People standing on the corner. Walking down the street. Buildings. Trees. Traffic lights. I drive by. They in their world. Me in mine. Patterns of colors. Blurs. Streaks.

I'm talking to myself. Inside. A debate. An argument. I don't really know. I get confused. It seems as if there are so many mes and each is different and wanting and none knows where they are going or how to get there or where there is.

A perpetual journey to nowhere.

I drive.

I have no destination. Not physical anyway. Perhaps I seek a destination. A time. A place. A feeling. My car won't get me there, yet I always get in my car and start it up and drive as if I am going somewhere. As if driving down some road north, than east, then north again will bring me to a place where it will happen. Where my mind stops wandering. Where the voices are silenced. Where stillness brings about a sense of having arrived at the place. The place of peace and understanding and belonging.

I'm an explorer. I explore the physical and fight through the maze of the spiritual. The further I drive, the longer the journey, the more I discover, the more I need to search. Explore. Never finding. Never concluding. Always moving. I'm so tired. I want to stop - or to not stop. Not come back but keep driving onward and onward and onward until I pass the horizon and just disappear.