Destiny is turning me in the direction
of home. A steady hand guides me as the compass turns west, from
London, England to Santa Fe, New Mexico, Unites States of America.
Looking back to when I left on my
journey, five weeks ago, I realize there are many layers of
experience that have been added to the pages that make up the volume
of memory that archives my life. It is because of living intensely
that the annals of one month can fill the pages of a book.
A magic carpet ride whisked me to
Egypt, settling me at the foot of the Great Sphinx next to the
pyramids. I touched the stones that were carried to the tombs of
Pharaohs five thousand years ago. The teeming, dirty streets nearby
are crowded with restless men, struggling with a poor economy amid
political unrest. Nevertheless, I found friendship and cordiality
that took me into homes.
Further south, in Luxor the Nile River
calmed and refreshed my spirit, even as the sweltering heat limited
my daytime activity. New friendships were struck, and old friends
emerged. The simple life dazzled me like a poem from the hands of a
great writer—Rumi comes to mind. I floated on the timeless river
and broke bread with the best of humble company, while seated on nothing but
earth and straw.
The wings of flight took me onward,
east across Northern Africa, to Morocco, where French is spoken as
companion tongue to Arabic. I speak neither, so maintained my silence
amid the changing episodes and kaleidoscope, flickering pictures that
continued to beguile my senses. I rented a car, and drove across the
north of the country, from Atlantic Ocean, over mountains
and plains, through towns large and small, to the border of the
Mediterranean Sea, and back to Casablanca. Always the readily
available cup of tea, fresh orange juice, olives, spiced foods—and
bottled water, except when I felt assured of drinking from taps that
would not make me sick—like in Chefchahouen, the mountain city of
ancient narrow passages and blue walls and gates.
Along the Atlantic coast, I dove
headfirst with joy into the onslaught of unending waves, clearing my
pores, flesh, and bones of the weary effects of travel.
When I could,
I painted, and always photographed, using my camera as a third eye.
At the end, my wife arrived in
Casablanca and we continued as a couple for five days. I had someone
to talk to again, and hold. We flew to London, a major outpost of
world civilization, and found entrancement in the well organized
bustling streets and attractions. We visited art museums, and became
full of ideas and possibilities to take home. And so we will arrive
from where we began, in the course of this one day, traveling
eastward with the sun.
