Soul Flights

The desire is only getting stronger. I sometimes find myself in helpless surrender to that itch to run away, but I cannot do anything. Because of the Fear--the fear of breaking people's hearts, particularly. I have dealt with the fear of the unknown, the fear of dying, the fear of making a terrible mistake, or the fear of uncertainty long, long time ago. They're something I look forward to now in my quest for the Great Perhaps. But it's that fear to cause pain in other people's hearts that is keeping me from actually doing it-- from leaving.

I am not going to leave for good. I am not going to leave for the sake of rebelliousness. I am leaving because I feel it in my heart that I have to. It's not an Eat-Pray-Love thing, for crissake. I am not leaving to fix a broken heart or a broken life; I am leaving FOR Life.
(Note: "Life" here is not under the category of Time.)

And so, I wonder--keep on wondering--when I will have the balls to do this. I've been preparing for a while now: I am starting to write my long love letter to my mother explaining why I have to do this, just so she wouldn't organize a massive man hunt for me, and so she wouldn't suffer from a biological heart ache. I am also looking at places I can go to; places I can work in and survive. I've been preparing my heart for this craziness, preparing my mind for this life-changing event should it finally push through. I've been thinking about Grad School, and my future. And I think I can always go back to school, and there is not time limit to fix mistakes in life (if this ever get to be a mistake after all).

And if this search for my Great Perhaps turn out to be a stupid mistake, then so be it. Who says mistakes should be avoided at all costs in this life, anyway? Some mistakes are sought after, some mistakes have to be embraced for wisdom. If I have to make the biggest mistake in my whole lifetime, then let it be This.

So what's the plan? It's simple. I leave, I struggle, I sometimes wish I never have left, but I learn and I love and I understand, and I return changed. Poetry aside, I plan to leave for someplace with a surf and a bunch of good people. Where nobody have prior knowledge of who I am, so that everybody will see me in my essence. Where life is natural. And I'll work for my survival, struggle, be penniless and be deprived of luxury. But I'll have surfing, I'll have pure love, I'll have adventure. And I'll return. It can be for a month, three months, three years, twenty years, two weeks, who knows. As long as I get to leave.

Side-track:

I am like Don Quixote. He seeks for his crazy adventure inspired by the adventure books he loves to read. He is so drawn to them that he goes and make an adventure of his own.

Is he crazy, then?

Is it craziness to want to create a life out of poetry, to want an extraordinary- stupid and crazy but extraordinary- life?

Is it stupid?

In my case, the "stupidity" has been inspired by so many people:

Jack Kerouac, Walt Whitman, Tennessee Williams, JM Barrie, John Greene, Milan Kundera, Van Draanen, Allen Ginsberg, Alexander Supertramp, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Haruki Murakami, Charles Dickens, Bob Dylan, Sheryl Crow, Miguel de Cervantes, JK Rowling, William Golding, and many many others. Including, persons I've seen and met and shared souls with.