If you stay lost in the wild long enough, you'll find yourself.
I let the black ink from a cheap ballpoint pen scratch the date on the off-white pages of my brand-new diary. It was October 20, 2001, and within the same sentence of me mentioning my 11th birthday which occurred three days before, I spoke about the attacks that occurred on 9/11.
In between the sea of black that is freckled with brilliant opalescent stars and the golden haze from the morning sun is the dark blue ocean of twilight. It is in this time before the dawn when you will usually find me sliding a backpack and trekking poles out of my car and readying myself for an attempt to ascend to a mountain summit. My thoughts are typically the same. It is very early. Why am I doing this? As I lock the door to my car and join a group of other similarly tired-looking hikers, I think, well, I’m already here, and I’ve made it this far.
I paused for a moment and glanced up to see if I would need to dodge any more animals falling from the sky. I was already 13 miles into the 17-mile hike I had planned to do the day before my trek. ‘Damn. I really am out here,’ I thought to myself.
Sometime during the air of mystery that sparks ghost stories in late nights or early mornings, you’ll see me scribbling and hiding my pen and paper like Winston Smith of Oceania in 1984. It’s not for fear of Big Brother, but rather habit from having my little sister bust into my room like the terrifying 90’s classic Kool-Aid Man for most of my life.
The Harlem Renaissance was a time spanning the 1920s when Black Americans of Harlem, New York City created Jazz, produced some of my favorite paintings, new styles of dance, the most cherished pieces of literature, theatre, and so much more. COVID, although happening in a much different time and state of existence, could possibly inspire the same.
I like to think that opposing thoughts are there to push the boundaries and shapes of the thought puzzles, and that these new pieces create even more structures and works or art.
He asked me what I would say to God if I could have any question answered, And I said that I would have little to say. If I had to go on living after the question I would endure the rest of a life substandard.
There we were still existing in a pause between breaths that attempted to move life forward. Our mouths were wide with smiles and our eyes frozen never seeing the day we grew apart.
I’m participating in the month-long poetry writing challenge. Here’s what I have for the first week. #OctPoWriMo | Oct 1st - Oct 4th
All writing is creative. A writer puts their imagination into everything that they do.
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