Oahu to Nova Scotia

Sitting on the balcony enjoying the morning sun and the heat of what would become the hottest day of the holiday. Absorbing the magnificence of the mountains that stood hard in the distance, bespeckled with the white walls of houses creeping up the less steep faces. Hawaii was magical, but it was time to leave and return home. Leaving the small room of the apartment was a simple task, but psychologically there was much more to it. Thoughts drifted back to Nova Scotia faster than the plane would take us - going home. Going home - it was a pleasant thought, one that conjured smiles. The beauty of the island of Oahu was etched into memory, the people were warm and welcoming, the landscape abundant in beauty and perhaps most of all, the feeling of warm sun on exposed skin. There was an element of freedom that ruled and roamed free. I guess that is what a holiday is about. An escape from the day-to-day to a far away place. The time to ease down a few gears and absorb the surroundings, immerse in blue water and exfoliate the skin with soft sand from golden beaches. I would happily return there, and look forward to the return.



Now I sit in the kitchen, the night is dark outside, the wind howls and the rain pours relentlessly. Welcome home. There is something about Nova Scotia that is hard to understand. There is such an amazing feeling here when the sun peeks out from behind the thick clouds. The seasons here are incredible, summer a mix of sea blue and grassy green, autumn is a collage of every colour imaginable, reds, browns, yellows - fall colours. The winter though, that is something different, the snow doesn't last forever, but the cold that feels as though it breaks through the thickest coat and the grey of the clouds. They feel as though they last for months. We hibernate, tuck away in blankets with oil furnaces burning away dollars and paper thin walls setting free the heat we so desperately try and keep in. Even so, the stark change from Hawaii to home is amazing. I have such a fondness for this hard, wet and windy place and look forward to the birth of spring, the rush into summer and the warm sunshine and golden days that allow the same sense of freedom.

The van has been great these last few days, as if it too senses the slow change of temperature and the beginnings of spring. I want to be on the road, to drive to nowhere and stay awhile.

Holidays are what you make of them, days spent by the beach, days walking and walking absorbing everything around while blisters burn and pop. Skin darkens, hair lightens, eyes sparkle. I return refreshed and revived, the soul is energised and while bank accounts crumble and the days ahead are hard, it is with a warm embrace that I take them in. The days are hard to make the times of freedom felt earned. I returned to my work with greater motivation than I've had in months. I've set about responsibilities with a spring in my step. This time I'm not going to let it leave. Winter is not going to beat me as I know it is almost over, and once it ends, the freedom to roam and be outside will return.

The Mission

So.... winter time, a time to be wrapped up inside where its warm and welcoming. Hibernation. Other mammals are hidden in the earth their slumbering frames awaiting spring time like the seeds within the ground. Birds fly to warmer climates, to escape the chill. As people, our days continue as they do each day. Get up, work, eat, sleep and find time in between for our pursuits. The grey of the dark quarter gets into our bones, it covers our skin and wets our hair. We do not hide beneath the trees and sleep, our social demands prevent it. We do not fly south with the birds unless it is for a brief holiday respite. We carry on, each day much as the one before, unextraordinary. Well, no more. I'm tired of allowing time to influence my mood, my desires, sapping my will. Where is the man who would walk for 3 hours in the snow to get a burger, and then walk back again? Is he sleeping, hibernating, or flown south?

Time to wake him up.

The mission: to find the resolve, the drive and will to conquer the winter, to embrace the coming of spring. To each and every day do something that I have not done or something purely for the sake of doing. Crazy, different, unexpected and challenging. To make time to enjoy the the time I have. So, for today, as the first of what will be many days of adventure and exploration I set myself three tasks:

1. Today it is -16, with a windchill to take it to -28. Today I will go for a run, around lake banook and back again.
2. I'm playing darts tonight, my form has been poor of late, especially in the later games. Tonight I will score 2 100s. (This may not sound like much, but as I've only scored 1 so far in 7 games, it is a challenge).
3. I've been reading the book "Love on the Dole", while I am enjoying it, it has so far taken me 6 months to finish (and at 250 odd pages, thats pretty poor reading). Today I will finish that book and then start on another.

Small missions, challenges to begin with. Among others to come will be to quit smoking, run a marathon, climb a mountain. Perhaps a new motto, philosophy.

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die discover that I had not lived.”

No me Levantas

la luna se pasa hasta el sol ,
dentro nuves, y el dia empieza
con sonidos de coches

mientras perros gritan con hambre
la gente duermen abajo de savanas blancas
y sonrien, ojos cerados

el reloj alli tranquilo, al lado de la pared
esperando su momento para levantar
con voz alto la familia que sueñan

parece desayuno, hora de despertar,
de tomar cafe y soplar humo
pensando en otra mundo, sin pesadillas.

Bacardi and Coke

Gone are restless thoughts of slumbering wilderness. Drunken men lie in throngs waiting for their next drops of amnesia. Animals draw forth to the stagnent watering hole and dip their tongues where oil covers the surface. Time passes by as clouds shift over a darkened sky, filled with the hidden tears of evaporated life. Shelters lie shattered, holes where windows were, eyeglasses without lense. The circle encompasses itself, truth denied and covered with glistening patience. Rambling endlessly, words plucked from within sponge and melded with careless choice. Dumbfounded, awaiting the next day with a sense of expectency, it will be the same. Lacking nourishment. Tepid is the shower water, sporadic drops, unrealistic flow of spatter. A flood of thought, cascade of image from locked cells inside the deadlock. A sputter of exhaust, fog of grey mechanical shame. Unspoken words, dreams breached while searching for a name. Find within this dizzy spiral, laugh in manic glee at misfortune. A stubbed toe. A bashed shin. Skin purple, bloody as within. Reckless abandon, distant cat calls from the night. Gone is the moment, and with it the light.

Saturday

i drag the morning crust from my eye and search the sites for entertainment. the morning is cold and sunny outside, it feels fresh and hard. Coffee sits waiting attention while I drink my first glass of water. I'm making a effort to drink as much water as possible during the day, I've never quite drank enough and so now, I think I'll flush out my kidneys and give my body that its probably been wanting for a very long time.
Today is a strange day, Saturday, the weekend. The first of two days away from work, and an opportunity to relax. It feels odd though, as though I should be doing something, as if sitting here typing is the wrong thing to do. There are so many tasks that sit untouched on my mental list, but I have no drive to do them. Saturday, the day of doing things that don't revolve around work - so what do I want to do? That is where I am at a bit of a loss. I'm feeling detached from myself, like waking from a heavy night of drinking and spending the day in a haze of indecision.
What I should do is have breakfast, workout and have a hot shower, get blood pumping through me and wait for awakening and revival to kick in. I should have been in England today, but I'm still here. For some reason I feel like I shouldn't be here, that my presence is tension. At least its sunny outside and I am warm inside.

With one foot on the land
And another wet in the sea
Head upturned in air
to breathe life into me

I see with eyes open
The man that I've become
I dream with eyes closed
About the things that I have done

I walk along the sandy shore
Among the shells and stone
Head downturned to see them clear
Washed clean and all alone

I head back in across the land
To find a better way
Over hills and into marsh
This trip must end today.

Tomorrow brings a fresh north wind
To blow away the doubt
I smile and dance and clap
My hands and open my mouth to shout

I see with eyes open
The man that I've become
I dream with eyes closed
About the things that I have done

Warmth

room warmed by low watt bulbs,
candles too, upon the floor
as shadows play.
calm creation of vision,
moments of anticipation that
build yearning.
light obscured, then illumination
as form fills the room,
naked flesh exposed.
soft skin tanned and revealing
intimate clefts, erotic motion
while footstep pad to bed.
the crush of feathers
lying side by side,
fingers stroking goosebumps.
caress of tips. eyes closed,
direction driven by quiet moans,
the tuft tugged gently.
smooth limbs held by strong hands
pulled with resistance to
welcome the ritual.
beats build tempo. songs
sing from under bed covers and
time passes in oblivion.
moist with residue, with fond
perspiration. heat resonates
underneath and sticky
a bestowal and whispered affection
to sleeping beauty as
dream of tomorrow begin again.

Yuk

Prose and stimulation are lacking, head is hazy, nose running, body aches as if I were old. I've wanted to work out, to give my muscles a reason to moan, but each time I start, I'm able to do less than half of what is normal, and then collapse, breathless and more sore than before. I look forward to the cold passing, to waking up and feeling awake instead of the perpetual sense of sleep that I feel right now. Cures and remedies are but momentary comfort, a few hours in which I can breathe through my nose, mind feels like it can accomplish the meagre tasks that I have set for the day. And then the feeling passes and I drift back into the bubble, ears muffled and wanting to pop like on an airplane. Bring on the weekend. Perhaps the night will pass without restless motion, dry throat and clammy skin.

I need to stop smoking, my colour becoming ashen grey, eyes dragged down by heavy black bags. My patches lie unopened, waiting to be attached to skin, to gently allow the drug to permeate into my body, supply the addiction while I avoid the habit. I've tried once, but did not give it enough time, took it for granted that I would not desire the comfort of a burning cigarette. Time to give it another go, to put my will into it. To motivate myself with the thought of relish that body will feel more alive, that the poison in my veins will slowly seep out my pores and revival will begin.

Today the work is hard, simple thoughts require effort to concentrate mind and eyes blink to clear the blur. Roll on finishing time. I look forward to sleep as though I have not slept in days. I can't wait to feel healthy again.