freeheeler's Journal

My response to fineline's post back in the day

When I went out on limbs, when I took chances, I flew above the clouds, When I followed the crowd, I ate their dust, When I bit off more than I could chew, I didn't always choke.

Back in the day, most of the time, I did what was expected of me, was a good son, did right by others, didn't make waves.

While I'm a man, I love the bumpersticker "Well behaved women never make history"

Sometimes, I stepped beyond myself, chased rainbows and tumbleweeds, followed dreams.

One story among many:
Once, I hitchhiked from Alaska to Seattle in winter because I'd destroyed my car. You'd think it would have been terrible, it was not. I caught a ride with a crazy stonecutter from Detroit who had this dream of driving on a winter road across arctic ice to some islands off of the northern coast of Canada. I went along and we drove so far north that we were north of the aurora borealis, we got caught in caribu jams, went hunting and fishing with Gui Chin natives. Driving late at night, we hit an arctic fox. Beautiful and white, and I was in the back. They tossed the fox next to me, and it came alive and tried to bite. I understood that this fox was, for my Gui Chin friends, part of their chain of life, something they could barter for food, gas, money for rent. They wouldn't hand me a knife, because they knew I would destroy the pelt. So, I had to smother the green fire from its eyes with my hands. I understood that at my core, I was a part of this earth, and that life sometimes have to pass from one to give life to another.

We never made it to the arctic ocean, a half-frozen river blocked our way, too much ice for the ferry, not thick enough for our car. Still, at night, it was so cold, we lined the inside of the truck with layer upon layer of cardboard.
Yet, I saw a land so large that I could not find words large enough to describe it, glacial valleys the size of states, the land sloping down to the treeless arctic plain, a sky so filled with stars and whipping bands of blazing fire

When I become complacent, my life grows dull.
When I follow the herd, enter a cubicle, say yes sir, my soul withers

When I follow my heart or toss my fate to the wind, sometimes, I fly, sometimes I fail. But it is those times, those times that truly are mine, they belong to me and no one else.

The joy of life is in the journey because, while many have faith, when we face the cold, hard truth with honest hearts, we truly do not know what the destination holds.