I’ve gotten a lot better about adjusting when I come back to the civilized world.
I struggle less in the traffic.
I shiver less in the cold.
I blend more with the crowd.
I listen patiently as people talk in circles about their unhappiness in their jobs.
I smile and try to understand as they talk passionately about possessions and material things they have, can’t afford, or want.
I remember that I too was there once.
I choose to see the positive in a world full of pavement.
I dance when I wake up in the morning, play with my hula hoop, walk barefoot as often as I can.
Even if people stare.
I focus on gratitude.
The joy of shopping in a grocery store, or washing my laundry, or having reliable wifi, or ordering anything I could ever want on Amazon.com.
But in truth, I’d rather eat from the trees.
I’d rather wear muddy rags.
I’d trade strong internet for a real connection.
I’d give up my kindle, Mackbook, or Canon to be back in the wild.
I’ve gotten a lot better about surrendering when I come back to the civilized world.
I concede rather than fight.
I submit rather than struggle.
I accept that this is the way things are.
Sometimes I even wonder, if maybe I could stay.
I imagine myself re-cultivating.
Getting back to a steady career.
Throwing parties in my fancy apartment.
Dressed to kill in shoes that kill.
I imagine myself re-committing.
Finding a man who’s on the path of entrapment.
Falling in love with his dreams, then awakening in a cage.
But sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m just hiding.
If the sadness and separation from the real, rawness still rules me.
If all the comforts in society can’t really soothe me.
If I’m only buying in so that I can survive.
I wonder if I’ve lost my essence.
I’ve gotten a lot better about surviving when I come back to the civilized world.
I escape into the world of my work.
I justify my existence through “progress” and persistence.
I dissolve into the online world.
But I wonder if I’ve gotten better about being here, because I pretend that I’m not actually there.
I wonder if I’m becoming one of them again.
One of them who gets road rage in traffic.
One of them who grows addicted to work and “achievement”.
One of them who looks at a screen more often than the sky.
One of them who talks through a computer most of the time.
I wonder if I fool myself.
If I fool myself into thinking that yoga studios and green smoothies are enough.
That spending an hour a day in a park is enough.
That looking at pictures of nature on Pinterest is enough.
Could I settle, for ‘enough’?
But then my aching heart reminds me.
My aching heart reminds me, how it feels to stand alone in the ocean, with no one for company but the trees.
My aching heart reminds me, how it feels to look into the eyes of a monkey.
My aching heart reminds me how it feels, to press my body so hard against the sand, the edges disappear and I remember who I am.
My aching heart reminds me