State of Absence

There is dirt on my clothing and a patter on my heart that I haven't felt in awhile. I pulled my laundry out of the wash and there was a scent I didn't want to recognize. It used to be that I would wake up not knowing where I was, now I know and I wish I didn't. My heart is in a different timezone, my mind is on a different continent, and it's sunny in Cusco. I'm tearing apart my closet searching for a something - what was it? My bag is packed and I have cash in my hand. I could get pretty far, but not far enough. Ride the wave out, clap in time. Every star is a wish I want to make, every flash of headlights is time passing me by, every morning is a moment I remember where I am. Thunder storms predicted tomorrow in San Jose.

Clouds blanket my Washington and I forget to speak in English. I smile and I can hear my voice, but it isn't mine and I am not sure what is being said. His response is cordial, polite. I can tell that he thinks I'm a day dreamer, but I'm not. I'm not dreaming and it's not day time. There is a swift wind blowing through Porto this evening, I love it when it gets like this. All the green leaps to life on the breeze and I can taste the ocean. The man I'm speaking to looks confused, and I realize I have answered him in Portuguese. I apologize and try to laugh it off, but I've never been a good liar. I'm not standing here with him, I am thousands of miles away. Up in the mountains, out on the coast, shaded between the trees, covered in salt water and sand.

Being choked up is a literal statement, it's not an exaggeration to make your point. You'll know the moment you feel it. The firm hand of emotion pressed against your windpipe and you gulp down as much oxygen as you can manage, but it doesn't really matter. Try drinking water, still nothing. It's not so much painful as just a constant state of discomfort. It's not so much debilitating as disheartening. Firenze is still warm from the summer sun. Warm rain is falling on Haleiwa, perfect day to head out on the surf. Perfect day to sail away.

I know you're speaking, but I can't hear you. To say the least? I am distracted, absent, missing. And I wish that I was more of the latter than the former. One girl, one bag, one love. Vagabond is hardly descriptive enough, and yet it is too much. It's green and black and white, I won't have more, I can't have less. I'm bleeding airplane tickets and train fare and I am not standing here. But there are people I need to be accountable for. There are people I need to protect from my flight plans, even as it break my sanity and holds me hostage. I can already feel the bamboo growing through me.

I am pouring out all the love that I have and still there is more. It's not that being here is difficult, as not being there is impossible. My nails are embedded deep into the Maple as I convince myself to remain, my muscles are exhausted from being tensed as my body breaks down from standing still. If you crack open this chest, you'll find maps and photographs where the heart should be. Instead of lungs, breathe a sail and a steam engine. My circulatory system is waves of salt water and mineral drenched amazon river. Each muscle is a deep green plant and my stomach is digesting three or four languages all at the same time. There are kidneys made from coconut twine and a liver in the shape of a plane, metal and fabric and all.

Raw flight and I'll have to file for state of absence if you'd like to continue speaking to me. I'm not here. I'm not even there. And I'm not sure where I'll be tomorrow. I'm not a planner, but I can't not know. I like surprises, but not being unsure. I don't know where I am, and I certainly do not know where you are. I'm on the carpet, I'm on the pavement, I'm on some mode of transportation. The motion is making me just ever so sick and I wish we would stop rocking for even a moment. But I can't, because I'm not really going anywhere. I'm still. Still still.

I close my eyes and talk to God, because I'm tired of not knowing. There is only one response to someone who can't stand still - and He knows it so well with me. He picks my off the chair I am clinging to and holds me. Not restraining me, but just holding me. Playing with my hair and whispering on my heart. There is no greater comfort. He peels my fists open and calms my worries. I'm lying in the hands of my Father and breathing hard as He opens my airway so I can breathe again. It's been so long since I've filled my lungs. Here in the arms of the One who will never let me down, I am reminded. Of what, I can't tell you. That's something you have to find for yourself. I am comforted and whole, until, of course, I let my running feet touch the ground once more. But for now, I am safe in the arms of Him who loves me, unrivaled and unconditionally.