its been too long since i have sat down with words. too long since i got half way up that mountain and decided that road wasnt for me. the ride down sure was easy, but here i am nearly a year later still rocking bath and forth in that valley of false comfort.  a mirage, in the wilderness of the mind, where so many trees create false paths blinding my eyes to only see a tunnel straight ahead. a round flat sandy spot in the distance, free from all these possible routes through the woods, free from the illusions of the possible correct path. a single spot of the finish line. the finish line being the only line; a horizon line. the horizon line. a line not obstructed by obstacles nor corralled leading down a specific way. no direction or sign saying which way to go, just one line telling me i am there. i sought that line, but never paid into the thought that the rocky scribble that i was then walking along would ever draw me to the final, heroically arcing line of triumphant thereness.

 i broke from the intended, obvious path ahead of me and followed a scribble line of an idea back downhill over toward the flat spot finish line mirage that falsely promised me thereness. i had to focus my eyes and block out the sides of my sight, but i could see only horizon if i tried; if i tried i could make myself think i was there. i sat in my created thereness for quite some time. basking in the soothing arcing line across all i could see, relishing that i no longer had barriers or paths. i started down the path with only cumbersome inspirations and an empty bucket. along the way i had began collecting these heavy little bits of hope and promise and throwing them in the bucket.  the bucket eventually became heavy, a burden to haul up mountains. every foot was heavy up mountains, but every step the little bits i carried in my bucket would promise to blossom into amazing things once i planted them at the horizon line. i carried that heavy load all the way out to this round sandy flat spot, to this spot that i began to believe was the horizon line. but i had been ignoring my periphery and trying to convince myself for some time. the little bits in my bucket had neither the ability to ignore nor a reason to self convince. while i sat out in the sun only looking at half of what i could see those little bits were looking at the whole scene. a big arcing horizontal line capping a sandy spot in a horseshoe shaped clearing in the woods; a dead end. slowly, bit by bit the bucket emptied as inspirations promises and momentums hopped into the woods and away from the dead end. there were better off headed towards the horizon line on their own.

 it wasnt till the bucket went empty that i noticed there was no more weight on my shoulders. i was dumb founded, where had it gone? i looked around my feet. kicked around some sand. checked my pockets. i spun my head all around looking for any little bit i could find. it had been a while since i had looked at anything other than what i wanted to see. it was amazing, or more astonishing than anything. i wasnt surrounded by nothingness and thereness, i was surrounded by trees and only convincing myself of the contrary. thinking that that one little line across blue must be it if i want it to be it.  how had i let myself set a trap that i was sure to get caught in? how had i possibly grown a beard in this sandy dead end spot in the wilderness? and then i saw motion at the line of sand against grass. it was just the littlest bit of nearly nothing, hopping towards the top of the nearest hill. i had no map, no compass, no motivation, inspiration, momentum or hope but i got to my feet and tried to follow.

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