Walking On

"We do not receive wisdom,
we must discover it for ourselves,
after a journey through the wilderness
which no one else can make for us,
which no one can spare us,
for our wisdom is the point of view
from which we come at last to regard the world."
- Marcel Proust

I hesitated in posting the final entries of my PCT journal because I think there's something larger in them than I have not entirely grasped. It's as though I was worried I was accidentally partially naked in these pages and didn't know about it. Perhaps it's nothing, a trick of the glory-light my thoughts have poured onto the walk. Or maybe my suspicions are right, and something special, something indestructible and wholly true to the complexity of Lenny's soul, some hidden part of my being I didn't even know I was writing about has shown through. Or perhaps not. For better or worse, here are my last journal excerpts and although I feel like I could write as many words about the PCT as steps I took, I think it is more fitting to end this blog with the abruptness that my hike ended with. I would like to thank the legions of people who helped make it possible. I couldn't have taken the first step without your support, and more importantly, your love. Thank you.

-Trip

7/13

Each nature setting generates a unique feeling, but with some underlying commonality. By the lake, I feel peaceful and contemplative. I feel like I should be with someone I'd like to kiss. In the forest, I feel wise and at home. There, I feel like I should be with old friends, looking up into the branches. In the mountains, I feel adventurous. By the river, I feel like going for a swim. I see rivers as a place for lightheartedness, unless you have to cross them, then they are serious business. In the open meadow, I feel wild. But, in civilization, I often feel lost, alone, afraid, or bored. What kind of city has Man built when all I want to do is leave it? Why does unbridled wild-ness generate peace?

7/18

As my walk nears its conclusion, my thoughts turn toward my re-integration with society. I suspect it will be unpleasant. What will I do? Where will I fit in? Who will I be? I find it astounding that I am still even capable of worrying about money after all that I've been through, all that I've accomplished. But that's what it all boils down to. Society is money, how could I hope to escape it? Lots on my mind right now... so much that the weight on my mind seems more than the weight on my back! (well, almost) But, in the glorious present, I am confronted with tranquility. Shasta looms over my campsite along with the Castle Crags, both grand and majestic, humbling. A small nearby lake reflects my reflective mood. A bi-plane just flew right over me. I wave. I'm so high, my hand is playfully caressing the sky as horizons turn orange and purple (such musical colors, I feel like a conductor), and I watch as my sun slowly sets.

7/20

...I am so frustrated that I have to go back... What can't it just be like it was by Deadfall Lake this afternoon? Secluded, forested, blue lake. Heat of the day. Strip to shorts. Dive in. Not too cold. Relief in those aching muscles. Dry in the sun. Have a leisurely lunch. No worries. That's what life ought to be like, lounging by a lake... My question about the rest of the world is this: Why so little joy?

7/21

Dreary days make for beautiful sunsets. Today, two trails diverged in the woods. I took the one more traveled and got thoroughly lost. I discovered that a free campfire, built out of trash, works better at repelling mosquitoes than my expensive bug repellent. Burns some weight, too. Every campfire I have, I wish I had more. Maybe I should learn something here... You know, this has become the norm for me. I fear civilization like I used to fear the wilderness. They days no longer seem incredibly long, they seem of the right length. Top Ramen is my daily constitutional, and I look forward to it. I've gotten used to farting whenever I want. How peculiar my ordinary life has become...

7/22

The mosquitoes are lurking even now, in the pre-dawn gloom, their long legs poised like ocean oil rigs on the mesh of my tent. Like vampires, they've been waiting all night, for me to emerge, for the tent to suddenly tear, who knows, just blind hope. They must be starving. Interestingly, their hunger is reinforcing mine. Aware that a biting swarm of blood-thieving needles awaits just beyond the threshold of my tent makes me hesitate in rising this morning. And so I am writing here instead of fixing up some oatmeal. But they're not going anywhere anytime soon, and they will win this war by attrition. They've got more patience than I, and I think I'd die of starvation before their whole species did. You win this round, you bastards.

7/24

Walls seem silly. Why try to keep out the hummingbirds and the clean smell of land freshly washed by rain? I think windows are more human than walls. Why bother with carpet? Soft moss or grass, even wood, is more pleasing to the feet. And when it is not raining, why can we not peel away our ceilings and roofs and let the cool breeze and warm sun inside our home? Fresh air and healthy tans for everyone, the world would be a happier place. And the most torturous question of all: Why spend the majority of a life trying to purchase and own such a dull contraption of plaster and brick when the forest provides bliss and peace at no cost at all? Mankind is very confused. He loves Nature with all his heart, and yet fights to keep Her away.

7/26

I write now like a man gripped by some glorious vision of his own reality which he has mythified into legend, and is now playing prophet in slapdash poetry and is trying to tell you what he sees. I can see culture. It is clear to me, all the mannerisms and lies and little physical dances, their presence and effects on communication, and therefore, their effects on life. Television, that wondrous drug I just barely managed to quit, blinks like neon lights over journal pages, a blasting beat and a saxophone remind me of a strip club, like I'm being seduced by society. I see through what must have always been transparent anyways, but the structure of this ugly life is naked, and I understand more than I did before...

7/28

The shock was intense at first, but I am getting used to civilized life again. Did it ever occur to you just how much knowledge there is at one's fingertips? I've been binging on information and media. And food, which brings me endless joy. It's really not so bad to be back. It's comfortable, and there are no mosquitoes. Friends are here, too. I'm actually feeling pretty happy right now. I still feel free, but I can enjoy society for what it's worth. Perhaps it's like the start of an addiction.

7/31

In the morning, when the mind is clear, too freshly awoken to have accumulated any worries, just after breakfast, when both body and mind sigh with contentment, I believe this is the best time to write. If I ever write a good novel, I suspect it will be the product of a hundred lazy mornings... Out here, I have learned to listen. Not just to hear (although my hearing has improved as well), but to listen. Truly, with an open soul and no judgments. Bees hum, birds squawk, the wind breathes, the river bubbles, and I am pleased by it all. And sometimes it is truly silent, and I am pleased by that too. My footsteps are a constant rhythm, the bass of this grand orchestra. I have begun to listen to myself and hear my desires. My ears stay open and vigilant to God speaking to me through the world. And, when I meet people, their stories fascinate me as though they were my own. And, if I ever am to write, I know that I am a conduit, input:output, and my "voice" is more of an echo.

8/1

Today is the 3 month anniversary of my walk. The sky above me is a brilliant blue, the trees around me wear dresses of green moss, standing about like ladies at a cocktail party. The sound of water running flows into my ears, a few small springs here that form the mighty Rogue River. The river, which is both here and where people kayak its whitewaters, both there and where it meets the ocean. It is always moving and is always present. It is like a person. In this way, the river disproves time in the sense of the calendar. And yet still I think, "3 months." How long is 3 months? I spent 3 months in college, 3 months on the fabled road trip, 3 months out here. When I go to New York with Jenn, it will be another 3 months until I see home again. But when I think about it, I cannot decide if 3 months is a long time or a short time. Yesterday, I jumped off a cliff into a lake, reclaim that ancient oath one last time. Tomorrow, I will reach the doomed immortal, Crater Lake. Looking backwards and forwards in that myth of time, I see great things. As Bill said, life is good.

8/2

Still, I am enchanted by wildflowers. I did not foresee such a bizarre fascination with them before I left home. But as I gaze at their varied colors and designs, I am struck with awe. They're so... weird! I look at their cascading, weaving folds in bloom and think to myself... why? Why such extravagance? How could they have missed the fact, in the course of their evolution, that simple yellow petals would do just fine? How strange it is to look upon a whole field of such complexity, hundreds of perfect replicas of such intricate and remarkable design! All for that basic quest, attracting the hummingbirds and the bees. All modern species of flower have succeeded in this regard, obviously. And yet, such diversity! I am reminded of humans desperately trying to attract mates by subscribing to one species of style or dress or make-up, trying to advertise their worth, when the secret truth is that, really, once you've reached full bloom, you probably won't be left out.

8/2

Wow. What can one amateur poet wanderer say about Crater Lake that hasn't been said a thousand times before? Shall I wax rhapsodic about its sapphire color? Should I ponder its great depth? Could I be so bold as to try to describe the wonder of the Rim's geometry, a curving rocky grin across the waters? Should I write of the clouds, who have paused here to gaze into the lake as well, comparing its blue to their sky? Perhaps I should just smirk over the fact that the trail stays much closer to the lake than the road, and yet, due to public laziness or ignorance, I sit here in perfect solitude. The cars are too distant to hear their droning on, and there are no guardrails as I perch on a rock jutting out just over the edge. My only human companion is the tiny distant boat gliding over the crystalline surface, cutting it into ripples like liquid glass. I think what I will say is this, today I feel quite lucky to be just where I am, just to exist, even, and I am grateful to the great God who made the mountain, sky, eruption, deep blue water and myself and who allowed us to meet in this moment and coincide.

8/2

Sheesh, three entries in one day. But what can I do? I am a man in love. Let me be absolutely clear on this: I. Love. This. Shit. Gazing into Crater Lake today, I fell deeply in love with a color. How can someone fall in love with something so abstract, so utterly unattainable as a color? From the Rim, I spotted jagged Mt. Theilsen in the distance and said to myself aloud, "I must climb that mountain." It was love at first sight. I love walking, and I love hitchhiking. I love meeting new people and seeing old friends and, well, just people in general. I love flowers. And trees and animals - even rocks! But I do not love mosquitoes. Although, I do love mosquito repellent. I love drinking from cold springs and watching the orange coin of a sun melt into purple mountains. I love the outdoors. And I love civilization too. Well, for the most part. And I love whatever God or luck or fate has given me this life because I love it. I love life! What a rare thing it must be for modern man to proclaim thus.

8/3

The clock is back and she is ticking like a bitch. Only 3 or 4 more days left - can it be true? ... How can I stop the inevitable sunset and enjoy it just a little longer?

8/5

As I see it, Trip is already dead. This trip ended days ago. The remainder now is just a death march. Christ, with a backpack in lieu of crucifix. Doomed. Why even bother? Depressed, I decided to climb a random mountain, always a spiritual experience, and sit on top and think, meditate, pray, take in the view, etc. Clear the mind. Focus. And then I asked, "Why am I so sad?" First, because it feels wrong. That's the gut instinct: it is wrong to leave. But I will be going anyways. That's why it feels like such doom, such futility, such inevitability. But second, I came to realize the real source of my depression. The freedom which I have sung so much about... is a sham. I wasn't ever really "free" from society. I painted myself as a lone wolf, but I was just a dog on a leash all along. I always had to go back. This isn't sustainable on its own. It's a hollow victory. I am still a citizen. Damn it.

8/6

...the last hiker I met was a very calm person named Psycho... He said to me, "I have found that everything that has resulted from walking the trail was good." and that gave me hope. As I neared the highway, I listened for the rushing cars, sounds like a rushing river that was to carry me away. Almost over now. Sudden and impossible to prepare for. Like lightning. My hands go out, touching trees and plants, suddenly eager to take as much of this with me as possible. One last uphill climb reveals an enormous pale lake. The sun is setting. Of course. The sky is a painted cathedral, rays through the trees, but I am leaving church before the service is over. The cars are a roar now, some terrifying beast. Only a few more steps now, for the first time, a number my mind could grasp until my odyssey is over. I'm in too much of a daze to tear up. An animal runs by, unseen through the woods, only heard. I'm suddenly struck by the thought that the animal represents all that I came out here for. The call of the wild, a power animal, a Patronus, a hint of the mystery I've been chasing - before I can finish the thought, I can see the road. There it is. The end.

The Weight of Questions

I have an awful lot of questions. For example...

Why is that many people can admit money runs their lives and yet they still submit to its domination? It's like people have a direct doublethink going on, they say money is no object and profess that it doesn't matter to them, that it inevitably makes people greedy and selfish, and then without skipping a beat, they go off to college or work hard to get that raise. They judge me as a "wayward adult", a "drifter", a "bum", but these words don't have any real meaning, just a negative connotation. All I am is a person who happens to have no money but still stubbornly seeks life.

So many people tell me they are jealous of what I've done. That I had a dream and went and did it. This fact astounds me over and over again, it seems like whenever a ride picks me up and we get to talking, they reveal their life dream to me in mere minutes. Like I'm a travelling confessional booth. And I always say the same thing which never helps, "Well, why don't you?" And they cite some reasons, but something indicates they are aware of the lameness of their excuses. Cowards in martyr's clothing. But one bigger question looms in my head, "Why can I follow my heart and chase my true desire, but all these people cannot?"

This is the split. I get told one of these two things, just after a new aquaintance asks my age. "Twenty years old? Isn't about time you went to college and/or got a job, son?" or else they say, "Twenty years old? Oh, you've got plenty of time! Keep doing this as long as you can, for many more years even." Never any middle ground. Get a job or follow your dreams. I always sensed this was an important question in my life at this age, but never suspected it to be the question. Which do I bow to? Reason or passion? Safety or freedom? Comfort or experience? Structure or spaciousness? Inside or out?

The great gift of my walk was not really what I suspected. I suspected to gain strength. Strength to persevere, strength to withstand fear, strength to go whereever I wanted to go. But what I found instead was perspective.

I had a dream one night during my walk. I was a dirty man in ragged clothes, standing on a snowy street, looking through a big glass window in on a big party. I watched the people laughing, dancing, arguing, gossiping, some looking depressed or out-of-place, with only the sound of muffled music reaching my ears. I realized the party I was looking in on was society and that I was now seperate from it, a distance detached, and seeing things from a different viewpoint.

I came back and was plunged into a world of worry. No wonder my thinking was so unclear, how could someone choose what is important while under such a bombardment? Scheduling problems, financial difficulties, social injustices... it all seems so trivial to me, so very mundane. After months without a schedule, money, or companions, all I can do is be filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for whatever it is I got.

So, I didn't come home enlightened. I don't have very many new answers. But I do have a new way of looking at things, one that I hope doesn't get drowned out too soon. And while I still lack the answers I seek, I feel that I now have a firmer grasp on my questions, and that may be the greatest gift I can carry.

I'm home now =D but you can anticipate a few more posts before I wrap this blog up.