Hippie

I have wanted nothing more than to escape into the green green mountains these last few weeks. It started out as a small desire to go hiking, but has grown into the desire to disappear into the valleys and forests and wild beauty of Alaska. It's affected every area of my life: my happiness and my work because I'm not happy if I'm not feeling the wind, and I'm distracted by the thought of wide open spaces when I'm inside walls at work. We drove to Seward and all I could do was stare at the adventure out the windows: I felt like a dog with its head out the window and its tongue hanging out. I told my friend, I want to lay in the grass and wrap my fingers in it, I want to rub the earth on my face, I want to sink into the mud, eat the earth, seep into the trees, rush away on the wind. I want to feel light bug legs brush my skin and smell life. I want to wander and wander with only the discovery of beauty as my goal. She looked at me, burst out laughing and told me that I am a hippie. I don't feel like a hippie. I feel a call to something that is just as alive as me: not wooden walls and woven carpets, to metal cars and flashing colors. I feel as though I'm missing a part of myself: an appendage or a long lost cousin. I feel as though all I need to do is get into the forests and the valleys and I'll simply melt into the scenery. Of course I sound like a fruit cake, but there's something wrong with me here that only the color green can explain. There's a beauty that I'm only finding outside the city limits that seems to be the only cure for a restless soul. That's really what it is: it's a beauty in sight, taste, touch, smell, and hearing. It's a full beauty that's made of the same stuff as me and it's telling me to come home.



6/30/11