Henry Miller Memorial Library
“Where nothing happens.”
A composition on being
As to remind myself, the world is always willing to accept new ideas and original composition. However, the process of creating such work takes years of practice. Most of which that must be written and wittiness by the creator and no one else.
Always trying to be original is a curse, being unique is also as damaging. I may not be able to feel rich nor may I be able to gain such monetary value, but if I share myself with myself then maybe I can make a living writing.
“Where am I going?”
No where in particular, to the next town.
“Where do you come from?”
Well, that is a silly question. Why should I answer?
With so many people around me things become difficult to simplify. What should I do, where am I going, and what should my life be about? Simply said, “questions are not worth answering unless you are willing to ask them.”
I believe we all ask questions, most of which are directed to ourselves.
Do I look pretty, or am I handsome? Have I worth to participate in this world? Does what I do define who I am? Am I a tourist or a traveler?
When participating in the acknowledgement of being, one must understand themselves without external stimuli; the self cannot solidify any other way.
Are you a tourist or a traveler?
As I meander around the states, I realize there are two sorts of people present. Unless compromised by drugs or mental illness, the public splits itself quite nicely. A tourist visits the area, when a traveler loves the area. As a tourist the area is to be bragged about with photos and glorious smiles. The traveler is selfish and withholds all for themselves.
Easy distracted, the tourist will jump from one destination to the other without any thought to what they experienced. Their lives are well and far off away from their peresent. The traveler is the one who holds, loves and breathes the area. For without the present, they will not be able to survive; tightly correlated to the situation they find themselves.
Most of my being as a traveler requires my heart to be entangled with the land. Many times, lost and separated from the tourist , I doubt my sanity. Two completely different worlds.
“I don’t belong here, they are coming from an alien world. A frightening and demanding world. I don’t have their sort of fortitude. Or is it a practice of submission? Are they the weak ones? Am I the lion? Looking in from my perspective is actually spectating, a tourist, the animal in a cage. The invisible cage.”
The illusion of grandeur is easily lost when there is too much nose from the visiting world. As I grow comfortable here at the memorial. I realize that they are all sactlly the same, speaking of the world they left to visit this one. Ignoring the beauty that towers over them. Many of the accomplishments they define themselves with fade as they try to build a foothold. The traveler defines nothing here, your wealth and stature are nothing. This is a space of equality, your self defined power means nothing here.
Never accepted anywhere for too long, the traveler must continue on. The tourist on the other hand pays their way in, able to stay indefinitely. The only reprieve a traveler may have is that of a life lived well. Proof that you do not aim to take advantage of The Establishment. However, when trying to keep the world separate the world between tourist and travelers, the two must collide. A tourist is aiming to see as much as possible, whence the traveler is trying to know as much as possible. Toes will be stepped on as the known world is only perceptiable by experience it.