basho on the poet's trail, me on a hillside behind the burger king

"Each day is a journey, and the journey itself home," - Matsuo Basho

there was an article, 'On the Poet’s Trail'  written for national geographic some time ago - i don't know when exactly, but i came across it this morning. It is the story of a writer, Howard Norman, who follows the former trail of a 17th century Japanese poet, called Basho; traveling some 1,200 miles through Japan, and writing this article, about Basho and about himself along the way. 

i've always told myself that my goal in life was to gradually get smaller and smaller, acquire and carry less and less, so that by the end of the road i could be left and content with simply the people around me, the love in my soul and a pen - to tell the story of it all. so i try, often neglectfully or mediocrely, to write something in each place i visit or moment in time i'm experiencing, about the people met and the things they say; about the beauty seen and the want to see it next to someone. 

and the story of Basho brought all that back to my mind, and made me realize that the trail is not finished, that we have yet to make it home, or at least to the point that - makes the darkest of times behind us, part of that which - makes the light ahead all the brighter. 

there is hope in looking forward; and as bad as my writing can be most days, i step into the spaces that welcome even the fewest of words, even silence. the cafes, the kitchen tables, the friends'  livings rooms, the friends'  kitchen tables, park benches and hillsides behind the burger king overlooking the city. because i have enough i'm sorries in my pockets for all 2 million of the still lit kitchen windows down the valley; and it means everything to empty each one, at a time, and speak them onto paper - folding airplanes, hoping their honesty will find your window still opened just enough to peak through; just enough to believe you're still looking; just enough to keep trying, to get back home.