I haven’t Gone Anywhere
Loutraki, Greece, December 30, 2009
Salaroche

Today is December 30, 2009. The end of the year is less than 48 hours away. I've travelled close to 34,000 miles this year (54,400 Kms) and I've been to some 7 or 8 countries too.

You may say that I’ve been to a few places in 2009, to more places than perhaps millions of people will ever go to in their lifetimes. But it doesn’t feel that way. Yes, I’ve seen a variety of things, people and sceneries, but it’s all been like watching a movie projected on a screen.

I’ve been touched by some of the people I’ve met and I’ve been moved by some of the circumstances I’ve been involved in. No question about it. I have been a very active participant in most of those circumstances too. But it’s all been like reading a book.

Everywhere I go I get the impression that I’m meant to be there, but I also get the very strong impression that I’m not meant to stay there. I always know that I’m just passing by. Just shedding the existential dust that I was born with and keeping the dust scattered on the ground along my way from accumulating on my shoes, so that it won’t slow down my pace.

Going back to California is always like opening my eyes from a dream. Reality is the closest to me when I’m over there. I have no roots in this world, but the closest thing I have to a home is California. There’s where my best friends are and there’s where I discovered who I really am.

There’s no telling the name of the country where I’ll see my final days. I’m not entitled to see the future. But it doesn’t really matter. As long as the winds of existence keep blowing on my sails, I’ll keep moving. After all, I’m never going anywhere. I’m always here, watching the living movie of existence and I’m always here, reading the living book of life.

I’m “out there” only for a few moments at the time and then the observer in me springs back up again. The witness in me never ceases to observe the actor in me. That witness doesn’t change; it doesn’t go anywhere either. It is always here and now. The actor in me knows the witness very well and it is aware that it is itself only an actor, an ephemeral identity superimposed over the indestructible, unchanging nature of the witness.

I’ve travelled close to 34,000 miles this year, but I haven’t gone anywhere.  I’ve always been here. Tomorrow I may go to Vietnam, and later on to Thailand or to China, Germany or Russia. Who knows? But in reality I will have gone nowhere, for I will have always been here.

Salaroche