Travel Plans - England - France - Spain - Poetry - Contact

The Journey undefined


Journeys are not defined
by comings
and goings

A journey
is not about destinations
one does not arrive
or depart
on a journey

On a journey
one moves
through these points
like a train
passing through stations
in the middle of the night
stopping only occasionally
deserted places
where one or two solitary travelers
get on or off
but this is not you
you watch them like shadows

Just as someone else
will watch you laden
with bags
disappear into the darkness

And you sit
in the village café
with coffee
but you are not
Of this village

The waiter knows this
I come from a village
I know how long
I would have to sit
before the waiter
would see me differently
I only have this one life
I can not sit that long

But even if I were
would the Journey
have ended?
Not if I valued my life,
not unless despair
over took me.

I sit on the terrace
moving my chair
to follow the sun

This is part
of my journey
this pen
across the page
is part of my journey

This pause
to sip the coffee
part of the journey
the distant clatter
of goat bells
in the valley
dogs barking
Cocks crowing
a child’s voice
miles below
all part of the journey

The distant
silver, blue shimmer
of the sea
part of the journey

When I depart
does the journey
of this moment

I finish the coffee
I gather my belongings
I leave coins
an empty cup
a full ashtray

A polite nod of thanks
to the waiter

I walk
quietly away
up the winding street

Has my journey begun again?

The cobblestones
worn smooth
over centuries
of travel

even my light steps
are not incidental

Even my solitary passage
does not go unnoticed

I reach the crumbled citadel
Once the proud tower
of the Marquis de Sade

Was this my destination?
to stand atop this pinnacle
to behold the ruins
of compulsive madness?

No, This was only a coincidence
as arbitrary
as choosing
the café I was at

My journey
led me up the hill
and now it leads me
back down

This is not my village

But the day was mine
as this moment
on the terrace
is mine
as the goat bells
and the barking dog
and shimmering sea
are mine

This journey moves on
into uncertainty
as it began

I will arrive
Not in a place
but in a moment
a moment
as unexplored
as those distant
blue mountains

A moment
as foreign
as any land

And in that moment
does the journey
or begin again?

I bring with me
The wind
scented with myrtle

The taste
of fresh pastries

The sounds
from a valley far below

In this Journey
I am the destination