Had to dream awake

....had to dream awake...

So: a stupid commercial about phone service or a credit card or something tore my heart up last night, for one line: One day is a tourist, a whole year, a traveler. It took my breath away: my bones felt the earth. The moon. The sky. I call myself a traveler; am I really nothing more than a tourist? I thought the difference was the intent, the desire, the burning love of the Road and a wordless, psychic pain that drives one on to places that have no logical hold on the heart. Here I am, no trace of Italian in my blood: but Firenze, oh, Firenze; Assisi, blessed mountaintop sanctuary; Capri, blessed isle. Here I am, not a drop of Russian in me - but one month, just 30 days in the bosom of St. Petersburg has meant a lifetime of yearning. From pictures, stories, the heart has reached out toward the Land of the Rising Sun, to Japan; to tian xia, to China, from where new blood to the family comes - now our blood will burn with the fierce holy fire from Tia Shan - our line will live beyond a hundred years.

Bottom line? Can't my yearning make me a traveler? Isn't my desire enough? I haven't the resources to circle the world, however much my heart tells me that my destiny should be crossroads and wild winds and the purest expression of my gypsy soul - I was born with it for a reason, God help me, under heaven, and I want to realize my soul. Not be stuck in this god-forsaken town where nothing pulls me, nothing but mercenary survivalist instinct.

So: mercenary rather than gypsy. How will holiness help me? God help me - I'm not dying, not dead, don't let the world leave me behind. Let me move with it, rather than against it. Let me see the white lines of the Road, let me see the blacktop river, the many tongues of the language of yearning, of knowing the holiness of journey rather than destination. I still speak the tongues of the Road...

...All my life
I've been workin' them angels overtime
Riding and driving and living
So close to the edge
Workin' them angels - Overtime...

I don't expect the yearning to ever end, don't expect the restlessness to ever leave me, and I wouldn't want it to - it's proof of concept, proof of life. Proof that, in spite of all the damage, all the sorrow, all the self-destructive, unproductive, wrong-thought, bent, bad, and mourning moments, I am still a good person capable of feeling, worthy of love, and, ultimately, still able to hope for salvation, day after day. All my life, I've been working them angels overtime....