The rain follows the first sunny journey

The rain follows the first sunny journey, appearing to quell the euphoria. Time lapses, feet step, and I embark on my first adventure.

The refuge vehicle, summoned from The Gods on a deserted road. 

We play, we drink, we sleep- we discuss love and the pilgrimage to Santiago- who knows the true path?

I falter, I stumble, and the eagle man brings peace to an Astorgan hillside.

Another realm- I trek blindly towards this offering. Tired, defeated, and in need of a new belt, my misery is recorded and stored away- a hidden treasure.

Life resumes, and the town parties- I sink into the festival, and make pleasantries, extending to a kiss.

The spliff blows and Salamanca opens up- a blooming flower, its presence longing my stay. But alas, I must leave.

The big city unleashes its mystery, and I call on friends who provide shelter, but the earth calls me back.

Fortresses scatter the land, and their tranquil defence reflects my head space.

Complacency (perhaps) yields to a disastrous attempt at the drop South, so I plunge myself into Feria: I know it’s close now.

The internal fortress strengthens, and a moments respite leads to Magic- playmobile caves. Twilight existence personified in this community of wayward identity.

However the strength is not to be underestimated, and I find purpose for the final step.

Rapidly, and with internal understanding, I glide into the greatness I have been searching for. A place of extremes- darkness and light. The sea holds hope for some, while constantly remaining a barrier for others- I struggle with my own initial barrier, but the gateway soon opens magnificently and a world is brought into sharper focus.

Matrimony of the body- a clean sweep, utter satisfaction on an uncultivated terrace.

A plastic face confirms the route- at a price- and the wind wraps itself around the town. How much can one inhale in two days? Its beauty is clear and unashamed- but without surrounding myself in its Western abyss, I leave.

I left London, I left a prosperous routine, and now I leave Marrakesh- the calm before the storm. I swam and now I prepare to fly- the final mode of transport. The final step, and arguably the greatest since the first ferry, two months ago.

Oh how time flies, and now I fly too. At one with the forces, for now- a product of my journey.

A new language, new plans and new lands- for that I’m grateful. Continued strength, reinforced ambition and the process of the Self- for that I’m tranquil.

The  next step- there is always a next step- is the anticipated return. The water is calm, but the current remains strong- a force that can easily pull one under or elevate you to the sky.

The cycle continues, and a braver man would appreciate The Gods- those untouchable ideals of fate and destiny. I prefer to appreciate their magic, rather than decipher their purpose.

Perhaps this is wise, or merely a delayed struggle- why fight against the current when the water is flowing in the right direction?

One step at a time is the only way, when the process is simplified to its most tranquil simplicity.

Stepping off the plane will undoubtedly feel huge, but I can take courage in the small steps I have taken, nearly always managing to find my balance.

I have faith that equilibrium will be restored, but the inevitable wobbles and falls await all- and it’s the equilibrium we find in ourselves which takes centre stage.