Drifters

Chapter 1/The Intro to Highway.

            I am a drifter. A loner, a nobody, a ghost. The highway stretches before me, a vast and unending path to nowhere. It has consumed me entirely and made me a part of it. My hopes, my dreams, my goals. They all no longer exist. I have become the road. I do not know my name. All I know is this lonely journey.

People see drifters as mysterious people, secret heroes destined to save the day. This is not who I am. I am no Clint Eastwood movie, no cowboy, no hero. The only thing under my gruff exterior is the soul attached to the passage.  Even so, I don’t mind this. All people follow a trail, the trail of life. But theirs is troubled, filled with struggle and fraught with turmoil. My way is another kind entirely. For me, the way is lonely and cruel to be sure. As true as this is, it is the only friend I have had. On this path there is no room for religions, for discrimination, for hatred. There is no rich and poor, no right and wrong, no reverence or disdain. The never ending isle strips away all but the persons bare sole, pure and unblemished by the troubles of the world in its essence.

I am gifted, for while I know not the feeling of a family, I know what it feels like to be whole.  For we all are the same deep down. Race, gender, status, and age apply not when stripped down to the soul. We are so much more alike than anyone can ever believe. The passage forces people to see that we are all connected. Do we not all cry? Laugh?  Bleed? Is it not true that everyone can smile? We all breathe the same air, and we all share the same emotions. We were born this way, and it is still all there, deep inside.

Your days are full of children, friends, and spouses, all believing yourselves to be righteous and sure of your lives.  But there is always that nagging feeling of doubt and uncertainty, feeling as if there is something missing. My days are full of dusty shoes, gathering particles that other travelers created. Days of colossal mountains of purple and navy, the peaks dusted with early winter snow. Mornings of scorching heat, the sun rising high in the sky like the chariot of Apollo, might and immensely powerful. Evenings of cool breezes, the stars twinkling elegantly and joyfully.

They tell stories of ages long past, heroes forever immortalized in the sky as a reward for their deeds. I have sat awake many a night just gazing upon those stars listening to the crickets and cicadas sing their song in perfect and cordant harmony, and felt the world around me become a part of my being. One cannot describe what it feels like to be connected to every creature around you, to feel every molecule in your body ignite in a blazing conflagration with the feeling of just being alive.

Here there is no doubt or worry, and nothing can be missing. Only one who has traversed in such a matter can understand. If we happen to pass each other on our way to nowhere, we do not exclaim nor do we even carry on much conversation. For we know that words are unnecessary, for we are a part of each other and therefore whole.

Some people catch glimpses of our world, like artists and singers. I firmly believe that some of these people have seen at least a piece of this. So while you go about your lives, I will keep on drifting. I will continue to walk along the side of the highway. I am the guardian of the deserted avenue,  the spouse of the quiet pass, the sibling of the tender route, and the friend of the broken boulevard. I am here to follow that highway and to help others see the world how it really is. I am waiting, and I always will be. I will be looking down that street until the dirt below my feet greets me like an old friend. We only wish for you to understand, just as we do. To quote a famous song some of you might know, “I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will live as one.”