i have no churlish objection to the circumnavigation of the earth, for the purposes of art, of study, and benevolence, so that the man is first domesticated, or does not go abroad with the hope of finding more than he knows. our travels should teach us more of who we are and through them we must become men; he who travels to be amused, or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old even in youth among old things. in rome, in paris, in alexandria, in port elizabeth, his will and mind have become old and dilapidated as the ruins beside him. he carries ruins to ruins.

mama left too soon and, so, a father thinks he is always right. we used to wait for the taxi on the benches here after school, our bodies breaking after hockey practice. now, i come again, this time bolder and older, as a man, watching these cars that drive by; so much has changed oh! but time mama moves the same. today i turn another page knowing you no longer here. mama i chose freedom, decided to be me, now i receive my glory. i will keep on walking untill i find that old love or that old love comes to find me.

traveling is a fool’s paradise. our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. at home i dream that at new york, at cush, and at timbuktou, i can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. i pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in new york, in cush, in timbuktou, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad-self, unrelenting, identical, that i fled from. i seek the pyramids at giza, and the palaces. i affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but iAM not intoxicated, my giant goes with me wherever i go. before we leave our native land we must first know who we are, knowing that the best companion and the best palace can only be found in who you are.

there are no shortcuts in this life, those who seek to make a change from the outside in will never change but will be changed. and, so, man is a machine, his soul no longer belongs to him. he will never live for divinity within but instead will base all his existence on external expectations. he will thus accumulate matter and lose love.

i find it interesting that in the suburbs kids do not play outdoors. they are told by their parents to remain within the confines of their walls. how is a child to grow when he has no friends that he can play with. it is because we are prisoners within that we nurture prisoners of our children. we are hemmed in by all the clutter we own convincing ourselves that we are happy, if meaning is not found in who you are, where can it be? institutions, property, family, religion, spouse, friend can never fill the void within. it is only love that can nourish the thirst of the spirit. it is only when we confront our fears, our, longings, and our losses that you can truly know who you are. through pain and suffering there is fortune and freedom. we can never instruct others without instructing ourselves.