04 - 17 The Star

I wake up as soon as the sun hits my face. I have a purpose today and it feels good to have a purpose again. Today, I intend to tidy up my room. It isn’t the first time I’ve ever cleaned up, but it is the first time I intend to do it so completely. For years, I kept my room neat and organized, constantly getting rid of things I didn’t need and frequently taking inventory of what I had. This time is different.

This time, I’m thinking about what to keep.

I embrace the Konmari method. As I read the book, every word rung true to me. For years, my family would buy me clothes whenever there was an occasion to buy me things. Birthdays, vacations, “because it would fit.” I never wore them. They weren’t me. I never felt okay throwing or giving them away. They were gifts and they might one day be useful. As I placed my hands on each of them, folding them with great care, I felt something different. I felt their appreciation they could go on to be useful to someone else. I had been keeping them locked away, trapped in a cage when they could have been helping another. This theme continued as I went one by one through my belongings. In the end, I was left only with the things I truly cared for.

In tidying up, I realize I can finally say goodbye to parts of my life I never let go of. I find remnants from my past lingering about like ghosts. Memories from another life, from another path, hit especially hard. They were the beginning of a long, downhill struggle. A struggle I am on even now. There were happy times as with any period or journey. But ever since then, it has felt as though I have been looking for an uphill path by running downhill.

There are also many old friendships I say farewell to: ones I didn’t even know I was holding onto. A box of cards hides in the dusty recesses of my room but as with everything else, I don’t simply throw the box away. I hold each card in my hand, remembering what they were for, who they were from. I allow myself to feel what comes from them. They are a reminder of the passage of time. And then, like everything else I no longer truly care for, I let them go. It feels good to let go of the things I didn’t even know were still weighing me down.

After clearing the last load, I feel lighter. I should feel heavier, more broken down. It is no easy task to lift, remove and donate bags upon bags, boxes upon boxes, of things. But neither my mind or my body are weighed down. They are lighter than I have felt in a long time. I drive around aimlessly. Something I have not done since I first started driving. Sitting alone in my car, listening to the music flow out from the speakers, it is a way to commune with myself.

When I finally stop, I find myself at a place I had been almost five years ago to the day. I know because I took a photo last time too. It’s a wide, long, still river. I climb down a steep, closed-off slope to sit along the river’s bank. Five years ago, I was in a dead-end job, so far off the path of my life I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was happy for the transition; I knew I had to step off the path, but the fact remained: I was lost. I sit there for a long time. The type of time when you no longer remember how much time has passed. By the time I’m ready to leave, I find myself struck by another urge.

An urge to continue communing with nature. Communing with myself.

There’s a natural ravine near where I live. I find my way to it, walking along the concrete slabs until I finally reach something softer, something warmer. Something more welcoming. A dirt path. Following the path, I eventually find myself in a place I was seven years ago. It’s not the memory which draws me to it, it’s the sound of the rushing water. I’m halfway down another slope, standing beside yet another riverbank. Only this one is not still and calm. It doesn’t charge forward, crashing against itself like a rapid. But the water is moving. Pushing steadily onward.

In those past five years, perhaps even seven years, I had been doing everything I could just to keep my head above water. I was racing through my education to get a real career. To be someone they could be proud of. Then I was racing to find a job. To prove I could take care of myself. Then, when I thought I finally found a different path, a real path. I failed. It was a crazy roller coaster ride of downhills with only a few up hills met by even bigger downhills.

I start to climb back up the slope but it’s steep. I put my hand on a tree to brace myself. It’s so close to the ledge, the roots break through the ground, dangling in the air. The wind or maybe the unstable ground pitches the tree towards the cliff. Something in me stops. I stand, still on the slope, staring at my hand. I had spent so much time the past few years trying to swim with the current, just trying to keep afloat, I forgot what it was like to truly take a moment, not just a second, but a full moment, to brace myself, and then get back up.

I had never allowed myself to break. I never had time for it. Each failure needed to be followed immediately by corrective action or a next step in life. If one path was wrong, I hurried to find another one. I accepted the inevitably of failure, but I refused to accept the possibility of breaking. I knew if I allowed it, if I ever even entertained the idea, I might not be able to keep going.

As if to match my thoughts, I see a broken, shattered tree beside me. The trunk is torn in two and it’s nearly been torn from the ground. It looks like a storm ripped through the area, tearing apart the few trees unlucky enough to be there. The rest stand tall, stand firm against the chaos. I don’t know which I really am. I know I want to believe I am the trees which stand firm but I also know: I could be as broken as the others.

The deeper into the woods I walk, the deeper into myself I see. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone so far. Seven years at least but perhaps even longer. I hadn’t gone beyond the surface in years. I look up and standing among this forest of trees stand two, firm and strong, along the path. They stand on either side of the dirt path like guardians but they do not impose a warning. They beckon to me almost as if welcoming me in. As if welcoming me into their world and mine.

I walk through the gates and wander through the forest.

I see a small clearing between some trees as I walk on. Looking into it, I see a calm, still lake. I intended to pass right by but as I peer into the still waters, I find myself mesmerized by the water. The rushing waters of the river stirred thoughts long dormant within me. It reminded me of my own blind, charges forth. Standing in front of this still, calm lake now, I find those same thoughts brought back to an equilibrium: to a balance.

I start walking again, eventually passing over a bridge. It stands over the rushing river I saw before. This day started with the physical work of tidying my room. The mental work of dusting off memories and choosing what is important to me. Choosing what defines me. I vacuumed dust bunnies and threw away dust-laden boxes. But as I stand over those waters, listening and watching the waves, it feels like the water is washing the dust, and perhaps some of the rust, from my soul.

For the first time in a long time, despite the turmoil in my heart, despite the doubts and concerns which start to plague my mind as the city lights once again come into view, my mind is calm and at peace. It isn’t the feigned clarity and certainty of charging blindly forth. It is true calm and a peace of mind attained only from communing with myself.

“And that is what this it too.” I whisper to the movie reel. The Fool stands over me, his head next to my head, peering over my shoulder to look at the reel. He whispers into my ear.

“So, you’ve decided then? I’m merely another voice in your head?” There’s a gentle smile on his lips. A kind one.

“I still don’t know.” The smile turns toothy, turns Cheshire. “But you are here. In my head. Whether you’re another one or not doesn’t matter, does it?” I turn to face him. He’s still merely a shadow. Still in his twin tailed coat with a top hat. But he seems smaller now.

“And just like her, you’re on a journey of communing with yourself, are you?” She asks me, as if coming to this point, to these thoughts, was just that easy.

“I am.” I nod, starring at her.

“But if I’m not just another voice in your head, you’re not communing with yourself, are you?” She asks, sneering back at me. It’s my turn to smile back at him. It’s a kind one, a gentle one. Just like the ones I’ve seen.

“But you’re still here. Making me read and watch these stories. Making me think about what they mean to me.” The Cheshire grin fades away, leaving one to mirror mine in its place.

“Then what of this star? What does this mean to you? What hope does she find here?”

“None.” I answer honestly. “She finds something better. The star here isn’t about hope. It’s about finding herself.”

She told me about how beautiful the mountains were. I had always wanted to go myself but there was always something holding me back. I don’t have enough time. I don’t have enough money. I don’t know where to go or when to stop. The truth was I just didn’t care enough. The mountains were as mystical and wonderful a place to me as Narnia. And that was enough. For me, they were a place to dream of. I beheld their splendor and awe in my mind and it was enough. Until she told me about them.

I only lived a few hours away. I’d have to wake up early to go but that was never an issue for me. I just needed a reason to get up and go. I had been driving for a few years and I’d had enough money for a single day road trip for at least a few years. If I wanted to, I could probably take one every few weeks. I just never did. It wasn’t until she told me how much she loved the mountains I took my first road trip there.

I started changing after meeting her. Or rather, I stared remembering who I am. Because of her, parts of me I’d forgotten started to resurface. They start to show their heads, reminding me of their presence. It isn’t just her. Time has a way of bringing them to the surface. The things you’ve forgotten but that never let you go. But though time brings them close, she is the trigger. Talking with her is what allows them to break through the surface to be seen. To be heard.

Before I met her, began talking to her, it had been years since I found myself surrounded by nature. It had once been a part of me. Wrapped up into my very core and the thing which brought me peace. I lived not far from a natural ravine and would often take walks through when I was younger. I ignored the worried cries of my mother because I understood the importance of returning to the woods. I understood how it healed my soul. Only as I grew older did I learn to stop looking around me to focus on what was ahead.

Each step needed to be followed by another step. Forever onward and upwards. The view around me and the thought of looking at my feet as I so often did, vanished from my mind. Introspection was not a step forward, it was a step inward. And that was not where I needed to go. Every mistake I made, every wrong turn, needed to be followed by a motion forward. I had no time to waste. I needed to build a life. I needed to become someone my family could be proud of. Who cared if my soul died within my chest so long as they would be proud to call me family?

Then I met her. And she reminded me.

The first few hours of my road trip were mundane. I drove along empty highways, passing by kilometers of empty fields. The few sleepy towns the highway cut through were barely awake. But even then, driving through those empty fields with only the road urging me on, I felt a level of calm. Of peace. There was only one direction to go. And for once, that feeling did not degrade my soul, it brought it closer to feeling alive again.

When I first saw the mountains poking through the horizon, I felt nothing. Perhaps some joy that my destination was in sight but not much else. They were still just a figure in the distance. They were still only a picture in my mind. The closer I got, the thicker the trees grew. They started welcoming me into their world even as I barreled towards them in my steel cage.

Eventually, I found myself surrounded by trees in a way I had never been before. I had walked through nature before, surrounded on all sides by trees but it was different then driving through them as I was now. I understood the sheer vastness of their world. I was not taking step by slow step and breathing in the trees. I was driving forth, a hundred kilometers per hour, and still finding myself constantly surrounded by trees. They were no longer a guest in my world. I was a guest in theirs.

Before I realize it, I’m surrounded not just by the trees, but by the mountains. They pierce into the sky. The forests cover them like hair, adding stunning beauty to their faces. Even the bald ones have a beauty of their own. An unmatched regality. I don’t know what I feel as I stare up at these mountains, surrounding me on all sides. Wonder. Awe. Joy. All these emotions strike me as I look up at them. Mostly, I feel small. Insignificant to their enormous magnitude.

I’m in the national park by now and I pull over anytime I see a stop. It’s a workday meaning the park is clear of most people. For today alone, the majesty of nature is mine, and mine alone, to behold. Each stop is a chance to truly take a moment to stare, to appreciate, the mountains. I breathe it all in, allowing myself to feel everything the nature brings out in me. Mostly, I just feel calm.

I stop wherever I can and though I appreciate the beauty of nature wherever I do, it’s the water which calls to me. It’s when I find a river or a lake I find myself sitting there for nearly an hour before I realize how long it’s been. Whether the water is rushing and charging onwards, or it sits still, without a ripple or wave on the surface, something in it speaks to me.

At one stop, I look at the mountain beside me. It’s been raining the past couple of days and even today, the skies are cloudy. Some of the mountains looked holy as I drove past them. The rest of the world shrouded in darkness with a sole mountain peak graced by light. The mountain beside me looks less heavenly and more fantasy-like now. It’s covered in shade leaving it like any other. But the rain makes small waterfalls spill over the mountain peaks. As small as I am at its base, the small waterfalls look like something from a movie. A far-away shot to establish the fantasy-setting of the world. They remind me how fantasy-like this world is compared to mine. But this too, is part of the world I live in.

My final stop isn’t even inside the national park. The lake I’ve been driving by is so huge I must have already been driving alongside it for half an hour. There’ve been stops along the way for people to go fishing or boating but no scenic stops. I keep driving and driving hoping I find one. Even from afar, I can tell there is something special about this place. I drive over a hill and see the lake on my left. There’s a metal railing on the same side of the road with a mountain to my right. Further ahead, I see a gap in two metal railings. It seems like a good opportunity to pull over and stop. So, I do.

I get out of the car and walk through the gap between the railings. There’s a long cliff spread out for about a kilometer. Where I stand, the steep drop is about as tall as I am. There are mountains all around me, peaking into the sky no matter where I look. The lake is surrounded on my side by a rocky beach. The rain hasn’t been heavy enough to make the water rise to cover it. I take the sights in. Breathe in the air.

Then climb down the cliff and step out onto the rocks. I walk all the way down to the shoreline. The sound of the water and the wind gets louder and louder. The wind is barely a whisper but it’s there. Instead, it’s the sound of the water that fills me. The waves are gentle, barely even moving but they are moving all the same. I hear the gentle lapping of the water. The calm movement of it. There are still clouds in the sky, but they are starting to clear and more often than not, I see rays of sunlight shining down onto the world around me. The water is a clean, aqua green where the light touches it. Where it doesn’t, the water is a dark blue.

There is no one else around. The highway, on the top of the cliff, is irrelevant. I have to turn around to see the occasional car passing by and even then, I hear nothing. The gentle sound of the waves is too strong. There are no distractions. Welcomed by these mountains, they protect me from the outside world. There is no signal even as I try to tell her where I am. I am well, and truly alone.

And I am well, and truly at peace.

“She doesn’t find herself here.” The Fool critiques. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s about the peace he finds here.”

“And it is.” I smile warmly at the shard. I can feel his calm flowing into me with each time the story plays. “It’s easy to see the Star as hope but there is always more than what is easy.”

“Hope is easier than peace.” The Fool says.

“For some.” I agree. “Hope gives some people peace. But for others, being at peace brings hope.”

“And this is one such individual?”

“Perhaps. I don’t believe that’s what this story is about either. I don’t believe that’s the point this story is trying to make. I’m not even sure this story cares about our cards.” Somewhere, the Fool smiles.

“And what point is the story trying to make?”

“What you’ve already said: he finds peace here. Why do we need something greater? Something more?” I look up into the darkness. Somewhere in my mind, I see twinkling lights up there. Perhaps the shards of the story glittering to life. Perhaps my recollection of stars. Irrelevant. Because they are there.

“When you look up to the stars, when you can truly see them without the world around you blocking them from view, we all feel different things. Some feel hope, others awe. Some see their Gods or their loved ones. But me, us. We look at the stars and are reminded of the power of something outside ourselves. We are reminded of the world outside ourselves. And it brings us calm. It brings us peace.”