Where’s the Ocean?

The last great road trip unravels and comes to an end as quickly as it arrived. A nuclear waste land mingles with cloud covered mountains waiting for snow as we travel through White Sands wondering what the government is up to.

I had a dream last night that I ran into you at some desert oasis lost somewhere in Arizona. I was drinking a beer when you walked up surrounded by a hundred strangers and looking as beautiful as ever. We hugged like old friends do after years apart, uncomfortable yet familiar. You asked me to stay a while and so I did, a little apprehensive but happy to see you alive and well. It was the kind of dream you hate to wake up from, and once again you’re on my mind, now more than ever.

A late afternoon moon sits just above a sleeping mountain, full and ready to take over where the sun left off. Desert sand dunes rest behind me now as the last resort rests in my grasp unaware of the downslope we must follow, but tomorrow is miles ahead and I’m depending on snow to delay our final descent.

I can say, with a heavy heart, and a rejuvenated spirit, that this was much needed, and so life carries on, unplanned, somewhat predictable and always way too short.

It’s been close to fifteen years since I last graced these grounds, but here I am at the Inn of the Mountain Gods watching snow pile up and praying for more just as I did all those years ago when life was new and youth was fresh.

You’re never in the wrong. All these years to rummage through and pick apart, and consider for a moment how you really played out, your errors and faults, misjudgments, miscalculations, but I don’t think you’ve ever looked at, I mean really looked at the other side. One of the main ingredients needed for any kind of enlightenment or wisdom is an open mind void of preconceived notions and, above all, opinions. I don’t think it would ever be possible to see both sides of anything without first admitting ignorance, and then discarding judgement altogether. Sometimes this friendship feels like a bad marriage.

I spilled my coffee twice today: once on my desk at work, and again on my new white shirt. Monday’s blues are hard to shake. At week’s end they finally wear off only to start again.

Here we are on the other side of what used to be a faraway tomorrow. My shoes are prematurely worn out, where tread used to catch my step, replaced by a slippery surface. Now with the threat of collapse looming large in our rear view mirrors, mass produced distractions are hurled at us through our filtered media. Tell me it’s not as bad as it seems in these approaching days of dwindling luxuries. Take us back to the time of the pioneer where life was simply survival void of the add-ons we’ve grown accustomed to.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist