©2021 Michael Raven
I’m at one of those places (again) where I wish I was untethered so I could walk the nomad path and learn the ways of the wandering folk of the world.
Nothing romantic like the vagabond on the rails or the Romany caravan, but finding one of the few nomadic tribes in the arctic regions of the world, earning their trust and learning their ways — leaving the world as I know it behind. Learn what people like the Sami have to teach, arriving as an empty vessel, waiting to be filled to overflowing with a different way of life, unbound by the bondage that modern conveniences bring.
I would toss my smartphone into the ocean, lose electric bondage, overcome my distaste for dressing a kill. Hunt, gather, move together, learn the rhythms of the natural world and leave the rest behind like shedding a dry reptilian skin, sloughing the diseased mind of the “civilized” world behind and walking naked into the night.
Endlessly craving washed away with the brine of needling snow and day-weary bones of a town on the move. I crave to erase this empty space where the wind howls in my heart, that calling for something unfound.
I want to follow the trail of the dream, one step after another, through the tundra desert flowing before me.