‘Blessed are the explorers and the adventurers. They inhabit a tomb only after they die.’ ~ EON
Explorers and adventurers are fueled by a total lack of commitment to the mundane. They have an obsession with all things on this Earth and beyond, everything the mind can conjure, so long as it transcends the banality of everyday life. The routine that grinds life down to a husk is not something they want to be part of. They prefer to lose themselves in the vast wilderness, to come and go, and go even farther and further and further still, to feel the wind of the unknown on their faces and the sweat of uncertainty rolling down their backs, cooling their skin, searing their skin, to hear the drums of war in the distance and follow the beat in search of the colonel upriver, in the heart of darkness, in the long hot shadow, the mad colonel, the lonely general, the tyrant in government house, the child in the green hills of Africa, in the rolling hills of Spain, roaming endlessly in search of game, game that challenges and entertains the insatiable soul voraciously sifting through the world, an assortment of hapless drunks and drifters unwilling to settle down, lost generations roaming the globe in search of something other than the habitually prescribed and oh so typical and expected, scrambling their way ahead, around, over the rivers, the scree, the day’s tangled impediments, tearing through fence and wire and premonition with no regard for their health and safety, blazing the abandoned trails and gutting fat entrails from fat lazy bellies, glint in their eyes, longing in their souls, vision in their dreams, tomorrow in their plans, in their lives, in their curious lives and livelihoods, no one to whisper sweet proper chains on their wrists, sweet murderous weight around their ankles and neck, inside their chests, your honor, no one to shoot them from twenty feet away and toss them six feet under in the name of a life sentence without parole because they have escaped, your honor, they are out there, raising hell, threatening the status quo, the things that were and are and the things that are forever supposed to be, providing the exception that destroys the precious rule. They’re out there, your honor, wreaking havoc, losing themselves in the vast wilderness, questioning everyone’s motives and choices, including their own. They take nothing for granted and strive to understand their course of action, even when it makes no sense, especially when it makes no sense. They choose to be lost, they choose to be torn and windswept and shocked and trampled and hardened by their course of action, they choose to let their senses free to be entertained and sharpened in the wake of uncertainty, to dodge bullets and long knives, to flirt with chaos, to be snickered at and scorned, ridiculed, to die en route somewhere, anywhere, anything other than the slow death of the living room tomb.
Intrigued? Watch this space for more.
From the collection of writings EON: THE ANGRY COMING OF AGE