Ink-Stained Scribe

Beginning the Journey

In one week, I will be in a plane over the Pacific ocean, bound for Japan. As I say my goodbyes with a combination of anxiety and excitement, it gets harder and harder to fight back tears. Every song I hear--even some of the ones in Japanese--strikes a strong but lonely chord in me, resonating with a feeling that is something like nostalgia, only directed at the present rather than the past. It's not pleasant, but neither is it unpleasant. Rather, it's the anticipation of loneliness while being surrounded by people that creates this feeling. I want to be more excited, more grateful, more confident, but I find myself instead retreating inward, battling back the sadness as if to say, "it's not your turn just yet." I don't want to cry right now; I am desperate to sense every moment I have left, to smell everything, taste everything, hug as many people as I can, and experience everything that surrounds me to the fullest. I want these last six days to be happy, and they will be, I know.

Before I returned from Boone, my parents took a trip to Little Washington just to get out of the house for a while. They visited an asian-themed art shop and found a beautiful print of a bridge arcing before a mountain, and immediately thought of me. It recalls Hiroshige's woodblock prints in style and is entitled "Beginning the Journey." In The Artist's Way there is a concept called Syncronicity, which means that God (or the universe, or whatever you believe in) provides you with what you need. This is a perfect example. When I am feeling so anxious, I can look at this piece of art and feel comforted, because there is wisdom in it--wisdom both from my parents and from God. I am beginning my journey, and I know that, whatever is on the other side of that bridge, there are still mountains beyond to explore. On the other side of the bridge, another journey will begin.

"Leap and the net will appear."


~L. Scribe Harris