Lunatic Wanderer

"Not all those who wander are lost" J.R.R Tolkien

They say I have no destination. They say my movements lack purpose. I agree I do not have an itinerary like they do and my life cannot be summarized by a military schedule book. I do not stand like they do, waiting for the same bus to take me through the same dreary roads everyday.

And that is because I would rather be free to wander.

Their paths are fixed and unchanging. They call it order. I ask what order means when the roads cannot speak to you and you cannot hear the trees sing. I am free to wander. That is why I follow the road that calls to me. I walk the paths where the trees sing the loudest and the gossip of the shrubs most perceptible. When I walk I do not follow a straight line like they do, like the ants do too. I sit on the ground close to the whispering shrubs. I press my ears to the road. I sing along with the trees and dance with the mud by the roadside. I listen as the shrubs gossip about the ugly politician who passed that morning on an ill-fitting agbada. They listened and laughed while he bragged to his entourage that the agbada was made by the best tailor in Europe. "It's either Mr. European tailor forgot our politician's pot-belly while taking measurements or the belly was still growing at home!", the father shrub declared! "Maybe the European did not know the belly was real!", another ventured! They cheered in agreement. The pot-belly was indeed fake! Wonderful newscasters these shrubs are and I will not miss hearing the news from them!

But you call me lunatic when you see me kneeling beside the road and laughing with the weeds. Yet it is you who is insane, both a blind and a lunatic Bartimaeus!

Those wanderers who are lost, they are lost because they will not stop to hear the chatter of the butterflies. It is the butterflies who will tell you when the road to your destination has changed. And the roads, you see, change everyday. I know because they tell me so. The lost are those who will not stop to see the new road markings on the barks of the aged ferns. They are those who do not seek the river the sun draws on the coal tar at midday. They assume they know the way. That is why I wander. I wander because the means is really an end- the real end. I wander because my quest must be new every new day. I need not know the way. I will find the way every new day!

I wander because the earth is mine to own. The earth will not own me. You brag about the things you own. I laugh at the many things that own you! I'd rather be free! I'd rather be free to wander- to paint my dreams with the songs the Irokos sing and the prayers the Kola trees offer. I'd rather be free to be lost  than be bound like the sane. I wander because the trees once told me that wonders always lie in the paths hitherto unknown. And these trees you see here make such wonderful story tellers! They say the wonders from our dreams are real and that we ought to spend our waking hours searching for them. They say every straight line is a combination of little zigzags. Those who get to the top of the Everest take many detours, and it not folly taking a detour to see the beauty of a wild flower. I wander because I'd rather see the wonders from my night dreams. I'd rather search for wonder than live pedestrian.