Mind Travel

They change their sky, but not their soul, who rush across the sea.

Roman poet Horace, 65BC–8BC

I was happy but I did not feel free,
so I packed my bags and cut my ties,
and boarded the plane,
bound for bluer skies,
bound eternally.

But I found that wherever I went,
I enslaved myself,
to the past and the future,
to the heat and the snow,
to the desire for perfection,
to the will to be all.

No matter how far I ran,
I couldn’t escape,
from the demands of my mind,
and the expectations of my fate.

True, I had some moments,
here and there,
where I breathed in freedom,
where I banished despair.

They were rare but they were true,
those moments of bliss,
but back and back, always back,
would come the enveloping kiss –

of rules and regulations,
of imposed desires,
of mind-constructed scaffolding,
of happiness sanitisers.

From here to there and everywhere,
I went in search of peace,
longing for the sun to beat,
more gently on my cheeks.

But everywhere that I went,
my mind was sure to follow,
it followed me from yesterday,
and into tomorrow.

Never shouting, never yelling,
never telling me what to do,
but building walls just high enough,
that I could not see through.

Sometimes they would tumble down,
those walls of fake perfume,
and I would vow to never again,
construct a shield for the moon.

But I would lose the moon so soon,
it would go right out of sight,
all day, all day, and it was only
in the deadest dead of night,
the walls would crumble in my dreams,
and all my fears take flight,
only to return when I woke,
when I woke to the morning light.

And so from place to place
we went, with a suitcase in hold,
my mind and I companions,
travelling to the ends of the world.