The emotional difficulties which arose from our hike weren't anything I could have foreseen. Moreover, the reactions of both the trail community and our local community threw me for a complete loop. It has taken a full year, but as a family we're over it. The hike was ours, and somewhere I along the line I forgot that. I don't know if any other hikes are going to be posted up for the world to see, or if I'm going to take the route The Barracuda has and just don't talk about it.
I am no prophet–and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
Alone. It was a hard word for me to come to terms with. In fact, I completely buried myself in the act of hiking with the thought that somehow - if I just searched hard enough - it wouldn't be true. Hundreds of miles later, months back home, I must surrender the fantasy: it is. In life, we are all alone. Our experience is uniquely ours and no one else will ever truly get it. We cut ourselves open trying to explain - our vulnerabilities strewn out on the table. We talk and we bleed - grasping at anyone who we think might see our world. This fact has haunted me for almost a year. If I didn't let go, it was going to haunt me forever.
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all!"
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.