ah, so that's it, key to my life. i always regret holding onto things, filling up my drawers and storage space. rather, i'm wiser when i let everything go, almost as soon as i see it. to buy is always to lessen the mystery of the gift. and to stop moving let's the eyes grow tired and bored. fortunately, most things not worth more than a few moments.
that's what makes a great still photograph so unusual. it bestows upon the instant a subtle reality not known to us every day. and as robert adams said, the photographer fascinated by surfaces. that might go for the traveler too. at the moment i'm wandering through mexico on the internet. i can't believe how much it's changed since my first visit in 1960, when i took a bus from tijuana to mexico city with 200 pounds of books in my suitcase, intending to become a writer.
and my last visit 25 years ago seems like dream. walmarts! costcos! what is this world coming to? i miss the romance of walking by the blue house in oaxaca where d.h. lawrence wrote 'mornings in mexico', the ride i got back from the pyramids in an old hearse. see what i mean? i'd love to hold onto the memories as if they were real. and books, what have they been but castles in air. the time i wallowed in dostoyevsky or dawdled with cockroach kafka.
i admit, i believe those who don't read and haven't traveled and haven't pursued romance, have missed the chance to lead more than one life. and learning a new language, it gives you a new personality, the chance to say things you never dared in the tongue of your birth. yesterday, i thought, "i've just been given a little sliver of history." everything before and after may as well not exist.
ah, the butterfly life. butterflies may only last a day, but they make the most of it. and this explains why i've been able to do my job, watching for fires for more than half a centtury. despite being the most impatient person in the world, i enjoy browsing the landscape, every day. as moon and sun change the light, there's always something new to see. true, i can get bored in the middle of a hot, sleepy afternoon, or with lightning that goes on more than three days, wearing me out with pacing the floor.
when i want more, like a kiss that lasts forever, i overdo it, and it becomes too familiar. the pain and glory of our age is the endless wandering, looking, listening, and ultimately letting go of it all. should i hold on to too much, i'm like the pack-rat who collapses and expires, trying to carry everything home. a little slice of history is all i've got and the endless universe above is but a bookend to this life.
