On Ulysses and Sting

.... I am a part of all that I have met; yet all experience is an arch wherethrough

gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades

for ever and for ever when i move

Ulysses--- Tennyson

lately, i've been thinking of the imagery associated with travelling. perhaps its borne out of the fact that i am somewhat rootless in this country and am striving to find my shore, but have to contend with the fact that i am still sailing by myself on my own ship, trying to reach the limit of the neverending horizon.

Maybe its because for the last 7 years of my life, I have been in transit, falling upon new communities and homes. Or it might be that I am still not satisfied with myself, that I have not become the expert that I wish to be (perhaps I will never be) but this desire has so far driven me to travel down certain pathways and streams.

i feel like the wanderer out in the open, staring up at the starlit sky. The sound of crashing waves and the blowing wind my companions, as I wait and wait and wait.

Dark angels follow me over a godless sea

Mountains of endless falling, for all my days remaining

What would be true?

Why must I? Why should I?

Why should I cry for you== Sting