Alone In The Woods Of Cape Breton
July 24, ˜82
Saying goodbye to Mike left me empty. I could not shake my melancholy,
and coupled with the thought that my father would not greet me upon my
return home depressed me severely. He had died last year. My defense
mechanism kicked in, though. To keep from crying I started to sing. I
sang morning, afternoon, and on into the evening—until my voice gave
out. That kind of emotional intensity brought with it a very high
level of sensitivity. The scenery became animated. In Cape Breton the
scenery was beautiful anyway, but with my heightened sensitivity, it
jumped out at me. Even though I had bicycled through the same area
only three or four days ago, and the sun was shining to boot, I was
now experiencing the mountains, inlets, bays, creeks, streams, and
rivers in a totally different way. Everything was absolutely gorgeous.
I was still depressed, tired, and wet, but somehow that whole
experience had become sublime!
I’m alone now, in the woods, listening to the pitter-patter of rain
on my tent, with an ache in my stomach that won’t go away. Mike and I
are physically, as well as mentally apart, and I am sad because of it.
This feeling of emptiness is not strange. “Breaking up is hard to do,”
isn’t that what the song says? Am I really breaking up with Mike? Am I
in love with him? Was I in love with him all along? Is this why I
can’t sleep? Love is not a dirty word, is it? I love Mike. There, I’ve
said it. It’s in writing; I can see it. I feel better. Don’t ask me
why. I just do. The pain of separation is less now. Don’t ask me why.
I don’t know. The distance remains; I can’t change that, but
boundaries do not contain love. Mike is a beautiful person. Maybe less
beautiful then he used to be (I am to), but love isn’t that fickle.
Out of a sense of loss, one suffers, but love survives. It’s
ubiquitous. As the breath of the universe, love penetrates all.
Wounded lovers look to the healing powers of time, but love,
unconditional love for sure, renders time meaningless. The divine
becomes Divine through love; and I am its witness. Sweet dreams, Mike.
We’ll be together again. I’m sure of it. Goodbye—and thanks!
Yesterday, when I arrived back in Antigonish, I found a note attached
to the bulletin board. Bill was known for his planning abilities, so I
wasn’t surprised to find a note informing me that he would be in on
the one-o’clock train. I was looking forward to seeing him. I was also,
however, a little uncertain about biking all the way back to Michigan
with him. Time would tell on that one.
After borrowing a map, I figured my route and I will have to average
72 miles a day for the next 25 days in order to get back to Michigan
on schedule. Probably that is an unrealistic figure, but it is
certainly something to strive for. And, that bit of information will
help me impress upon Bill that I am not into unnecessary delays.
I’m presently sitting in the Antigonish youth hostel. I just had a
nice chat with two young ladies from France who are backpacking
Canada. Last night I took in a movie—The Road Warrior. That was fun,
and now I feel rested and clean, and am ready to meet Bill. I’m kind