Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Diary of a Traveling Man
- Amos ShadowWalker May 2005

«When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford».

Samuel Johnson


I’m back, back in the City of Cities, in London, walking its streets, taking in its moods and life. I don’t like cities very much, but London is an exception, to the point that it hardly feels like a city at all. It is a place for Travelers and Artists, a melting pot of cultures and viewpoints, a fiery enjoyment of life very few other places within civilization can offer.

«Travel is victory», a Bedouin proverb says. That makes sense. The remnants of the Bedouins are among the last, remaining nomads on Earth. Traveling is a victory in itself. Just by traveling we expand our mind and are closer to the Earth and ourselves. Because we are natural nomads. This is who we are. And it’s lost, yet another part of humanity’s natural life lost in the superficial existence of civilization.

Walking through the streets and shadows of London is a Journey, a Journey into Mystery, into the deeper, precious parts of a human being. Make no mistake about it: London is also civilization, with its gray, alienating environment, hostile to Life. But beneath that, in the corners and shadows, there is More. It is a place of antiquity and mystery, and thereby closer to the human roots than other cities.

London is an experience. It’s a place you keep returning to, because there is always something new there for the Seeker to learn. Poetry and all creation come easy to me here. Life comes easy. And you hardly have to seek to find alternative spots, other people distancing themselves from this current age of oppression.

I remember myself every time I come here. I think I haven’t forgotten, but I have: Forgotten how it is to be Human. I wake up from the slumber of current human existence. Everything, body and mind and soul works better. Knowledge and understanding burn in your gut. The spice of life tears in your nostril the moment you hit these streets, this forest of inspiration, this abundance of Life and Fire. I remember ancient times, and I discard the waste of civilization smothering me like a blanket of ashes.

It’s like I’ve never been away.


«He who isn’t busy being born, is busy dying» - Bob Dylan

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