Jet Lag Part II

How does one keep from getting ‘sea sick’ living on a constantly moving vessel? By looking into the horizon line? A place far far away which, by definition, is also continually moving further and further away? Choose a window seat and become a spectator. Sit outside and get fresh air. Go to sleep.

I’ve tried it all.

Using drugs is about the only thing I have not tried because I feel drugs only remove you further, create a fake reality, making you numb, anesthetising you, making it impossible for you to respond to stimulus in an effective way. You just won’t be able to save yourself in the end.

I have suffered with Jet Lag for almost 32 years now. The things I see from my window seat only serve to make me feel less and less in control of my surroundings, paralysed and incapable of action yet totally awake and lucid in the dream or nightmare I’m in.

Claustrophobic and frustrated, angry.

Without land to walk on, this mind is merely floating. My sea legs never developed. My wings never grew. I’m stuck. I’m sick. I’m lost. Adrift. Even falling would be better. At least it has direction.

What time is it now? Where in the world am I? How far to go before I reach landfall? They say the world is over 70% ocean. What is the likely hood then of ever reaching it? And the sky is infinite.

Timezones are the killer. Moving from one timezone to the next is disorientating to the point where you often forget the difference between past, present and future. But time is a man made measurement and what you are really feeling is distance traveled. I’ve traveled thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of miles from the place I was born. With that kind of disconnect from your self how can we expect to feel any sense of wholeness or homeness?

My place of birth is so far away I feel little for it which is a terrible thing to happen to a body, yet it remains enigmatic. If it holds any meaning to me still, I want to travel back and find out. It is a desert – mystical, mysterious, historical. There are few places on this earth which evoke such a sense of wonder and introspection. The desert has meaning to me. I understand it. I can relate to the wisdom in its desolation and isolation and the humbling affect of infinity it has on people.

I imagine the desert to be warm and windy with a hint of a smell of sea. I have not been to a desert since but perhaps that experience, now long gone over miles and miles, has left a memory, a map, a meaning.