The Open Road Is The School Of

I Think That Foreignness Is Always With You. Indeed, I Find California More Foreign To Me The Longer I Live Here. In Thirty Years Of Living Here On And Off, It Hasn't Lost Anything Of Foreignness. If Anything, It Has Gained.

For If Every True Love Affair Can Feel Like A Journey To A Foreign Country, Where You Can’t Quite Speak The Language, And You Don’t Know Where You’re Going, And You’re Pulled Ever Deeper Into The Inviting Darkness, Every Trip To A Foreign Country Can Be A Love Affair, Where You’re Left Puzzling Over Who You Are And Whom You’ve Fallen In Love With.

I Loved The Quiet Places In Kyoto, The Places That Held The World Within A Windless Moment. Inside The Temples, Nature Held Her Breath. All Longing Was Put To Sleep In The Stillness, And All Was Distilled Into A Clean Simplicity. The Smell Of Woodsmoke, The Drift Of Incense; A Procession Of Monks In Black-and-gold Robes, One Of Them Giggling In A Voice Yet Unbroken; A Touch Of Autumn In The Air, A Sense Of Gathering Rain.

When I'm Wandering Around The Himalayas, Most Of The People That I See Are Westerners From Germany, California, Or The Netherlands, Who Are Wearing Sandals, Indian Smocks, And Are In Search Of Enlightenment, Antiquity, Peace, And All The Things They Can't Get In The West. Most Of The People They Meet Are Nepali Villagers In Lee Jeans, Reeboks, And Madonna T-shirts Who Are Looking For The Paradise That They Associate With Los Angeles - A Paradise Of Material Prosperity And Abundance.

The More Ways We Have To Connect, The More Many Of Us Seem Desperate To Unplug.