Wanderlust & Contention

originally posted June 27, 2005

I am starting to feel it again; the wanderlust.

It strikes my heart now and again. I feel like I must go. Whether this stems from the ethos of Caste or remembrances of the past is difficult to say with any clarity. Perhaps it is a little of both. I have seen the second and third passage hands slip by since compelling Lady Jenny to sign her life, liberty and means of existence away to me. In this month of En’Var Lar Torvis, I do not share the Central Fire’s desire to rest. I recall the adventures of my past and, too, the perils.

Once I sought The World’s End only to reach the landing of my own front door. It was a difficult journey fraught with danger, but I am better having made it. Who can describe the beauty of the sea swallowing the sun without having seen it? No lands. No buildings. No peoples. There was only wide, deep Thassa and an endless horizon. How many of you know of sea monsters, fearsome Tharlarion that dwarf the Southern Bosk? How utterly terrifying is it to feel the vessel rock beneath you, threatening to capsize as the guttural howl of the beast rises in your ears; waves crashing, pounding? Terrifying, but invigorating. Life-affirming.

Experiences such as that, not always written about directly, influence a Poet’s words deeply. What Poet of Ar truly heralds the greatness of his city, truly boasts its influence on the world, without having seen where the Viktel Aria leads; what lays along The Southern Treasure Road; where the mighty Vosk flows? I know these things. Who can defame hated Cos, truly, without stepping onto the turf of her territory; experiencing the crude hospitality of her citizenry; without sleeping a night in one of her municipal jails? For booking passage on a stolen Cosian merchant vessel and for general sedition, I did just that. The stench of fat, loathsome Lurius has yet to be driven from my memory. Vile as that memory is, I would not trade it. Who can speak of beauty without seeing, touching and tasting a myriad of its forms? The crisp, stark tundra of winter in Torvaldsland is a stark contrast to Laura in spring. Neither can rival the pastel glory of the Towers of the Morning in Ko-ro-ba and not much else can. I admit this freely, though begrudgingly. Whereas Ar is grand and glorious, beautiful in its greatness, Ko-ro-ba is a far more liberal city, unafraid to paint even the stones they walk upon.

There are still places I’ve yet to see; worlds to touch and taste.

I am, however, for the moment, not the vagabond I once was. To be poet, playwright and the holder of a whore-chain leaves little chance for diversion. Just yesterday, I allowed the girl Joy to spend the afternoon at my feet, contenting herself with the various scrolls of my small library that I might spend time with her as I completed matters of business. You find that the more money you earn, the more solicitation you must contend with. The more you contend with, the less time there is to do…nothing.