The Airport, part 1

Airports are powerful places. They are a flux of movement, where people search, wait, leave, eat, and sometimes sleep. Torrents of people pour through surreally long corridors, and glide along moving strips of floor like products on a conveyor belt. This flux is then stilled to disturbing silence as people sit quietly and wait for their next chance to rush. And nothing seems more empty than an airport terminal waiting for people. Row upon row of empty seats sit silently awaiting occupancy while food bars and coffee shops devoid of activity lie open in wide, barren yawns of stark slumber. Looking back, I see how much airports are similar to the Journey I was walking.

This airport had that empty, insufferable waiting upon it, like a spring wound up tight, yet unable to spring. There was a a hand full of people about: an old man here, a little boy running up and down stairs there, a janitor pushing a floor cleaner. Yet the space they took up was so immense that their feeble attempts at occupancy were absurd and only heightened the since of vacancy and unused potential. It seemed so strange to me that this silent building should exist in a town mad with activity.

So, I was at the air port. This might be a very good thing, except that I had no idea why I was here. But after the chaos I had just inhabited, I frankly felt no need to care. So, wondering into one of the food quarts, I took a seat and enjoyed this silence about me. And quite unexpectedly, I fell asleep.

I dreamt of the sweltering bustle of this now slumbering air port, so mad with activity that the people seemed but fuzzy streaks. I became petrified by their movements, desperate to avoid them, yet constantly finding myself entering their space. Finally running with them to keep up with the stampede, the people became distinct and clear. Yet now the building began to stretch and blur. I began to run faster, an alien compulsion sweeping me, carrying me along. I had to run! It was vital! There was too much to do, to many valuable things to be completed, to much at steak. The personal discomfort was immaterial to the task at hand, and besides, this is the way life IS, no buts about it. My teeth seemed to rattle in my head as I practically flew through the airport. I felt compressed, my muscles constricted and solid, as if I were made of something harder than flesh, my arms and legs spinning mechanically around my torso. It was becoming unendurable: the sounds of human traffic screeching around me, eyes now unable to focus even on the peopl, and my head felt it would split. I…

…woke up with a start. The janitor pushing his floor buffer near me looked at me oddly. His machine, while obviously on, was eerily quiet after my dream; just a whispered promise of brush and fluid. It was hideously quiet. As unendurable as my mad dream rush was, this seemed worse. The airport now seemed to have a menacing ego that starring down at me from its vast ceilings as if hating me for knowing what it had been, and yet for some reason now was not.

Flying to the Airport

I awake with a start to the sudden sounds of Traffic raging outside, almost as if turned on; I could swear there was total silence a moment ago. I hear yelling, I'm dizzy, bleary, and fiery orange light breaks through thin windows, assailing my sleeping eyes. The door slams open and arms grab me. They move me, pushing and shoving, handing me items and yelling instructions. I respond without hearing and I remember nothing of it, just a blur of movement, confusion, and compulsive earnestness. I soon find myself racing out the door by my arm, held in a painful death grip by the father, my stomach aching from eating a partially cooked breakfast so fast it was barley chewed. The taste in my mouth is bitter and acidic, and I'm not even sure of what I ate.

I'm crammed into the back seat of a car far to small for the family I've suddenly joined, my head snaps back as the car snaps forward into a stream of honks, squeals, and yells.

I don't realize the yells are addressed to me until the mans face swivels around, red with anger and again yells "WHERE ARE YOU GOING, WHERE ARE YOU GOING!?"

"THE AIRPORT!" I blurt out, before I even realize what I'm saying. I now nothing about an airport, nor do I know what I would do once there, but it satisfied the man and he makes a sudden right turn, flinging me into his son, sitting next to me. I feel like we are traveling 80 miles an hour, the car emitting a high pitched wine which cuts into me. My eyes start to water.

We slam on the breaks, my head snaps forward as I hit the end of the seat belt (did I put that on?) and doors fly open. I'm grabbed, thrown, "GOOD LUCK FRIEND!," and I'm on pavement as tires squeal away.

There is sudden and surprising silence.

Into the city

The statement pounding pavement has never hit me so deeply. Step after step after step I've walked, endlessly it has seemed, a long slow monotony. My feet ach. With each step my tired feet fall like stone, my head jolting from the impact when I'm too tired to hold it steady. In the deepest part of the day I came across a lemon aid stand. The nice young woman at the stand offers me a free drink which I accepted gratefully. Never has lemon aid tasted so good, sweat and tangy, clanking ice, ice I can rub over my forehead and crunch in my dry mouth. It wasn't until later that I wondered how she kept ice and lemon aid out in the middle of no where. If this was no where. I'm still quite confused on the point.

As dusk pulls its dark, hole riddled shroud over my head I see the familiar sulfuric glow of yellow street lights in the distance. I begin to hear the roar of engines for the first time since turning my own off a few days back. Or was it just yesterday? I soon find myself approaching what looks like a pile of houses, all up right and attached to each other at random spots rising up over the road to form a tunnel. It's as if they grew together like a fungal colony, or as if a carpenter went mad with a lust of house additions, stacking and adding at any elevation or angle his insane mind warranted. A concophany of horns, tires, and other traffic sounds flow out of the tunnel. About 10 yards from the opening a large yellow dot is painted on the road, followed by a series of yellow bars, like the lines dividing a road. I think of pac man when I see this. Inside the air is acrid and hard to breath, thick with noise and smells. The walls look like the outside of houses with cellar ceilings above. Light fixtures of every variety, from industrial to horrifically decorative hang from above or are attached to the walls, but all give off the same noxious yellow light. I've still seen no traffic and no people, but the sounds are getting louder.

I turn a corner and find myself approaching heavy traffic. I practically hug the wall as cars fly by. The faces inside the cars are mostly angry, the cars classy but dingy and all seem strangely small. The honking blares in my ears, yells, squeals, and I find my head pounding and my brain fogging, aching as the sounds seem to press into my skull, only to build pressure and push back out. The roads twist and turn through the house like walls which only occasionally display windows, and so far no doors. I begin to run, doing my best to avoid the angry drivers, finding myself becoming lost in their anger. I push the anger into my tired and weary feet and run through the sour yellow light. I can't stand it in here! My eyes are getting blurry, my feet hurt so much, pounding the pavement, cars barely avoiding me, my through burning from exhaust fumes. Ahhh! Yes, I think I yell. Before I realize it the traffic starts to thin and the wretched sounds begin growing distant. I find slowing to be almost as hard as continuing to run, but I do. And as I do, soreness begins screaming through my body. My stomach notes and burns itself, having nothing else to digest but itself.

Just as these pains are becoming too much, and my empty stomach seems it could hurt no more I ketch a scent through the thick poison atmosphere. A meaty smell with promises of fat and spice, a soup, chicken maybe. I find myself running again, but the sent is somehow filling me, loosening my stride and I find myself coming to a door. A pie sits on an open window sill, steaming, and the rich, soup broth smell wafts out above the sweetness of apple pie. A light female humming drifts out with it, accompanied occasional by the sharp ringing of pots striking each other. I stop at the door, painting. It suddenly swings open and a tall thin woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a tight bun exclaims angrily "IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU GOT HERE!" and pulls me in! I'm assaulted by the sent of the food, as thick as the exhaust outside and just as hard to breath, yet somehow filling and good in its own way. A table is set with a toddler swinging his feet about in a high chair. I hear a masculine voice beyond the table, too muffled by a large wooden door to be understood.

"WHAT!?" cries the woman.

A huge man bursts through the door. "I SAID IS HE HERE YET!" he bellows, just before catching sight of me.

"YES, HE'S HERE!"

"I CAN SEE THAT!"

And so on. Before I have a chance to ask what in the world is happening (and yes, I do finally abandon such questions) I find myself rushed to the table with the man, woman, toddler, and a young child in blue pj's who erupts from a small door to the left. With a resounding thud, they all clap hands together with heads bowed and feet firmly placed.

"THANKYOUAMEN." says the woman, and the family begins a frantic fight of food, aiding each other to dish out soup, break bread, and pour wine, but having no mercy on the bewildered food items. My dishes are full of food in a blink and anomalies eating sounds erupt all around me.

"IT WOULD HAVE BEEN QUICKER IF YOU JUST SAID 'THANKSAMEN!'" bellows the man through his food.

And strangely enough I found myself eating as they did, hunger welling up inside my mind and grabbing my brain in a tight all encompassing grip. I eat, slurped, and chew in a mad race. My stomach fills with the soup...chicken and dumplings I think it might have been. The filling is at first painfully, then coaxed into blissful fullness by the warm liquid, and finally pained again as my stomach fills beyond compacity and spicy hot bile creeps up my throwt. I find myself unable to stop, however, until the table is cleared of every last scrap and crumb, the bowls wiped clean with bits of bread and the crumbs swept into hands to be dumped down throats.

A chores of "AAAAHHH" erupts, as do the people out of their seats, yanking me up and tossing me into a third door. "YOU'LLSLEEPINTHERE!" is yelled in my ear seconds before the door slams. The sound of shoes and clothes being pulled off with frantic speed sounds like a dull rumble of tumbling boulders outside the dark room. The rumble ends and I can just make out the sound of quick panting for about 5 minutes, then a collective deep breath and silence. I stood there through it all, dazed, sore, painfully full, and utterly bewildered. Then, slinking forward carefully, I found a bed, undressed, and quickly became a brick.

metaphorically of course.

I think.

After watching the world go by for a time...

After watching the world go by for a time, I stood, walk around him and began pumping along with him. He gave me a brief smile and a nod, then commenced to stair through and beyond me, apparently lost in the work and the scenery. He smelled a little, a spicy pungence that made me feel I was a little too close to him, but I pumped on. I felt somehow I shouldn't speak, though I wasn't sure why. So we rode along, the steady clang clang of the tracks and squeak squeak of the pump creating a drown which turned hours into minutes. I had a strange view of the passing land since I faced away from the approaching scenery. Each new site leapt into view suddenly and without the slow approach of recognition. The land alternated quickly, from forest to field to marsh and back. Hills constantly rose and fell around us, yet we staying perfectly level, going around the fluctuating earth, or else through deep, rocky fishers dug into the hill sides. Creeks, rivers and bridges, and occasionally dwellings popped into view from time to time. The homes always startled me at first, looking alien and wrongly shaped, but as they dwindled into the distance, they seemed more and more normal and familiar. We passed shacks put together with any number of cast off objects from fridges and tires to automobiles and air plane parts as well as mansions of marble with sweeping, elaborate gardens looking like ancient ruins brought back to life. Many of the dwellings faced the tracks, as if they used the tracks often. Yet we had seen no one on the tracks, and there was only the one set.

I'm not sure exactly when or how, but I lost track of time. I might have even fallen asleep, I don't know. But suddenly we were stopped and it was night. I was on the track car, hands gripping the pump bar tight, and the small man was a few yards away cooking something over a small fire. My body ached with stiffness and I had to stretch my arms and legs before attempting to climb down and approach the fire. I walked over, suddenly glad for the warmth of the fire, and sat down across from him. He grinned up at me and offered me a baked fish on the end of a roasting stick. I noticed for the first time that his front most top teeth were both gold. They and many brass buttons along the front of his strange green jacket gleamed and flashed brightly in the firelight. I smiled and took the stick, not really sure how to eat it without utensils, but hungry enough to try. I said thank you as I did so, and the small man made a strange grunt sound. At this point I decided to introduce myself and ask the man's name, but he shook his head and spoke briefly to me in a guttural, didactic language that sounded somewhat Irish. So, conversation was out, though he chuckled softly as I did my best to mimic his fast and aggressive way of tearing into the fish. As we finished, he produced a small whistle and played a slow, lilting melody which flooded into my mind like a fog and I grew drowsy. He finished, lowered his whistle and with eyes closed spoke loudly what seemed to be a prayer. He then opened his eyes, said "night night" in a raspy, slightly accented english voice, and quickly laid down, his body parallel with the fire. He was snoring within seconds. I followed suite, minus the snoring. I think.

I awoke with a start to the man's guttural language hollering from the tracks. It was a dim, grey mourning, the sun unseen behind gray clouds. He was atop the cart, a pack on his back, and was making large grand gestures as he spoke. I quickly deciphered from his gestures stay here or go ahead and decided he was asking if I wanted to continue on with him or not. I looked around. Behind him a sloping field with many types of cattle milling about met a creek and thin forest. To my back rose a wall of raw dirt, brick, and roots toped with a line of trees, another field apparently beyond its top. Ahead the ground sloped up sharply to meet a bridge which the tracks ran under. It looked very much like a highway, but seemed to be made of very large stones rather than concrete. Something about the road interested me. So, for some reason, without fear and without questioning the wisdom of abandoning my only potential guide, even a very sketchy one, I shook my head and gestured that I would be walking solo to the bridge. He grinned, nodded his head and began pumping. The rail cart squeaked and groaned as he gained momentum quickly and was soon lost to sight.

I rapped myself tightly against the cold mourning breeze in a blanket I just now realized I had (dark green like the small man's jacket), and breathed in the clear air. All yesterday had been moving moving moving, and I began to reflect on exactly how many ways I had moved. It was clear to me from the myriad of small details that I was not in the metaphorical Kansas anymore Todo. "So where am I?" I mused as I began to watch the cattle and again found myself looking at an odd shift in reality as I knew it. The cattle where small and moving like horses, trotting and cantering fluidly rather than in the slow, girthy sway of a heavy laden cow. It was a very strange sight, yet, like much of what I had seen, not so completely odd that I thought I might be loosing my mind. It was just there and seemed to have no direct bearing on me. Just another odd vision, and with that my musings seemed just as unimportant. So, I shook off the rest of sleep, downed a small piece of bread my small friend had left me, rolled my "new" blanket up and began walking towards the bridge, the blanket held to my back by a strap that was sown into it.

The beginning of The Path

How did I start on the path? It is actually hard to say. I think it was a gradual process leading up to a cross road. I woke up, went through my morning routine as always, nothing new, nothing different. But as I climbed into my car and started following the same tried and true route, something began creeping into me. It's hard to describe, just a feeling of something or someone else making itself felt within me. Thinking back now, I believe that otherness was and is The Path.

I felt a sudden impulse to take a right at the street ahead. It would still get me to the highway and thus to work, so at first I just figured that some part of me needed a break from the old route. I took the turn without much thought. As I drove, I noticed that the route seemed subtly different. Turns in the road occurred where I didn't quite remember them before. Stores looked slightly different. It was just enough to make me uneasy, not enough to raise any alarms or cause me to think I was on the wrong road.

Another impulse came, and I followed it down a back alley to the left. This was a strange impulse and I immediately wondered why I would do such a thing. It looked a little sketchy and besides, where did I think I was going? Immediately I followed the next impusle, a right. Good, now I should be heading back towards the highway. Except I wasn't. I'd never been on this street, and it made me a bit nervous. There was no one around. No people milled along the aged, grass invaded sidewalks, and no cars drove along the cracking sidewalk. With a single turn, I seem to have found myself in an alien part of town. The air seemed suddenly hotter too.

I drove strait for a while, hoping I would come across a sign or an underpass that would lead me up to the highway, and considered the choices I had just made. I've been a little prone to whim here and there, but nothing like this before. To just follow an unexplained and almost alien impulse was a little new to my mental makeup, and I didn't know what to make of it.

No signs appeared. In fact I had not seen any signs on this whole street that I could remember. From street signs to the fading store fronts, I could find no titles what so ever to help my journey. I felt I should be worried, and I was a little. But something in me was truly enjoying this sudden adventure. In a predictable life, I had suddenly found something unwarranted and capricious.

I drove on as aging and bleached stores gradually gave way to grass, shrubs, and trees. But this transition did not occur in what I would think of as a natural way or expected way, i.e. a grassy lot between buildings, or a shift to more residential buildings with manicured lawns. Instead, nature seemed to be mounting an attack on the small business buildings. Grasses took over entire parking lots, and seemed to even be on roofs. Bushes split walkways and the branches of trees jabbed into broken windows, as if growing so fast they where able to shatter the glass. The road, though cracked, remained clear.

I brought my car to a stop in front of a railroad track. Not because there was any train coming, or lights blinking, but because it seemed like the right place to stop. I shut the car off and stepped out.

It had gotten hotter, so I took my thin coat off, folded it, and draped it over one arm. Ahead and through a naturally forested area, the road seemed to become a normal residential area. Behind me, forest infested buildings ended short of a small rust colored but plant free power station. A privacy fence started on both sides of the road about 10 yards from the tracks, then continued along parallel to the tracks for a small distance. To the left the land was hilly and the tracks were lifted up on a very high man made ridge, maybe 30 feet from the forest and pastures below it. To my right, the hills rose back up forcing the curving tracks to cut through a small section of rock to keep level. I stood there in a kind of daze. There where no sounds except the blowing of wind, but there was a sense of expectation here that made the place seem quite full none the less. I felt this was truly a crossroads and I had to make a decision. Ahead was what you could call normal life. I drive on and find the highway and it's back to life as you know it. To my right, (somehow I knew I could only travel the tracks to the right) was something new. I didn't know what, but I felt I had been given a very small taste of it. But I also knew I would be leaving behind my life as I knew it, my car, my savings, friends... all I had worked for. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply and just enjoyed this sudden stop in my life, just resting on my feet on a still, country road. I became aware of the approach of a slight grating noise to my left. As it grew closer, I heard a few shrill vibrations in the tracks. I opened my eyes and turned. On a little rail sled like you might see in the old Warner Brothers cartoons, complete with hand pump pumped by a small man road towards me in odd green clothes.

So far, everything I had seen or felt could have had some, all be it odd, rational or explanation. This little gnome like character, grinning a cheshire grin from a sparsely bearded face somehow crossed the line. To me, this sight was a sign that read "Welcome to Wonderland, please enjoy your stay." And yet, somehow, I felt perfectly normal and natural, as if I saw this kind of thing everyday. He smiled and waved as he passed before me and I watched him for a time, still feeling numb and quiet within. I took a brief glance down the road leading into the country neighborhood, then, without hesitation, jagged up behind the railroad sled. Catching the back of it though careful not to drop my coat, I easily hopped up, turned, and sat on the back of the contraption, a foot away from the small man. He said nothing, and I mimicked this and we road on in silence.

That's pretty much how it started. Not very impressive really. No blazing gates or fearful orations. No oaths, plans, or promises, except perhaps to simply follow The Path I had just given myself to. I felt I could get off the path even then if I wanted to. Just jump off and somehow make my way back to my life. But then again, I knew I couldn't. Life wouldn't be the same and I would do nothing but itch afterwards, wondering what I had left.

And besides, The Path had just started.

Zach Riah

Greetings from a traveler; an introduction to The Path

Greetings. It has been a long time since I have been in front of a computer, and the one I sit before now is unlike any I've ever seen before, but that is not important. I have come far on my journey and have reached a point of rest and reflection, along with the opportunity to begin relaying to you, whoever you might be, the journey I have been on.

My journey began a few months ago, I think. It's hard to say because time is hard to keep track of when walking The Path. That is what the many friends I have made along the way have called it. It is hard to describe The Path, but I will try. The Path is just that, a path, but one which takes the traveler beyond what I once thought of as normal life into a surreal, dream like world. The traveler sees places, sights, and events that could never be seen, visited, or which could even exist in normal life. I've found no rules and discerned no limitations thus far in my travels, but I feel as if each place I visit, each event I see, and each action I take has a deeper meaning or a hidden side. It's as if I walk through a living analogy of life's deeper purposes and plans.

Hopefully that doesn't sound too corny. But hey, that's the feeling I get from it all, and I must say I've learned to feel more than I ever though I could along this journey. I'm led, much like a car is steered. When the turn comes, I turn without really knowing why or where I'm going. I feel somewhere inside me that I have a choice in the matter, but it is much like the choice of whether to breath or not, or eat or not. I feel that if I rebel against this guidance, I may be lost and leave The Path, perhaps never to return to it again. So, I stick to it, and though it is hard sometimes, even painful, it has always been worth it.

Anyway, I feel it is very important to share my journey with others, especially now that I have the opportunity! So I hope you will take the time to read my journal, consider it's many mysteries, and perhaps help me understand the hidden meanings I feel certain are behind each step I take along The Path. I will do my best to tell the tale thus far, and to keep it updated (somehow) as my travel continues. Thank you, friends, and I hope to hear from you all soon.

Zach Riah