I find an atlas.
I decide to break myself into four parts. All equal though a bit undefinable.
Each part is one part of the whole.
The Northern Hemisphere of Me
Here is where I find an innate need for ‘knowing more,’ though I find its boundaries lacking. There is no assigned season for planting or harvesting, it’s just all there for the reaping.
While some aspects of here are more defined than the others, the general landscape seems the same, though it’s been known to change unexpectedly at times. The sun is not prevalent here, nor is the rain always persisting, it’s just a safe-haven as much as it is common ground for misbehaving.
The Eastern Hemisphere is Less Defined
I consider this much to be the seeker in me, the one who keeps asking, so many questions that sometimes don’t know how to be correctly asked.
This place reminds me of morning – most times it is anew and beaming, until the day just does what it does, leaving me how it chooses. It is here where ideas previously planted make their way to the surface. Here there are no limits in a limitless world of understanding. It’s here where I roam freely.
The Western Hemisphere is Stubborn
Ideas get planted here, ingrained from some thing or place, maybe these seeds have traveled through the wind. What forms here feels as though it’s always been here. No season makes it feel more specific or less important – ‘what is’ just dwells here like a fog that just won’t lift.
It seems that sunset here is relatable. What’s done is done in the day. Emotions get carried and reconstructed. A list of chores left unchecked and rerouted for tomorrow. This place is more stagnant and deeply rooted. It’s a bit easier to survey than the other three-quarters of the whole. It’s predictable, it’s familiar, and it’s a bit harder to welcome change or to uproot what’s always been.
The Southern Hemisphere is Reserved for Emotion
This is the heart of it all. Love spills in many directions. Confusion finds its way here, yet it feels the most confined and chartered off from the rest.
At times high walls can be seen from a distance, yet at other times it’s open and vast. Ever changing, always moving, it’s got a beat of its own that echoes the geography of the others connected. A mass of the unknown that only recognizes yesterdays and it somehow grows from there. It is a place where the most cherished treasures reside. No season can destroy those things held here.
I carry them all, simultaneously, day and night, each passing minute time reveals.
I have held better field guides in my two hands but I seem to always be searching for a direction. But I know, too, that regardless of where I am going, I will always know where I have been.