Return to the Land

While the rest of the city sleeps, my eyes glow like an owl in the dead of night-at its prime. Being human, I am predisposed to being diurnal, but I have cast my lot in favor of evolution, hoping that the gears in my brain will begin to turn in the other direction. However, this is all wishful thinking. Something I’ve grown a proclivity towards recently. One pervasive thought I’ve had recently is this vivid fantasy where I stand up from my cubicle at work, run out the door and make a break for the forest.

I become captivated by the imaginings of my own mind and I become fully immersed. My feet ache and my lungs strain for air, but there is nothing I want more than freedom. It’s not that I hate my job or that I hate my life, I just long to return to the forests where my forefathers grew up and leave the constraints of this world behind. Because my imagination is so vivid, I don’t need to close my eyes. Once the Native American flute music begins, what once was a bedroom in a studio apartment is now a dense forest covered in a canopy of branches and leaves. Entering the forest ushers in an overwhelming sensation of warmth, peace and tranquility. My senses become alert to the sounds of the birds in the trees, the sway of the breeze, and the crushing of leaves beneath my feet. I recall the lost memories of my ancestors whose distinct way of living harmonized with the land instead of against it. I am filled with happiness when I recall all the troubles and anxieties I left behind at my desk. At sunset, I am sitting alone in my little home sipping tea while watching the snow fall. In the morning I return to the forest to explore and meditate.

The music stops, the wooden flutes cease, and I tumble back to reality. I want so desperately for my visions to become real, but all of this is just wishful thinking.

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