Ghost Rider....

Began Neil Pert's Ghost Rider Tonight. Obsession with Rush always continues on, ever since I was 16.. Zeke introduced me to them, and I ran with Counterparts, expanding to Roll the Bones, and Fly By Night. It went on from there.. then till Now, 17 years later. I have seen Rush in concert once in that time, and will again this September. I currently sing Ghost Rider.. It feeds my eternal wanderlust. Vapor Trails is the best album since Counter Parts in my opinion. I read 21 pages into Neil's book tonight, I have a feeling he will feed more of my lust.
My wander Lust has been in my system as long as I can remember. Before I could drive a vehicle, I would walk.. all over, long night time walks under the street-light illuminated sidewalks of Old Town Cottonwood; Days spent under the paper-shuffling sounds of the Cottonwood trees, high above me, speaking to my heart.. their earthen scent lingering in my nostrils, filling my soul with their stories of magic (which still do ever so seldomly I encounter one on the East coast.. memories-made-emotion come flooding in.. filling my soul with a breath made of comforting recognition). Then- I would drive. My little Toyota Tercel was always pushed beyond the limits that any vehicle could ask to endure and I was so thankful for it. Alone, I would travel the back roads of any place I could- dirt tracks between desert towns, in high forested mountains, ambling cityscapes. Expansion took me over state borders.... then to New England. I drive. When I need to release, gain perspective through clearing, I drive. I go until I can't go any more, or until time restraints catch up with me on basis of commitments to others. (Although this wasnt always true- at points I have not shown up for hours at a job, or for dinner-making-duties...) The last time I drove, I went until it was so dark and rainy I had to turn around because I was unsure where I was, and low on gasoline. But I was completely refreshed upon my return back to my residence.
Home.. Home is vast expanses of Desert Sky that fill my eyes and chest so full that my breath catches in my chest. Presently, I reside in New England's engulfing trees.. and while I appreciate the flora here in the forests, many times I find my being longing for the open expanse of stars, sun, monsoon clouds caught on fire by the setting sun. I long to know the direction I head by merely seeing the Sun or Moon's place in the sky. Desert runs in my soul, Verde is in my blood... the wind rambling over the dry, dusty earth brings the pull of Hope- Hope of being something more, the pull of something better-by knowing the torment and difficulty of desert life. Desert Life means to struggle to get where one's place is, to get what is wanted, one must WORK for it- the soil, the water, the scorching sun.. nothing is given. It is as in the saying - " to know light one must know the dark..." It makes achievement so much more rewarding, gives so much more meaning to the thing being done, the seedling growing from the cracked, dry palate that is given for such creativity. The earth must be worked, the elements worked around- Wind deterred, flooding avoided, water given... then, and only then, the fruits become much more sweet in reward.
New England is Easy.. soft... posh if you will.
I prefer My desert Life.. I love the thrill of the hunt, the sweat, blood, tears and rage to get the work done for its beautiful reward- almost a tragic beauty. Such is the Soul and My Wander Lust...