I am a chameleon. Constantly running through the spectrum to suit my environment, and constantly obsessed with this personal evolution. But am I evolving or revolving?
Says my friend John, "People enjoy travel because they enter an euphoric state where they temporarily forget their habituated strategems and relearn patterns. They are released temporarily from their routines. They feel as if they're reaching revelation in this state of newness. They confound this newness with freedom. But in truth, its just a momentary infancy."
Then I am an transcontinental expeditionist of the mentalscape. Perhaps its a relic of my ealier nomadic days, but now forced to adhere to one physical space, I am constantly looking for new and enlightening approaches to this ole thing known as life. I've reached the fantastic rate of an epiphany a day. I should have established 365 new religions, new world orders already. But like the weary traveler, I always have to return to my forlorn and earthy homeland.
No one can paint himself to his own liking. No one is in total control of anything, far less himself. We each have ties to a past, and obligations to the future. I need to pluck myself from this internal heaven and return to that rank earth that had cupped my roots. Only then can I know. Only then can this chameleon be truly human.
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