That I am I.
That my soul is a dark forest.
That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest.
That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back.
That I must have the courage to let them come and go.
That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women.
D.H. Lawrence - Studies in Classic American Literature
Last year while hiking the Appalachian Trail I lost, (it fell out of a hole in my pocket) my Connecticut Drivers' License.
Homelandt Security didn't make it easy, and yet, I have replaced my Connecticut driver's license with an Oklahoma driver's license.
My papers are in order.
The new identification card places me, geographically, in this very intense, this very real 'realidad magico' deep in the capital and the heart of the Cherokee Nation, this terminus of trails of tears, where what comes after, begins.
My license card says my vision is in no need of correction (the only drivers license I've ever had that doesn't require me to wear corrective lens, see 'narrative of the voyage of the bloody, snake chariot' at www.libbyhome.blogspot.com).
I am still a passer-by.
And yet being a card-carrying Okie, to some extent, defines my range. I range from here to all other places, all other possibilities. I range from these Tahlequah mysteries to all other mysteries.
And I am again bound for Mexico.
[read blog-style -- first entry at bottom of page]