Gorham, Nh




Yonder and I went into town for resupply, but as we were walking back to trail a car pulled over. A couple were inside and asked us if we needed a place to stay in trade for work. We said sure and they took us to their luxury bed and breakfast. Our rooms were half finished and being remodeled. I helped pick veggies and cleaned the finished rooms downstairs while yonder did demolition. I wanted to help with demo, but I had yet another injury. At Crawford notch my sock developed a hole and ripped off skin surrounding one of my toes. After a week of hiking, my toe got infected. One of our hosts was a nurse, who told me to soak it in salt water and demanded that I take a few days off in Gorham. Our hosts were very kind and fed us home cooked meals every night. I really enjoyed my time with them, but I was very frustrated that I couldn’t hike, once again.

Trail Log:


How do I move on after so much grief?

Half finished walls, flaking paint and boards disintegrating from age. The tools of a workman and dust caking every surface. Once completed, but always in need of repair. This is where I dwell. In spaces between rafters, in unfinished houses, drafty, busy with work rather than places of refuge from the world. I no longer seek refuge, but hope to provide it. Falling ceilings, missing bits of floor, half-painted walls- perpetual nomadism. One old building to another, ripping, tearing, shredding, yelling, crying. I dwell in the splintering of wood. I dwell in a broken heart.

I revel in the newly opened spaces. “There used to be a wall there.”

The residue of closed off solidity that holds us to some sort of standard- of what we once were. To survive, to really live, I must change.

I fall in love so often with strangers. A curse of the imagination. I am sure, but I have come to realize and accept perhaps that the person I love never existed except in my believing the best of people. Maybe I just love myself.

What horrors I have heard in the whispering, splintering and cracking of falling trees.

I have met more people than I ever hope to know.

She said to me “Being alone is this horrible place where you are left to wonder: Am I such a horrible person? Am I so bad that no one wants to be around me?”

This struck me funny because I enjoy being alone. The majority of people I meet need too much of my energy. They exhaust me and I only find peace when I am alone.

After her comment she proceeded to leave me alone. She said something very clearly that perhaps she hadn’t meant to say.

People like this I don’t care to know. I told her to do what makes her happy. I am better alone. I know that people love me. I hope someday that she realizes her own closed doors and tears them out.

Happiness comes in the strangest forms.

So why then, am I so sad?

Why do I mourn someone who hasn’t died and who perhaps never was who I thought they were to begin with?

I have new doubts about my perceptions because my friend turned out to be such a rotten person. What if my lover is the same? What if I was blinded by the overwhelming nature of trail?

How do I forgive myself for being so open?

How do I stop this? My love is draining away. I feel my spirit becoming bitter. What should be happy, what should be joyous only brings tears to my eyes. How do I turn this pain into strength and overcome this overwhelming sense of loss?

A mantra:

I am okay with the world as it is and with myself the way that I am.

A fluid way of being, rotten wood and rivers flowing smooth and slow. The leaves are changing and I feel the season coming round. So much has passed and now it begins again. How do I begin again?

How deeply I have gone, like being far underwater, looking up at everyone on the surface. These shallow people, not realizing the thick dimensionality of the world, not realizing that happiness is more than pleasure. How full my world is, how filled my mind has become and somehow it is also open, flowing, empty.

But there is one clog.

This solid heavy sadness that I can’t shake. Almost realized, almost seen, then lost to the shallow flux.

I wish I could show you what I see. How Full and Empty. How indescribably perfect the world is- I am overwhelmed- I wish I could share it all with you, but you refuse.

Everything will be ok. I can let you go.


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