Go South, Young Man

Every journey, every battle, is said to to be traveled and fought with oneself. So all of this is just happening inside my head, as many lay and professional souls have told me. But regardless of the tenuous distinction between the internal and external, intrinsic and extrinsic, motivators and foes, I can say this:

I’ve spent most of my life searching for the one-armed man who stole my mojo. I’ve been a fugitive from facing reality, perhaps, a fugitive from the justice that I’ve always tried more to impose on myself than on others, from the justice that others try to impose on me when they’re not telling me to take responsibility for doing it myself.

But strangely enough, the one time in my life when I came closest to finding this one-armed fiend was when I literally (and figuratively) went south. It was this time in my life when I was most literally a fugitive as well — no green card, and eventually no i.d. of any kind — and yet gainfully employed in the most fugitive of professions.

After 9 years I came back north, and re-started my east-west and west-east journeys that had become a habit long before heading south. And I still haven’t found what I’m looking for (no shortage of other songs come to mind).

So it’s time to head south again. Not quite so far as before. In the figurative sense, I’ve still been doing this even since returning north. But I know the one-armed man is down there somewhere. He doesn’t just have my mojo, he’s got my mission papers. He’s obviously on the run too. And he’s also my guru, which means he’s not going to come looking for me.

And yes, I’m still a young man, so I can still allow myself the permission and the admonitions to go south.

South

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