How did the lakes choose to take that path? How did the mountain peaks crawl and sprawl to be so awesome? How can there be more stars than grains of sand as I look down over an endless sea of gold specks? Everything appears to be frozen in time, but I think that I am the one stuck in a bubble of time.
Will the mist fade and the clouds stop forming when I hit the ground ? No. Consciousness is magic, and I want to see all the gifts of the world while I am still part of the show.
It’s the eighth month of one of the fastest years of my life and we are flying high, following the gnarled salt cracks of the Mongolian Gobi desert. The past few days in Beijing, the most populated city on earth, have been fizzing. Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City, The Temple of Heaven, incredibly intricate architecture, sculptures and the finest stonework and wooden doors, countless emperors and dynasties and the rich history of a proud civilisation. Stacks of steamed dumplings fill laneways before sunrise, ornamental red and gold bulbs adorn restaurants and shop windows, rubbish passes from hands to the ground and is quickly swept up amongst rows of street vendors selling Peking duck hanging from hooks. People run into one another and don’t bother to look back. I’ve never seen more umbrellas in my life. I ate with Germans and Chinese, watched an acrobatics show with Chileans, befriended an elegant Italian couple, partied with Ecuadorians, got an invitation to a guest house in Chicago, explored with an Israeli and Colombian and travelled to the airport with a Mexican who has travelled 129 countries. It doesn’t take long to get back in the groove of travel. I inhale the excitement of others and live for an understanding of the seven billion others who breathe the same air.