Gluten intolerant Gretel without her bread crumbs, lost on a trail wanting to ‘just see what’s around that corner’, Google maps spinning … am I lost or is Google? The existential question of time and space.
Rerouting …
Rerouting …
Rerouting … 
The network of mapped algorithms doesn’t align with the reality of the territory.
Rewiring.

My mind wants to settle; wants to sit at a window and write for days. My body wants to move, housing as it does the soul that wants to soar … explore … fly free. Inner conflict builds the required curiosity to walk through every open doorway … the open ones here present in abundance. More of a chance to get it right—to not break my nose trying to get through the nailed-shut one—I find myself somehow still enjoying the space of the limen … the threshold … the liminal space that holds the potential of it all. And I keep finding magic. Because I’m aligned with magic. Like attracts like.

Travel inspires perpetual forced orientation, reorientation, calibration and recalibration. And, as each string gets plucked and tuned, my entire being begins to resonate with the synchronicities that are no longer an enigma. They are the norm. And whilst I relish in the dance and trance of dissolution and surrender, life creates a structure that negates my will and carries me. I simply show up … because showing up is my superpower … and the rest just happens. This is the nature of being. Being is not a passive existence. Existence takes practice. Practice is a lot of doing. Doing is essential in order to be. For me the being is contained in the exploring. Everything and all.

It’s been raining. A cleansing ritual both beautiful and inconvenient as I sit on the edge of my bed drying my laundry with a low wattage hairdryer. I leave for colder climes now—snow cold—packing wet clothes a dangerous choice. Unpacking to pack and packing to unpack again, another analogy for the life that is living me now. And I leave another place that has homed my doing and being … contained my un-containment.

The noxious odour dangles from the taxi’s rearview mirror, swinging out a metronome beat as we navigate the steep and gnarled zigzagging route down the hill from Junglaat in Naddi to Dharamshala. I think back to my arrival here; the smell of my luxe room stinging my eyes. I sweep the room like a sleuth looking for bugs … locate and dispose of all scent sachets and open the windows with the overhead fan on full. Freezing.

I glance up now as the sun catches the patchwork web of prayer flags marking my daily passage for runs, hikes, adventures and daily meditation at Tushita. A rainbow stretches out of its pot of gold. Good morning beautiful it says. Yes, I feel beautiful. Glossy hair and skin after braving a local hairdresser on the recommendation of a synchronistic meet up with a client from SriLanka. Weeks of enduring a climate that leeched the moisture from my body, I ponder the next planning phase that takes me back to the leech infested waters of the SriLanka rainforest. The next planning phase already begins. I won’t stop moving now … traveling is my nirvana. 

The metronome stops. My autistic brain settles. 

I don’t get the same pangs of longing anymore when I leave a place. I have rediscovered the feral freedom of my inner child trapped by suburbia now knowing that any place once discovered is a part of my cellular being and what resonates will draw me back.