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  • Writer's pictureGina Greenlee, Author

Back in the Day Vol 5: The Traveler, 1999

Updated: Jun 12

Gina Greenlee

The Traveler

I’ve been to many places

passed through many towns.

cameled through the desert

enveloped by her mounds.

I’ve pressed my face against the glass

of other worlds and times.

Then moved through panes like

mapless wind in search of meaning, mine.


I’ve cruised up to Alaska

where the sun burns into night.

Seen the souls of Gods and Kings

mist mountains in Kauai.


I’ve hiked down in the great red hole:

Almighty’s earthen rest 

In Turkey, stood on bible tales

and prayed at His behest.


In Costa Rica’s steamy green,

I ventured on my own.

On Grecian isle of Santorini –

never was alone.


Through Egypt’s tombs and pyramids

I walked a hallowed mile.

held the shadow of the Sphinx

whispered to the Nile.


When christened by the Rockies,

I dueled with stacks of white.

In Germany I longed for home –

the first time I took flight. 


With each take-off

and each descent

I ponder what’s in store.

A new beginning? 

Perhaps an end.

Perhaps that “something more.”


Is it free fall in New Hampshire?

Will the soft sail over Blue,

change the palette of my days and nights

when returning to what’s true?


Will the Taos Mountain painted sky

illumine rightful place?

Will the Paris lights, its beating streets

re-route the journey’s trace?


Can the Golden Bangkok temples 

Or India’s fragrant high

Usher triumph over demons?

Create life that doesn’t lie?


Can a year well-lived in Singapore

help hold the truth I’ve seen. 

Will I answer Spirit’s calling,

finally live my dreams?


The heart’s true home,

the soul’s repast

does not gleam miles away.

The journey of a thousand miles

begins with mortal days.


Rush hour drives

laundry piles, car pools

and postal runs.

The meaning of my life’s sojourn

revealed in each task spun.


I take a breath,

slow the pace,

listen for the pin.

In the compass-setting silence,

I set my course within:


I sail back to my childhood

where the colors fade to black.

hang glide to the land of tears

unsure of coming back.


The jagged mountains of my heart:

the toughest range to scale –

dodging thorny peaks of pain

crouched in unlit dale.


My darkest, unhoofed travelogue:

thick brush of self unknown,

brims with excursions serpentine

yet always leads me home.

My itinerary’s true design’s within –

not out, beyond.

My travel agent, God of Mind,

directs each trip, each dawn.


passed through many towns,

journeyed to my center

battled Satan’s hounds.

I’ve seen myself as all there is –

space and endless time.

Then traveled back as ruddered wind

steadfast with meaning, Mine. 


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