Ramblings of a lost soul

Ever had the feeling that you have no fucking clue of what you're doing? I have. Most of the time.
I remember when I started this blog a couple of years ago I thought that I had a clear vison of what I wanted to do with my life. Or did I? I was going to break away from my inner and outer demons and find this magical place that would change my life forever and turn me into a golden fairy. Or something similar.
That's how desperate I was.

And now, nearly four years later, after having travelled through nearly thirty countries by bus, train and thumb I still haven't found what I thought I was looking for. What i'm really looking for is inner peace. What I have learned in these past years of endless rambling is that inner peace can never be found in some magical place, coz there is no bloody magical place out there. The magical place lies within you, within me, within us. That's what i've learned so far. And in some parts it was a rough learning. Am I happy with this profound knowledge? No, not really, i'm still fucking lost and confused. And I probably will be for a long time.

Most people walk through life trying to achieve unattainable goals, as if when they reach that one particular goal, everything will be sunshine and fuzzy rainbows. That's not going to happen, not for the most of us. There are many lost souls out there and have been for as long as mankind has existed, and there always will be.
Some people have clear missions, grand ideas, a clear picture of what they want to do and I envy them. Some of them actually do succeed and for them i'm happy, I really am. No bloody swedish jealousy on my part. What if my mission is to keep on searching? Well, I don't really have anything better to do so that's what i'll keep on doing. A restless soul is a restless soul.

I've said many times throughout this blog that life takes interesting turns. A lot. Nearly two weeks ago my girlfriend cheated on me with a 57 year old guy in a small hippie-village where I lived for about a year. It happened two days before we were supposed to meet in her hometown and spend easter together. I never liked it there in that village, didn't fit into the "ever-happy-forever-middle/upper-class"-mentality that exists up there. I had a personal hell living in that village and what my girlfriend, now ex, did was indeed a fitting end to what I've felt all along. The best part is that she told me what she had done through Facebook. Atleast I had enough backbone to call her and dump her. Even though i'm pissed off and sad, it feels like a fitting end to a chapter in my life that can only be seen as a vicious lesson. Yes, I do see it as a lesson. Why? Well, when I came to that village to go a course on organic farming for eleven months I thought that it would change my life. That i'd finally become happy and whole. But what I didn't realise, until too late, is that people can't get along. Some people can. But certainly not everyone. I will never forget how much energy I spent in trying to get along with those people up there, I will never forget how much shit I shoved up my own ass, how much pride I swallowed, just coz I had this fucked up idea that "everyone can get along as long as we all understand each other". That might work in a third world country where nothing is all you have. But not in a first world country where most of us are bred up to be egoistic, selfish status-junkies. Besides, some people are more uncomfortable than others and i'm one of them.

One interesting aspect about the whole thing is that the more "real" or "rough" your life have been, the more uncomfortable you are or become by the people around you. Why? Well, most people can't fucking understand you. You represent something that scares the living shit out of most people. A broken lifestory. A constant reminder that life can be a living hell. And some people can't handle that.

So what do we have, we the lost souls that keep twisting our hearts in search for something we cannot name?
The more I think of it, the more I come to the realisation that the only thing left is the journey itself and that the final goal of all is death. Not in a suicidal way. I mean that when I lie on my death's bed, hopefully surrounded by a bunch of grandkids, I want the privilege to say that I had a rough, bumpy journey, but it was worth it all the way. Know what I mean?

So what's up for me now? Well. I live in the Black Pearl since two months back, residing in the woods outside of Gothenburg, working two to three nights a week, writing stories and making money so that I in about two months can hit the road again. Oh, I never managed to get anyone to donate money so I could change the engine and that's perfectly all right. It doesn't matter, atleast I tried, haha. Well, some guy did donate five euros. I'm also trying to cope with loneliness. Not that I am particularly lonely, it's just that it's a big deal for a lot of people to surround oneself with people all the time and being lonely, or spend time with oneself is more than often seen as a scary thing.

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, but instead to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, and raising hell proclaiming: WHOA WHAT A RIDE!"