Being Stuck in the Circle of Life.

"I have a life, so I live it"

I am tired. Deep, somewhere in the depths of my existence I feel it. My feet slide forward, stuck to the ground, refusing to make moving something natural, without the screeching of sore muscles. Summer came, rushed in suddenly like a violent late afternoon thunderstorm. One moment calm pale blue skies, the next, a torrent of noise, light, and damp earth. My eyes seems to have become permanently irritated with the air, scorched by the intense southern sun, heavy from the inability to rest. Only a few days left of this madness, the tourists, the discos, the busy sardine like bars. I can not help but wish for it, however I know with it will end my income. Life has become centered around work. Hoping for the call saying I have a trip, so that I can head to the river, and teach random gringos how to navigate in the life I love so much. The mountains have started to seem larger, more imposing. They no longer hide behind the distractions on the street. They watch me, they know me, they are bemused at my position in life. It is strange these days, the feeling I get, a feeling I know all to well. The feeling of being stuck. It is not that I do not like my work, my life, or my friends. It is that I know that no matter what I do, I will never leave the cycle I am in. I will never break free from the frustration of nearly achieving what I so desperately desire, only be struck violently down by a lack of paper. It is horribly frustrating. Paper keeps me from my dream. Paper keeps me from leaving the cycle of the dirtbag.

I have no desire to return to the states so far. Why would I return? So I can work another shitty job to make enough money to return to Chile? This concept baffled me when I returned last year. I went home, just to give everything I had to come back to Chile. I least here, I love where I work. It is easy to dream about what you want, it is harder to work towards achieving it. I often dream about what I would do if somehow I magically found a few thousand dollars. The car I would by, the days I would spend alone kayaking on far off, never before seen rivers. Dreams, however, are not real. They never form into anything productive, substantial.

My gear is breaking. It is unstitching, weathering, snapping, slipping slowly into scraps. I have no camera, no car, no ability to do the one thing I love, being alone deep inside a canyon, enjoying the magical dance of water and rock. I have no special skills that seem viable for making money. Music and writing are as dreamy professions as kayaking, yet I can not shake my love for them. It is a deep all consuming love, a love that can bring heartbreak more than happiness. A love that borders obsession. A love that clouds all judgment forcing the heart to action upon the illusive moment. It is a dangerous yet complete love. It is a love beyond expression.

What to do now? This question is more often consuming my mind. My hand chooses to move toward a bottle rather than to accept the fate I know will befall me. I can distract myself all I please, but reality continues toward me. I can talk about how nothing is real, everything is perception, there is no such thing as right or wrong, but how will this further me in life? March is coming, and with it planning for the next nine months. With any plan comes the limitations from money. My normally hopeful way of thinking has gone. Replacing it is frustration and a sense of self loathing. My life could be so much worse. This I know. I could have had horrible parents, a terrible childhood, and no opportunities. I could have been starving, born with AIDs, crippled, or any number of unfortunate "what ifs". I could have been a lot of things, but what I can't be is the one this I most want. All I am left with is the comforting thought that all things work themselves out in the end. Hopefully.