A rocking chair is the perfect island to stop and sit and think. It’s a refuge. Although I have never sat on this chair myself, but I fell in love with it the moment I saw it and took a hurried photo in the few elongated seconds I had. A rocking chair like this gives you ample space and shelter and shows you many things. When you push back, you can see bits of your past that you miss, bits that hurt. And there are bits that you want to push back and live through again and again. But the chair pushes you forward, always asking you to see what’s ahead. And it’s always overwhelming, much like the sunsets out here. The Texas horizon is a vast and endless spectacle – not once, not twice, but every single day. I always see a sky show with mountains of cloud and fiery supernovas of light. And it is blinding and it is beautiful. Is this what they used to talk about? About stories of the old west and cowboys riding into the sunset? Were these the sunsets they spoke about? My, oh my.
It’s like I’ve been sitting, dreaming and thinking on a rocking chair ever since I landed in Texas over a year ago. I’ve been sitting but always in agitated motion. It takes some strength to rock a chair like that, sometimes you can hurt yourself if you push too hard. Sometimes the chair goes out of control.
Night takes its time to fall in Texas. The horizon here is a limitless canvas that will slowly fold its covers away, the colors breaking down into every shade of the spectrum before night envelops in graceful embrace. And I think that kind of made me take my time too, soaking it all in and sitting in the same place for over a year. You see, change can be tricky. It can be painful and uncomfortable. Even though it felt like I was moving on the rocking chair, I was only moving back and forth in the same spot. A rocking chair like that can lull your soul to sleep. It’s a big chair because everything is bigger in Texas, but it’s a big chair mostly because it’s a big change. I want to push back and dream of days gone by, but I am thrusted forward into a new emptiness where I have no idea about home. What is home? Where is it?
I respect this rocking chair year that has helped me transition. But all refuges must be let go of sooner or later, the trick is to let go when the chair is moving forward. And I feel the chair might have tried to brand that lone star on my sore back as I sat there, under the creases on the back of my shirt. But I can’t be sure, for I am merely a wanderer seeking passage. Yes, I’m going to follow the sun into the west, perhaps hoping to discover something. I’m going like a courageous fool with some last words left in his pen. But I’m just a humble wanderer trying to reach home.