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Creative Non-Fiction

Sojourners In A Land Not Their Own



I am in a strange and foreign land.  Yet as I look around me I am reminded of the quote by Robert Louis Stevenson: “There is no foreign land; it is the traveller only who is foreign.”  Everything is strange and foreign to me, I realize in a sudden moment of clarity.  Everything fits in perfectly and meshes and gels the way any locality naturally does.  I am the thing out of place, the transplant from another universe, and the strangeness of everything, it’s strangeness to me, quietly exhilarates me deep down in the tingling of my belly.  It is an addicting feeling, an extraordinary feeling that makes traveling the many far flung corners of this still large Earth so alluring.

Truth (or perhaps just the rantings of a college kid abroad)

We are just a millimeter of copper on the cosmic circuit board, animated for the briefest of instants before the electric charge continues on, going infinitesimally, neither fast nor slow, because time doesn’t exist.

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