Across the chasm stands a woman with jet hair sneaking glances with a smirk. On my side, I sit at the ledge just like many times before. Rarely have I seen across the divide so clearly.

Want dances on my nerve endings. There is an easy route to resolve carved deeply in my mind. The route down through the chasm and its many shadows.

But I promised my heart I won’t take that route today.

Instead, the wind senses my yearning to cross the chasm and rushes past my fingertips. Dust and sand kick into a cloud between the woman and me.

For the first time in many days, I take 3 steps back and 4 bounding steps forward. I instinctively pick up speed before my lead foot stomps down at the ledge an—

—I’m flying! Woooooo. My heart beats in jubilee.

Oh fuck, I’m flying. My mind catches up to my body.

My arms windmill as my head has time to comprehend my heart’s surprise. Below me I see the figures of monsters I know far too well, their eyes dressed with craving and hunger.

Halfway across.

Contrary to my head’s expectations, I soon realize I’m soaring further than expected. I’ve overshot my mark and am now on a collision course with the woman on the other side.

An audience member-turned-player in my bounding arc, she gracefully sidesteps out of the way leaving me just enough room to land.

I feel my toes slide across sandy rocks. Heels, knees, and shoulder follow. I half tumble, half slide twelve steps back from the ledge on the other side of the chasm.

Riding a spike of adrenaline, I shoot to my feet and brush myself off. Looking back across the chasm, I see the wind play with tendrils of dust I kicked up.

Adrenaline metabolizes into diffuse confidence as the woman walks over. I extend my hand, pretending not to notice the scrapes on my arms.

“I’m jamey. Nice to meet you.” I’m starting to feel the gravel that’s embedded in my back.

Chuckling and nodding her head in amusement, she shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you too. Do your introductions usually have such a…” she gestures at the smear of dirt and rocks.

“No, not usually,” I reply, smiling in spite of my cuts and soon-to-be bruises.

“Well then,” she huffs in a friendly grin, “welcome to Ardor.” Her hand sweeps towards the distant shapes of buildings, beginning to glow in the dusk’s dim.

“I… couldn’t see that from the other side.” I rub my eyes reflexively, adding more smudges than I remove.

“Nobody can,” she giggles at what must be my obvious naïveté. Now, she offers a hand while turning towards the buildings. “C’mon then, it’s getting dark.”

I look back across the chasm once more. The wind has wiped the air clean. The only evidence of my leap is at my feet and scraped into my skin.

We clasp hands and she begins leading the way to Ardor.

Seeing the walk ahead, my curiosity picks a thread of conversation. “So, Ardor. The unseeable city across the chasm.”

She laughs at the irregular title. The wind changes direction.

“I don’t suppose your names invisible too,” I jest.

She draws a deep breath in with lucid eyes before replying. “Well, jamey, funny you should mention. There’s quite the story there.”

Our footsteps carry us into the dusk as she begins to tell the tale.

—was fumbling around in the dark looking for the light switch. I hear the front door open and panic. I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself yet.

I hear footsteps leading to the room I’m in and before I can think, a figure is right behind me.

To not unduly frighten, I whisper “Hello, sorry I—” and hear a gasp. I brace for a blow, praying for a hand and not something more sinister.

Instead, I feel arms wrap around me warmly. A hug.

“You’re finally here,” a feminine voice softly breaks the dark in a vivid Australian accent.

“I am,” I quietly reply. “A few friends of mine said they’ll be here too.”

Her embrace calmly releases. “When do they get in?”

I think for a couple breaths. “I… don’t know, actually.” I ponder their absence for a while.

“Well, the sun’s just coming up, I’ve got some things to show you. Shall we go?”

My heart replies “Yes,” before my head has the chance to question. Her voice could heal the world.

We walk together through the neighborhood on the edge of the wilderness before arriving at a dirt path that leads into the forest.

Her accent blooms again, “I think you’ll like what’s beyond the road.”

We step through into a luscious emerald forest, with all colors of life erupting in every direction. Every blink brings a new painting. It stretches for kilometers.

Together, we talk about the many faces of life around us. The ten-armed palms that shade the path. The hibistanthiatus flower that closes when looked at. The orvulofolescence that perfumes the air with a molecule that binds to your favorite olfactory receptor.

At the end of every path—conversational and terrestrial—she repeats to me, “Life finds a way.”

It’s a refrain I could get used to hearing.

She leads me to a cliff overlooking the trails we’ve walked, with a waterfall in constant motion at its edge. We sit together, breathing mindfully and taking in the scene.

A minute passes. Then the day.

As the sun sets, her voice emerges again. “I hope you’re planning on staying a while.” Compassion fills my heart as it hears the invitation.

I open my mouth to reply and a something crosses the path below. My head snaps to find the shadow. My body tenses in instinct. My meditative hands turn to fists.

And in that same instant, I feel two palms come to rest on my hands.

“It’s okay,” she reassures me, “It’s okay.”

My fear freezes in place, then melts as her words sink in. I un-ball my fists and turn my palms up to meet hers.

She grabs my hands with a smile. “Will you stay a while?”

My head and heart answer unanimously this time. “Yes, I’d love to.”

The moment fades as I wake to the slightest mist of sunlight diffused on my curtains.

Birdsong taps on the glass of my window. For a moment, my pillow smells of forest air.

My dream is already half-forgotten as I get up and walk to the bathroom. For the first time in a while, the image that meets me in the mirror looks rested.

Brushing my teeth, a subdued thought rests on mind. I’ve never been to Perth. Something tells me I have to go.

Chasing a train of thought I follow the tracks deep, elsewhere on my mind. For a moment I’m lost and serene.

Binging away I’m fattened with endless compulsions, with pills to stop me from screaming in my sleep.

Locked in my cage I’m safe from senseless indulgence but live alone, the refuse of the machine.

A knock at the door. Privilege’s palm or poverty’s paw?

The invisible hand beckons to all.

I wake up laid at the end of tracks leading back to all the things I’d said I wouldn’t—shouldn’t—couldn’t do. I crane my neck and find that the sky is raining. The ash of bad decisions.

My hands outstretch and my body reluctantly creaks to a halfway point between life and death. A drum taps an irregular cadence on my temples.

As my hands meet air, I notice that my previously entwined evening lover is missing. Fragments of her last kiss still hide in my lips. Fragments of her still hide in me.

The drum beats louder…

The song of stagnant vertebrae pierce the morning air as my feet find the floor, and for the first time since resuscitating… I search for my self.

A disquieting lack of vitality sounds through the bedroom. There are no birds. There are no crickets. There are no thoughts.

The residue of my soul could be rinsed off with a sprinkler tapping out the cadence of a well-manicured life.

The drum beats louder…

At my bedside, my phone chirps and vibrates in quick succession. The messages sliding across the glass are undoubtedly unsavory.

Another monster of procrastination chases my patience until I yield or stumble. To be devoured slowly by the unwavering forces of nature, screaming with no lungs for air.

A headline featuring the mangled body of an oil-soaked bird travels across the screen. A performative, pseudo-personalized message akin to “thoughts and prayers” follows.

My blood turns acrid. I can feel the bear’s breath on my neck. I want nothing more than to rip its heart out.

The drum beats louder…

… and louder…

… and louder…

… until the membrane snaps.

A last act in furious defiance of the rhythm.

In the clarity of silence, there is one pure thought.

“I am broken.”

The wind stirs the ash at my feet, softening the footprints that led me here.

Sip. Chew. Have a lil’ fun. I feel good… when I do.

C-eight. H-one-one. I feel good… N-O-two.

Fuck everything.

Sip. Chew. Have a lil’ fun. I feel good… when I do.

C-eight. H-one-one. I feel good… N-O-two.

Do nothing.

Sip. Chew. Have a lil’ fun. I feel good… when I do.

C-eight. H-one-one. I feel good… N-O-two.

Father bless my search. Such a good role model. Satisfaction must be down this alleyway behind the bar. Nope, looks like the trails gone cold. Back on the turkey chase I race through the night life, under aged lights and bar fights I push past.

Shouldered off the sidewalk, I backtalk but never backpedal.

“Fuck you and anyone who wants to test my mettle. My spirits unbreakable, I bet I could weather any storm, any beat down or break up from left field I promise you I’ll be right as rain.

I spent half my life wet, living in the circle round the drain.”

Suddenly, I see a future in her eyes.

Later brain from Jane turns to brainy conversation, fueled by latent indignation about injustices perceived. Against me. And—you know—the world.

The room twirls.

I contemplate my fate as the fan spins. Edges of the vignette start closing in.

Restful embrace keeps a cool distance as two lonely souls embark into sleep’s foggy waters. We lay tangled up, but sail in different directions.

The siren’s refrain whispers in my ear as misty arms wraps around me.

Sip. Chew. Have a lil’ fun. I feel good… when I do.

C-eight. H-one-one. I feel good… N-O-two.

Self-destruct.

For the past few days, I’ve been teaching myself a new language under the guise of a challenge.

The challenge? Achieve A1 language proficiency in 10 days.

The source of this challenge? My hellacious mind.

A common measurement of language proficiency is the CEFR. Achieving the lowest level of proficiency, A1, means you can communicate at the level of a primary school child.

Basic words, basic understanding, foundations of structure.

After A1 comes A2. Then B1 and B2. Then C1 and finally C2, which is considered mastery.

Based on some cocktail napkin math, an A1 level speaker needs around 1000 oft-used words readily accessible in their vocabulary… along with a rudimentary sense of how to coherently put them together.

And so the goal becomes clear: Learn the basic rules of the language and memorize 1000 common words in 10 days.

My deck of flash cards is trembling. I’m ready to achieve the vocabulary of a 5th grader.

A tree devoid of leaves

As I’ve been plodding away at my goal, I’ve found myself staring out the window more than usual. Learning a new language is a great way to be reminded of the limits of one’s own mind. At least for me.

When reminded of those limits, a void stare out the window soothes the afflicted lobe nicely.

And as my brain calms, I see a tree devoid of leaves.

It’s a tall tree. It has a few large portions of trunk. Its arms thin as my eyes trace away from its core. I can vaguely see the fractal pattern in its shape.

In the space between elemental chaos and disciplined growth, life has shaped this tree beautifully.

With dramatic irony, my mind compares the shape of the tree to that of a neuron. Its branches as dendrites, its trunk the axon, its bark the sheath.

Lost in thought, I glance at my screen. Duo’s knowing eyes tell me to snap back to reality. Gravity glues me to my seat… streaks and Lingots are on the line. I can ponder the universe some other time.

But as I go back to my skill trees, a heavy hypothesis sits with me.

Learn like the tree grows

Maybe learning a new skill—como un idioma o habilidad—is a bit like growing a tree.

Let’s say you set out to learn something.

You start with an entry point, a seed. Maybe this is a challenge, a goal… something.

For many, getting started is the hardest part. You need a welcoming—or at least, not unwelcoming—environment for that initial burst of growth.

Then you start to grow and stretch towards your goal, your source of motivation. The sun. Until you break the surface, you rely on a mixture of luck and faith that you’re growing in the right direction.

This is when you’re at your most vulnerable.

Then you burst into the light. You can see what you’re reaching for. Naturally, you reach as high as you can for it, building a base (of knowledge) in the process.

This will eventually be your foundation, your trunk. The decisions you make now will compound over time. Make them well.

Then, once you have a sufficient base, you start to explore different paths—different branches—to pursue your goal further. And these branches play a delicate game.

Branches that stretch far could get you further, but are also more easily broken.

Branches that hug close to your trunk are harder to break, but don’t reach as far.

And every time you grow a branch, you reinforce the entire pathway that leads to it.

In doing so, the trunk of your knowledge grows, as do all the branches that lead to the current branch’s tip.

Each new path you explore takes roughly the same shape as its parent path. In this way, your knowledge—like the tree—is fractal.

If you want your tree to be tall, make sure the trunk is strong, thick, and focused in one direction.

If you want your tree to be vast, make sure the trunk is strong, thick, and has many branches early on.

If you want your tree to grow in a certain direction, you might have to prune some healthy branches. This means you’ll need to trim off some work you’ve done to build that branch. But if the branch is healthy, it can fall and decay back into the soil—recycling itself in some other way.

If a branch becomes unhealthy, trim it off. It benefits the entire tree, not just that branch.

And If you want your tree to grow at all, give it sufficient motivation (sun) and energy (water) while making sure its environment has enough resources (nutrients) in its environment.

Learn like the tree grows.

— jamey.

Down at the water the tide churns as the world spins,

And the soul of the ocean yearns for the shade of the brim,

To cast a calming shadow on its face,

At last a welcome break.

The fish flutter desperate between the rolling stones,

And carry past the hour glass where the algae grows,

Not long till all the turbulence proclaims, loudly “you must go”,

… this turbulence we know.

Till one day comes a soul who sits down, still upon the point,

And everything changes.

The soul sits still upon the hill and slowly fills the lungs,

The soul counts ten, then once again, a temperate patience comes,

The soul repeats for hours three, until the breeze replies,

“Dear soul, I praise the way you’ve laid to calm the ocean’s cry”,

The breeze sits still upon the hill and slowly fills the lungs,

The breeze counts ten, then once again, a temperate patience comes,

The breeze breathes sun for twenty-one, until the water stills,

The ocean calms, the churn is gone, dear soul upon the hill.

You wait in line at the security checkpoint, putting in your freshly charged air plugs. A lightly-mechanical female voice emits into your ears at 1.25x speed. The screens of everyone around you play the same compulsory pre-security, pre-flight video.

Greetings FNAME,

Thank you for choosing to fly with Soul Air. To prepare for your trip, we’ve included this single-serving course for all things to expect on your journey. As one of our most POSITIVE_ADJECTIVE travelers, we hope to set only the highest standard as your premiere regional airline. Let’s get started, shall we?

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As part of our newly expanded pre-flight experience we ask you to refrain from engaging with other passengers or airport personnel while en route to your final desti—…

The voice trails off into your subconscious as the security agent thrusts out a hand. You exchange your ID card, boarding pass, then place your hand on the scanner.

A habitual, “Good morning, how’s it going,” falls out of your mouth before you realize your mistake. The security agent pauses, shooting you a wary look that lingers 3 heartbeats too long.

“Eyes directly on the camera.” The screen in front of you displays the camera’s view. A box appears around your face as the grey check boxes on the left hand side of the screen turn to green.

A familiar prick finds the pad of your ring finger. You watch as “Vaccination Status: …” idles on screen. The security agent passes you a trained and optimally-timed look of disapproval.

All check boxes go green. The agent’s hand gestures generically, dismissing you and inviting the next traveler.

You replace your air plugs to find the on-boarding video carrying on.

…-s such, we encourage all travelers to remember that it’s everyone’s duty to keep each other safe and document any suspicious behavior with your smartphone or tablet device. While logged into our complimentary, best-in-class Soul Air Supercharged Wifi, you may submit any security concerns and accompanying media directly to us by clicking the shield icon in the top right of your screen.

If you are part of our Gold Premiere Select Traveler progra—…

The voice trails off again as you remove your air plugs in preparation for the security checkpoint. You run through a checklist in your mind to make sure everything’s in the bin.

Shoes? Check. Belt? Check. Phone, wallet, keys? Ch-KEYS! Oh… phew… always in the checked bag now. No jewelry. No removable layers. No hat. Check, check, check.

Then, you begin running through the new checklist every airport implemented last month. You open up the Soul Air app on your phone—already open—and flip through the confirmations.

Conversations… yup, the regular faces. Places visited, looks good. Suspicious experiences… blank, nothing out of the ordinary.

A sleep deprived airport security agent waves you forward. The butt of the machine pistol on her hip taps the side of the conveyor belt as she hobbles to her chair in an ankle brace.

You swipe your QR code using the Soul Air app, then hand your phone to the agent as you enter the scanner. While your hands are above your head, they openly plug it into the checkpoint dock. You see your screen go green as the scan completes.

As you reassemble your items you insert your air plugs just in time to hear the end of the pre-flight on-boarding.

“-ecause here at Soul Air, we believe every traveler has a story to tell, and every destination is worth it. Soul Air, real travel for real people.”

The 1.25x speed Soul Air voice fades out to a well-made but forgettable tune. You remove your air plugs and look around.

The terminal is full. Most weary faces sit, arched downwards, illuminated by the glow of their smartphones. Some scan the crowd, phones in hand, fulfilling a freshly installed sense of duty to pay digital attention to anything out of the ordinary.

The terminal is silent. Recalling the incident at the checkpoint you restart the pre-flight on-boarding video and mindlessly return your attention to the screen.

You’re just another traveler intent on arriving safe and sound. Still, best to not look suspicious.