A Thousand Years of Night

Written By Karl Stevens

I stopped by the barbershop next door and the old guy Ted there cleaned me up. It seems like ages ago that I had the last haircut. Makes sense though - the last one was months ago in the Mojave when that lady fixed me up like I had just enlisted and was at boot camp. I remember the hearty laugh I had when I saw myself in the mirror - I had looked like a kiwi fruit. That was then though, and today Ted told me about how he used to work for Northrup Grumman down in LA but he's been in Eureka for 20 years, and at the barbershop for 11. In him I sensed a kindred spirit, or at least someone I aspire to be like - one who served corporate life but escaped. Went back to the AirBnB that was maybe a hundred steps away, showered off my old detritus, and then went to Redwoods State and National Park.

I started the walk ruminating about the nature of this life. As of yesterday I’ve completed 36 orbits around the sun, yet all I have to for what I’ve made in this life doesn’t seem like much. Artwork? The only evidence I could present to show I have even a passing affair with it is the portrait I finished last night of Stephanie. Granted, the pieces that the scandalous thieves made off with were neither recent nor masterpieces, they were still pieces that I loved. My rudimentary old scrawlings made me feel good about myself each time I looked at them. And they took that away from me.

I haven't got back to any of the text messages people sent wishing me happy birthday and I haven't logged into social media to see the well-wishes either. I just can't bring myself to do such a daunting task right now because then I'd have to reply to each of them, and I feel like whatever I say it would be a disappointment. The perfect reply must be composed for each of them, something I’m incapable of at the moment. Surely they can appreciate that? Sending anything mediocre would indicate indifference... which I suppose is what I’m indicating now with my long turnaround times on my replies. It’s hard to think of anything else though, especially when I have nothing else to take solace in. A motorcycle? A nice house? Basic material comforts? I sold all those. Now I’m someplace where I don’t know anyone within 500 miles of. Last night I really lost my composure and went off the deep end and now I’ll be walking away with scars from it. Fuck, I need to find solace in something else, something outside of the knowledge that I have an escape from all this if I get that low again. This has been a tough week. All I can do now is walk. One foot in front of the other.

One foot forward. Then, the other.

As I continued deeper into the forest my restless mind finally started to relax, and after a couple miles I finally reached that sublime point where introspection turns to extrospection. The trees here are other-worldly. They’re the largest on earth, with the sequoias growing shorter than the redwoods but to enormous girth. It's amazing these trees can live to be a couple thousand years old. A couple thousand years old! Touching one is amazing... not only because they're massive but are old souls. To connect with something alive for so long and so massive makes one self feel so minuscule. Some of these ancient spirits were around when Julius Caesar was crossing the Rubicon… and maybe even longer. Already by Caesar’s time, when that first hoof stepped into river and history, the Romans had their own concept of ancient history and myths - Greek Antiquity. And some of these trees were here for that, too. Its always twilight under the tree canopy, beyond the reach of sun’s light, where night lasts thousands of years in the shade of these ancients. I like it here. It’s soothing. Serene. I stopped on the trail to get water and there's a woodpecker working away on a tree up towards the stratosphere. It’s going to be alright.

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Midnight, When I Became an Extreme Minimalist