Wanderer
Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing back
one sees the path
that must never be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road—
Only wakes upon the sea.
~ ~ ~
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino, y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
sino estelas en la mar.
-Antonio Machado
Fragment from Proverbios y cantares (XXIX)
There is no road beyond the act of becoming itself. The paths of others are always for others, no matter how well-worn they appear. And what of the inherited maps: family scripts, cultural templates, gender expectations, stories and myths passed down, embedded like doctrine? How do you move from these well-worn roads onto the pathless path of your own individuation?
Machado reminds us that we create the road by walking it—and once walked, it disappears behind us like wakes upon the sea. There is great fear and great freedom in this being human: you can take a road established by others or you can find the way that is only ever yours, making it up as you go.
