Driving with Norah Jones

When the air is right, or the sky is lighter blue, or maybe a sense of mystery sweeps over me, and I am driving...I sometimes want to just keep driving. Past the right turn, past the post office, beyond Stuart, onto roads that are out there waiting to be traveled. I don't feel particularly adventurous when this mood comes over me. Instead it feels like a less than urgent urgency to "go find out". What? I'm not certain of. And why not? Because I fear how far I might have to travel to get there. Would I end in Norfolk? California? South America? Canada? Would I have to get into a boat and continue into Europe? Would I be happiest at the Poles? Where would the non-urgent urgency end? Which of course, brings me to the more obvious question...can I find it here? In this place? Situation? Habitat? Are the same answers here? Hiding inside the common everyday tick tock tick tock of my life? I suspect that the answer is that the answers are with me. That the travels are within me, rather than without. And yet, answers have been had from other destinations. Maybe the answers are in me, but the questions are out there. Maybe I am looking for the questions, the next question, the final question of the infinite moment. And I wonder where it lives. And who will ask it. I wonder if I will find them in time, and if the time will be right? The great mystery of course, is still, how to get there. And I think that one day, there will be that certain cd playing on the car stereo, and the dog will be with me, or taken care of and the job will be done, the house clean, friends in healthy places, laundry caught up, and I will drive until the world says stop. And right there, right very there...will live the last question. And when I hear it, I will know it like the words to a song or the flavor of sapphron or the leaves of an artichoke. And I will laugh because the answer will be so easy, and I will realize why it took me so long to get there.