When I set off, I was liberated.

Burnt my cash, abandoned the car – just I remained.

I couldn’t hide behind the materials of my ego.

I had to look in, look at my soul.

I saw a bare man, but a free spirit.

As I lay now,

With death at the door of my campervan,

I question whether I achieved all I set out to do.

All I set out to find.

My thoughts are losing their hold as I drift,

Drift to the higher plane,

And within the space,

In the absence of thought,

I find it.

Not ready,

Not prepared,

Happiness is nothing, it isn’t shared.

Epilogue: When I watched Into the Wild, the ending and McCandless’ final journal entry really stuck with me. This poem derived from that feeling. Born from wondering what Chris felt, in his final moments, facing his inevitable death.