A Wayfarer greets you.
Marco Polo's alleged last words, recorded by Dominican friar Jacopo d'Aiqui, are alleged to be the following:
"Friends, I have not written down the half of those things that I saw."
There are several ways to interpret this claim, as well as reasons to doubt the neutral context in which this anecdote arrives to us.1 However, the words, knowing who is alleged to have uttered them, have stuck with me since I first heard of the anecdote. It always pushes my heart to pump just a little faster out of both anticipation and apprehension of the same, singular thought: How much have I yet to tell of? Heavens above, how much have I even told of in my life so far?
What if I am not even experiencing all that I think I am? There are days, weeks, even years whose details and paths are lost to time; lost even to me, who claimed to have lived them. I consider myself a Reader. I hear poetry in the air. A walk down a street or beside a creek carries a symphony of crushing leaves as well as horses, hooves and bleats.
A Reader I am and a Chronicler I wish to be. I am largely aimless in detail, but I navigate by known and noble stars. I hereby proclaim my promise to chronicle that which I can - that being a single life - to the best of my ability. I pray for a life and manuscript of equal clarity and charity. There is much I have yet seen and much more I have yet learned.
I Read and have lived - now I must make daily efforts to allow both facts to continue to live beyond my mere flesh.
A Chronicler I strive to be,
and a wanderer I continue to be.
I call the path A Modern Wayfarer,
I call the path me.
The quote from above, as well as some intuitive interpretations of Marco's parting words can be found in Laurence Bergreen's Marco Polo from Venice to Xanadu (2008). His death is addressed starting on page 339.↩