Exuviation

It starts when you leave the city and its barrage of noise, its assaults on your attention, the mad rush to pull you out and away from yourself. It continues as the days pass and you notice subtle changes in where the sun rises, its passage through the sky, the length of shadows on the floor. You notice that there are four planets visible in the sky, and you see the International Space Station float overhead while the sun sets. You see the Summer Triangle, Cygnus the swan, and you wait for Orion. You see storms form over the tall mountains, watch them grow, see them drop their loads of rain and then vanish. Then you see the grass turn the land green and the sunflowers carpet the valley in yellow. But mostly you listen for the right word, the right image, and you pay homage to patience, precision, method, mindfulness, technique, and craft. You are a disciple now of the wind and sun and winding order of the cosmos, and you try to remember what it was the ones before you kept saying about your place in the order of things, your need to tell a story. You do the work of slotting yourself onto the wheel of noticing, of recording, of taking the infusion of peace and work that is offered to you. And you give thanks.

Traveling By Bike

On the first day, oh lost one, you gave all you had saved up to get over that first big mountain pass. That was good, because after that you had to pay for what you needed with strength you didn't have to easily give away. But you found it, and you did what you had to do. Yours was not the easy way of youth and condition and fitness or of prestige and power and authority or privilege. You couldn't just twist the throttle or step on the gas to get down the road and out of the rain. You couldn't pull rank either or click your fingers and have an Uber give you a ride. You had to push yourself through the sweat and pain. Yes, the body had to work, but the real work was your spirit. That pulled on your wits and heart and kindness. You paid in full with what you had to dredge up from the core of who you really are without the trappings of money and familiarity and an easy pass. It was character that you wanted to live on -- real, honest-to-god character (that and some really expensive camping gear). So you lived through the cramps and the doubts and the vulnerability and the mistakes and the adversities of the days in search of what you are really made. Did you find it? Well it was right there in front of you when all that distracting baggage was wiped off your lenses. It was in the way you responded to what came to you. It was how you met the sore body that wanted to just take the day off every morning after a hard day.You botched a few things, but mostly, you showed up and met situations with humor and good faith. You'll have to live with that and wrap it in a story that takes you from here forward. Like it or not, it's what you got, what you have to work with, what you have to remember. When you see others pushing against the limits of privilege, wealth, social standing, remember what it was like, and extend a hand. 

Wrapped Up

It is so easy to be here, the northern Midwest. The place is like a an old pair of jeans that has taken on my shape and feels just right. I relax into the language of the place, the values, the buildings, the rusty cars, the polite, blonde barista, the culture. Not surprisingly, a big part of that is how white it is. Affluent too. Clean and mowed and tidy. It's home, I have to say. I could just snuggle down into the comfort of it and sleep for years, decades maybe. I'd likely put on some weight and get a much bigger vehicle. I fit into the stew from which I emerged long ago, dripping with, and imprinted by, my moment, the land, the smells, the colors. Even the flowers comfort me, familiar friends who wave at me in the breeze as I pass. Might as well just roll into the arms of all that makes this place home more than any other, and let it fill me, take me over. It feels sweet to go under, and I let go the need to push further into something other than here. I have grown tired, so tired. This quilt I wrap myself in quiets the coming storm, the one that you can hear deep in the ground, a distant, low thunder.