Clarity.
Life in color is striking. It takes your breath away, when you finally see the detail and the resistance of light to the forms that surround us. Life with scent, with taste, with *emotion* can take one by surprise. Invigorating? Obviously. Sad, how one can go so long without the verve of life resounding through your core.
I remember telling a good friend of mine years ago; "The tension of my bow is slack. The blade of my intellect is dulled. I am suddenly a blind and deaf child within the same woods I grew up knowing as a friend. I need time to sharpen my weapon. I need the discipline to hone my blades. I need to regain that grace which becomes a beast of power and beauty."
I've exhausted the feeling of moving through the world as a gorilla, or a bear. I am no longer satisfied with "plodding" and "stomping the terra". It's a trait that has its own rewards... the plodders get things done all the time, again and again. I know that part of me now. What I miss is the grace of a hunter. I miss the risk. I miss the feel of muscles wound like springs, resting voluntarily against the power of gravity. I miss the knowledge of gravity as an option, something that can be defied at will. I have missed the hunger pervading my senses - the sensuality, sexuality, and the *grace*.
I have grown to be a big man. My size and my looks belie my speed and balance. I've run with that... being the 500 lb. gorilla in the room. I don't like it. It's just a small part of me. What I love is the speed, the vibration, and the motivation to move with *verve*. The word itself sounds like what I mean. Smooth, sex, and power. Since I've begun running again, I find myself constantly dissatisfied with "normal" pace. I jog, or run at work. I sprint to pick things up. I skitter up scaffolding, before I even think about the effort involved. Things need to happen, and they need to happen NOW. This constant challenge of intellectualism versus activity is finally finding its proper balance. I'm losing my fear of wasting energy, because the insignificant amount of energy involved in making a small mistake can be quickly and easily corrected by another burst of energy that is productive and corrective. My bow-string of intellect is growing taut, along with my muscles. My despair and exhaustion is being subdued by stamina and vision. I am getting things done, finally.
I think I have finally seen the lesson of tenacity. Striving in the face of adversity. I see a huge project, an overwhelming endeavour, and I pick a spot and begin. Is it the wrong spot? I don't care anymore. I could spend a life time debating whether or not I made the right choice. I refuse to do that anymore. I am done being beaten before I begin. I just begin. I show up, and I start. Each day I can look at what my crew and I have done, and it was better than we left it. THAT is what makes the world move forward.
I had a good day. Hell, I've had a good year so far. I've inhaled sunrises, and snow, and rain. I've felt the shift in the wind before the lightning falls to the earth. I've been getting stronger and faster and smoother than I've been for a long, long time. All it has taken is the sacrifice of those chemicals that helped me hide from life. I'm not preaching to anyone, and I'm not condoning anything outside of what you might be ready to accept for yourself. What I am saying is that "reality", pure... decaffeinated, non-alcoholic, and nicotine-free - isn't as bad as we fear.
I saw the trees the other night in the light of the moon. They were alive and waiting to speak to me, once again. First time in a long time. Not that they weren't willing to speak - I wasn't capable of listening. I didn't see them for the sentinels that they are, and always have been. I haven't made the time to rest my head against one of their trunks, and *listen* to what has become of the world through their eyes.
It's a good thing, having trees as friends. I've even learned a few of their names, once I took the time to ask...
- Vajra -
I remember telling a good friend of mine years ago; "The tension of my bow is slack. The blade of my intellect is dulled. I am suddenly a blind and deaf child within the same woods I grew up knowing as a friend. I need time to sharpen my weapon. I need the discipline to hone my blades. I need to regain that grace which becomes a beast of power and beauty."
I've exhausted the feeling of moving through the world as a gorilla, or a bear. I am no longer satisfied with "plodding" and "stomping the terra". It's a trait that has its own rewards... the plodders get things done all the time, again and again. I know that part of me now. What I miss is the grace of a hunter. I miss the risk. I miss the feel of muscles wound like springs, resting voluntarily against the power of gravity. I miss the knowledge of gravity as an option, something that can be defied at will. I have missed the hunger pervading my senses - the sensuality, sexuality, and the *grace*.
I have grown to be a big man. My size and my looks belie my speed and balance. I've run with that... being the 500 lb. gorilla in the room. I don't like it. It's just a small part of me. What I love is the speed, the vibration, and the motivation to move with *verve*. The word itself sounds like what I mean. Smooth, sex, and power. Since I've begun running again, I find myself constantly dissatisfied with "normal" pace. I jog, or run at work. I sprint to pick things up. I skitter up scaffolding, before I even think about the effort involved. Things need to happen, and they need to happen NOW. This constant challenge of intellectualism versus activity is finally finding its proper balance. I'm losing my fear of wasting energy, because the insignificant amount of energy involved in making a small mistake can be quickly and easily corrected by another burst of energy that is productive and corrective. My bow-string of intellect is growing taut, along with my muscles. My despair and exhaustion is being subdued by stamina and vision. I am getting things done, finally.
I think I have finally seen the lesson of tenacity. Striving in the face of adversity. I see a huge project, an overwhelming endeavour, and I pick a spot and begin. Is it the wrong spot? I don't care anymore. I could spend a life time debating whether or not I made the right choice. I refuse to do that anymore. I am done being beaten before I begin. I just begin. I show up, and I start. Each day I can look at what my crew and I have done, and it was better than we left it. THAT is what makes the world move forward.
I had a good day. Hell, I've had a good year so far. I've inhaled sunrises, and snow, and rain. I've felt the shift in the wind before the lightning falls to the earth. I've been getting stronger and faster and smoother than I've been for a long, long time. All it has taken is the sacrifice of those chemicals that helped me hide from life. I'm not preaching to anyone, and I'm not condoning anything outside of what you might be ready to accept for yourself. What I am saying is that "reality", pure... decaffeinated, non-alcoholic, and nicotine-free - isn't as bad as we fear.
I saw the trees the other night in the light of the moon. They were alive and waiting to speak to me, once again. First time in a long time. Not that they weren't willing to speak - I wasn't capable of listening. I didn't see them for the sentinels that they are, and always have been. I haven't made the time to rest my head against one of their trunks, and *listen* to what has become of the world through their eyes.
It's a good thing, having trees as friends. I've even learned a few of their names, once I took the time to ask...
- Vajra -