November 2, 2002

  • It’s lightly snowing, in the mid-30s, and I’m sitting on the ground and leaning with my back against an unyielding obelisk.  I ran today for the first time since last Saturday and completed my ‘7-mile tour’.  Last Sunday I sprained my ankle badly as it turned entirely over as I was hopping over an obstacle and took a fall.  But it was good for the run today, and though still a bit swollen, it’s not hurting much at all.


    This past week, my energy-body took a few hits and minor setbacks as my resolve slightly weakened to dream better dreams a la the formulation of Carlos Castaneda in the Art of Dreaming.  But today  I salved my spirit back to wholeness and regained my unrelenting edge to press on with all matters energetic with a kingly spirit.   They say it’s good to be king—if you don’t weaken.  I have much to learn of such things, but surrender myself to the lesson with princely devotion.  Yes, I know, I’ve tossed too much royalty into a modern American blog.  But what the hell—sometimes life yearns for things strangely juxtaposed.  ‘Juxtaposed’ – killer word—and it’s been too  long since I’ve last used it. 


    *ten minutes of wordless silence transpires as I gaze absorbingly around*


    Impressionistic art is, by far, my favorite.  Monet, Renoir, Manet were all lucid masters of their airy moments.  I’m reminded just now of their particular outlook with its emphasis on the primacy and quality of ‘light’  since the shadows about me are thickening, darkening, reaching, stretching out towards me, almost orgasmic with the light’s eerie lessening.  Yes, the frigid encompassment of night is trying to absorb me.  I sense it’s fascination for my warm organics.  It’s fashioning that upon my soul it owns the birthright.  Please excuse me, I have to take a piss…(really)…


    *ducks behind a bush and whizzes in the deepening shadows*


    There.  That’s my response to overtures from the Dark Side.

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