August 8, 2003

  • I went to the cemetery with the intention to run, but arrived exhausted and inclined instead, on this dog-summer day, to slide up to an old obelisk and just slouch, like someone life-beaten, in the drunken, mystical sun.  Yet a voice screamed to me: “A warrior’s training is never done.   Don’t damn the torpedos—flow with them, become one.  Then commit the shooter to kingdom-come".


     


    So run I did, indeed.  During the first lap, my brain rattled painfully about in my head, recording every footstep I ventured with a pronounced throb.  During the second lap, I found my breath.  It was sweet, pure, and painless—just like the girl of my dreams that I hope someday to meet.  The third and final lap consisted of tapping into a pool of seemingly cool, unbounded energy. Each step was free, every movement rejoicingly hydraulic, and my demeanor beamed entirely undeadly and with a heart that was childrening.


     


    Aha!  I just found my ‘Aha!”, I said, I say.


     


    And now I twirl with a tint of sunset and…quietly slip away.

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