Notes from Windward: #69
Bikes and Icy Roads
Camille offers more musings
I fell off my bike. I went on a walk. I had these thoughts.
Windward Lane: icy towards round the bend part of the road. Water rivers freeze in the night and become ice dangers in the next morning. The treaded rubber wheels of purple mountain bike cannot find traction. You're moving along at top speeds. After you fall: one way to receive adrenaline rush. Breath and breathe and breathe. Get up and move along on your feet.
A quest for happiness brings me here. Not only the same quest as my brothers and sisters but the entire quest of humanity. The same drug trip the entirety of humanity is on. We feel something is wrong. We invent stories to account and describe to nourish to prostelytize. Stories like: running. Running. When something becomes more a symbol and less a feeling.
This is a quest for the appropriate amount of brain chemicals that will produce a dopium mine of euphoria. This is the driving force.
Dopamine I mean.
This is: conversation in the garden. "I had to work real hard to find happiness and fight. I rode all over Rhode Island looking for it to fight the good fight. I found: farmers and peaches and friends and lives. I worked real hard. I had a roommate freshman year named Hannah jealous of my week early arrival and friend mob update she was a-lacking." (These are my words. But an accurate paraphrase summary).
This was conversation started with the question: "How is communicating…?" In summary, communication is important and hard and challenging and fruitfall windfall fruits all in one.
Alison, Jewel and Becca hoping for a treat
Our goats they are preparing to lactate as they run up and down the field. Their bellies swell with breath or babies kicking. I wonder if they feel at home in their odd little bodies. They think the same thing about me. Teets. They eat and eat and swallow and eat. I run and run and run for the hills in quest of happi-gleet.
Biking down an icy slope I slip and fall off my bike onto hard ground on the side of up and down my thigh and the palm of my hand. In a few moments you realize, "O god I'm slipping. Prepare." It's like the survival mechanism when you're climbing trees. I must be calm or else Ima fall and break my tree. Neck, I mean. My me. It's like playing cards, "I must be calm so I can survive these poker sharks." It's reading a story outloud. Broken necklace. "I must keep my voice even and regular and not quiver."
Me oh my oh me. The natural world and universe sends back to me shards of reflective qualities I send out to it. And it sends back to me. "And I love them for loving me and they love me for loving them. And we love each other" (Chicago). It's an ongoing conversation. Linear and circular simultaneously.
Notes From Windward - Index - Vol. 69