Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go.
Inspired by, I believe, the dharma tenant, nowhere to go and nothing to do. From Lennon and McCartney to Thich Nhat Hanh's - ‘All the wonderful things that you are looking for–happiness, peace, and joy–can be found inside of you. You do not need to look anywhere else’, is a central point in man’s eternal search for meaning. Or at least in my search today.
I raise this flag today for a couple of reasons. One, after a series of extraordinary dreams early this morning, I struggle with the anxiety born of confusion. What, exactly were the messengers of the subliminally sublime attempting to relay to me? And, two, why am I responding more with my physical self than the cerebral? Why am I pacing like a caged tiger instead of simply, doing the necessary, sitting and writing about it?
I got this far into the inquiry by, as is my habit, looking at my day timer for the list of chores on today’s agenda. There was only one, the 1730 meet-up at the PowerBarn for our evening spin. Other than that the day is mine. This validation of freedom caused a minor backfire in my morning as I was now suddenly totally responsible for the quality of my ‘free-time’. Oh that magic feeling.
Yet, for mysterious reasons, I am still anxious. Not even my newly found wifi speed allowing the morning news cruise helped. Mississippi still sucks, Trump is a turd and tomorrow night the Huskies will enter the ring with the Utah Utes for a four-round unlimited street brawl for the Pac12 Championship. As much as I like our odds, I am nervous about this big game. Since I have nothing to do (and nowhere to go) I am left to manage these powerful negatives. Anxiety and the feeling of pending doom.
This is helping. By design. Saturday will be December first, leaving but one month, thirty-one days, until the completion of this journey. Starting on January One of this year, I set out on the mission to script a post every day for the entirety of 2018. With he exception of three days in March when I sat at Harborview Hospital with my dying Father, the streak as we call it, is intact. Home stretch. Final act. Denouncement. Crescendo. Fourth Quarter and out of time-outs. Last mile.
Please remember with me that this has all been an attempt to create release, improvisation, introspection and catharsis. The concept initially came from Julia Cameron’s magnificent work, The Artist’s Way, in which she suggests three pages of writing every day mimicking the dedicated and demanding habitual practice exemplified by athletes and musicians, actors and innovators. I preformed this ritual for many years carrying my three-ring notebooks across the globe, converting many years later to the user friendliness of the digital version that you now read.
It has been fun. I have enjoyed - most of the time - the process. I think it has made me better storyteller. I have found some space in my heart and some answers from my soul. I have left a biography of all the spiraling debris found on my orbit along the chaotic trajectory of this wink-of-the-eye calendar year. I think it also helped me pay a litter closer attention to the things that I might consider ‘newsworthy’.
Although having odd dreams, feeling anxious, with nervous energy, is but the backdrop to this morning’s discipline, it helps create a tone that might be useful in my efforts to create additional quality throughout my day.
Therefore we start now. With nowhere to go and nothing to do. The secret ingredient to towards the success of my day, the ‘added value’ needed to spin this apparent bland and vanilla stone soup will be this:
Maintaining secure footing in the here and now while merging my awareness with reality.
Out of college, money spent
See no future, pay no rent
All the money's gone,
Any jobber got the sack
Monday morning, turning back
Yellow lorry slow, nowhere to go
But oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go
Oh, that magic feeling
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