108.
It is a skill all experienced athletes understand and appreciate. Time slows down when seconds are numbered. The faster we need to go the more imperative it is to slow our minds and allow the potent combination of soul and spirit to take temporary command. Let it go, don’t overthink, react to the changing circumstances with complete acceptance. Find the flow.
I am quickly reminded of the truth behind this axiom as I dodge construction equipment; hand trucks, ubiquitous Georgia buggies, Hyster fork lifts scrapping loaded pallets of wiring, scattered and staged racks of oddly shaped air conditioning units, pallet-ljacks, hundred foot long rolls of carpet and their matching padding counterparts and lighting fixtures waiting patiently for the ‘on-switch’ all tagged, stamped, or otherwise identified with the MBI logo.
MBI. I sidestep a laborer moving boxes from on location to another, trying desperately to look busy, and open another mental protocol. MBI. Where have I seen that acronym before, and what does it represent? While isolating the freedom of dynamically flowing movement through time and space should be a singular event, I need to process this information post haste. Per normal, I am instantly reminded of the folly in this attempted multi-tasking as a fork-left pilot beeps me alert with two short blast of his horn. Please remember dear one, that the reason you are currently caught in the midst of this obstacle course comes from your ten-second indulgence in a memory of youth as the primary directive was to keep a tireless eye on Big and Her Majesty. You lapsed into a dream, allowed distraction, lost the target and are now scrambling to atone. Big lesson there I say aloud with a shrug of head and acknowledging wave to the teamster.
In what feels like an hour I finally make my way to the exit door and press the horizontal bars and push outward. I am immediately blinded by the bright sun vectoring at nine o’clock. I am in a staging area; trucks, vans, huge stacks of equipment, materials and supplies arranged in rows to allow ingress and egress efficiently and safely. Every one of the trucks, every van and every pallet carries the MBI stamp. I look around and comet towards the open end of the industrial maze of mechanical merchandise that will one day be assembled into an aviation/entertainment commercial enterprise and spot a white Dodge van parked next to what appears to be a Pilatus PC-12 turbo-prop.
The sleek jet has started its slow taxi and turns slightly left to reveal the giant logo running the length of its tubular fuselage; MBI.
Keeping close to wooden bins of mysterious content for cover 108.
It is a skill all experienced athletes understand and appreciate. Time slows down when seconds are numbered. The faster we need to go the more imperative it is to slow our minds and allow the potent combination of soul and spirit to take temporary command. Let it go, don’t overthink, react to the changing circumstances with complete acceptance. Find the flow.
I am quickly reminded of the truth behind this axiom as I dodge construction equipment; hand trucks, ubiquitous Georgia buggies, Hyster fork lifts scrapping loaded pallets of wiring, scattered and staged racks of oddly shaped air conditioning units, pallet-ljacks, hundred foot long rolls of carpet and their matching padding counterparts and lighting fixtures waiting patiently for the ‘on-switch’ all tagged, stamped, or otherwise identified with the MBI logo.
MBI. I sidestep a laborer moving boxes from on location to another, trying desperately to look busy, and open another mental protocol. MBI. Where have I seen that acronym before, and what does it represent? While isolating the freedom of dynamically flowing movement through time and space should be a singular event, I need to process this information post haste. Per normal, I am instantly reminded of the folly in this attempted multi-tasking as a fork-left pilot beeps me alert with two short blast of his horn. Please remember dear one, that the reason you are currently caught in the midst of this obstacle course comes from your ten-second indulgence in a memory of youth as the primary directive was to keep a tireless eye on Big and Her Majesty. You lapsed into a dream, allowed distraction, lost the target and are now scrambling to atone. Big lesson there I say aloud with a shrug of head and acknowledging wave to the teamster.
In what feels like an hour I finally make my way to the exit door and press the horizontal bars and push outward. I am immediately blinded by the bright sun vectoring at nine o’clock. I am in a staging area; trucks, vans, huge stacks of equipment, materials and supplies arranged in rows to allow ingress and egress efficiently and safely. Every one of the trucks, every van and every pallet carries the MBI stamp. I look around and comet towards the open end of the industrial maze of mechanical merchandise that will one day be assembled into an aviation/entertainment commercial enterprise and spot a white Dodge van parked next to what appears to be a Pilatus PC-12 turbo-prop.
The sleek jet has started its slow taxi and turns slightly left to reveal the giant logo running the length of its tubular fuselage; MBI.
Keeping close to a mountain range of wooden bins for cover I reach for my cell and get Drysdale.
“Tell me we have a fix.”
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