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03/12/2003 Entry: ""Grand Unspecified Inking""
Today was the first day in over a week that I've been able to utilize my spunk and feel a sense of what it means to be alive. While I still have some minor physiological gripes, the whole system that is my body is compensating with a vengeance and is eager as a toothy aquatic mammal to experience the sheer unadulterated bliss that typically accompanies realizing that we are alive on a hunk of rock in an eternal vacuum ( in other words, it was nice outside today, and that made me happy ).
I went for a walk/jog at Beaver Lake and had a great experience while resting in the grass. The sun was full blast in my face to the right, while the day moon was visible to my left. As flocks of ducks and other playful birds flitted around overhead, and Vivaldi's "Gloria" kissed my ears from the Mini-Disc, I stopped having a sense of "me" lying there in the field near the lake's shore, and began to have more of a sense of "we." Not "we" in terms of people, but a collective breathing and becoming of "we" as all lifeforms, as co-participants in a constantly moving and evolving flux of the infinite. This was not some emotional or intellectual feeling, it just was, only in a grand unspecified inkling that I'm not used to perceiving. Not selflessness, but self in the "isness." Then a dog ( Alsatian? ) barked not far from my head and my nostrils suddenly anchored on the smell of car exhaust, and the trance was broken. But as I got up to run again, I kept my crazy smile toward the sun and watched the universe move in tiny steps all around.
I've learned that two days after I return from Haiti I'll be walking in a twelve mile Peace March... sounds good to me, and a great way to process all those things I cannot yet imagine ( but I know instinctively I'll need time to think over ). I've decided that while away, I'll have a guest host here at bird on the moon... what he does is up to him but I'm sure you'll be entertained. It's now a daily thing; I'm counting down the time and already feeling the foreigness creep it's way into my idle thoughts and daydreams. And yet it's all mystery... there's no real itinerary that I know of, only focal points. I've read some, but not enough about that little island far away, and printed words are only partially useful when compared with confronting that actual thing to which they refer. No word is more powerful than the thought behind it.
It's late and I'm e-ranting. I feel I should say more, but more isn't forthcoming; it's lodged in the back of my wartorn throat with many, extra and mulititudinous. More will have to wait it's lexical turn to get out.
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