Zen & Motorcycles

Yesterday night went horribly wrong. I felt anxious and uneasy and was fighting off what seemed like a cold but not really. I hadn't felt that dark in a long long time. It's still lingering this morning. Perhaps this is what happens when one divulges and shares, when the centers of ourselves open up. Like a friend said to me the other day, When you talk to the Universe, the Universe talks back...Maybe it's all a necessary release but if I cry anymore, I'll have to make myself some wings and fly away.

There's a point when I cry where suddenly, I get some kind of revelation and the tears just stop. Maybe I spoke too soon when I concluded that it wasn't loneliness I was experiencing a week ago. And maybe it isn't loneliness per Se but a kind of spiritual isolation. It's like the more I dig, the more isolated I feel. I thought I'd develop a sense of freedom with inner knowledge or wisdom. I mean, I've been asking for this. I've been putting it out there for years. Show me the way. Show me the way. Show me the way, like a mantra that goes on automatic with or without my knowledge. Then there's a knock on the door and when you go to open it, the information floods in. You know there's no turning back.

I was immediately comforted by memories of my motorcycle ride over a year ago. An old acquaintance discovered how much I wanted to go for a ride on his Harley or how much I wanted him to take me out for a ride on his Harley. R is special. I knew he had that something I don't see or notice in many people. I just gravitated towards his philosophy. He had a way of calming me down, of making me see what's truly important and how easily I become rattled by nonsense and trivialities. He reflects a kind of freedom I don't experience in my daily activities. He's always so still, so centered, and so on purpose.

I remember how fast the bike was going, the roaring sound of the engine and wheels, how close my feet were to the ground, the way my hair whipped against my face. I recall looking up and seeing nothing but sky and some clouds. I told myself then and there, that I would remember that moment forever. There's a stillness that takes place in the mind in the midst of all that movement and sound. I was everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. R took me to a coffee shop somewhere up north in what appeared to be a biker's town. I'd never seen so many bikes in one place and I can't even begin to speak of the comraderie between these men. It didn't matter where we were on the road, if a biker rode by, we'd get a salute, a hello. I took a liking to a tiny antique store right next to the coffee shop. I remember feeling as though I was in a different part of the world and in many ways, I was. I was residing in a different place within myself looking at the world through another set of lenses.

R says to me, You should see your face right now. Yes, I was high. Something about the open road lifted me up, way up. And yet I settled into myself quite nicely. On our way out of this heaven, he made a right turn on a small road by a stream and a line of people looking to catch some fish. I will never forget how the sun sparkled through the trees, how vibrant the yellow, orange and red leaves looked to my eyes. It occurred to me then the way it occurs to me now--I belonged to nothing and no one out there on this road. It's like if I had been obliterated, it wouldn't have bothered me. I was free and not at all boggled down by my left brain. I had no where to go and no where to be even though in reality, my parents were expecting me for Thanksgiving dinner. I was envious of those who were able to let go of the good life as it were and settle for well, maybe a better life. I admired how R knew how to be under any circumstance.

But I'm not free like that. I'm still trying to find the balance, still trying to figure out when to surrender or trek on. I asked for this. I want these dark nights of the soul. It's the only way I know how to discover myself at this point. I've got to infuse more laughter into all of this, keep it light and steady. When I find the recipe, I'll fill you in.