Parts of Understanding

I find self constantly twisted in the bases of understanding.  It’s a forum of agreeing with one or more parts, even though you may agree with the initial thought - for instance - a moment in time.  When time in brought into prospective it’s accumulative and understanding lays its prickly blanket amongst actual thoughts. Trying to understand the comprehension of understanding will come fighting and you'll get backhanded even if your thoughts are sorting through process.

Agreeing on the known fact of understanding is a treacherous place to climb. At time I find myself dealing with understanding at face value as thought process but other times having to grapple and repel the understanding nature is a tough paradigm.

Planting a Garden

I’ve been away for a number of reasons and honestly to get out of my own head when home.  Don’t get me wrong home is a peacefull place with loving roommates that will put a smile on your face, warmth in the belly, and love in your heart.

When unaccompanied time is found amongst my own room the subconscious slips its weary head into making one feel everything is self’s fault even when you have been told countless times it’s not you.  I begin by doing my self the favor of not compartmentalizing, because it causes a slippery slop of not allowing one self to be consciously conscious of the emotions you are having.  The thoughts and feelings are waves crashing into the side of cliff, but that cliff being ‘self’, the gambit of flooded feeling and emotion are a part of the process.  Telling one self too let it all happen takes courage and it’s a process that needs to proceed.  Once you feel that range of emotion strung out as like a arche ways into a rainbow, it transforms you into a shaman - armed for battle with good and evil.  These forms of thoughts are calculatingly sharp and more radical then this idea of subconscious. The thoughts have neither end nor bound but you have to get to a point of telling your self, “Master your mind and don’t let your mind master you.”

Satisfaction

White line – gasps of air follow, complacent breaths fill in the pauses, breathing becomes normalized again, and the suit of breathing is regular.

Crossing the finish line, knowing I did my best, there’s nothing more to do, just breath again, and get my results. 

A Night

In the dark – 

this cold wind crossing the road into the trees, the leaves shimmering frecks of moonlight.  

Traveling Familiar Roads

The road is a character of sorts. 

While traveling any road its surface changes, some times immediate, transitional, but all else it’s in a constant state of flux.  It’s unyielding surface, hard and protective like a turtles shell but has no soft connective tissue inside of it.  The road is never on guard it’s a source, on ramps, off ramps, and axis that only one can choose to travel its path.  The values of nature hold no weather bond to the road, with the frigid cold and boiling hot summers high in the sky beating upon its surfaces.  The road is a universal path of pavement that doesn’t dictate it’s being.  We just choose how to travel upon it each by each.

When Our Hands Hold

Top and Bottom.

One road will lead onto, two.

One plus one equals two.

Count up from one and you’ll get two.

You’ll need two wings in order to fly.

- -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -

A towed line separates it all from one another.

- -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -

If I’m able to lean, why not on upon you as my support.

When you fall I shall catch you…

For truest to truest, its order is held as a go-between – two.

If I the beach you’d be the tide.

When the sun rises, shall we watch it fall.

If you were cold, I’d be your blanket of warmth.

Day needs night as night needs day.

Fold the paper in half, what shall you get?

If I ride over the hill I shall see you on the other side of it.

One and two.

Ivan Puig

The Three Pockets

Jersey packed with the essentials for a six-hour ride.   Those three pockets never fail, overloaded with disorganized clutter.  Left – Middle - Right are either stuffed for moments at a time  - sorted out- emptied too a rhythmic of the unconscious of the riders mind.  When reaching for a pocket theirs a deep gouge gesture of rustling going on as if you’re digging for the correct change when making a purchase of some kind.  A sign of relief when the item being searched for is revealed and unpacked for a form of consumption.  Sips and sloshes of water places everything into the body like pegs on a board.  Some times the ride feels at peace-quiet and other times all over the board that’s the nature of the cycling.

When getting off the bike everything is new, taking the sensations that are going on in the world on two feet.  Mind begins to collect thoughts – reflections of ride.  The mind is extraordinary – specially after the fact when you feel everything is some what heightened or seen in a new light of some sort.  A strange feeling happeneds with the eyes…  It’s as if you’d squinted with your eyes and look at the sunlight you get that oily swim sort of a swirl going through the vision and remains constant for a while.