hebdo.wanderlust…a little crazy
…another jacksone browne song surfaced in my consciousness- first heard it sung by bonnie raitt- ‘opening
farewell’ i believe it’s calld- got some lines that go, ‘there’s a train/every day/going either way/there’s a
road you know/there’s a way to go…’ then marel malaret tells me jackson’s moved to barcelona!
…but we’re never gonna survive/unless/we go a little crazy-seal’s first hit was my theme song in ‘85, &
still… (a motion of return, an abundance recovered…) th moment i feel th stiff northerly blowing head-on
as i reach th barceloneta beach (that’s th barcelona, not th puerto rico, barceloneta) i know what i’ve bn
missing & avoiding, what i’ve bn craving & denying mself @ one & th same time: my inner mommmy as
overprotective as my flesh & blood one was, if not more so under certain emotional circumstances…th voice
that kept insisting every day, as i got back to my room from sitting in front of th computer screen or after a
big, late lunch, all thru th week- ‘it’s too late, it’s too dark, it’s too cold already, you should’ve bn ready
an hour- @ th very least, a half hour- ago…’
* but that’s precisely it! it’s soothingly late, it’s wonderfully windy, it’s magically dark along th
boardwalks leading away from th bustle of th ramblas, th port bars & shops…it’s bn six weeks & i hardly make
it past th villa olímpica & its next set of bars, cafés & clubs- including th last surviving planet hollywood
restaurant…in th world?!-before turning back. rebuilding time. thirty-two minutes. my knees are weak, even
after so short a run. but i’m happy happy happy. what a difference… i argue w/ mself, i argue both points of
view: there’s no such thing as a positive addiction- if i couldn’t run, i cd’ve sat zazen, strolled th ramblas
up & down a couple of hours, stretched & did an abs workout on th floor of my little room…there are always
options, there is always @ th very least one alternative to th compulsion… on th other hand, th only thing
that makes something like th routine of running into a compulsion is precisely th conditioned tangle of fear
that locks into a paralysing struggle w th opposing, desired, course of action… back on th ramblas, th
christmas decorations are going up-it’s coming on christmas/they’re cutting down trees they’re putting up
reindeer/singing songs of joy & peace i wish i had a river/i could skate away on…
thank you, joni…thank you all-
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