zensolo’s e-mailed chronicles posted by morituri.

hebdo.wanderlust…a little crazy

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…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-

Written by morituri

November 15th, 1999 at 6:22 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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