en route

Slept in the second-best camping spot last night, the one by the school. As often happens, the mindbody takes a full half of the night to fall asleep, just to be convinced that we're actually serious about slowing down after work. What, you really mean it? No more driving? No more music, food, caffeine to keep us frantic frenetic and ever-so-focused on the road? No more mind wandering, hoping to draw or drag the body somewhere anywhere other than here? Is it really alright to breathe deep now, and be less than perfectly present? After 4 or 5 hours' work of translating action to stillness, it grants me maybe 2 or 3 of dreamtime (and this is why I'm so distracted-frustrated-and-not-quite-here, so much of the time). This night's first dream fragment, though, was supercool, if way too short: a scene like a grainy old movie that's been colorized, in which a pointy-mustached magician in a blue suit levitated smoky gold hoops through each other in the air, as we all looked on with admiration and excitement. There was that familiar sense of impending expanding potential wafting through - if he can do this, now, who knows what we'll all do in the next moment??

Woke late - sun well into the sky - to an electronic chime ringing softly, 3 times, and a woman's voice, syrupy but kind, intoning, "Good Morning, Everyone!" Wow. Late for school already. So glad to be done with that feeling forever. Thanks for the wake-up call though. Had to lie low in the camper awhile, til the street cleared of scurrying parents and kids.

Back now to the focus of another work shift: gather all the available energies into the goal of controlled speed, courteous detachment, and maximized efficiency in each movement and moment. Try not to notice if the atmospheric pressure opens portals into some other state, or some other dimension. Try not to calculate how far into the Northwest you could be by now, if you laid all these deliveries end to end. Or how deep into Mexico you could've travelled, if you added up all the minutes just spent waiting for people to answer their doors and find their wallets. Or what fantastic writing you could've done by now if you used the hours spent working to write, instead of only the minutes spent drinking coffee, en route to work again. Try to carry that magician's wiggling eyebrows and conspiratorial smile in mind: keep an eye out for levitating things and winking-open possibilities. And give them the admiring recognition they merit as they fly by, even if they're only flying by, as you pass each other, in-between the dreams.