Moment of Clarity

A month or so ago I would have never predicted spending my vacation from work, over the holidays, thick in the middle of drama with The Man. I never thought I would separate myself so thoroughly from one I loved, mourn so deeply one I lost, or turn such a distrustful eye towards those in authority over me, us, each other. The System, the gears which grind us down to submission, to eating the goob of the propaganda machine clothed in delusion and distraction of every kind...

My reality came into sudden focus as I sat in the middle of Day 2 of my run-in with The Man. The sudden shock of every story every client ever told me overcame me in a wave of disbelief as I was questioned, detained and treated like any common criminal. The psychology, the secrecy, the assumption of wrong-doing. The show of force (against me...., right). Today was the long detective work with my stellar adviser, thanks so much..! And jokes about what felt for many moments like the hot breath of Big Brother on my neck. Those numbers, that data was more real and important than anything I could say or do of my person. My reality was hijacked into Theirs. I was overwhelmed by the sense of futility and helplessness.

Bridge to Mom, whom I took with our trusty Jamaican angel to the doctor's today, to the store, to the condo and her safe harbor. The moment of clarity was suddenly realizing just how present her reality is in mine. How the co-op of my complete attention to ridiculous but persistent misinformation is somehow like her feeling of being kidnapped into a strange reality she didn't choose. And how brave when she finds those moments of coming from herself, which she has safely tucked away into the far corners of her experience, safe from the stroke, the embarrassment, helplessness, fears...discomforts.

She is my reality. My little mother. The manic push I had to put together the practice, the next steps, the quick unfolding of some new post fantasy chapter, came to a screeching halt. And the burden of pressure was lifted. With a clinical eye I realized it's time to focus one foot in front of the other and quit looking at the finish line. We are still smack in the middle of this race.

Yesterday, in an exuberance of frustrated hope, despair, and a healthy dose of sublimated rage, I took to the streets late in the day and caught a pretty quiet 6 miler, taking the bigger loop to the north drive over towards the park. I am still waging my war with post marathon limitations of all sorts. The stellar shape I aspired to, and maybe had for a bit before the race, and which compensates for so much other inadequacy, feels gone. So I am left, like pretty much every one else, with the reality of my own mortal ground.

If ever there is a time to feel The Spirit, to pit oneself against The Man in righteous revolution, its now. The run won't leave me altogether, much as I sometimes want to quit. The thread that holds my inner discipline, to love and engage my Self in some thorough manner - to hold my own authenticity outside the definitions of possibilities...to break down, break through, move on beyond expectation- or knowledge. To jump. To leap away, break away on down the road, persists. It will take me there if I just hold on.

see you there.