Click Here for Our Journey’s Start
Something spiritual and transformative happened during Our departure. After clearing security, sans bomb juice or any bomb-like substances — and thank the gods for those brave men and women of the TSA, too, and the outstanding job they’re doing catching all the terrorists (screening for bomb juice ain’t easy) — I decided to forego any $8 bottles of water or $12 diabetes-inducing caffeinated concoctions, and chose to simple sit, decompress from the terrifying trip TO the airport and the general state of white-knuckle unrest that is my existence of late, spin some digitized tunage, and write the first part of this epic tale of woe and travail.
The eponymous debut from the Doors felt like the kind of vibe I was going for, and since I don’t currently have any Jefferson Starship in my mp3 collection, We would not be experiencing the consciousness expanding, spirituality heightening joy of the white rabbit biting off it’s own head — our friends along the path of open perception would have to do.
And do, they did. Nicely, as it were.
Dawn came innocently enough this morning, but the tranquility of our waking hours would soon prove to be the calm before the storm. Chaos and disquiet ruled Our realm this Trickster Tuesday, a whirlwind romp of anxious, frantic scurrying full of desperate grasping madness born of procrastination and distraction. All this is, of course, kerosene on the flames of insanity and mania that We the Ryan have been inexplicably stoking and feeding into in months of late. There has been nary a day since our annual turning of the page that has not been met with Our own uncertainty regarding the volatile unpredictable nature and disposition with which our own mental health — mental torment — should choose to greet each passing moment. Panic attacks arrive suddenly, without warning, and with growing frequency and severity. Anxiety and unease give way to projections of scorn and loathing. Our defense is to lash out in venemous malice, or to internalize and subsume our rage. The scars of which…the scars of which…
We are coming unravelled…
But, then, the departure. Now packed, stowed, boarded, and nestled comfortable in Our cozy seat within the spacious, temperate, delightfully half-full phallic flight projectile, we have all just experienced the tireless magic that is the preflight safety ritual. All have been situation, promulgated, strapped down, contemplated, and informated, the Captain has loosed our mammoth mechanical steed, and as we taxi purposefully towards the runway and prepare to be thrust eagerly into this sun-baked Southwestern atmosphere, another type of journey is underway, this one of the soul and it is happening within Us but still all around and by and to Us but I am jacked in man I am in tune and it is the dance of our native ancestors and it is the song of our reptilian soul and it is the beginning and the journey but most of all This Is The End and just as Our great tubular carriage explodes and We are propelled in glorious burning ecstasy towards the heavens that inner journey PEAKS and it is orgasmic and it is transformative and it is gargantuan and a tide all around me and I am overcome by the patricidal and matricidal ecstatic overcoming of the moment and a stab of fear, a clenching, the feral beast within me clutching, grasping, panicked for control but we push the beast down and we wrestle it down and quiet it for there is nothing it can do here, it is this moment, this absolute which must be given over in the palm of an outstretched hand, our grasping fingers loosed to finally, completely Let Go and BE FREE.
If the story or my place in it had needed to end there, I would have understood and it would have been the way it always would have been and the way it needed to be, the only way it could have ended for this now. And I would have been okay.
© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.