Friday, January 29, 2016

Generation

It goes without saying that we are all One; everything is everything and it isn’t; all the basic claims of the mystical traditions are true, but so what?  What difference does it make in a world where people harm each other over trivial disagreements?

At the very least, it makes you appreciate everything just a little more, even if it makes you appreciate one thing most of all, but that’s harmless, too, just so long as you put your feet on the ground when doing so.

On a night you didn’t need your raingear for the first time in days, the ground was amusingly marsh-like; I found it hard to remember to watch where I stepped, but was glad for the opportunity to do so without getting soaked to the skin.

We talked of generosity and got to experience it; Joby pointed out that twenty dollars of mirth is money well spent and you can’t argue with success, although, of course, why would you?

Kevin Kevin asked me “What is the most beautiful thing you’ve seen this year?” and, while I haven’t witnessed anyone propose marriage to anyone else, I’d submit last night as a candidate.  It began for me with a vertical slice of rainbow to the west as I was leaving school and continued all along the lake, south then north before the evening was done.

The unfamiliar direction along a familiar route reminds you to notice all the beauty that is usually at your back; you also get to raise your awareness of the terrain.  It’s surprising how much shorter downhills are than uphills; nevertheless, they both benefit visually from bike lights snaking through their contrasting switchbacks and a majestic crossing of MLK to Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.”

When you lean against a tree, plenty more is possible; when you get there by bicycle, even more than that.

There is only the present if you can manage to be in the present; time disappears when you hold onto your breath and ride.

Friday, January 8, 2016

Combustion


Being born, as is our leading pyromaniac, with my Sun in Aries, I share that Cardinal Fire Sign attitude when it comes to burning shit up: hotter, faster, bigger, yes, of course.

But there’s something to said for a slow—or least slower—burn, especially when it enables you to keep burning all the way down.

Last year we were shown a counterexample to the well-worn phrase “too big to fail,” as shared aspirations were so large that success was not an option.  This year, by contrast, by setting our sights lower, we were actually able to rise higher, (and by “we” I mean the flames, which lit up the night sky and illuminated loopy grins all around the cheery conflagration, and the firepit, as well—cue rimshot.)

Sure, there was that charming gut-tingling moment where it really seemed like the hook-and-ladder truck was giving us an escort, but that just added to the excitement and made the eventual carbon release that much sweeter.  Plus, it’s nice to know that were one ever really able to ignite sand, our city’s first responders would be on the job.

What’s amazing, and should never be lost against the backdrop of several story-high examples of chemical combustion, is how impressive are the remains: coals easily hot enough to melt aluminum and with enough radiance to warm dozens lit similarly from the inside by the eponymous juice of choice.

Vulcan to the Romans, Hephaestus to the Greeks, Agni in the Vedic tradition, and the internet tells me there’s many more I’ve never even heard of.  Point being: pretty much every culture has some sort of fire god it worships; and it’s easy enough to see why.  Nothing brings human beings together like the sacred combination of heat, oxygen, and fuel—and it’s even better when you throw in bikes, alcohol, and music.

So thanks, Fire God, in every form you take, especially our local deity, attired in silver with snorkel, as well.