It Dawned on Me

"You can't hold back the dawn." - A.L. McCormick, Professor of Psychology at U.C.O., circa 1982.

Day 179. I rode 57 miles today. If my ego wasn't so successfully sublimated, I bet I would be pretty proud of that.

I left before sunup, not because I am turning into one of those nauseating morning people who tout their moral superiority, but because it's been getting frickin' hot by 9:00 a.m. I altered my route from home, pedaling north along a former favorite street that has now succumbed to Oklahoma developers' credo of: "Replace all green earth with asphalt and strip malls." I looked to my right as the sun broke the horizon. I haven't witnessed many sunrises since my days in the youth group at the Methodist church, where you were soundly ostracized if you missed the Easter morning sunrise service. This sunrise was lovely; it literally looked like a blazing orange ball of fire peeking over the earth's edge. Smokey pink wisps of cloud wafted across the sun - so picturesque it looked like an expertly executed paint-by-number. I looked away (pothole patrol) for a few pedal strokes, and again turned my head eastward. In the flash of those few seconds, the entire firey orb had risen past the horizon, and was now resting on a strip of azure summer sky. "Wow," I marveled, "You really can't hold back the dawn."

The quote is sacred to me. It was uttered by a memorable mentor during my undergraduate years. Tucked underneath the sloping ceiling of his office in the oldest building on campus, we frequently engaged in meandering conversation. One early spring day of my senior year, we were discussing his certainty that I would be accepted into a prestigious graduate program. I was dating Montford Ira at the time. Molten lust ravaged my veins, posing a catastrophic threat to my 3.95 grade point average (damn that B in French my freshman year!) I had my doubts about gaining entrance into the highly competitive Ph.D. programs my professors were recommending. This was at the height of my dad's alcoholism, and I was horrifically under fathered. I had no idea of what I was capable of.

It was mind boggling to receive my professor's validation and willingness to advocate for me. The short version of this story is that I was accepted into a prestigious graduate program - one of five out of several hundred applicants. Late in the summer of 1982, I met with an adviser at the lofty institution to plan my classes. I walked out of that pompous asshole's office and elected to accompany Monty to California rather than grace his campus with my presence. It was a defining moment of my life.

I stayed in California just long enough to accumulate some really good catamaran stories. Dr. McCormick's words had lodged deeply in my psyche: "You can't hold back the dawn." I came to realize he meant that my true nature would surface and - despite my profound lack of parenting - I would ultimately actualize the capacity of my mind and aspirations. He was right. I completed my Ph.D. in 1988. Having someone believe in you is a powerful incentive.

As I pedaled along while the day awakened, I was completely absorbed with each moment. Images were surreal in their vividness, like the colors on a high definition television that never exist outside of digital enhancement. I topped an incline and, against the yellow gold of the sun, I observed the crisp black silhouettes of two eastbound runners. A half mile further, my gaze was drawn upward as a flock of geese, flying west in their perfect V formation (drafting was invented by birds in flight) was ironically juxtaposed upon the glint of an eastbound airplane. Dawn rocks. Cycling through it with my senses heightened in exquisite harmony is pretty cool, too.

Dawn progressed to mid-morning and my attention became consumed with avoiding overheating. I remained mysteriously centered, satiated with a serene calm in the knowledge that, like the dawn, my awakening cannot be held back. Life flows on, like first light trickling over the countryside. Alongside that blazing orange orb in the east, I am lighting up, too.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc