Waxing Nostalgic

The invariable mark of wisdom is seeing the miraculous in the common. - Ralph Waldo Emerson in the Zen Calendar (November 27, 2007).

Day 204. I just returned from the Mother of all Walks. A Forest Gump after Jenny died kind of walk. An "if I get to Elk City I may have gone too far" walk. At one point I even broke into a jog, until, after about a quarter of a mile, the curvature in my spine sternly reminded, "You are a cyclist, not a runner. Stop this nonsense." I also found a coin on the darkened pavement. Heads up. It is much more rewarding to make a discovery while groping in pitch darkness than in the light of day. No wonder I am a serious student of Zen. The air was so clear, the moon so full, it seemed a shame to reverse my direction and return home. However, the blog called and the cushion beckoned. Sometimes I feel like Cinderella - only with much bigger feet.

After reading yesterday's post, I found myself filled with a melancholy nostalgia. I took a four-minute shower and rapidly opened and closed the refrigerator door for old times' sake. I realize that waxing misty for the 1960's is contraindicated for a person committed to living in the here-and-now, but it does seem like a kinder, gentler time. It is comically reassuring to remember that I can still watch Andy Griffith and Bonanza several times during the day. Obviously, I am not the only person with fond associations to that time period.

I am steeped in the mind of the writer. The Monkeys have chattered throughout the day. Seems they have taken up the role of Narrator of my life. Their commentary is eloquent and colorful; I only wish I could capture it as it streams, unbidden, through my consciousness. This is the first day since beginning the blog that I wanted to abandon my day job to seriously pursue writing. The desire is innocent enough, right up to the point where the mortgage is due and the bursar account at a certain private university bellows. For now, the "doc" part of CycleBuddhaDoc must remain intact. In other words, I won't be quitting my day job any time soon.

I feel boringly, prosaically, unremarkably content tonight. Everything ordinary feels miraculous, like extracting euphoria from a paper towel. The cooler temperature, the brilliant full moon, the stiffness in my legs from a rambunctious walk, the windows flung open to the night air - all of this seems keen and peaceful and right. Like lying in the den with my nuclear family in 1968. I think I'll indulge these momentary nostalgic memories. I'm going to lie on my bed, upside down like when I was seven, and feel a soothing south breeze waft across me through the window screens. It was good then, and good now. How's that for living in the moment?

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc