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04-23-04, 07:18 PM
There has to be a quote somewhere, probably Nietzsche, who speaks to the life that lies below the masks of personality and culture. Nevertheless, this morning I caught glimpses of it. And perhaps that's all you get, glimpses. Yet, I needed some aspect of our culture, albeit a fringe part, to serve as a porthole into the life that lies below.
My anticipation to commute the week has been huge, but due to long days (for instance, yesterday being a 14-hour marathon of classes and parent-teacher conferences) I had not been able to find a decent day to commute until today. The swelling anticipation built up within me and under the cool early morning sun, I kicked into my pedals and stepped into an easy ride that resembled what Easterners have often referred to bliss. The lightly chilled 43-degree air evening out my body temperature as I gradually picked up my pace.
Until I went fixed, I found myself racing, racing myself, racing the clock to get to school in time to be ready for my first class, racing for what? I can't tell, but racing without any end (sic) in sight. Since going fixed I have noticed this pleasant bliss to coincide with my rides, a certain "yesssss..." a snap-fit encasement of body with mind.
As I headed onward I passed the midway point around Lincoln Square where I often see other riders, usually multi-geared MTBer's who are still stuck in the race that I have recently slipped from, like some etherized patient on the operating table. Certain noises faded (the honking, the screeching tires, a directed scream my way) while others came into the foreground:
my creaking cranks, still nagging me for attention
the whoosh of breeze as it caressed my ears
the pleasant glow of sunshine
the gentle whistle of one bird singing
in short, the things that have been here (except for the creaking cranks) for 20,000 years and for another 20,000 years will remain
For these last few miles of my commute, up until the worries of teaching came into view about one mile from school, my entire self road along with the life that was, is and will be history when all of the crappy politics, movies, personalities, lives, theories, money, governments, products, leaders, loves, hates, truths, lies, virtues, vices, rights, wrongs, Lefts and Rights, become subsumed into history; and all the good politics, movies, personalities, lives, theories, money, governments, products, leaders, loves, hates, truths, lies, virtues, vices, rights, wrongs, Lefts and Rights, become subsumed into history; and memory and all my experiences and loves and hates and fears and happiness are dispersed into what I will never know.
And for this feeling, I will continue to ride and look for what lies below, until history takes me away.
My anticipation to commute the week has been huge, but due to long days (for instance, yesterday being a 14-hour marathon of classes and parent-teacher conferences) I had not been able to find a decent day to commute until today. The swelling anticipation built up within me and under the cool early morning sun, I kicked into my pedals and stepped into an easy ride that resembled what Easterners have often referred to bliss. The lightly chilled 43-degree air evening out my body temperature as I gradually picked up my pace.
Until I went fixed, I found myself racing, racing myself, racing the clock to get to school in time to be ready for my first class, racing for what? I can't tell, but racing without any end (sic) in sight. Since going fixed I have noticed this pleasant bliss to coincide with my rides, a certain "yesssss..." a snap-fit encasement of body with mind.
As I headed onward I passed the midway point around Lincoln Square where I often see other riders, usually multi-geared MTBer's who are still stuck in the race that I have recently slipped from, like some etherized patient on the operating table. Certain noises faded (the honking, the screeching tires, a directed scream my way) while others came into the foreground:
my creaking cranks, still nagging me for attention
the whoosh of breeze as it caressed my ears
the pleasant glow of sunshine
the gentle whistle of one bird singing
in short, the things that have been here (except for the creaking cranks) for 20,000 years and for another 20,000 years will remain
For these last few miles of my commute, up until the worries of teaching came into view about one mile from school, my entire self road along with the life that was, is and will be history when all of the crappy politics, movies, personalities, lives, theories, money, governments, products, leaders, loves, hates, truths, lies, virtues, vices, rights, wrongs, Lefts and Rights, become subsumed into history; and all the good politics, movies, personalities, lives, theories, money, governments, products, leaders, loves, hates, truths, lies, virtues, vices, rights, wrongs, Lefts and Rights, become subsumed into history; and memory and all my experiences and loves and hates and fears and happiness are dispersed into what I will never know.
And for this feeling, I will continue to ride and look for what lies below, until history takes me away.