July 24, 2013
The moon hung low and heavy in the morning sky, a silvery beacon amidst an inky expanse of darkness. The wind moaned and howled like some distant wolf song across an arctic tundra, while the road stetched before me, a velvety darkness edged in white, dotted with the ocassional red tail light like winking eyes, as the tarmac raced and blurred beneath me.
I know why they often refer to a motorcyclist as a pilot, because it was if I was flying, cocooned in darkness, a part of teh world, yet alone, reflective, at peace. Mindfulness and motion, a place of stillness as the world spins by, its turmoil, its pain, its confusion all fogotten for a time as it and I become one - a single mote that is an intrinsic part of all, and perspective, that precious gift, is regained anew.
Life is short. Live.