quixotic - 1: foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals ; especially : marked by rash lofty romantic ideas or extravagantly chivalrous action

Music:  http://seanp2k.com/realsky.mp3 [Play]


For years on end I've chased butterflies into the woods, sat on docks and dipped my toes in the water, taken the scenic path, the mountain pass; the spice of life.  One can't really describe the feeling that one gets from setting the road ablaze on an up-hill left handed clothespin at 110mph, knees but inches from the asphalt ready to tear your life away...you drop down to 4th, let out the clutch, the suspension unloads and you shoot off into the apex.  Hit your lines, grab some trail brake, feel the rear wheel slide a bit, melting into the street; you're one with your surroundings.  Make it out alive and glance in your mirrors at that Porsche you left in the dust...or don't, and eat the guard rail, roll down the cliff, become the dust.

Go out on a trail with no maps.  To hell with technology, you feel out where you're heading.  Searing into the the turns, pump all the dips, nail every section.  Completely silent, except for the racing of your pulse.  You and the trail have a mutual respect...for without one, what good would the other be?  Did the trail emerge from the passion of the people, or did it manifest itself in dreams and superimpose itself into the forest?  None of it matters when you're in the moment, your only thought is to hold on, your only feeling is speed.  You may only be going 15-30Mph at most, but you're doing it in a place that some have difficulty walking.  You feel the momentum, you understand the physics, the universe makes sense. 

Then it happens.

At first taken by surprise, time stops and you're given what seems like a few seconds to understand what's happening.  You feel the air rushing out past your lips, the world is flipped upside-down.  In your entire life, the total time that you get to experience this phenomenon is undoubtedly under 60 seconds.  You feel yourself hit, but it doesn't hurt yet.  Your mind is still trying to process where you went wrong, your body still positioned to dig into the next berm, unable to react quickly enough.  Physics come crashing down around you as your chest graces the ground and you bounce slightly, a large mass of water and skin and bones.  You instinctually go limp, your mind now less sharp as you flail, still mostly in the air.  Tumbling down the path, you taste the earth.  Your eyes close, your muscles tense, but it's all too late.  Your pulse quickens still, adrenalin shoots down your veins, you feel the warmth in your gut.  The rush comes just before the pain, when you taste your own blood, the sting of every pebble and twig.  You lie in place for a few seconds to catch your breath before you can scream once the motion has stopped.  Your muscles relax as your knees come into your chest and head goes down to protect the frontal lobes.  For a few minutes you're helpless, for a few minutes you're vulnerable, your mind is blank, all you know is the pain.  Tears stream down your face, you drool a bit, vampiritic insects flock to your corpse like a freshly cut piece of meat.

You claw your way back up.

Stumbling towards your two wheeled escape mechanism, simoultaneously your best friend and worst enemy, your lover, the fighter within you, you frantically try to brush away mosquitos.  You reach for some water and dowse your wounds, perhaps even take a seat and catch your breath.  You realize that you're going to be ok.

You'll make it out of this yet.

You shakily brace yourself against a tree as you re-mount your aluminum ambulance and hesitantly snap into your cleated pedals.  Everything feels uncertain and wobbly.  You start off slowly, wanting only to escape the horde of blood-sucking winged hellspawn.  You ride a few miles and think.

You might even start enjoying yourself again.

The sun is shining, scabs are forming, the water is so cool against your tongue.  Your sweat is now cold, but the music is smooth and the weather is fine.  The warm breeze against your face reassures you that it's all real.

You make it back to your car, grab dinner on the way home, extract your muddy twisted state-of-the-art torture device from the innards of your more socially acceptable motorized vehicle, go in and pass out.

Wake up the next day eager to do it all over again.

This is what it's like to be alive.

Sometimes you'll take a camera to try desperately to capture it all, perhaps some music to accent the beauty that comes to life outdoors.  This is summer, and the clocks are set by feel.  Stay out all night, dance all night, the world loves you.

The world loves you.

We forget it sometimes.  If you close your eyes at night and accept it, you'll feel it.

The world loves you.
The world loves you and it's okay to make mistakes.
The world fucking loves you and everything will be alright.
If you believe that it will.