Exciting times

The big city proved too much for the man.

Ill he fell. A symptom of the place or time? Or something within himself?

It’s usually something within himself.

Departed he was one warm sunny fall day, on a boat to The Island. The long-awaited Island.

There his tide began changing. Bearing witness for the thousand and one’th time to the tricks his mind was playing on him.

Sheer repetition. A glow grinding away of the illusion? He hopes.

Through dinners shared, phone calls had, trips made and visits paid, farm doing done and journeys embarked on, things became clearer. He felt better.

At times.

He feels good.

At times.

He hears something that gets him puffed. Elated. A chance for pleasure. For feeling gooooooood.

And in the same day, he might cry.

Is it just the awareness? Is there something to be done?

Awareness is very good. Observing is very good.

Doing something is also very good.

He knows there is to be done. That a proverbial increase in pressure on the gas pedal would be good.

Opening doors that he is hesitant to open. He'll keep handy one of those door rams that SWAT teams use to enter houses...it might be needed.

Honesty. Courage. Radical okayness with what's happening, inside and out. Also very good.