Run away. As hard as you can. Pump your arms and legs and feel your lungs heave as you kick up dirt on the trails. Mile after mile, you are flying. But there is always a point- you must turn around- head back and kick up dirt on the way home. But it felt good, for an hour or so, to soar.
All of my greatest and deepest thoughts come to me while in motion. I so badly wish that as I sit calmly I could summon the words that flit through my mind as I run, drive, back- just go. Like fireflies, I cannot be still and contain them on pen and paper. You must hold on tight to them, scrunch up your nose to keep them from running away until you get to a stopping point. It’s as if passing through space propels the mind to grow and grasp. But then you stop and sit and all of the great and magical moments which you collected as you went seem to slip away without a word (very literally). But still, the grand thoughts ran over you like a fountain of water and you feel alive again. You try to place words with the great feelings of movement. Maybe that’s why when you sit still for too long, you feel your soul is dry.
There is a breathe of air that comes with the mountains, My eyes open, wider, wider at the sight, as if seeking to take in as much light as my little retnas will hold, so that when I’m back contained in brick walls of the ordinary, I can close my eyes and the light of expanse will still be hidden there, a mini-soul vacation still hidden within.
This past weekend was one of those moments of movement, where you said “let the road heal me”. Sometimes looking at a map is an escape itself, but too often it’s not enough. We have to go and seek out the light of mountaintops and great unknowns and rows of books. It was the soul vacation of one day, but let in enough light to hold for a few more moments of sitting still.
These are the days that must happen to you. -Walt Whitman
They are yours. Breathe them in.
Hold onto the lights you see and the goodness of motion.