I am sitting in one of the more amenable neuvo-beach establishments in Boracay, listening to some type of upbeat Latin rhythm that has (over-produced) propulsion, reminding me that it took Leonard Cohen 50 years of intentional plodding to get anywhere. The tao is with me as an aware person, open and learning.
I have so many stories to tell and I just can't seem to find the time. That is the ultimate crutch of the unpaid writer who wants to really describe a world he inhabits. Nothing is paid except with conditions––and people who know me know my obverse unconditionality. To be the rare writer who can harness the Internet to create condition-free prose, the Martian.
Or not to be.
I have observed playing in the moment, bamboo kissing lips, thinking of where I would like to travel––moments of bridge to strangers, fellow humans, we transcend nationality and experience communion. I have received a thousand thank you's and a few rolled eyes.
I have not succumbed (much) to temptation––the above-the-fray power of music should not be debased. Can I feast with my eyes, can I dance circles around a bonfire with a simple smile? I can and it is through this that I find strength. The generations before and after, questing for something beyond the pedantic.