DEPARTURE
There is a man exerting great effort in some bizarre version
of a power-walk up the hill of the residential area in San Bruno, California where
I have parked my car at my cousin’s house in preparation to leave for Costa
Rica. The man might actually be running
in slow motion. He has a rope tied about his waist. My mind can’t make sense of it all for a
minute as my eyes follow along the taut length of the rope and see it is dragging
a tire along the cement. Across the
street, I exhale a plume of smoke out my car window and fumble for my camera to
capture what my mind can barely make sense of and what is in direct opposition
to my current desires; to rest my body, soul, mind, and heart on my favourite
beach in Costa Rica and do nada.
A part of me detests this man because he is a reflection of
myself on a daily basis, trudging up the insurmountable mountain of life,
dragging a metaphorical tire along the way, using every ounce of energy, and
having something which is already difficult be much more challenging. It is not of my own volition; I am not
training for something for fun or glory or simply to get in shape.
