Journeying

The grey clouds with their powerful display of ambiguous authority create a heavy ceiling bearing frigid gusts as I set off home. My hand shakes as I close the door behind me. I am tense and stiff, losing my balance as I walk but maintaining a level of control that keeps me in motion, surprisingly. Steadying myself with one hand on the fence, I recognize my nervousness and partially blame it on the sudden change of temperature, unwilling to trace the anxiety to its origin. As this awareness fumbles around my conscious mind it becomes all the more pronounced.

Bending over to free the lock from the chain, I move as if in slow motion. The chain is cold to the touch and the links jingle together as I uncoil it from the fence and gather it in one hand. The other hand uncaps the lock to expose the keyhole and I place the key inside, yet, all the while observing the nervous vibrations pulsing through my body. The lock is snuggly replaced around the seat shaft and I unassuredly raise my leg over the seat and set my foot back on the ground, a little steadier than before. Cautiously eyeing the street for any yellow orbs tearing in my direction, my bike and I cross the threshold of the driveway and I suddenly realize that my journey here was somewhat hazy and the thick twilight of the newly rested sun has made any landmarks unrecognizable.

I head into the direction from whence I came a short while earlier, but am overwhelmed by the indistinct buildings surrounding me, undifferentiating one street from another. Something pulls me to the left. I pause and peer at the street sign from under the bright, conical projection of the streetlight. The name sounds familiar, but the direction is unknown. My countenance hardens and I strain my neck to conduct a thorough reading of my environment; the brow furrows and eyes narrow their perspective.

Exhaling, I push myself erect on the seat and try to hold myself in such a way that will best block out the cold wind. My feet manage to stay strong and controlled in their circular movements as I ride to the next sign. The stop sign ceases the motion of my body and my thoughts and I am reminded of my disorientation. I recognize the name but am again troubled with which direction to choose. I feel I should take another left, but turn my head right and my body follows. The contoured ridges of the handle dig into my hands as I tighten my grip. I pass one unfamiliar street and then another, and peer down the corridor of houses to the small lighted frame on the horizon and smile.

“Ahh…Montreal road” I think to myself.

I execute a quick turn across the two lanes and begin to back track riding away from the misdirection of the previous moment. I am a little better oriented now, heading North East.

I ride back to the original intersection and pass through the quadrant surprised at my pleasant demeanour. The cold is no longer my enemy but a brother in arms as it cools the internal embers of a spirit screaming for equanimity. This ever-present nervousness is but a symptom of its dis-ease and the cold provides a striking contrast to its ferocity. The interaction of these extremes feeds my strength as it passes through the thin fabric of my clothing, pushing me forward. I knew as I left home that it was going to be a brisk evening, but had not anticipated this. My emotional volatility seems somewhat akin to the capriciousness of Canadian weather – all four seasons in one day.  

Another memorable street. I am now cognizant that I am headed in the right direction and aware of my good pace kept with cool clarity, yet that anxious presence has not subsided. I squeeze the handlebars and allow the strength to surge up my arms. My laboured breathing alarms me, as it always does. At the next sign I smile and turn right. My feet, head and heart are all leading me on the right path, so why this internal unrest? I still struggle for a deeper breath but feel poised atop this wonderful piece of technology that requires my energetic commitment to fulfill its purpose. Some of the tension in my shoulders releases and I sit more firmly in my seat; heavy, centred – grounded.

I feel the lump in my throat and knot in my side and slump with a deflating sigh. The same baggage from the same thoughts, feelings and behaviours.

            “…How does one rid oneself of self-destructive habits? Why do we hold onto pain like we own it?” I think to myself.

I let out a forceful sigh. As I feel the restricted movements of my lungs trapped inside their caged housing, I suddenly become aware of the immediate centre point of my body. This awareness forces my spine straight of its own volition and causes my feet dig into the peddles. I smile again. My body is no longer a separate entity from the road, from the cars, from the atmosphere. All are travelling together one moment at a time; the strength in my core, the combustion of the engine, the charge in the clouds are all in time. The click, click, click of the spinning tire is steady and I begin to tap my hand against the handlebar to the rhythm on the count of one and three, and think to myself…

“…Music is a marriage of time kept and timelessness felt when you are lost in a moment…”

Another recognizable name. I immediately turn right without skipping a beat. My fingers are beginning to chill but my heart is warm and I shut my mind to the cold.  My ability to navigate through this suburban traffic trap surprises me since I usually feel caught like a rat in a maze from the all the seemingly nonsensical twists and turns. A self-pride inflates me and I hold myself with a relaxed authority as if a touring motorcycle were instead beneath me. My skittishness to the diminished sunlight is overcome with a feeling of unity with my environment; sight is no longer the predominant sense leading me home. I feel as if I were tied to a tether wound through the streets that will lead me to my door. Looking to my right, my eye catches a tall, willowy tree in its early spring bloom and it feels as if an ethereal elixir capable of calming the quick pace of time was being secreted from its form. The road is quiet now, free of any movement but the rotation of the circles carrying me to my destination. As I enter the mouth of a path that winds through a small forest, I immediately feel the fresh, still air that envelops wooded land.

As I move through the cool blanket, threads dance across my face and kiss my lips as I inhale, mixing this cool, peaceful substance with the inferno burning inside. The air permeates my thoughts and the current pushes them out through the back of my skull. I sit higher still, lighter. I am out on the other side, entering more suburbs. I hesitate for a moment, turn right, and then swerve back again. I know where I need to go.

A little frightened by this confident and wordless voice inside, I feel myself retracting into my mind: the slate where fear is manifest. Another recognizable name; a sigh of relief and a smile for my stupid doubt. I round a corner and come to a catwalk between two houses, linking cul-de-sacs. The bricks are purposefully raised to slow bikers. I cautiously slow my speed and straighten my legs to rise from my seat.

“Is it ever bumpy!”

I allow a quiet giggle to escape as I near the end. The vibrations have made their way into every part of my body, leaving me to feel as though I were glowing as I return to the smooth pavement. My knuckles are chapped from gripping so tightly in the wind, but I do not care.

As I shift gears, a hidden passage of my mind is sparked to light. My gaze moves inward as I investigate the permeable darkness, judging its depths and intentions whilst continuing my forward physical motion. My legs are moving to the metronomical sound of the rotations, my lungs heaving with respiration, my eyes are open to the road ahead, but I lose conscious presence for a moment. My mind is instantaneously hard at work drawing up a storyboard of demonic fantasies. That recess of my mind that wants itself to be known, grabbing hold of my attention. My stomach tightens, my shoulders rise towards my ears and my back inclines with a slight curve.

I snap back to reality, shaking my head to re-gain visual focus. A hard and fast exhalation passes through my lips as I ponder the split second journey from whence I just came: the mines of fear; those deep, dark parts of ourselves where guilt, shame, disappointment and despair are extracted from the infinitely abundant quarries of self-loathing. I may have been swift to shut the door this time, but it always swings back leaving itself slightly ajar.

I think to myself, “Why does my mind naturally take me to such scary places? What is fuelling this tirade?”

As I ride on in reflection of this unnecessary self-immolation, my attention is again called to my internal distress. I feel as though there were a constant standoff being staged between the voices calling out from the quarries of fear, trying to pull me further and further down into a self-contemptuous disparity, and the song of my spirit, a melody of simple wisdom and inherent strength so profound yet so subtle. They are waging a territorial and cacophonous battle of words within, trying to determine who will be victorious, a battle in which my outward successes or failures will be determined.

A break in the cloud reveals a waxing moon and my eyes turn to reflect its light. I look down at my hands upon the handlebar and my arms that extend out of them to meet my shoulders. I feel the weight of my body and my muscles react to the impact of the uneven road, a welcome sensation from the weightlessness of pure thought. From the painted lines of the road that grabbed my attention, I look up to the street sign. Through my cheeky half smile I exhale and peddle harder. I am but a few streets from home now and aware of my diminished anxiety. Closing my eyes for a moment I turn my face toward the sky and a thought enters my head:

“We are not brought into this world to be afraid but to feel feelings and experience experiences. Uncertainty of what lies around the next corner may be the tightrope we tread upon, but trust in oneself is the safety net.”

I round the last corner at a sharp angle and my knee threatens to scrape the pavement. I pick up the pace and speed right past my door without a glance.