Morning. Development cave is dimly lit. Searching the web. Searching my mind. The old urge to run with a posse, a pack of wolves, surfaces and planes other thoughts level.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
This urge is strong, imparting boldness and desire to run with tongue out. A pack running together, eyes bright and muscles pumping, we feel alive.
This urge is never far away. It sleeps when it must, waiting to remind and instruct. This urge is ancient and is never far from my mind. My ancestors must have wrestled with similiar. My offspring will likely share the dream of running over open terrain, tongue out, compeletely in the moment, now, now, full of now.
A pack working together, free of past and future, tongues out with joy, eyes bright with bold unfettered action. A day dream that weaves itself into my days without care for its nonsense, and I respond with equal lack of care for its nonsense. I dream of the running pack.