April 1-3, 2011
Rochester, MI
a moment of complete simplicity…
Don’t surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deeply.
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.
-Hafez-
March 20, 2011
10:25 am
Smugglers Notch, Vermont, USA
I did not take this, but you get the idea.
It was my first run of the day. The day before had been enjoyable, but so cold and windy that I had a difficult time focusing on anything but how much my fingers and toes burned with cold. But today was different. A bright sun warmed the snow to a soft touch and warmed my body enough to waken my senses to everything else that was around.
The mountain was surprisingly empty and there was barely any wait before we were scooped up by the chair lift like balls of ice cream. And up we went. And up and up and up. At moments, ascending so steeply that it seemed we could reach out and touch the rock face in front of us.
When we finally reached the top, we were one with the great blue sky around us. Mount Washington’s snow-capped peak was vividly visible in the distance and the Green Mountains cascaded for as far as our eyes could see. But we only paused for a moment to take it all in. It was time to ski.
A long winding trail brought us around the widest point of the mountain and as I curved into the soft powder I had to wrestle between taking in the wonder around me and focusing on the task at hand. Amidst the movement, stillness.
I played a game in my head as I tried to follow behind my partner, but my mind was literally filled with the green trees enveloping the trail and the expansive horizon giving way to the infinite distance and the equal task of staying aware and in control of myself as I soared down the mountainside.
“Was he having the same experience?” I wondered. ”Where do others wander as they focus on the rhythm and movements at hand?” Two people, sharing the same experience, but how different each of those experiences must be!
And despite the trail feeling longer and more circuitous than any before, it was over too soon and time to try again. The remainder of the day proved to be the greatest day of skiing either of us had ever encountered, but no moment matched the vivid illumination and wonder of that first run of the day.
March 16, 2011
8:22 am
Boston, MA, USA
Flour Bakery and Cafe
There is something about the combination of blueberries and cinnamon that ignites a rapid fire of sensational memories that are really only half memories at best. I remember eating warm blueberries and cereal during my most intense days of hockey training — feeling powerful and in control of everything that I did. I taste strength. I taste pride in myself. I taste fearlessness. I taste hope. I remember blueberry pancakes and the taste of innocence. The warmth connects me to who I was before and who I want to be. The steel cut oats took time to prepare and remind me to take the time to eat them for myself – not for my job, not for the news articles I could be reading, not for the conversations I could be having or emails I could be sending. And it’s just not the same without the cinnamon. The flavors marry with a power that is at once subtle and direct – is that not what we all aspire to be? If only my spoon wasn’t so damn big.
6 pm
I – 94
Minnesota.
My car rounds the highway on ramp.
The sun hits the windshield at about 45 degrees.
Its rays catch the wet surface of the tarmac.
The light is warm.
Not that steel winter blue light.
Yellow and orange.
It’s slowly melting the great Minnesota glacier.
And my heavy winter heart.
3/15/2011 (Ides of March, Ides of Watson)
1:10 pm
Medford, Massachusetts
Running down Medford Street.
Music blaring in headphones (Shakira’s “Waka Waka” to be exact).
Finally starting to warm up enough that I don’t need to wear gloves and only one layer of pants.
Sun is shining brilliantly.
This is my second workout of the day and the rest of the day I’ve been working on the couch in sweat pants.
Running downhill and picking up steam.
A young father is walking his two small boys – one in a Pats’ Jersey one in a Sox shirt – up the hill. They all stop on either side of the sidewalk to let me by.
“Thanks” I say, likely too loudly even though I can’t hear myself.
I pick up more speed and hear it comes. Exhilaration bubbling up in my chest. My fists pump. This is fun. Finally fun. I feel alive and connected. Maybe more connected than I’ve felt in months.
mOmahones
comahones
