I learned, too, that it is not necessary to focus on a leader,
a philosophy, or a technique to contact deep mystical currents.
By facing intense sunlight and storms during the bike trek, I was
in direct contact with the ancient, transcendental kingdom of nature.
By observing my thoughts clarify as they projected and pulsed over fields,
lakes, and mountains, I drew closer to the land, to the creation.
By wrestling with winds born of colossal power, I was forced to make
constant leaps of faith to merely carry on. But now, sitting by
the Eskimo dog, I contemplated the awesome blackness of the night.
I was unaware that the bicycle journey itself had been a natural
expression of mysticism.
The following day, I ascended the purple peaks of the Continental Divide.
The sky was clear; the wind, calm. A sign indicated that waters
to the east flowed toward the Atlantic, and to the west, the Pacific.
It did not indicate that the waters might return and follow
a different path. I dismounted the 12-speed. Fragments of Rama's
deepest hooks still lurked in my heart. But I was doing better now.
The healing process had begun. Facing the east while walking
backwards to the west, I quickly retracted my thumb whenever a vehicle
or driver seemed unsuitable or unsafe to take me for a ride.
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