Some days I believe I am not capable of thinking clearly while stationary.
I need to move.
In feet or miles.
In truth or behind closed eyes.
As if the very act of movement is enough to create the momentum necessary to escape the mire of ordinary life. To slip free the moorings of my mind and think.
Movement as an expenditure of energy or conceptualized promise of change.
Movement as an idea, as an ideal.
Movement is my muse, my catalyst of hope.
I often wished, when I was running regularly, that I could somehow write down or record the thoughts that occured to me on those early morning tours around the lake.
Often I would not remember them upon my return to ‘life’. Which may be fortunate, depending on how you look at it.
Once again, you’ve hit the nail on it’s stationary head.
I don’t know. It seems like too much is moving, then maybe it’s not moving fast enough. I get so overwhelmed, then underwhelmed.
*shakes cobwebs out of head*
Ugh.