Miraculous Orbit
by Al Klinger
When Jerry told me we were ready for the mountains, I thought he was losing
it. Had just completed another weekend in and around Lake Geneva. Wisconsin
filled with hills, some more challenging than others. Once you get the hang of
the gears, they’re not that difficult. But you gotta remember I was approaching
sixty. Wonderful to give your body tasks of which it is not sure. Remarkable to
see arms, legs, chest, hands, fingers, eyes, ears respond, come to focus on
roads, distance, heights, traffic, surrounded by trees, vegetation, landscape.
Connected as I am to urban panoramas all my life, I am entranced by encompassing
blue sky, cloud formations ever changing. Generous what it metes out: heat,
winds, cold enfolds me in an envelope of air, oxygen, a blanket of all kinds
from everywhere.
Think about it: our planet, circling the sun, in some miraculous orbit, by some irrational group of circumstances, giving us just about the right light, heat, water, air, going at it for five billion years, leading in mysterious zigzag ways so that we can stand upright on two legs, swing two arms, can place our fingers side by side with dreams, imagination, build temples, cathedrals, skyscrapers, cities, repair bodies, give new life, health, vision.
What were the forces that sculpted us? I cannot explain this mystery, this current in which we are caught over which we have so little control. I only know I have been given this opportunity to live its drumbeat, its dance, its tantalizing beckoning to explore my existence, my uniqueness. Taste, smell, see, hear, be in each moment which comes and goes, never experienced before or again, share its pain, pleasure, uncertainty with you.
Its great depth and power surges out of the deepness of ourselves towards each other, through each other, soldering, creating overwhelming, yet flowing, flowering, flexing, making contacts.
Whatever has made them, Jerry, Martin, Geri, Bill, Steve, Presser, Peshkin, Lieber, Tony, Mitch, Hank, Bruce, Rich, Peter, Skip, their friends, companions, partners, families anoint me, empowering whatever is decent, awaken what is drowsy, raising to prominence the preeminence of their presence, a privilege dreamt of by many but hardly ever realized.
When I ride in the rain, in the cold, against the wind, lie down on ground where there is little forgiveness, somewhere within me there is fear I might not live up to expectations, I will fail. This life I am leading, these experiences I am experiencing are frontiers where only a few have come in any age. What a gift to be part of it. It is not that I can create joy. It just arises spontaneously, light as a spring breeze, to be shared in great quantities with each person.
This is what it is when I am steeped in this group, within this room, outside in the air, exchanging views, listening, trying to understand, coming up short, searching, groping for epiphanies, pearls, jewels which fill my interstices, calms my nerves, quiets my head strengthens my attachments to myself, to every all. It is enormously basic what we appropriate.
Each one of us is the whole world though we are tinier than atoms in the scheme of things, there is treasure in each and every. The full measure of where I have started, where I have been where I am going cannot be calculated nor should it. It is many lifetimes, it is an enormous expanse of time, and yet it is the blink of an eye. There is so much left, so little time. Each moment is a ruby of an instance, an emerald of an interval. So much is discovered, so many worlds hidden.
Come explore with me each second, its fractions, the flashes, the flesh of which I am barely aware, fantasies which are close to the truth. Use time to examine, relate to each particle of existence we roll between the fingers and the thumb. I shall never know it all. Nor shall I ever know its fullness. It is part of the adventure. I am high up there in the crow’s nest, catching the spray, still learning to ride every wave, attempting to maintain equilibrium. It can be lonely. But it is bracing whether it is gentle or cyclonic.
It helps me understand where I’ve been, where I’m going, with whom I’ve been, companions whom I cherish, remembering their touch, words, lips, caresses, openness, generosity, needs, wants, fulfilling desires, forgetting harshness of conflicts, learning how the whole thing works, demanding, punishing , pushing, rewarding.
And yet what I understand is full of leathery creaks. It can be a wild thing, worth honing. I take it wherever it takes me. It is not an easy thing riding bareback. The falls do hurt. It’s the picking up, the laying down, the brushing up, the soothing of scrapes, bruises, the raising after the lowering, the disconnects, the loose ends which open the eyes, puts pizzazz in the pastiche.
Not every junction box has the electricity. But numerous times, even when the bills haven’t been paid, the lights come on and flames from friendship loosen the joints, make the juices flow. This can happen in any season, in any current in many kinds of boats.
Just embrace me, then let me go, now we can ride.