Leaving

Some times I'm in Mexico in my mind
I'm sitting on the water, watching the sun go down
I am . . .

The time changed.
When the alarm goes off now, I easily slide out of bed, lace my shoes, and leave. Which is fortunate, because leaving is something at which I seem to excel.

And everyone is laughing, now
But, instead, I grieve
Cause I know, some day soon, I gotta leave . . .

I don't even bother with my iPod this morning. I need some transcendental meditation. No sounds but my pulse, my breathing, and all those introspective demons rolling around in my brain. Those bastards make quite the racket these days.

So I'm leaving
I am . . .

I am barely up. The sun isn't up at all. I can see some walkers on the other side of the street, and I am halfway muttering to myself. Is it a chant? A mantra? Just thoughts? Am I singing to myself?

You say that you don't understand who I've become
Well, static vision's never been my claim
Would you believe it if I said we never had to be?
That what we had together was the change?

I hit the one-mile mark, the fog still rolling out over the golf course. Very Poe. I expect The Raven to quoth Nevermore from hole three - the hole where I scored my first par as well as my first hole-out for a decent score.

And somehow we couldn't see it
So somehow we couldn't leave it . . . .

The lights run in my favor and I don't really have to stop. Nice. I keep drinking, my breath feels ragged, I must be dehydrated. Did I have enough water yesterday? I have to keep my voice clean. I have a few hours of v/o work this week.

It's going to be a big day. But it's always going to be a big day when you're me.

And I
Wasn't planning my escape
I wasn't planning our demise
I wasn't planning anything for certain - I wasn't, just hurtin'

Why isn't it like this for most of the year? I feel like I'm sailing through the air, although my knees are a bit stiff from my 4-hour workout on Sunday. I look up to the oaks along hole 17. I smile and soak in their breath as they exhale.

But the time I've spent away
Has helped me realize
I can't go on believing
That I wasn't always leaving . . . .

I smile and soak up my own energy as I exhale. I'm a Zen Zombie now. I thank my fingers, toes and feet for funtioning. I thank my groin, hip flexors, calves for not hurting. My eyes for seeing, my heart and lungs for repeatedly circulating my blood and breath and pain and enlightenment.

I've been on the verge most all of my life
Praying for the moment, hoping for anything at all

What's my turnaround? That's right, Cantrell. Like Duke. Like Blu. There are other runners headed toward me now. The sun is rising. They're all men. They all wave. Runners - such a friendly lot.

Fading in and out of cognizence
Falling in and out of competence
Waiting for the tears to fall

I wonder if any of them is having the experience I'm having, or if it's just another sweat session for them. Are they out of their body the way I'm out my mind? Yoga is the only other place I can feel what I'm feeling right now. Now the ladies are out. They wave too.

Waiting for the tears to fall

What I'm feeling is the kind of peace one can only feel when there is no peace. When everything inside is at war.

And leaving
I am . . . .

words and music (c) 2003 MAJ