I'm coming down off two weeks of Adventure. An adventure that took on a life of its own. It was a practice. A movement. A flow. To surrender. To be. I tried to have no expectations, only to be shown them and then to strip away. I couldn't have had a more perfect adventure.
But it's over. I'm back in my city. I've changed. I'm reminded of a line of poetry I wrote about Foz de Iguacu 20 years ago.
I went and took, what did I leave in return? My change.
Leaving Las Vegas, the 15 destination Los Angeles did not bring the delight to my heart that normally fills my chest. I watched the glittering city in the Mojave fade away as I drove west to my city on the coast, feeling this strange loss of pleasure at returning home.
Back in my grid, I'm trying to find that sparkle. I bury myself in her streets and freeways - the 210, 110, the 5, 10, 101, La Brea, Beverly, 3rd, Olympic, Pico, Fountain, Santa Monica, Fairfax. I go to my gym, work myself hard, sweat in the strange humid weather. I run errands, talk to my friends. I catch up on email and procrastinate my work. I listen to music, walk the dog. I bury myself in my city and my habits. I'm looking for me I was before I left, but she isn't here. She's not me.
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