THE NAKED ANIMAL

I've been feeling so misanthropic, curmudgeonly, and paralyzed by my hopelessness regarding the human drama and my still undefined place in it that all I've been doing is wandering around the house or lying on my bed in a half-conscious stupor. Two nights ago, my body had finally had enough, apparently, because it had me up and walking out the door before my manic mind or dormant spirit could catch up with it. That night, I walked for three hours, aimlessly, making turns without thinking, zigzagging through the backstreets of Hollywood while the good people of the world dreamt of sugar plums, or whatever it is the good people of the world generally dream about.

Walking in LA at night is a very old technique of mine, developed in college and mastered in my twenties, wherein I was able to glean all sorts of things about my chosen city of residence that I would never have learned at any other time but during those few wee hours of the dark, early morning. But I'm no longer looking for oddball late-night adventures or glimpses of paradise through dark shadows. My current walking spree is taking on a firmly inward character, so much so that I barely notice the other people around me as I wander--not that there are that many pedestrians about at two in the morning. What few fellow walkers do appear are all either crazy or drunk, and probably assume that I am, as well. Ignoring others unless they insist is common practice when late-night power-walking. Just in case you decide to take it up....

It sounds funny to call what I'm doing power-walking, but that must be exactly what it looks like to people. I'm not doing it to keep in shape--though it never hurts--but to lose myself in the rhythm of my steps while the bounce and motion gently jackhammer the sedimentary gunk that has so slowed down my soul as of late. I'm walking because it's the only way I can tolerate at the moment to reconnect to my own power. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. It's a different kind of power-walking, I guess.

That first walk, I strode off layer after layer of latent rage, and since those layers seem to settle back upon me fairly soon after each cleansing, I find myself doing the same during every walk. Last night, I walked Venice Beach to the Santa Monica Pier and back so fast that I could've kept up with rollerbladers if there had been any. There were quite a few people on the beach at midnight, to my surprise; dark little human forms crouched or standing here and there, some alone and some in pairs; I'd notice them as I approached, but pass by so quickly that I didn't even have time to develop any interest about them. It felt quite good to be so detached from anything but the beat of my feet in the surf and the sound of the waves as they broke. I was hoping for lots of stars, but that part of the coast is so bright that you might as well be in downtown Hollywood. You gotta go up past Malibu to see any stars, or at least as far as Topanga, which I may do one of these coming nights.

Today, I literally stormed out of bed, into my sneakers, and onto the streets before I could rub the sleep from my eyes. By the time my mind was fully aware of what I was doing, I was down on 6th St. and La Brea--a good 2 or 3 miles from where I live. I momentarily dreaded the walk back, but once my feet headed me homeward, the dread fell away and my pace kept my spirit and mind at peace. I hate to even say what my mind and spirit are like when they're not at peace, but let me just remark here that I certainly do empathize with all sorts of terrorists during those less than peaceful times. In fact, I feel like I'm right on the edge of either hurting myself or others, and luckily, my body has found this incredibly simple way to keep me from acting on these almost-impulses. I DO scream or, shall we say, "emote vocally" sometimes while I'm walking, which, I'm sure, does nothing for my image as a sane person.

Besides, I think that absolutely everyone in the world is completely insane no matter how sane they appear to be. There's no other explanation for the mass insanity that passes for pleasure, politics, and progress. I'm realistic enough at this point to know that there's no one out there who's going to beam me up out of this mess, and I lost the ability to fly many, many lifetimes ago. But as long as I have feet that can take me from one place to another, I still believe that I can get there (Where? Ah, that's an entirely other question)...at my own pace.

Categories: emotions, transformation, healing, exercise