Trailblazing.... tires inflated with nitrogen....
Regaining composure after a few laps, thinking to myself "It's a Wonderful Life" and all, that jazz, and stuff. Coming back to myself, having intermittent moments of clarity, such that make some people nervous; as we know, the usual dissipation is a profit to some, and a prophet to others.
The blithe unseemingly quality of all, and myself, have I become a monk?
It was process, a thoughtful and contrived process of coming back to one, in a sense even remembering who I was in various stages. I was giving myself the advice of Epictitus, that it was only opinion and not much else, and my own self was safely in it's protective box.
The world could seem different, then myself, for a place to be secure within, look to myself, and find myself different, and upon some reflection, and finally coming back to self in the analysis, the world then looks different, and I'm in my familiar thing.
Things as the usual dissipation then, can satisfy not much more as usual, for the eyes were different, the inside was different, then anschluss and the outside appeared different.
Process. An experience held within the psyche, and without, in the spirit.
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