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The Art of Leisure


The last couple of days we have been talking a lot about traveling.
We’ve also begun to learn each other’s habits.

Everybody travels a specific way, with certain principles and for certain purposes.
In conversation, the question of how to travel tends to show up again and again.
Travel light? Travel prepared?
Travel without distraction? Travel and stay connected?
Travel alone? Travel together?

Why am I traveling?
How am I traveling?

These cities are wrapped in a language of delight.
The streets are full of my freedom.
And daily I am savouring the delight of each syllable.

This rhythm is my rest,
a stillness full of rewards to myself.
Thank you body for the last five years.
Thank you will for all your hard work.
Thank you soul for the painful growing.
Thank you life for all your fullness.

This moment is the bend in the river.
So I am remembering, I am tasting, I am seeing and I am floating.
there is a solitude that not even the sticky heat of midday sun can penetrate.
there is a joy that skips and laughs with each jerking movement of the train.

Perhaps we are all carrying far more in us than the weight of our luggage.
These eyes see in the light of how far I’ve come and close in the dark of what is yet to be.
These veins are intersections full of sweaty mopeds and black dust, quiet waiting on the curbs.
These ears are hills and ravines on the edge of car windows hiding the sounds of a city.
These shoulders burnt as they are know the scraping pain of a passing story better now.
These legs know the black calligraphy of dirt lines punctuated with the hardness of swelling ankles.

There is a sun setting in this city and we have traveled to watch it.
What else is there to say?
I am only thankful to have time to turn my head upwards for that patch of rainbow in the sky and draw my name into the tideland with a stick.
I am only thankful to have noticed the lighthouse beginning its evening wink.

Tell me, is there anything more
like the art of leisure than a peach pink sky?

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