It was one of those days when the movie of your life should have won an Academy award for best screenplay. The twists and turns knocked everyone out, the plot was as tight as high-end waterproof luggage, and the soundtrack matched how everyone felt that year with uncanny accuracy.
All you know is it’s one of those days when the music fits how you feel like a jigsaw puzzle edge-piece: tongue in groove on one side, a nice straight line on the other, like driving until you reach the ocean.
How you feel matches the cloud structure, these particular blues of sky and sea, the quality of the light coming through.
Nothing you’ve heard about the definitions of pleasure or pain – or what they are supposed to mean – has anything to do with your experience now.
You take a breath, quite possibly the best one yet. It’s such a relief to finally stop wondering what will happen in the next scene, to stop worrying about how the story might end, and just sit there.
You just sit there, drinking your drink, feeling the support of the ground beneath you, and practice letting go into that feeling. Maybe the sun breaks through the clouds, maybe it rains. You mostly go on feelings lately. These days, you never know which thoughts you can trust.
The air stirs, moving over your skin, rustling your hair, your shirt, almost imperceptible, sensual. The air is fine, warm and soft. As your mother once was, as your father once was.
You eat a little something, very slowly, and feel – for the time being – free.