“The self-contraction is a feeling of interior tension, often localized behind the eyes, and anchored in a slight muscle tension throughout the bodymind. It is an effort and a sensation of contracting in the face of the world. It is a subtle whole-body tension. Simply notice this tension.” Ken Wilber One Taste
The stops on the westbound Corydon #18 bus route to Assiniboine Park are:
Lilac – where I get on, one gets off.
Wentworth – does not stop.
Stafford – two get off, one gets on.
I am sitting alone in a two-seater half way down the curb side of the bus. It is a hot day and the windows are bent open for the breeze. In front of me is a man with close-cropped hair. Nestled between the hairs, tiny beads of sweat glisten on his scalp. I am reflected…
Harrow – one gets off.
Guelph – does not stop.
…in every shiny bead. His hair is recently cut, the scalp is almost white. The black hair, stark against the pale skin, swirls out of a central place at the back of the man’s head. The whorl is not centred directly on the back of his head but slightly off to the upper left. Three beads at the edge of his hairline merge to form a drop of sweat that runs slowly down the back of his tanned neck and soaks into his t-shirt. I am…
Wilton – three get on.
Rockwood – one gets off.
Thurso – does not stop.
…staring into the whorl as it begins to spin. I let the spiral of black hair drag me into its vortex. It trips a mindful switch in my awareness. The force of the spin from the whorl is bringing my own self-contraction painfully to the surface, so obvious I cannot…
Cambridge E. – one gets off, two get on.
Cambridge W. – two get on.
Waverly – one gets on, one gets off.
… ignore it. The evidence is so plain. I am fully wet, the waves have subsided and I rest now simply, here, as the wetness, evolving through and incarnated in all things. The spin from the whorl feels like electric prickles on my fingertips. My living whorls are torn from my fingertips by small tornadoes. I am…
Elm – does not stop.
Ash – does not stop.
Niagara – one gets off.
Brock – stops but wrong stop for passenger.
… who? A slow elegant wave washes behind my eyes, a massage from inside. I am prone. I am….
Campbell – two get off.
… a beach. The contraction is loosening. I am fluid as submerged sand. Tiny vortexes shuffle me along the sandy bottom. I am…
Lindsay – does not stop.
Lanark – two get off, two get on.
… an illusion between witnesses. I am…
Centennial – does not stop.
Lockwood – does not stop.
Kenaston – two get one, one gets off.
… watching. Balance gone now. Does not matter. The world is releasing me. No. I am releasing myself. No. Releasing is happening anyway and I am just tuning into it for now. And now. And now. I am…
Ubique – does not stop.
Doncaster – does not stop.
Edgeland – does not stop.
…floating. There is only Emptiness. A sense of Freedom. And here…
Southport – does not stop.
Handsart – does not stop.
Park – one gets off.
Kelvin – does not stop.
Laidlaw – does not stop.
…another arising. Just let it arise, abide for its time then recede back into the Emptiness. That is it, just allow your uncontracted self to kick off its shoes and feel the sand between its toes. Oozing up through…
Shaftesbury – two get off.
Shaftesbury W. – one gets off.
…the sand are fresh blades of green grass that…
Zoo – everyone but me gets off.
…spread like a stain across the land, turning the dark earth into the colour of…
Zoo Loop – this is where I get off. One gets on.
Out the back door of the bus onto the asphalt pavement, I take two steps before reaching the green grass. I take off my shoes and the earth begins to meld with me. I am rapidly dissolved up to my heart in the green shimmer of the grass. There I pause, appearing like a store display torso for a moment, before finishing my resolve to dissolve. Accomplished.
I love going to the park.
June 8, 2002