welcome to Slices, a weekly-ish publication of poetry, creative nonfiction, and more. subscribe to get the next post right in your inbox! okay, i’m gonna bring up therapy again. once my therapist learned that i rode a motorcycle, and commented on how i would probably, inevitably, crash (i’m not offended, every non-rider is compelled by the universe to remind riders how dangerous it is for some reason), he took it on as a creative metaphor. do you ever feel asleep? like you walk around and you’re just there? the people around you are blurs and life is flowing around you like beige goo? that is what happens when we’re not paying attention to our inner existence. like Neo in the Matrix, we are living in one reality while remaining asleep in another. all our thoughts, emotions, and beliefs flow through us unbidden. as my therapist has pointed out, many many times, riding a motorcycle requires constant awareness; external awareness to see and understand the road, the environment, and any dangers; internal awareness to see and understand where my focus is at, if i am limited physically in my ability to ride safely. if this sounds tiring to you, i will confirm that riding can be very exhausting. this constant awareness and mental processing takes a lot of energy. it takes a lot of practice, too, to mitigate threats and ride defensively. the instant i no longer practice this is the exact time i put myself at risk of death or worse. with this metaphor applied to real life, how can i not strive to live more awake? paying attention and living within understandable reach of my mind, heart, and soul are now more essential than ever to me. i have lived so much of my life unaware of myself, and this has led to dangerous situations: bad relationship choices, painful words, poor money habits, alcohol dependency, and more. it’s my hope that every day i can face myself and continue to live awake. what about you? how do you go about choosing to be awake? here’s the poem: Thruxton Meditations It takes far too long to settle into myself I can only think of the things left behind, things unsaid, undone, half-done. And then the motor rumbles to life. The sound calls to me, like a heartbeat reminding me that I need to get away, to be away, to be myself and inside my own body, looking through my eyes of flesh, not those of a scattered mind. Clutch, rev match, down shift, speed into the curve, the camber calling my existence into question— I must keep my real eyes up and ahead; I must remain firmly planted, connected to the seat, knees hugging the bumblebee-yellow gas tank for dear life; there is no room for error. To be distant, to get distracted, to hide away within myself means destruction. There is only myself on this death machine, hurtling through the air perfumed with asphalt and fumes, past hills browned by winter’s touch. There is only the control in my hands and feet and eyes to keep myself safe; it is just like life. Close your eyes, close your heart, and you will lose everything; But enough of that. My heart races, my soul smiles, and on this motorcycle, I am totally free. Get the next poem right in your inbox by subscribing here: Thank you for reading! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com
