Pause to understand the manifolds of the group…
How derivative the nature of our thinking can be…
How climbing the slope can yield the maximization of power…
How maximal joy can be found through integration. 

Years ago I went on a future-trip
To an unimaginably distant land
Full of wonders and richness I was unworthy of

Where the natives growled and howled and snarled
Throwing rocks and stones and barbs upon me
Whispering “you don’t belong! you don’t belong!”

Now I live in that distant land
And find no natives, but travelers
All whispering “Do I belong? Do I belong?”

Yet my mind still lies to me and says
In the future lands I must visit
I am unworthy. I do not belong.

A giant pink dildo in a bear-proof trashcan in San Francisco’s Presidio.
More people are asleep than awake. 
A man collapsed with a needle in his arm on Sixth Street.
At times we all run alone in the dark.
A stray brown dog that ran with me up a Turkish mountainside.
We are rarely as alone as we think.
A homeless woman cheering me on on Market Street.
Friends will run along side us no matter how dark it is.

Shivering in the fog overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.
We have limits.
Gently jogging to meet the sunrise over the Oakland Bay Bridge.
The importance of conservation of energy.
The lights of Waikiki twinkling below the pill boxes atop Diamond Head.
We have hidden reserves.
The kind ER doctor who inquired if I planned suicide in Mission Bay.
Our limits are often not what we think they are.

An eight-foot-tall clown’s head protruding from fog in Stern Grove.
The absurdity of it all.
Accidentally stumbling upon the Little Mermaid in Copenhagen.
The serendipity of life when we let go.
Volunteers with orange sherbet at mile twenty-two in Napa.
The pride of going the distance.
Clanking masts gently kissing in the Dubrovnik harbor.
The love that awaits our return.

A freshly-murdered man at Christmas Tree Point.
We cannot stay awake forever. 
Coyotes scurrying by in Corona Heights.
When we awaken it is time to start running.
Resting a moment in a New Orleans’ graveyard.
Recovery is part of the journey.
The drifter asking “what time is it?” on Billionaires’ Row.
When awake, the answer is now.