Two Wheels to There…
“There” can, of course, be where, a spatial spot, a physical place. Here, though, it is abstract and elusive, a state of altered perceiving at least and altered being maybe. Hopefully.
It might be kin to places and other experiences rare and personal, an effect of such elements, how one is and where in time and space and self-perception: sweltering or frigid, windblown or tranquil, drenched or parched, or perfect; companioned by another or by music or by wild sounds, or alone with quiet; spiritual or theistic, or not. There might be prayer for the irreligious.
Surely it is shy, and so attempting to describe it further might be futile. Not only for the typical inadequacy of language does it defy description, but such attempting itself seems sacrilegious: There is an inscrutable invaluable that won’t suffer definition… The more one tries, the more elusive it becomes. Silently, there retreats.
It cannot be led or even lured. The most that one maybe can do is cultivate its preferred terrain: make room for its unannounced arrival, relish its brief presence, and be ready for its certain departure. Yet don’t suppose that there is shallow. It might be the stillest waters, from which one would be lucky never to re-emerge.
Perhaps it’s like that declared unalienable right, most precious next to its prerequisites life and liberty: the pursuit of happiness. To which access–not attainment–is guaranteed. The essence, then, might be in anticipating, not in apprehending.
There…
