district circle

It is strange how when you anticipate something or the arrival of someone, you tend to see them in your dreams first. As if you were being drawn outside yourself, only to find what you had always known, loved.

Running, early morning, skies grey but bright and shimmering in places, with a metallic sheen; you notice the flat and dim sunlight on the tiles: how ancient such a scene all is!

A boy and girl walk hand-in-hand to some distant corner, looking for a space. 

You notice brown and black birds fighting with one another. Ignore. A quick memory of last night's dinner (Caesar salad and caked Alaska, if you must), of your colleague who poured his heart out to you: "I'm being pushed into a corner, they're devouring me".

At first, the task at hand: the "unifying" of the body: first upper torso and lower, then the specifics: hands, feet, arms; finding the pace, seeking the moment  it all comes together. Breath, timing, awareness. Shoulders loose, the palm of your hands open; then the world ceases, falls all around you. The zone. The right frame of mind. In sync., means nothing at all, the nothingness of the world. The last lap, tiredness in your heavy legs. The elements shared between red earth and you. A fly at eye-level levels with you, accompanies you for a quarter; you pick up the thin voice of a black bird in the horizon, register its precise notes, as they come to you like a thin line. A bird swoops down before your path, its feathers slick back, streamlined. Your heart expands, ready to receive any Form. Ibn Arabi. Your mind clear at last, imageless, thought broken, the circle line emerges joyfully into the green. A final word on your lips, as you approach the end that was imagined from the beginning: "Fuck!"

Students with guitars singing, their songs on the breeze; the girls all dreamy-eyed at their feet; they've probably been together through the night. Their song, some stuff about revolution or death.