Eyes burning from heavy lids.
Kicking Television is the soundtrack.
Green and Brown window scenes.
Orange, Yellow, Red falling from trees.
Young boy practicing karate on his father.
Two men speaking to me in words I do not understand.
New wellies under my chair.
Tunnel: Black. Ears popping. Loud.
I pop out to a split world:
It's all yellows and golds on bottom as cornfields lay out a blanket on the earth.
Solid clear blue is draped on top - filling the rest of the canvas.
This is my ride from Cambridge.

Jeff Tweedy and I are trying to process.
Digest and sort all the input of the last few weeks.
Books, films, lectures, conversations...the density is making me heavy.
But there is something I am holding onto. A flashlight to see through the brush.

I am a product of my environment. "A child of my era; ironically an almost obedient child visibly following the mores of the cultural milieu in which it was nurtured." Shaped by Romanticism and the Enlightenment I am simply walking on the path laid out for me.
In this increasingly "Post-Christian" world I am not brave. My thoughts are not 'counter-culture.' I am not 'thinking outside of the box.' I am simply following suit. I am simply falling in line.

This thought. Partially and poorly represented here, was voiced to me in a book I read with love. A book I just finished written by a non-Christian man on his journey through several intentional communities.

It has thrown me off balance.
Add to my brokenness this perfectly chilling perspective and I am left flat on my back. Crying in my sleep.
It has stopped the wind from stroking my arrogant sails and yet given me some sort of irrational hope.

Train. Underground. Switch lines. Second train. Bus.
I am almost home. Almost able to begin my 40 minute walk home.
"Unlock my body and move myself to dance."
The soundtrack plays my favorite line.

I am trying. I am trying.