Those moments of stepping outside of yourself, when you know that you need to stay put, to stay grounded, but the activity in which you are engaged compels you to leap forth in joy and in faith that you will be received warmly by those to whom you have entrusted your precious, freed soul. Of course, none of this is considered to be the activity of one who is a grown-up, a man, a real salt-of-the-earth, prime fellow. This is the kind of freedom, when employed around the wrong kinds of people, can find you majorly indebted to them for years. You have handed over a part of your soul–even as you rush furtively to slip back inside yourself, you have already played your hand and revealed an inner truth that was meant to be kept a secret.
In other areas of thought, the construction pounds and beeps and groans and grinds mercilessly outside my window, reminding me that this is a time of wakefulness, not a time of sleep. I am continually re-set within the cast of being focused on the outer life, even as my mind can’t help but try to fall into a trance with one of the patterns of construction machinery.