Free Write

It is a mystery that I have always wanted to unfold. I had felt the sensation only once in my life. Only once was there that type of momentum. It was like waiting, seemingly for a life time, on a slow almost motionless river for the actual burst of speed; the break of the slow stream to the rush of the rapids. Change. Returning from Italy with my worn out shoes and white shirt turned yellow with sweat, I had just come out of a level six rapid called my mission. Barely alive, I had never felt so good. Two and a half years later, I wonder if I will ever see rapids like that again. It seems like I have been sitting in a sea of still waters with no wind of change ever to propel me forward. My sail totters back and forth waving, waiting monotonously for any glimpse of gust or gale. I sit waiting in a lonely sail boat waiting, painful waiting. Reaching its mast as high as it can for any help from higher winds, the sails ache for any sign of opportunity to open wide their sailcloth and break this stillness with a majestic momentum that gets faster and faster, with beautiful bursts of speed, thrashing through the water, making perceivable, awaited progress. If only that would be the case! I crave this change, I hunger and thirst for it. The growling of my impatience gets stronger and stronger; my patience parched and dried out. Why can't I change any faster? It's a mystery I want to unfold.