Five pm on the dot, and an oystercatcher flies up my street whistling at the top of its voice. He's certainly not after oysters that's for sure. I had heard this little guy earlier in the day as I cycled past the river. I suppose being so near to the river means that other birds, normally seabirds, occasionally venture into the city. What luck then to live so near to the river. I sometimes think, what with the gulf stream, the swaying cabbage palm beneath my almost city centre window, and the visiting seabirds, and my proximity to the hills and the countryside (due to my expert local knowledge and my skills with a bicycle), that living in Glasgow ain't that bad. I don't imagine you can say that for many other large cities.
The Beautiful Root
Everyone should have a beautiful root. Indeed, everyone has, but it has been so concreted over that this root struggles to break through. By 'root' I of course mean also 'route'. This is what a root is: a route of locomotive energy, and a delivery system into the body. This delivery system (when naturally clean) delivers your Self to you. This is what the beautiful root does: it allows you to gather yourself. And become whole (and healthy). If not holy. But people have allowed this root to be compromised by being carried and transported (deported from their Self). Man is the only animal that does this. Which might explain why his world is in a constant state of conflict. Because he has not gathered his Self. Because he is not together. Because he has gassed his beautiful root to the point of complete retardation and dementedness. Which explains why man's car (gas chamber) invariably looks better than his body (or indeed mind).
Surf's Up
Surfing the braes can be done without the aid of a surf board. This is because we're dealing with the wave on a different temporal setting. It sure looks like a hill: solid, stony, unmoving, but it's not. It's actually a wave. Everything is.
This stony wave however moves incredibly slowly compared with the wave of the wet variety. Yet, it still moves, and no matter how slowly it moves, observed over a few aeons, and sped up, it behaves the same as a wave of the sea.
This makes the wild cyclist, biking and hiking over the hills, not just a surfer of the sea, perish the thought, but something of a surfer of eternity, since the waves the wild cyclist surfs take aeons to break.
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