Last night – after reading at the open mic; after the long walk back to my car; after driving up and over the peninsula; after the Trader Joe’s shopping; after the drive along the harbor back to where I call home – I was awash in what I called out loud “Off.” I’m off. I’m off. I’m off. Deep into sadness and loneliness and self-pity and all my ancient dark stories.
When I would go with feelings like these to my long-ago mentor Dick Morrison, he would often smile and say, “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.” I was not a fan of that answer.
Lately I’ve been wise-cracking about riding on the back of a dragon. All romantic, swooping among the radiant white clouds and endless blue sky. The thing is, I don’t get to pick the dragon’s route. When there are other places it wants to bring me.