On a skateboard, downhill, it’s a busy street. Cars pass by my right, people on the sidewalks look at me, I have the impression they do it with admiration. It’s past 6 pm and an orange sun is going down on a clear blue canvas. It’s a painting, not a regular sky, but an art piece that’s being made for me as I gently slide down this hill. I feel that I’m the artist behind this, but I’m making no effort, it is just happening. Suddenly all colors are warm and soft, they are also sweet, like orange juice, I can taste the colors.
The tender air transports me to those summer afternoons where I want to pause time and never let them end.
This feels so good, so liberating. I’m light as a feather, free and wild, but connected at the same time with the world, with every single living creature. I’m flowing with the strings of time, I’m surrounded with these strings, they kiss my arms, softly.
I can feel the cloth of reality through my fingertips, I’m touching it, I’m in it. This reality feels more authentic than ever as I can touch, hear and smell all the nuances I don’t normally get. Is this real?
This is how an artist must feel after completing a masterpiece, this must be the best sensation a human can experiment, and it’s a mix of feelings. They blend perfectly together to amplify and fine tune each one. They complement each other, they match but do not overlap: I can hear all the different notes and tones as they play inside me, I can see all the colors and shapes in them, I can taste all the flavors of this delicious dish of emotions. I feel like a kid, with a rush of innocent excitement, I feel connected with everyone that passes by in an intimate way, I feel special and enlightened, I feel wise and humble, I feel relaxed at the same time.
My mind starts spinning, one sentence is trapped there and does not leave: Why the hell did I stop doing this? Why did I stop? Once the last word passes by, the first one enters ,y line of thought, again. It’s like a wheel that has it written, it has no end, no beginning: Why the hell did I stop doing this?
This is how I felt in the past when I used to skate regularly, why did I stop skating?
I don’t know exactly when I thought this was a kids’ game, something grownups should stop doing: a waste of time. When did I decide my time should not be wasted playing? Wait!, Playing? If play feel so damn good, shouldn’t we all be playing? What’s life without this? This gives me meaning, it makes me feel whole and complete, am I childish or is this normal?
Should I seek moments like this? It feels the right thing to do, it looks like the only thing to do. But I’m not making anything, fabricating goods. There’s no other goal than feeling, is this selfish, pointless?
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