II sip my espresso sweaty. This last week everything I have done has been sweaty. Montreal is sweaty of late and I am finding the heat and humidity harking back to Rio is so many ways. I find myself expecting to see the site of the blue ocean between the city blocks, flirting with me as I walked about the Montreal streets much the way I did with the Ipanema shops. The ocean smiling a confident grin knowing full well that I would eventually succumb to the seduction with my ass soon on the hot sand amongst the gallery of the sensual.
But there is no ocean and no Gallery. Instead it’s my waking life and not the ten day dream of 7 months ago. Still the heat is bringing Rio to me in that, as I type this at 5 am this Saturday morning I am pure baser. My rational baked right out of me. It takes extreme heat for me to access the freedom to drive on instinct.
Many in the city find themselves bothered by this heat, pulling at their clothes and complaining about their restless slumber. I experience all of those same things but instead in the stickiness I find comfort. Accessing the baser in Rio allowed me to drive the first half of 2010 on gut instinct. As I am fatigued by the freeway full of uncertainty ahead I need the sweat. Fatigued and clammy, this heat assures me of my animal and my intrinsic. People speak of confidence as a bankable resource stored by experience and accomplishment. For me confidence is felt only when I surrender to my animal. With cold soberness the fuel of rational, it is with irony as when I am most analytical I hold the stability of an ice cube.
Happy to continue sweating it out for a bit; the organic condition is grounding.
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