Cycling

Spinning it out against the winter, against my stream of consciousness.

I anchor myself in pedals, steady in a stationary saddle before dawn. I am drawn out by blaring music and understated promptsĀ  – raging and railing, trying to obliterate rutted pathways in the mind, in the heart.

Churning out high powered revolutions – this is why I come to the bike. Melding with this modest machine is a meditation for me. The whir of the wheels conveying a subtle message of release as I putĀ  distance between myself and my thoughts. I can’t help but cycle out of my mind.

I think of my own cycles, wanting to defeat them. Sometimes, I can sweat them out one bead at a time, or go hard on the crank burning the last of my toil out. Other times I realize that it will take far more than an hour ride to cycle out of those places where patterns persist.

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