WyzWmn's World©

I recently saw a post
on a FB friend’s wall
about retirement

and in a moment of
sheer brilliance
or
abject stupidity
I realized
that I may have stumbled
across the real reason
there are so many more
people riding motorcycles
than there used to be

when I was a child
it was nothing
for my parents to
toss all of us
in a car
and head across country
on holidays

we did it
at least once a year
sometimes twice

as an adult
I can’t afford to go
more than a few hours
from my home

so while the internet
has brought us closer
from far and wide
the prospect of
loading a family
into a car
on a cross country
journey
of epic proportions and $$

as a motorcyclist
how many of us dream
of retirement?
of cashing in
and living somewhere
where we can
ride all year long?

or
loading our rides
into an RV
and toddling off
into the sunset?

could that be
the reason there are
so many more riders
than there used to be?

the understanding
of the dream?

who knows eh?

“You know, I do believe in magic. I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians. Oh, most everybody else didn’t realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by silver filaments of chance and circumstance. But I knew it all along. When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present and into the future. You probably did too; you just don’t recall it. See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.

After you go so far away from it, though, you can’t really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it’s because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they’re left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.

That’s what I believe.”