I had a few hours to kill before my Rad Chemo treatment, and what better way to pass the time than to hang out with my buds in the Harley shop showroom, talking HOG and spending 100 bucks for a t-shirt. That’s always been the not so inside joke among Harley owners: “What’s the HD in Harley-Davidson stand for?”
I don’t care. It’s what I want. It’s what I need. It makes me feel free and most uncancerous, riding my iconic soulmate over these country roads on days like this, rising above the sore throat, shortness of breath, chest pains, bruises, nausea, needles, drugs, and as I mentioned in yesterday’s post: all stirred up by headaches in my stomach. (See Day 015)
This Stage I exhaust system upgrade is Harley entry-level coolness, as all good bikers begin tailoring their new rides with the endless options and add-ons available. I’m no exception.
But, today a defining moment. That’s when the sad semantic hilarity of it all hit me: There I was, spending serious bucks for a Stage I upgrade to fine-tune how my rolling beauty breathes and rumbles, and meanwhile, back in the other saddle, I’m wrestling with a Stage III+ cancer that is roughhousing how I breathe and stumble. A good day for Cosmic jests, eh?
And, what’s in a word? Today, all of my life is standing right here (a fine place for profundity, next to a Harley dealer’s waiting room’s coffee pot).
I’m staging my bliss in the service department and staging my bondage at the parts desk. Deeper in, I see this as how we all breathe, rumble and stumble along in every “normal” day, tweaking ourselves, adjusting our internal mirrors, dancing with our demons.
*Confidential to everyone: Sure, science made the world, but poetry spins it.*
Every day, I’d like to give a nod each to the roles poetry and science play in our lives, how we act, and how we’re acted upon. Right about here in this blog, you can see this is where I’m working hard to take your mind off what I’m thinking.
Oh, I almost forgot the other defining moment today, when I rode off in that sweet new staged and upgraded potato-potato-potato sound, the bike sounding more like my body’s science, and me looking more like its poetry.
More as we go, El