To find the central mountain of the (your) world
Joseph Campbell, as quoted in The Hero’s Journey: “..this is the basic mythological problem: Move into a landscape. Find the sanctity of that land. And then there can be the matching of your own nature with this gorgeous nature of the land.”
I view my nature through the lens of a mild coffee/caffeine addiction. My self-expression is often guaranteed through a cup at a cafe, where I can calmly write and read. Here, I feel my zenith, the subsequent tiers of my being. This is a widespread, contemporary example of Stockholm Syndrome; I love the chains I have set upon myself. There are a handful of interesting consequences:
- An expense for a cappuccino is not seen as a luxury, but time later rationalized as a necessity. This is money that must be spent. I need it for my brain. Daily, I accept my invitation to the dance.
- I seek out grandeur and aesthetic in the coffee shops in my neighborhood and city. I have gained a sense of participation in the community, oneness in my community, because the decorations behind an espresso machine sit right with my image of myself. Here, is where I belong. In a coffee shop, I am at peace with myself because I have ventured to fulfill my needs. I am surrounded by the piece of my day that is worth any price. A fusion reaction, I am extracting more energy than I put in.
- Moods. In the morning, I am yearning. Stretching & stumbling towards the first drip-drip-drip of warm and bright Ethiopian. Heightened anticipation as the few minutes pass from brew-temperature to drinking-temperature. Elation and ecstasy as the first sip goes, and it goes so well. My blood pressure gains and spikes, my irises turn a darker pine-green as my pupils contract. My feeble hands cradle the mug of my foundation. I am riding on a single track, the wheel is loose but my mind keeps at 10 and 2. I am a producer. Time passes, a pile of tasks reduced to rubble. A prick of anxiety folds in, lingers. A few too many beans in the grinder pre-operatively, it seems. There is hesitation, as an hour ago I was in the driver’s seat. Now, I am a bound passenger. We chart for different waters, lands I do not seek but will find nonetheless.
My evolving landscapes are brought to submission when I am staring at the words on a page in a cafe. I am within a windbreaker, fortified against the hustle/bustle of the cars and lives of the folks who existed in this space long before me. My attention makes it so. I have no outward focus, no inward turmoil. I hope to learn something new; to better exist in a newfound home.