When the sun, the motorcycle and the music come together, writing seems to inevitably be the sum of the three. I am so happy I woke up this Sunday morning, confident the sun would finally decide to keep me company, after days of Kauai winter weather. This will only make sense if you are one of the fortunate to be born here or somehow happened upon this place. When the weather is just right, you explode inside with a top to bottom smile, blessed by her magnificence.

As an award winning lousy sleeper, I was up hours too early this morning, but I had a feeling of incredible confidence that today was going to be one of those magical motorcycle rides, likely going to the north shore. This is the only morning when I forego all of my torturous disciplines: a Zen sit, a yoga practice of many postures and my forty year old, love-hate relationship with running.

I read the news every morning and find it amazing that not a day goes by without that asshole doing something else incredibly stupid, selfish and tasteless. Needless to say, this morning was no different and I even had more time than usual, owing to my day of rest from the routine that glues me together every morning except this weekly vacation day. I have felt terribly stuck for a number of weeks, unable to just sit down and share with you, rather turning each attempt into a self-conscious, stilted exercise.

Every day, something awful seems to happen. Gun violence is off the charts, so statistically overwhelming that the regularly occurring atrocities are the new normal. At the moment, I am holding my breath to see what the kids do, because they have raging hormones on their side, fueling a too young to be twisted world view. Violence is how America deals with absolutely everything. The pots in the White House calls people names and gets a little, little woody each time he sees his name anywhere, because he is disparate for attention.

I cannot recall a time from my past when there was more meanness in the world. A handful of decades ago, this country busted out of its highchair and took over the world. Our preoccupation with the accumulation of power and money as the tools of governance, has green lighted awful dictatorships throughout the resource rich and economically poor countries of our world. There is power to be had in divisiveness and not to be had in unity, which belongs to us all.

Once again, I read about the serious shape the entire world is in on this sunny Sunday, like all the recent rainy ones, but something happened inside. I was positive that as soon as I got in from my ride, I would be at this machine, doing exactly what I am doing now. I wasn’t sure what it would be about, but I knew it would be kind of most of the above. Then, I would move on to what has been on my mind for weeks and weeks.

It has been difficult to write because I didn’t want to be part of the minions and their opinions about the shit show that we shall call Trump. I am not terribly comfortable when I steer away from myself and get into the endless fodder outside of my very small world, the one between my ears.

A number of weeks ago, I tripped and fell over the word, authentic. If I were the Buddha’s press secretary, I would say that we spend our lives trying to uncover our authentic self and it is the nature of why we practice, an unachievable goal worth our last breath. On this morning, I could already feel the gut propulsion to embrace my authentic self and to appreciate that mirage. I knew it was going to be a good day.

It had been a while since I got up on a Sunday morning and didn’t automatically wrestle into my Cadillac leather, Kill Me Now, motorcycle jacket. My first trip out the door after sunrise was transportive, laying my head down on the pillow of a bright blue sky. I looked up and to the East and the light gently warmed me inside.

Now, I can tell you what has been on my mind, keeping dry during these weeks of winter Kauai rain. Oh crap, I am sorry, I have to give some time to music. I was really anticipating a good motorcycle day because it really has been a while. I don’t think I can be separated from music, it is velcro’d to my soul. After I had my fill of all the dysfunction one can take, it was time to crank the soundtrack for the day. When the Eagles’ Hotel California inhabited my speakers, I was well on my way to picking my biker uniform for the day. I didn’t wash or comb my hair and kept on the t-shirt I slept in. When you ride, you can be anyone you want to be and not giving a shit allows my mind to go where it is called.

I finally figured out was is going on with me and I know it’s true. Most of you are living in the present, with a future that has some time out there. At 73, I am living in my future and that is the difference between us. When I was feeling abandoned by my dreams, I turned to Zen because I felt a true affinity for how it addressed our temporary nature. Years ago, the future was this distant place and there would always be time before getting there.

Now, I get to live and write my final chapter, but I don’t mean to confuse this with a eulogy. When you get up here, you have nothing to lose, because you can no longer count on a second chance at anything. You know how we all rationalize with time, affording us so many hiding places, but up here the moves seem to count more and bother me less.

I am so grateful for the few of you who read my stuff. Thank you.

Larry

R.I.P. Stephen Hawkings