It is what it is: Bondi Run. A creative free write poem that questions the need for speed while applying the philosophical idea: It is what it is, so what action will you take? Courtesy of my Bondi to Coogee run.

Dharma talks - truth talks. There’s a movement in the air. The movement is self-discovery.

Maybe it’s a movement in my mind towards something that happens to be reaffirmed by the actions of others around me. So maybe it’s a projection being refracted. Either way, I’m deeming it a movement because I can do that.

I am a yogi who lives in a human. I am this human body’s energetic force, its awareness, its soul. I sustain it’s being humanness. From tiny to big, I reside inside it as the peace and joy it can tap into whenever it is worry-free and present with its existence. I am the yogi who lives. 

Below the surface of a record player, records swirl in a dizzying spin as the needle traces predetermined grooves, and the singer sounds a melody. In this tune, different pitches from various instruments—strings, wood, and plastic—meld together. Human voices vibrate their vocal cords to communicate in what we call words. John Denver serenades about sunshine, but much more is happening below the surface. 

Oceans breathe high and low tides connecting to the land of the conscious living. Beachgoers splash, splish, float, and swim in a dance with deep blue depths.

“Waterloo Road.” My jeep’s headlights finally flash against the bright green exit sign, illuminating the two most important words on my mind, and signaling my homecoming.

iPhone alarm. Wake up. Why is that sound so rattling every time? I always mean to change it, but I never do. I blink my eyes open. I remember one time, my best friend told me sometimes she wakes up by violently opening her eyes—destroying her slumber from lying like a wooden plank on her back. Like just the reminder of being alive is unsettling.

Beings become predators when they can’t get what they need from themselves, so they actively seek it from their prey at all costs.

Have you ever noticed the human desire to label things? We label objects, such as trees, dogs, or the sky, and we label each other too by dictating certain traits.

Do you know what I want to be when I grow up? The sweet breeze. Not the soul-chipping winter winds. Nor the violent whipping on the planes. Rather I would be the whisper-soft, sweet breeze; a nickname they call me.

As I pick apart my tired eyes and worn reflection in the Louis Armstrong Airport bathroom, I allow my mind to wander.  Earth’s wide-open space, particularly the undesirable mid-American planes come alive.