Chicago Majic
Chicago, IL 29 Years Old
My right peripheral catches a black blur moving faster and more reckless than the general blob of Chicago traffic.
A sleek speedster whips the corner and doublethumps the curb across two crowded lanes in one long arching motion, “Freebird” blares through open windows.
I drop my big green pack in preparation for our grand reunion.
Before I know it he’s already out and halfway around the back of the car, always on the move, hand cocked back, palm wide open, inviting our never-ending greeting with a snap and a pop.
With huge smiles we slap hands for the thousandth time; somehow in these magic moments the “POP” when our hands clap echoes off buildings for miles, which leads to a megahug, which is abruptly cut short by aimless elated conversation, which is abruptly cut short by another megahug, so glad to see each other again.
He slings my big green forest pack in the back and off we go.
He’s a cool maniac behind the wheel, just the right amount of caution before really letting it loose.
We doublethump the curb, whip the corner and mesh ninja away from traffic.
Warm, late spring air rushes into open windows, waves of breezy peace caress the soul.
I pull two White Rockies from my pack and put one in his cupholder – tradition #2.
We pop tabs and toast, “In Shallah,” meaning “let God,” and glug big chugs of energy drugs that make our conversations flow like mad.
He spins up the volume 100% and we sing lyrics loud through open windows, strange blur in the bustle…”And this bird you cannot CHAAAAANGE!”
I rest my head back in my seat and gaze up through open sunroof, way, way up, past mindwarp skyglass canyon, into the deep light blue.
A lone white seagull rides the high breeze above the urban ravine. I watch him glide and understand him, and think nothing, and feel happy.
Two hours later night at dinner, the two of us with his lovely lass lauren and a blank canvas wide open cool june night. We’re coelevating nicely and a hurricane gathers and shakes us to do something new, so we drive to Lake Michigan at 11pm to jump off the dark pier into the eerie churn.
It’s raining buckets so we strip to skivvies and run to the lake. She’s a bit scared so we all hold hands and 1!…2!!…3!!! leap together.
The lake is deep frigid, sends cold shocks to the core, jolts awake some dormant reserve of warm energy from that sacred ancient place, like Mt Shasta and Sedona or Hawaii.
“HUP-HUP-HOO” up the barnacled rungs of a four foot ladder and we lay on the pier lost of breath from the rush.
She sits huddled to get warm and he cuddles her caringly while I do flips off the dock in the rain.
We’re all soaking wet and well beyond cold’s discomfort, so we start running and skipping around in our underwear like wild gazelles, 30 feet beside streaming headlight river Lakeshore Drive. The more we dance the freer we feel.
That pure blue fountain in the soul sends waves of clear warm, weightless energy, waves which grow and grow until I am totally here, totally clear, wide awake on the blazing cusp of bright aliveness and free choice and bravery.
From the clean and empty palette of this brand new day, with focused effort and the genuine goodness of friends, we made magic.
This is the beginning of a journey I’ve longed to take for months. Tomorrow, across the Pacific to experience the bright soul of Asia.
A new adventure has begun…
