The reason I was going to post it was because it still
manages to bring a lump to my throat, even though I must have watched it dozens
of times. And, of course, the reason it does so is because it happens to touch
a nerve that’s prominent at this point on my personal road. There’s no reason
to suppose it might do the same for anybody else.
In the final analysis, we’re all alone on our personal
roads, a fact that’s easily masked when we surround ourselves with family, friends
and fellow club members. I don’t do that any more. In fact, I never really did
except in a superficial sense. Does that make me right? Of course not; it’s
simply appropriate to where I’m at. And this is a rare example of when the
first person pronoun has nothing to do with ego. It’s simply recognising the illusion
of separateness.
My ego is well-entrenched, however, and won’t be denied for
long. I expect I’ll be back later when it’s playing the role of sad drunk, as
dear Z of Sydney NSW would have me nominated. She’s not entirely right,
actually. Most of the time I’m quite a cheerful drunk. Alcoholic intoxication
does, after all, bring about a shift in consciousness, and the place to which
it shifts you all depends on where you’re at on your personal road.
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