Come Closer

I’ve felt a flow of energy for weeks, bursting out from my heart to human beings. Parallel lines of light stream off in all directions – ahead, behind, left, right, up and down. It’s a surging, sometimes an explosion. But no one gets hurt. It could be that nobody in Belmont and London notices the movement of Bruceness towards them, and that’s just fine. But I sure feel it.

And there’s more. I feel my arms reaching out, my fingers curling, and me beckoning folks to come into my world. “Come over here. I want you close.”

Plus it’s not just people I feel warm and fuzzy about. I want everyone near! How strange and wondrous. Even the mean ones, the distant ones, the emotionally flat ones … my hands are motioning for them to come forward.

Here’s the strangest: my local freeway is three lanes in each direction and I mostly drive in the right one, at the speed limit. For the last few months I’ve been tailgated while doing this, even though there’s lots of room to pass me. Then there’s the Wellington Road exit ramp, which is long and straight. Where it curves at the end, the speed is 50 kilometres per hour (30 mph). Cars pile up behind me as I slow, and there’s no room to pass.

What’s weird is that I’m willing these drivers to virtually nudge my back bumper with their front one. Woh. This does not compute. Whatever happened to my commitment to personal space?

There’s no sense in trying to make sense of this. Just float with it, Bruce. See where it leads.

I think I’m unusual.