My two wheeled confessional

I cried on my bicycle riding home on Sunday. My love, my heart, my comforting rhythm of zen and balance; my dojo of a steel framed womb listened to me sans judgment.

This is my bicycle. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My bike is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my bike is useless. Without my bike, I am useless. I must ride my bicycle true and keep it tuned. I must ride faster and more focused to strengthen my agility and endurance. I will. Before God, I swear this creed: my bicycle and myself are defenders of liberty, we are the masters of our destiny, we are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is peace. Amen.

It was a good expulsion, an involuntary reaction when just thinking through things wasn't enough. I don't crave much, but I wouldn't be sane without my bikes.

It may have been the music I was listening to,
the beers I had consumed earlier that day,
the informal semi-rekindling of a once hearty friendship, or
a combination of many things, but

Every now and then, I have the urge to purge.
It comes suddenly and sharply.
One time I was in the mall...that was awkward.
My emotions have been running high lately,
Due, in part, to the incredibly vast unknown future I am about to embark upon.
I feel alone, scared, excited, overwhelmed, joyful,
and as a last resort with no one specific to vent to,
it all has to go somewhere.
This drain leads to the ocean...
It wasn't laughter, it wasn't flatulence, it wasn't hunger or thirst (at least not food related), as those too are the reaction of a build up.
It was the pinnacle of a full bodied answer to extinguish mental, physical, and spiritual fatigue as a last resort, Hail Mary, reset to default, jump start.

I'm not afraid to admit that I weep.
More often than not it's out of joy, but this was no such time.
I cried for the Earth and its suffering.
I cried for my family and my friends and
Cried for oppression in the name of material gain, and

...I cried for myself. Sometimes I forget to acknowledge this, but it was abundantly clear it needed to happen this time. As I pedaled my steed homeward, I half sobbed, half screamed inquisitions as though no one existed. I questioned my motives, brought forth fear and doubt, and wasn't really looking for an answer, mucous and saliva stretching from teeth to tongue as I unleashed myself into the confessional night.

It felt good. However,

There is a part of me that longs deeply for a uniquely special connection, and I'm often afraid this will never happen. Doomed to watch others in happiness as an observer, as I continue to travel on my path to sustainability. What good will this be if I cannot share love I feel so vividly within me? Perhaps the organics of my journey will reveal a similarly organic love...

Judge me not, I'm only human. Thank God for bicycles.