By five o'clock I was ready to call it a day and go back home. It had been a busy yet fulfilling week, and the last five days had gone by quite quickly and with minimal effort. There were only two other people left in my department, and I waved goodbye to them through the glass as I walked by on my way to the elevator.
Once downstairs I passed through the turnstiles and braced myself for the gust of cold wind that would blow across my face when the sliding glass doors slid open. The guy at the reception was busy reading the paper and didn't notice me walk by. The doors opened with a swishing sound, and indeed the outside world greeted and engulfed me with a gentle cold embrace. I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath and felt invigorated, recharged, born anew. The hidden energies of the outside world were filling me with a sense of well-being and a feeling of anticipation. That path ahead of me was there and I would be following it once again.
This time when I drove back home, I decided not to turn on the radio. I preferred to experience the next hour in complete silence, enclosed in the metal womb of the car, thinking about this and that. I let go of the recent experiences of the past and focused on what my body was doing at that moment. My heartbeat, my lungs filling and emptying, my fingers grasping the steering wheel, my elbows falling at my side. Living in the now as they call it but losing myself at the same time. Before I realized it, I was proceeding up the driveway of the house. I was a time-traveler and had passed through a wormhole, disappearing in the fabric of the universe and then reappearing again. The curtain was slightly open and I could see some human activity through the slit, our dog sleeping on the couch and my wife reading a book.
Being nowhere and everywhere at the same time is a peaceful feeling. Especially when you find yourself exactly at that intersection point where the body and mind come together for a split second, right before they fly apart again.