I miss those moments of ecstasy. There are really no opportunities for someone like me to explore the thrill of the edge, the sensory overload. Yoga just doesn’t cut it. Raves are for kids. I’m too sensible now for recreational pharmaceuticals, too tired to stay up past 11.
It’s not just me; the scope of acceptable behavior narrows in these, the Middle Ages. We are not to make spectacles of ourselves, even as we fade from view.
For the most part I love becoming invisible because now I do all the looking. I’m not quite invisible enough, but I’m getting there. I’ve always said that if I make it to 80, I’ll start the day with a hit from the ol’ bong followed by a double frappaccino, then see where the day takes me. Maybe it’ll take me into the virtual world, where my achy old body parts disappear and my spirit soars.
Maybe I better wait ‘til I’m 90 (god-willing).
In the meantime, I go under every day, down into my electronic/trance/ambient auditory world, immersing myself in discordant colours and forms. Everyday ecstasy is all part of the process.