Central Park and other reasons to remove your blouse in winter

I think about the honest moments to create.  Then I realize I’m trying to create a moment, thus negating the honesty I wanted that moment to have.   I even found four different ways to type the previous two sentences.  I typed them, then deleted, then tried the next.  I also just lied.  I only found 2 ways, but I still tried. 

So much that we do (almost too much) is postured and planned.  Navigation is tricky and does require some thought.  The spontaneity of things is what grows less and less nowadays.  I can picture it in my head.  Even if it’s as simple as a thought of me sitting in a field in the middle of summer, my shirt off, my shoes off, playing with a blade of grass as it wraps around the bass of an imperfect flower.  My pants are grey, possibly linen.  I’ve taken my sunglasses off.  They are resting on my shirt, which gives the appearance of being folded while lying on the grass next to me.  The glasses were removed to closer inspect the supposed natural flaws of this beautiful (to me) flower.  I see a photograph of this moment in my head.  I conjure it.  I smell the flower so vividly, I am can almost put it into words (I often have trouble describing the smell of something good.  Words leave me.).  This moment happens by chance.  It is the perfect (again, to me) August day.  A Tuesday, perhaps, after a visit to my therapist on the Upper East Side, walking back through Central Park and the sun and the spirit and the heat and the joy and the emptying and filling up of it all moved me to lie in a field and take my shirt off to feel the sun beating down on my back and neck. 

Because I have conjured this and downloaded it to my biological hard drive, does that mean I have fallen victim to the posturing if I choose to recreate the beautiful photograph from my head next August?  I don’t believe so.  It is not posturing.  This is all too fast.  This world.  This technology.  These feelings.  How did that happen, by the way?  Is there that much technology and fast-paced flashiness, that our feelings have had to become more fleeting just to make due/amends with the barrage of passwords, and file sizes, and domain names, and security codes, and electricity that we must take in from around us? 

So maybe I’m just taking notes so I don’t forget.  That’s what notes are for.  If I choose to recreate this beautiful (to me) photograph next summer, I will be sure to let you know.  I will also be sure not to let myself think I’m forcing something, or posing for something or someone else.  And if I continue to be aware of these things, and take my notes (photographs in my brain), and do my homework (dealing with the electricity), who knows where I’ll be when the spirit moves me?  Secretly, I’m hoping to end up lying in a field in Central Park with my shirt off, looking at or for the perfect imperfect flower in my grey linen pants in the middle of a snowstorm this winter.