When I enter an elevator I know where I am, where my car is with respect to my current location, where major roads are, the locations of offices along the hall, but, after the ride and the elevator doors open, it’s as if I am transported to a new dimension, floating in an ambiguous cartesian coordinate system where I know virtually nothing about my position in the universe. Where is the front of the building? No idea. Where is my car? On Mars as far as I can tell. Whether there is one wall of elevators or two facing elevators doesn’t matter. Which way to the doctor’s office? I couldn’t tell you. Ever.
I fell over today when I threw my head to and fro in a giant arc, bellowing that my dog, Tchai, betrayed me by not coming up to the bedroom to keep me and Bea, my other dog, company while I dressed for the day.
Ray is life. Life is Ray. The world would be a better place if we all practiced Ray. Fatter, lazier, but happy, content and zen.