I once read somewhere that consciousness and awareness are a lot like a water tap. Much of the time it runs in a bit of a trickle, which may have something to do with that old “using only 20% of your brain” thing. Occasionally, the water gets turned way up -either intentionally (gambling, inertia, coffee, drama, hot peppers, action, corn mold, and other mysterious substances) or whatever, sometimes shit gets turbo- and a flood of input crashes over, somewhere in the colorful spectrum between forest rain and put-down-a-riot firehose... maybe it’ll wash the crust out of your eyes, maybe sting blurry like strong pool chlorine, maybe just muddy the waters even further. They say it’s about floating like a cork, not fighting against the current... but you want to Get Somewhere, to shore, to land. To turn the flow down a few CFS. You’re paddling, treading water, drinking some too. Trying. But to float you gotta relax... Let go. Give up and just balance. Float with the flow. Hard to do when you’re trying to Do Something... feels exactly the opposite of what you oughta be up to. Makes the least sense. Probably the most important time to do it. Storytelling and analogies for highballs, runouts, and life aside, I’ve never been able to float. Sink like a stone. Fill lungs, spread limbs, hold just a little air, lay back a touch... bloop. Davey Jones locker. Muck, bottom feeders... but hopefully forgotten treasure, and the roots of things, down below the surface, drinking from that stream.