The needle touches 200. I am the Buddha.
The entire universe is pumping through my veins. My conscience embraces the whole. Every single gear machine is part of me, and I am part of everything. My heart beats to the rhythm of the pistons. My mitral valves open and close like those of the cylinders. My muscles vibrate according to the irregularities of the asphalt. The road belongs to me.
is satori. I am the Buddha.
no longer I that I drive my car. It is no longer the machine is guided by me. We are all one. I'm on the seat like I was in zazen, the cabin is my temple. The road runs beneath me, smooth as a silk scarf. The curves become straight, the bumps and the bumps are flattened and every move I make to follow the direction is automatically measured, perfect. Not based on rational thought, but only on the need to do at that precise moment, in that exact order. I have full and absolute control, everything belongs to me and nothing is part of me. My hands held the steering wheel, but not the strings, caressing my foot pedals. There is no need of forced movements, sudden or violent.
are pure action. I am the Buddha. Around
me in the streets of the port area of \u200b\u200bthe city rush, but in my mind is as if they were stationary. The stores, loading bays, the piers are part of me, contribute to this perfection in which each second lasts forever. Left, then slightly right, then left again. Then a long straight that leads to the point of no return. My fate is decided here and now, at this bend in the bottom of the pier, with an abandoned warehouse and into a wire mesh semiarruginita out to be my bodhi tree, but has been established for ever. It is a moment frozen in time, but it is the decisive one. I'm getting closer, more and more. There are. Nothing can go
wrong. I am the Buddha.
Scalo from fifth to second, I turn the steering wheel and help slightly with the hand brake. The tires scream consonants, centrifugal force tries to move, but I do not feel it. The laws of physics do not concern me, not at this time.
just heard that the wheels are recovering grip open. Foot to the floor and thumb button. Drain the third, then fourth, and fifth in quick succession. It's time. A flow of nitrous oxide invades the inlet of the cylinder, piston cooling and saturating the oxygen. When the candle is spark, the explosion is much more powerful. The result is simple: the car speeds up suddenly. The engine roars, my heart beats the same speed. The move is part of me, my muscles, my veins. I feel the nerves as a blaze burned out by the powerful discharges, heat is lost from my pores. The step forward is so abrupt that anyone else would be sucked into the seat, but not me. I am in zazen, and are part of the acceleration. I am the sound of one hand. For me, speed does not exist.
The pointer is over 220, then 230. I am the Buddha.
the landscape whizzes around me, but I can see every little detail. Reflections on the windshield of the rain the remnants of torn posters on the walls of the store that I rush past. Everything around me has a role and contributes to the perfection, and to make the world perfect. Accelero yet. On top of a hill the wheels come off the ground. The car flies, but it is as if he were still glued to the asphalt, perfectly balanced and balanced, so that the landing is soft and natural, without any shaking. Do
another burst of nitrous, then close my eyes. My senses are so sharp and focused that I did not need vision. I hear the street noise, the smell of gasoline and rubber, the roughness of the asphalt under the wheels, the taste of my own adrenaline, and I know exactly where I was, where I am, where I'll be.
The world loses its importance but remains the center of everything. I am the Buddha.
My opponent tries to stop me from passing, but by the time it takes to try to close the road, I am already over. I do not need to make sudden maneuvers. Everything is smooth, natural and automatic. Simply, I am in a higher level of consciousness, and I know what has to happen before it happens. The last two curves is as if there were. An outside observer would not see even the movements of the machine, would see a single stream with no trimming or unnecessary movement. For a brief second
ending the secrets of the universe are within my reach. I can hear them, I can almost touch them. I am the Buddha, now and forever. Then
everything passes. Drew breath. Inhale, exhale. The heart rate returned to normal levels. Repurchase consciousness of my body, my hands, my eyes. My limbs tremble slightly as a result of the effort just past the heat escapes out of my skin. Slowly, the world returns to be anything other than me. My individuality takes over again, away from it all.
The great moment has passed, like a long orgasm, and once again I approached a small step to perfection. But there are still come. My journey is made by the route taken and to be done, not just the destination. I am left with only a slight sense of nostalgia for that communion with the universe. And I know that feeling of unity, completeness, addictive. I feel we should try again soon. It's like a drug, the road speed. But in the end of the tunnel, the light you see is bright and beautiful.
"Shit, it's good that you're practically unbeatable, but you should see that you face when playing Need for Speed!"
Roman, Romanesque, husband, father, a fan of Springsteen.
To live is the copywriter, but at night wearing a cloak and wanders through the city fighting crime. Then he wakes up, based on his comic book on the bedside table, turns around and goes back to sleep.
His blog can be found HERE
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