My consciousness and appreciation of life seems to move in cycles. I’ll go present, for some few months, to my short days here on earth, enjoying life, love, and friendship . . . And then comes the walking slumber.

Do you know it? Somehow I cycle back into a form of automated perception and I start routining my way through the to-dos of life. I regularly have pull myself away from coasting through existence and instead opt to choose life. Recapitulate to consciousness, I might say (is this/should this be the reason people seek religion?).

For me, choosing life means writing, reading, seeking authentic interactions with others (which is sometimes difficult for me), staying healthy, and getting out of the city—my regular environment. So, I spent the weekend camping with a crew of friends in Kananaskis Country. I ate lots of bacon, had some bzzrs, and played bocce ball for hours beside a mountain lake. The days were shared with friends and aquantances. Despite the presence of alcohol, which can sometimes turn articulate and thoughtful people (and me) into babblers of inanities, I had some meaningful conversations about vocation and family—listening to people who seek positive change.

Just as importantly, I let the days unfold without a plan for an efficient routine. I enjoyed the lakes, wind, and still-snowy mountains. I put my feet in the cold water and the dry sand shore. I put my feet on the dark soil. Why don’t I camp more often? Getting away from the house, the city, the phone, and Net grounded me. Somewhere, part of me thinks I need to have constant connection and availibility, however disconnecting allows me to connect elsewhere. Slowing down creates room for consciousness.

Existence always seems to be a blend of habitual actions and conscious choice, however I would like to say “I am awake” more frequently and enduringly than “I am patterned.”

Et tu, Brute?