the (a)isle of left and right

My boat and I always arrived early at the isthmus locals called The Aisle, but the lineup for entry was inevitably out beyond the tide breaks. Each morning, humanity quickly peopled the left and the right sides of The Aisle, and unpacked their wares: beach blankets, umbrellas, shovels, and Ideas.

~

After the Ideas were laid out, blankets were unfurled, umbrellas adjusted, and the digging began. Nobody understood or really cared how it worked, but on The Aisle food and water were sourced from below ground: full meals at various depths, snacks in strange pockets and water arteried to secret pools a few feet below the surface.

In the early days I'd stand, workorder in hand, and watch the people dig ~ through the Ideas, into the sand, and towards the wares. The left would dig together - wide, collective, stable; the right would dig individually - deep, principled, motivated. And The Aisle? Entropy was king the first 116 days: a few would leave sated, many would leave hungry, and my workorder would remain sealed and unfufilled.

Then, on the 117th day, the universe conspired.

A quote about differences being 'two wings of the same bird' found me through a magazine, then some graffiti, then a friend, and something shifted. I returned to the Aisle, found the largest plot of land I could between the left and right's Ideas, excavated the mother of all supply holes, and tacked my completed work order to the top.

It read, simply "equanimity" with a check mark next to it.

And The Aisle exhaled.