Speed Lines

We must always look at things from the point of view of eternity,the college theologians used to insist, from which, I imagine, we would all appear to have speed lines trailing behind us as we rush along the road of the world, as we rush down the long tunnel of time - the biker of course, drunk on the wind, but also the man reading by a fire, Speed lines coming off his shoulders and his book, and the woman standing on a beach studying the curve of horizon, even the child asleep on a summer night speed lines flying from the posters of her bed, from the white tips of her pillowcases, and from the edges of her perfectly motionless body.

~excerpt from Velocity, by Billy Collins

I'm a speed demon - I love to drive fast, windows down, sun roof open, wind whipping my face and blowing my hair. I love riding my bike fast, working my way to the crest of a hill, the split second at the top before letting go, and then the flying down, almost airborne, keeping my balance only by the grace of God. Sometimes, in airplanes, I get this ridiculous urge to open the window, and feel the rush of movement at 550 miles per hour. But I'm also a control freak - I like - no, I need - to be in control of the speed, to be pushing forward into it the acceleration, not at the mercy of it. When I look in the mirror these days, I can almost see the speed lines streaming behind me. And it scares me. Perhaps that's why I feel such an urgency about everything, why I find myself pushing and rushing to accomplish so much every day. I'm just trying to stay ahead of my speed lines. But that's a losing battle, isn't it? Eternity will catch up, and "the time will arrive to stop for good." Until then, I'll keep pedaling as fast as I can.