Dear true friend,
I feel your heart with my soul. I listen to your words with my eyes. I, too, hang on to those beliefs that others long to have abandoned before they realize never having discovered them to begin with...for it is the journey within the heart that one traces the path to the soul... and it is by far the longest, frequently most perilous and often loneliest journey of all.
Many years ago I re-entered the temple of my personal vision quest alone, hurt and bewildered by fate's course. I sought to absolve my past, live fully in my present and rekindle my future. Soon thereafter -- and to the astonished disbelief of many who feigned having known me -- I became a father, a husband, a provider and inherited a part of myself previously unexpected. It was a brilliantly perfect time for I shall always relish the unexpurgated simplicity of life on its own terms.
It was later I rediscovered that when we walk into the flames it only burns for an instant before we are released. Into what I cannot say with any degree of certaintly. I only know that in the moment of surrender, we are reborn with a new life --- free from the baggage and bondage that holds us back from ourselves -- and with no plans other than to be fully alive in the exact moment.
Living in real time is what it is all about and always has been for some.
It is precisely in that moment that we live our lives in a state of blissful elation. Without preconceptions or contrivances, there are no expectations or disappointments. We experience absolute freedom to become whatever it is we are in our dreams. It is only when we attempt to mark our time that we become aware of its passage. And, by crossing an imaginary line with that passage comes a sense of loss. Opportunities never seized. Dreams never realized. Promises never kept. Relationships never fulfilled. A life never lived. A shadow creeps from overhead ushering a sadness unlike any we have ever known. Life's joys are diminished. We are overwhelmed by darkness and despair. We feel anxiety. We experience depression. We become listless and lost. By the time we hit rock bottom, we are practically marking the days on the calendar like a death row inmate awaiting the executioner. Much like aboriginal "dream time", the concept of linear time is foreign to some and when imposed upon them, ultimately, fatal.
We are taught that lives without measure are failed in themselves. But, from whom or what do we view those virtuous examples of existences? And, for what purpose do we examine such trivialities -- other than to satisfy others? And, just who are these "others" that we sacrifice all that is precious in our own existences to appease?
I believe the answer is absolutely no one. For many, the moment of truth is to distort who they are by allowing external influences determine precisely whom they have actually become. They become trapped in a hall of mirrors which conceals their real identities from themselves. They have lost their perspective, balance and judgment. They are uncertain as to who they truly are for they have lost their sense of self.
What a paralyzing predicament. To be at the cross road of one's life, completely freeze in the middle of the intersection and be run down by an oncoming bus with anyone other than yourself behind the wheel is patently absurd. By taking your foot off the gas, tapping the brakes to supply air in the hydraulics and pulling to a stop along the side of the road, one can open the door, get off the fucking bus and walk away from the whole kit and kaboodle. Oh yeah. You're behind the wheel of your own bus. That person who looks like you in the cross walk is just the imposter that you've allowed others to convince you that you've become wandering aimlessly across a busy thoroughfare!
Of course, that person is no one that you or I actually know. It could be any one, including ourselves, but more than likely it never seems to be us. However, while the view of the road from a higher focal point might allow us to see further ahead, it doesn't change the outcome of the final destination. Sure, we ride in a little more comfort. But, the road doesn't really change on our way to where we are going. Only our perception of the ride itself.
And, in the end, all we usually do is readjust the rear view mirror and keep our eyes focused on the road ahead. Isn't our ultimate stop always just out of sight and around the next bend?
d across Skip's floor in the old Sig house, Mona Man fires up a bowl. The bong passes around the horn. Major Strausser. Alpo. Griff. The cross legged circle is consumed by a dense billowy cloud of smoke. Alpo's face contorts with stacatto spasms exhaling broken shards of gray haze. Tears streak down my cheeks and onto the filthy apple green shag carpet. "Ramblin' Man" blares from a Marantz stereo in the background. Allman Brother's coming to town this week. Pretty sure it's Friday... I catch a gleaming squint through the reeking fumes of conspiracy.
