Where would I go without her?

Where would I go? If I didn’t have you, where would I go? I would move to the coast, pronto. I would find some part-time work and build a living there. Why the fuck not? What’s the worst thing that could happen? It doesn’t work out. I move back, live with mom – or not – get back into teaching or something, and train people. Whatever. I enjoy it all. What’s the worst thing that could happen on just going for it with no idea what will happen. For people who have spirit – real deep down and dirty spirit – spontaneous adventures, travels, ambitions, and happenings tend to work out just fine. It’s the lulled-life, non-creative, non-imaginative types who don’t make it, anyway; and what does that even mean, “don’t make it”? It makes you and you make it: same difference… we are the travel and we don’t even know it!

 

To wake up with the sniff of the ocean breeze, to dance barefoot with the earth. To decide to hike this afternoon and tomorrow’s, lay around and drink the wine from each other’s lips. Work in the morning on a deck, writing, musing; what’s the reason this isn’t our life, already? I am a writer, a listener, perhaps, a lover – and traveling the great big mystery with a lady doesn’t seem so bad. The world as we know, the mirage, the puppet show, is not our world. It’s someone else’s – and it’s been constructed by a bunch of bumbling, trembling idiots with opinions they’ve never really thought about. It’s tiring me out; our unavowed dreams, the bubbling spring of our hearts, is yet now before us to swim in.

 

These are all temporary measures and diversions, all of them. The office building windows to look out of as mingling about policies and work-parties fills the days. Traffic. Making deals. Going to teach everyday. The river. The mountains. Talking about nutrition. Making choices. The trip to here. The trip to there. All just doings and goings. Part of the ultimate ride to nothing.

 

It’s such a closed-off and lacking-imagination way of thinking, to ponder What will I do so that later I’ll have such and such so that such and such will be provided for so that such and such will be able to do such and such… it perpetuates the same tired mentality in everyone on down the line. If you’re so crazy, Mr. Butterworth, if you’re really crazy, or real, then have the courage to be different and live life the way you really see it. Without all the pointless drabble. Trust. Thirst. Truth.

 

Of course, truth is a search. A happy, perhaps fruitful, no-doubt non-stop exploration. And that’s the joy of it. It won’t be known and as one gets closer, I imagine, he or she only gets truly further away from the knowing. As if the farther down the rabbit hole one falls, the closer one gets to seeing the farther the fall. A letting go to the magic and powerful, absurd, wonderfully intoxicating novelty of it. Spinning, and seeing that we are the spin, the spinner, and the spinning. The falling is accepted soon, and then with grace we fall. Never to be “falling” again.

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