Every once in a great while I will fill my coffee with French Vanilla creamer and it's like heroin. Absolutely amazing the way it tastes.
That was all I wanted at this very moment as I tried to process the day, the market and where I came to after the market.
I got back to the nursing home at six-thirty and let the aid know I was back but didn't let any of the nurses know. I didn't really do it on purpose. I figured sooner or later they would communicate with each other that I was back.
They freaked out and thought I was AWOL at around eight and were not pleased when they found me in my room laying down. I thought it was hilarious.
I thought about just going to sleep but I got restless and finally got up and re-organized my room and figured I would write for a bit. That is when I decided to go for a walk and get some coffee.
The market seemed like a foreign land to me today. I felt like I was dreaming all day.
There are moments when I think that everyone should be allowed to go through this kind of gentle, tender, structured healing process. We all should allow ourselves to be locked up for a couple months and have people take care of us and to direct and guide us in better ways of living. Of course there are also moments when I think this is insane. I can't get a handle on why I am here and what this will all accomplish.
Everyone was very happy to see me, or at least they put that kind of an air on, who knows, I know there is some friction, some contention because I am changing the rules, changing the face of what has always been safe and familiar, and who knows maybe I shouldn't be doing this, maybe the face of the flea market mentality, the fragile vulnerability of the broken souls who call this home should be allowed to call this home, should be allowed to live in their denial and be happy but this is just the reality of it all. This is my little experiment and I welcome you but you also have to understand that this is my experiment.
Karma dropped those keys on my desk and said, This is your last chance.
Pressure, pressure at the temples, yes, yes it's another headache. Funny how we all take headaches for granted until we are in any kind of health care facility for any length of time and we are educated to the fact that each headache has a reason for being there.
Pressure, pressure at the temples.
Every God damn night they hook me to this fucking machine and then go off and forget me so that when the beeping begins because the machine is done I sit feeling more like a prisoner than ever. This is nothing I can do and nothing I can say. I just have to sit and feel like every part of my life has been taken away from me.
I'm sitting in a warm room, comfy room, hooked to an IV. It's eleven-seventeen in the evening and for almost all of the rest of the patients here being hooked to an IV this late would not matter. No one has to get up and do anything tomorrow but eat and go through the routine, that is except for me, I am going to the market, my business, my foundation, attachment to the real world.
There was one point in all of this strange development where I almost thought that I was ready to give it all up and just meander my life away in a place like this. I woke up one morning and thought, "Oh hell no! I'm not ready!" not that long ago. I want my life back but I also know that this healing has been what is going to give me my life back. i need to be patient, yet ready. Especially ready to make my escape when the time is right.
The skull is attached to my ankle now. Peering up at me as if to remind me of all that transpired to bring me to this very moment. My second toe is a long finger with a round nub on the end pointing at me, constantly pointing at me.
I hear the whisper of my body, petrified that more will be cut away and discarded like the excess fat on a steak.
They may look like angels sometimes but when we are dreaming in that narcotic sleep we see them as the demons that they really are.
I woke up and didn't have a clue as to where I was except that it felt like someone's garage and there were two other people in there with me and we were all hooked up to tubes and such and there were four people around keeping and eye on us. They were talking and joking and the whole thing was like a cross between Mash and Scrubs. Nothing seemed to be taken very seriously.
Now I know what it means to be high. I spent a generous portion of my life stoned but this was a kind of high that I had never experienced. I was wasted to the bone. I was so fucking high and it didn't go away. I stayed this way for a couple days and I even got scared to talk because I was not making a damn bit of sense.
I really felt like I had died and this was something in-between all of life and death and what is to continue and for all I know that is exactly what it was and at some point a decision was made to either bring me back to my current life or to take me into another form of existence, the next step I suppose and to be honest I am not sure which happened. I just know one of the those choices were made.
I have also come to the conclusion that I may never know which world I am now in, which truth is the one that is happening right now. what I do know is that the journey to the now is as imperative right now than it has ever been. The dance with the lovers in the consciousness is the most important movement and the only one that matters right now.
Let's dance oh beggar; let's dance...
I went dumpster diving with Jesus the other night. We found some real treasures in an old dumpster behind the Kroger on seventh and high. I found a half a box of Cheerio's and Jesus came up with a half eaten pizza. We paid a dying junkie two dollars for his bottle of Kessler's and Jesus still had a half of a blunt.. We built a fire behind the old dumpster. It was going to be a good night. Acid queen may show up and her mouth was always a pleasure to be around.
And I wonder if you want to judge me as you are having your clean and neat affair with the neighbor but the kids are off to school and the husband has a good job. I wonder if you want to condemn me as you go to church on Sunday smelling of expensive wine, sex and suffering?
Do you think your life is any different than mine? Well yes I suppose it is in some ways. You are more of a prisoner than I will ever be.