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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A vacation day

Submitted: March 04, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 04, 2012



People say that the Sun’s rays are the touch of God, his pat on your shoulder.  Today had to be the day to go outside and dig this:

This morning provided for the perfect wake-up with the perfect stretch and yawn.  Not too early, where the dark still reigned outside.  Not too late, with that groggy bug hanging around all day whispering ‘you’ve missed it, missed it.’  I woke with sincerity and calm to my universe.  Breakfast, most important meal of the day, after a baptism in the shower, will forever be my biggest choice.  All of the decisions elsewhere were made in plans people made long ago for me.  But breakfast, he’s an absolute conduit of free will.  While two cinnamon raisin bagels cooked in the black ultra-modern toaster, shaped like a banana, the cream cheese looked cold and white and new and had auras of ether about it.  The cream cheese itself had been unscathed, like new fallen snow, from any knife with sunlight bouncing around it.  It was only after slowing myself down just a bit these things could be noticed.

The phone on my table began to vibrate.  My mom was calling and I instantly got nervous for no reason and the sun still coming through so strong onto my back didn’t feel right anymore and I choked a little on my last bite of bagel and I didn’t want to talk to her at all but I had to so I did:



“Hey mom, what’s up?”




“How’s your day off going?”

“Pretty good so far, I think I’ll…”

“What are you doing?”


“Eating bagels”

“Eating bagels, huh?”

“What I said.”

“Cool beans, hey, don’t forget to remind me to fill out a check for your lunch account.”

“It’s not a big deal mom.  I don’t eat much anyway.”

“Yeah, well, remind me then.”


“Well, alrighty.”


“Do you need anything?  Snacks?”

“No, I’m okay.”


“No, I have enough,” I didn’t.  But I wouldn’t use what she gave me wisely.

“Okay honey, I love you.”

“I love you too Mom…. Hey,”


“Nothing, just don’t work too hard.  I love you.”



I understand what she’s trying to do.  It’s okay and obvious.  But all she has to do is talk to me.  I need nothing.  I want nothing.  Especially not from her!  I want to earn what I get now.  They’ve given me so much I’m smothered.  Okay, man, calm down.  Cynicism will not ruin this day.  Today could be perfect.  Today is perfect, everyday is, just let go of small stuff that tries to infect it and rot it.  Menial problems are cancerous, they snowball and snowball until there is nothing left of your day except dealing with menial problems.

Sitting on my bed, looking out my window, the thoughts in my head are mist.  I know this happens.  Yet, for whatever reason, I always over-eat, then eat very little in front of people to compensate.  Whatever hole I’m trying to fill, it isn’t fulfilled.  Loaded, sitting there, I’m looking at all these houses.  Everything is just like the fifties.  Nothing has changed.  Except the homes just keep getting bigger; now we work more, sleep less, eat more, buy more, love less.  Whatever hole everyone tries to fill with toys like cars and swimming pools and flat-screens, it isn’t working.  No different than the kid with too many toys that they just collected dust.

I don’t know how long I sat there, or when the sadness left.  But eventually I was standing and not sad.  And I thought about what clothes I wanted to wear.  So, I asked myself, why?  The things we don’t think about are what deserve it the most.  This is my own day and I’m thinking about what clothes to wear to put on a show for people.  That is a female’s business.  Let girls worry about the mirror.  That little God is not for me to try and satisfy.  Girls carry its weight.  Advertisers play on the insecurities of girls.  These clothes aren’t good enough; look like this, or no one will love you forever.  And it’s sad.  So I’m going to bypass all.  I don’t care anymore.  There will only be a very light cotton fruit of the loom t-shirt to carry on my back.  Show people you don’t need much.  Help God and his message, right?  Stomach full and subtle statement conceived, I feel self-reliant and simple.  Strapping shoes on my feet, Sublime sings itself in my head from somewhere else.  That same old song each old time:


Is what I got

Just remember that,

That lovin’

Walking outside I feel the air and the sun and the silence - everyone is at work or school - and the life oh the life everywhere all the time just look around you beautiful world so crafted and elegant and perfect.  It’s a nice day out.  This will be a nice walk with nice thoughts.  I’m okay.  I really am.

As I’m traveling, my attempts to stay focused on my awareness of self and the ground moving beneath me and smiling naturally and being in the exact center of my journey, get desisted by inner monologues of gibberish, or by the sky.  Until I blinked, and I was in the middle of the road and a car was coming around the bend pretty quickly after me.  My feet awkwardly panicking ran / walked smoothly out of its way.  They didn’t even beep or notice me.  I’ve been there, lost in your world.  It’s okay, car.  I must really look like a cadaver in this shirt though.  See, by wearing this shirt I’m paradoxically satisfying my own self-image.  When the attire should never cross my mind.  I’m an idiot.  But I forgive the car.  I have to forgive the car.  Or try to; then gasoline enters my head, and the big opulent mansions on a hill, and how I’m just taking a walk and shouldn’t worry about any crap, and then I get upset all over again.  Stuck in this horrible cycle, I can’t get out.  Everything is fake.  These houses are not real.  They are empty and devoid of love.  I’m drowning.  I’m fucking drowning.  Maybe this is why I can’t have sex well.  I can’t be an ignorant beast and let go when it’s wrong.

So I ran to the woods, behind the shadows which make the grass cool, behind the houses.  Behind the imaginary problems and schedules, fences, shady salvation await;  my last thought I think I thought had been: “One day we will evolve to the point of not needing laws or rules because people won’t break them.  They just need to see it could happen tomorrow.  If not us, who?  If not now, when?”  Then my footsteps went into leafy, noisy, Truth.

The sticker bushes hurt but are a price to gladly be paid, nothing feels better or more free.  I’m running and I’m no different than an Indian too many years ago.  Plus, moccasins are on my feet made by a Malaysian boy.  I will enjoy this run in the wild for his suffering.  He earned this for me.  And I will suffer a much different death, needing to write poems and stories, or be around the right girl just to feel alive, for him.

How can nature become a delicacy?  Have we lost it so?  This is not me running around in a la-la land.  Police officers eating doughnuts patrolling a small-town are playing pretend more so than I am.  This is real.  I get mud on my shirt.  I enjoy it.  I pick bark off of a tree and it is real and so True.  I am with God.  Until I blink and I’m laying on the forest floor, not knowing how.  But the clouds, and trees reaching up, combine to make an epic collage:

Everything was beautiful, everything sacred.

And Thoreau told me - Nature would reveal itself unto those who look.

And Nietzsche told me - that True self is one with God.

And Jesus told me to ‘walk the way he walks.’

Classrooms are not real.  Those kids are sitting, not even listening, dieing minute by minute.  I’m living second by second.  I’m so much bigger than that tiny, unreal room with it’s tiny walls trying to hold me back.  And they all know it, and they fear me for it.  And I love them.  And they can’t handle that because they are not real.

A rabbit came by in the underbrush.  And oh she was so small and pretty and fearful.  I looked in her deep, dark eyes, and saw everything in them, saw Love.  There was a holy trinity betwixt us.  God spoke.  I had a love affair with that Rabbit.

I want you to know I didn’t cry at this.  Had I felt it, I would have.  It ran away, and the feeling lingered for a while.  I lost hold eventually, and had to descend back into this fake world of weathermen and television.  And that’s okay.  Because my shirt is muddy.  Because fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.  And I’m okay.  I really am.


“Rows of houses all bearing down on me
I can feel their blue hands touching me
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again and fade out


Immerse your soul in love -
Immerse your soul in love.”

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