in the park, one drummer played his beat out on a congo.
his heart the sAme,
a hollowed piece of wood, with some animal skin stretched over one end, pounding, commanding the blood to flow.
Jim walked by listening matching his steps with the beat until it faded as he strolled through the park, to his left, a shanty set of tarps and shopping carts and a bum, talking to someone only the bum knew was there. he stood and listened for a while, he listened and he wondered.
the bum was saying things like, “yeah but if you worship saturn then you aint going to get virgins and heaven especially if you kill innocence and youll see, youll see we all going to be judged anyway”
Jim wondered as he watched and listened, was there someone or something the bum could feel?
the wind blew the leaves of the past year around just then, rustled up Jims clothes and almost blew his hat off, the trees were already greening out in the ever present moment of now. Jim was on a mission of now, he was living breathing now, faint smacks from the drummer commanded the blood to flow. another push pull breath. Jim thought, how would he do it? how could he get from here, to there, where he wanted to be. he was on a mission. the sky was a deafening blue, so blue that when you looked at it, everything else faded and the color immersed your being. how can i get from this coast to that one he thought, this is the story of Jim, the story of a traveler that desperately needed to find roots and let them do what roots do, he just needed the things seeds need for roots to root lovingly. he fell asleep for a time on the grass in the park.
boecious cried,”you will not get away with this! Truth can never be denied or burried and as sure as what the things you see in front of you, it is even more real even then the air you breath, even then the sunlight!”
Jim was having a dream. It was a dream about a man placed in jail for thinking and exposing the truth. It was a bad dream. Jim didnt like that he wanted to sink back into the realms and realities he knew. Jim rose and left the park and went to a coffee shop down the way. Jim was a computer coder. and he liked to write poetry. he was having a bagel and cream cheese both of which were genetically modified, causing his genes to drift in ways he didnt like or want, bad stuff..not to mention the chemical fertilizers.
He began to scribble out on a peice of napkin,
shy away and leave the dust astray
believe what you want but God intervenes.
destroys tyrrany slowly
at any rate God wants
we live in him
cancer is cured
we reap seeds we sow..
he always left the date on his scribbles
part of him connected with that bum ranting..
he wanted to code, but there were no jobs at the time for what he wanted to code and he realized, looking at the scribble he might have been Boecious in a past life, or it was some meaningless dilusion.. he realized it was his destiny to expose true reality and truth and he suddenly liked breathing, alot. he looked back up at the blue sky. After he couldnt find a job coding he bought a bus ticket.
After getting on the bus he rode it to the next nearest big city. It was a sort of tour bus. They left off at the station headed for Los Angeles first.