Chocolate. This is why I loved every other night. Chocolate, of the ice cream variety, was our nearly nightly reward.
My legs were screaming from the log carry we’d just completed through the muddy trail that we ourselves had cut.
The warmth of the fire wasn’t necessary though I appreciated it nonetheless. It was a necessary balm. Lifting the spirit and impelling the mind from an aching body and towards the realm of dreams.
Nobody said anything. We just ate our treats in that measured methodical way that people do after an ordeal.
The fire danced and so did my mind.
The tropic sky gleamed above with pinpoint purity. There high above untold billions of celestial conflagrations danced far fiercer than the aromatic orange at our feet.
I was dreadfully sober. It was the sobriety of exertion. No chemical flashbacks assisted the films my head produced. My musings these sensations were au natural.
And it was spectacular. As spectacular as the deepest inebriation.
I beheld the Earth as an idealized thing. A tidy clinical Earth fit for a geometers purpose. I thrilled as I realized that it was my shoes. Holding me fast as we traversed the Sunbound track.
The cool deliciousness of the desert sent chills of pleasure through my frame and I closed my eyes.
What is it? What is it to be alive and in what way does it differ from death? The dead have not as yet testified.
Did we ever transcend? Could we ever transcend? Would we transcend through this current trial?
What would that even mean? What am I even asking?
What good is giddy whirling between dimensions? If such a thing is possible then they are all bound by a single thread. A single thought the only thing that can ever be. The ever-present now. For a past is a present that was and a future is a present that will be.
And whatever array of whatever metaphysic and matter in whatever hierarchy all it can and all it will is NOW.
And now was ice cream. And now was fatigue. Now was not a kaleidoscope or elves or machines now simply was in the midst of these things and could damn well be more profound than any such conjuration.
For now, I had become a silence.
Part I – Kentucky Door
1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe
1.2 The Cajun Prayer
Part II – The Wizard’s Nod
The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 5.11 – Gut to Guts_5.5. The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 5.5 – Lobo
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