"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

25 January 2011

An Afternoon of Not Being

He sat on a porch on a warm and lazy afternoon. Mournful bluesy music played at a loud, yet comfortable level from the radio. Cotton candy clouds ambled slowly across a deep blue sky. The occasional chirp of a wild bird complemented the underlying hum of insects, providing an other worldly sort of backbeat between songs.

The taste of an exotic cigar and a smooth tumbler of whiskey went perfectly with watching the sleepy world go by. He thought of them as half remembered kisses from a forgotten dream. A tiny slice of the Divine and a joke only he knew the punchline to. That was the way it often went.

There were a few hours before suppertime and really nothing else to do but simply be. The telescope at the end of the porch carried an unspoken suggestion of something to do in the deepest blue of evening. He thought of it briefly as he glanced in that direction during a small sip of whiskey. There was a book, older than his oldest relatives, which sat open on next to him. When not gazing out into the warm lazy day, his eyes would pass briefly over the page, sometimes even reading the words.

No tangible thoughts coalesced in his mind. Time hardly registered as anything more than moment stretched into an eternity. If he thought about it, he might have mused how it really didn't matter. Days like the one he was in were the best for simply being, even if it was by not being there at all.

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