Chapter 11
A few days later I was sitting over a hot bowl of split pea soup and Lindy came over to visit, all smiles and laughs. I told her right away about my idea to climb up San Jacinto one more time with no expectations or even thoughts. She said she wished she could come but she couldn’t come down south for the school break. She had to work. I thought, “Man, in this capitalist system you plain and simply can’t get out of the old slave relation to the master. Why? Because the master is capital. If you don’t make it you die. And so, in the battle to the death in the mediation between master and slave, we, the slaves, choose life, but at the expense of losing our freedom to a non-person, no less.” And I felt like Marx with the Hegelian world view, but I think I was a little sadder because I wasn’t sure there was a way out.
“Jake, what keeps you going?” Lindy asked me, not for advise but out of curiosity.
“Well,” I said, “I live a highly disciplined life. Like, when I’m going to school I really dedicate myself. I study and read and write long essays and never miss class, often at the expense of going out building relationships, having fun, or just doing anything that isn’t part of the ‘program’.”
“But aren’t you missing out on a lot then?” Lindy asked and I thought that maybe she was concerned about my hermit tendencies.
“I think for me it’s better this way. Yes, I miss out on many experiences. But I tend to feel that discipline gives you the structure for real spiritual growth. Did you know the Dalai Llama meditates every morning? One day, probably when I’m graduated and starting some new phase of life, I’m going to get a real disciplined Buddhist practice going that’s going to light up my mind like wildfire.”
“I don’t live like you. I know that. I let the wind carry me. My feet are light. Not to say it’s a better way. I often feel a lack of purpose in my spontaneity,” Lindy said sadly, though it was clear she was reaping much from life.
“There’s no one right way, of course. You have to find what’s right for you. I know for myself that if I don’t have a direction to go, no structure to follow, no rules - even self imposed - to keep me straight, I feel lost and hopeless. On the other hand, I know the day I lose that goal, that direction, will be the day I really dig deep in my inner self and feel connected to all and nothing. And on this day I’ll be free, floating along like a magic surfer. I’ll ride that wave.” And here I was like a crazy lunatic, day dreaming about surfing and the wave was this big bundle of free bitty bits. They looked like tiny little Kerouac bobble head dolls, all shaking their port wine and saying sweet sayings. Lindy knew I was lost and, with amusement, woke me from my fantasy.
She said, “Do you want ice cream?” And I most certainly did.
We walked over to the local ice cream parlor and got some sweet stuff in a bowl and two shiny spoons. We sat by the window so we could check out the people passing by. They all seemed so preoccupied and distracted. I thought, “Man, right now I’ve extracted myself right out of the world and I’m sitting here like God looking in. People are busy!” And I thought about how I was one of these people and when I wasn’t looking in with my Descartes God eyes I was pretty busy too. “People need to learn how to breathe,” I told Lindy. “Myself included.”
On the other hand, there’s nothing more beautiful than looking in on people in their natural state. I mean, when they don’t know you’re looking they are so natural, like tigers being videoed in the Amazon and not having any idea about it. They’re licking their cubs and just being gentle motherly creatures. The same with humans. Some mother will be buttoning up her kid’s jacket and you’ll nearly cry because there’s just no justification for that type of beauty. People are typically beautiful, naturally kind.
“But then again,“ I thought sadly, “I’m here in country hick town and I know in the city there are some ugly scenes. Some moms, when they know they’re not being watched will beat their poor kids, setting a nasty example for their future children. And it even happens in country hick towns including this one. And the cycle keeps spinning.”
I was telling Lindy about these ideas and she was digging on my words. She’d occasionally speak up about some idea about the good and evil perfectly cancelling each other, like some perfectly designed algebra problem where X ends up being zero - no higher, no lower. And I dug that concept.
“I was sitting in my apartment yesterday,” I told her, “and I happened to glance up at my brave little house plant, Charlie. Charlie’s so green and strong and he’s been around quite a while, even living through the abuse I put him through when I over-watered the poor guy. Anyways, he was stretching out real long towards the light from the window. He was trying to touch the sun or something. And those sun rays were sliding over a dusty trail and just lighting up Charlie’s soft green and I very nearly cried. I asked Charlie, ‘What gives you the right to be so beautiful?’ And he just waved to me with his long flappy leaf. I wrote this poem:
“What right do you have
Oh beautiful branch
To be so perfect?
To stretch so delicately toward the sun
Like hope
Yearning for realization.
Your veins protrude
As you exercise your will,
Always shining
Never giving up
Until the day you’ve aged beyond repair.
Photosynthesis finished
And you rest in the breast
Of the delicate earth
That will undoubtedly raise you
On the third day.”
“Your sense of the world is magic,” Lindy said.
“No, it’s grounded in experience.”
“Experience is magical.”
“Well said.”
“You and I speak honestly.”
“Without pride.”
“With hope.”
“With faith.”
“With love.”
And just like that Lindy scooped up the last bite of rocky road, politely offered it to me and, upon refusal, put it in her mouth and let it slowly slide down her water slide throat. We sat there watching a man tying his daughter’s shoes. Lindy grabbed my hand and we sat there, fingers interlocked - not like lovers, but like old friends traveling together down an old and dusty trail.
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