Monday, December 8, 2008

A Single Life

A Celebration:

  • I whistle to the tune of "Three Blind Mice" while washing the dishes, enjoying the pleasure of warm water running over the back of my hands.
  • I read. I read Hesse, Kerouac, Mother Teresa, St. Neilos, National Geographic cupped in an easy chair, my leg dangling over the side.
  • I make tea, a ceremony for one.
  • I lie on my reed mat in the day, in the night and listen for God to speak, lighting candles, blowing them out, the brattle of cars on cobblestone and steel track.
  • I make an event out of going to the store, like going to the movies, and ponder unhurried over what kind of bread to buy as if I were buying a new car.
  • I look at my body in the mirror and think 'no one will see me naked,' and sigh and smile.
  • I grow a beard.
  • I sit in the back pews in church hoping a pretty quiet girl might walk in and she never does.
  • I ride my bike in the quiet cold to watch Battle Star Galactica with my ever-there teacher and friend, to relax and smoke, communing without speaking.
  • I hang my colored tee shirts and socks and underwear in the evening when I am alone, and imagine I am drying wet cotton diapers as my son sleeps in the next room.
  • I sit on the porch and smoke and watch things like the king of a great fiefdom.
  • When I am lonely I look for couples with painfully bored faces sitting across from each other in stale silence over cold food, having run out of words to exchange.
  • When I am horny I think of sex after-the-fact, of sighing and getting out of bed to make a sandwich and thinking about work the next day and wondering in the light of the refrigerator if this is all there is to life, this coming and going.
  • Sometimes I act like a perfect gentleman, just for fun.
  • I read about great stoic hermits and feel ashamed at my need to socialize.
  • I rent movies and eat ice cream in polyester Adidas pants, indulging myself in everything I deserve.
  • I shave my face, cut my hair, and celebrate the fact that I am a man.
  • I think about my future as if I am looking out over miles of Montana scrub, the wind catching my ear, and the nape of my neck.
  • I go out to meet friends as a representative of my self, and usually leave early.
  • I fantasize about giving my life as ransom for another.
  • On Saturdays I don't sleep late but I smile devilishly in the fact that I can.
  • I listen to classical music in the kitchen over the crackling of bacon, and the smell of grease.
  • My days are like brilliant sheets of white paper, a few notes scratched here and there.
  • I think about Thailand, Greece, Madrid, drinking glasses of fruit juice in the Dominican Republic, sitting silently in open air zendos in Japan, without longing, only curiosity.
  • I offer myself to the world as a free agent...


Jer said...

Great post, my man.

Sydnee said...

That was beautiful. It made me feel quiet, and complete.