Tears fall slowly from my eyes as I sit here and knowI am the lost one.
So
many years of study, seeking,
seeking,
seeking
a path, searching for
The Truth.
At first
there was no real awareness of MYSELF, just study,
debate, the aloneness of being painfully shy, moody, demanding.
The good son.
Then a
breaking loose, a wild incoherent orgy of sex, drugs and total self indulgence
following
every whim
to excess.
That was the crazy time.
Then the
return, the return to school to study psychology. The answer must be there,
in the mind. More study, debate and disdain.
Disdain for all the others,
the stupid ones,
the ignorant ones,
they are all so wrong.
A
loved/feared teacher.
The answer
is not here. This is a trash heap built on quicksand, fads and fallacies
in the name of science.
A graduation,
a ceremony of emptiness, a cargo cult display in passage from nothing to
nowhere.
On to Philosophy
- the answer must be there (what a fool).
I am the Lost One
[I
remember, I remember from the crazy time. It was all so easy with the drug.
The experience
of Oneness. It's all ONE, all of it, and it's all
ALIVE,
....... but now that's just a fading memory, ...... a burnt out cinder]
Philosophy
-- the answer was not there.
It had
nothing to do with living life. Another trash heap of obscene, disembodied
speculations and
mad
ramblings.
So off
to work -- an expert, an authority, traveling far and wide speaking and
setting up
PROGRAMS.
Marriage,
children, a house in the suburbs, endless toys and exotic and expensive
hobbies.
The world
of commerce and the pursuit of money -- for what?
[I remember,
I remember from the crazy time. That burning image of a huge seven headed
cobra sheltering a man who wore a look of exquisite serenity, compassion,
indifference.
HE
must know!]
More study,
the Zen Roshi, the Bonsai Master.
Reading,
reading,
reading.
Listen to me!Ah! Yes! I am an expert in things rare, arcane and mysterious.
Lost in my own fortress. Aloof with the certainty that THEY did not know.
I am The Lost One
[I remember
-- at the end of the crazy time -- the initiation into TM.
A ceremony
in semi darkness, instruction, my first meditation, walking absentmindedly
outside into the light.
My God!
So we come
to Florida - lush, green, lingering traces of decaying vegetation in the
air draw me back to the jungles of Thailand.
More study,
meditation,
meetings and study with monks
from
Burma, from Thailand, from Sri Lanka, from Tibet.
More lectures.
What the hell am I talking about?
More school,
another graduation ritual - Ta Daa! Master of Health Science, locked into
the medical model -- diagnosis, slash and burn technology. The Medico-Politicos
- They have the power.
Seventy-five
years ago they were barbers, lancing boils and pulling teeth.
I hate them. I am seduced by their power.The bookshop sustains me.
[I
remember, I remember from the crazy time. Swimming slowly through the viscous,
steaming nighttime air of Thailand. A record playing at the bar down on
the corner --
sounds ................ hanging
....................heavily
........................in the still
.......................... foetid air.
A group called Deep Purple wailing a song called "Fools".Mike smokes a heroin cigarette and goes to the balcony rail to puke.]
More study
- Shamanism, The Dreamtime, Trances, hypnosis, drumming
- What
does it all mean?
Native
American, Jivaro, Yaqui, all the witch doctors, brujos, payes, ayahuasqueros,
wizards and seers --- Do they really KNOW something?
Or are
the all just huddled together in fear,
beating their drums against the darkness,
the
darkness,
the darkness at the edge of town.
I can see them out there, doing all their stuff. The money changing, the gossip, the Gods of sports, the seductions, the manipulations.That's where I live, in the darkness at the edge of town.
I don't want to live there.
(He
sits up there on the altar shelf, looking down on me, resplendent in a
gold brocade robe. I can't escape that look.
He
must KNOW!)
I'm free,
I'm free. I can go anywhere I want, be anything I want.
Freedom,
freedom, everybody wants freedom - from their bills,
from their boss,
their job,
their wife,
from their past.
Freedom
to WHAT? To DO what? To BE
what?
Oh my God, I'm living a cliché for Christ's sake!
[I remember
from a dark time many years ago, sitting on the floor, holding a loaded,
cocked .45 automatic.
Why not?
Why not?
Why not put an end to the fear, the gnawing anxiety,
the consuming,
paralyzing,
gnawing anxiety?
It comes like a rat in the night to eat my soul]
On and on it goes.Purposeless doings,
Go to work,
pay the bills, read read read, fix the toilet, deal with lust.
Over and
over and over, --- for what?
"Oh Joseph
my child, this is all just a school. We don't ever die, we
just keep
coming back until we learn our lessons."
Yeah right.
Maybe if I'm a real good boy I'll come back as a revolving brush in a car
wash in north Chicago. At least I'll know what I'm doing.
"The longest
journey begins right beneath your feet."
But there's nothing there!
I look
down,
down,
down,
into the great
fathomless
black
abyss.
There's
nowhere to stand, nothing to stand on -
Dear God!
I'm so afraid of heights.
I
am the Lost One
It's all
a swirling, booming, buzzing, confusion.
Sometimes
it gets so scary I know I have to stop all this nonsense.
Just be
good, Do what I'm 'sposed to. Get a haircut, go to work, do as I'm
told.
Dress right and be sure to floss.
Watch
lots of TV.
Be secure
in the knowledge that the US Congress will take care of me from cradle
to grave and when I die I'll go to heaven to sit with
Jesus.
The hysterical, maniacal laugh bubbles within.
Tears fill my eyes again.
I am the Lost One