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After Reading Kerouac's "Some Of
The Dharma"
Christina and I are different appearances of the same form of emptiness we are neither things or no-things we are beings that imagine that we are in Love but at the same we cannot disregard our Love nor can we cling to our arbitrary notions of what our mind essence tells us is Love Love itself is an arbitrary notion it is ignorance in the void would our Love exist if she had been born 100 years after my death? we are already kinetic personalities in the eternal movie dreamers waiting to be awakened from a dream already ended attainers to enlightenment beseechers of truth My Love for Christina is a form of emptiness my thoughts of the emptiness of my Love for Christina is a form of emptiness indeed, there is no substantiality to the emotion of my feeling of Love for her not even pure atomstuff nor carbon-based molecular structure pure mindstuff mind essence my human ignorance avoiding samsara and letting all truth slip for need of companionship Jack forgot that Love is holy and that one is unalterably bound to the Earth with the inherent need to be touched, hugged, lusted after, paid attention to, wanted I want to be pure but I do not want to be a Buddha... I want to be liked and cherished by the fleeting spirits that I meet. I want to be stared at suspiciously by the waiters in the food line at McDonald's while I, scruffy and four days unshaven, order the malignant factory culinary delights with no accent on my tongue--in perfect Caucasian English--while my halo (turned up to # 11) is blinding the eyes of the benign...they come for the discount on life's heavenly burgers and the potatoes lying fallow in fields of a dream. The farmhouse Ranch where I lose myself every time I think about Christina--the nearby brooks and holes in the fences, the cows in sleepy repose under the summer shade of a huge oak tree, the flies pestiferating, the lone smoke trail of a jetfighter against the flat blue plane of the sky so blue and smiling as it looks over my little era on the planet... All this a dream all this an imaginary blossom in the air my Love is reality My Love is my enlightenment here on blue Earth everything is alright forever and ever Amen. By: Albert Estiamba Jr. Redondo Beach, California. May 12, 1998. 10:28 P.M. |