I Am Going Now, Goodbye (God Be With You)

by dschapman

I laid on the grass beneath an apple tree with the sun on my skin. I was in extreme discomfort from my ankles to my face but I pretended to be at perfect peace. In fact I was practicing non-action against the action of heat and pain and discontent that I was experiencing. This was because I loved the apple tree and I loved the sun and I loved the person that I was experiencing them with. They hurt me now and I did not even like to look at them, but I was rooted to them, and I refused to leave.

Down the hill, in the valley of the pale prince, an old coffee-drinker deals wholesale in chickens. With this chicken-money he facilitates personal construction buildings, like walling in his property with a fine stone facade. The blank expressions on the statues in the yard melted off in the acid rain and the governor outlawed cohabitation. I cohabited with a stubborn mouse who ate the  cereal out of its boxes. “There is a mouse in the house,” I said on the telephone; “What do I do with it?”

Asculpius, the molester, suggested roast mouse. “No,” I said, “What do you take me for, a savage?”

The bold dreams of Alexander in his tomb relived the ancient days again as modern people, part of this world and not left behind. That was a good strength they left with their assorted friends. I should have such strength in friendship. I should have such spoils as Persia and Egypt. Egypt is a dragon’s den. I have seen the shores of Egypt. They have deserts, there, and fire ants. Ants like breathing fire.

I often pretend I am Daniel of Babylon in the court of Nebuchadnezzar. Would I know what to say? What visions would I have, and how would I produce them? I can feel the lions against my skin. They do not frighten me; I practice non-action, and extinguish myself from the face of the earth; the lions come with me, and we drift through the whole, our spirituality growing. Action regiment towards transient thought and the lucid Malibu style was back again – weak knees. Good music, fast cars, big deserts. Our deserts, our faith, our stadiums and stoplights. On public pavement in an ancient valley an artist step-dances down in the dark to music only she can hear, and no one bats an eye.

In a letter to the golden lord I spilled my heart and explained away all my anxieties, all my regrets, and all my reminisces. The old burden shifted and particulate matter appeared in the air. “Speak louder, special love of mine, and look into my clear blue eyes.” Such clear blue eyes. Like drinking water out of a lake, diving into an ocean from the end of a pier, dripping wet. “I could watch you forever… The way that you sit there… The way that you speak… Speak to me, now, and tell me what you have to say; speak to me, now, and share your feelings.”

But I am a warrior of great strength and heritage and no mere emotion will possess me. I am over-consummate. I am the virtuous dead-man, out of touch and vaguely being, but just there, just enough, to draw a picture. I don’t shiver – this is not a twitch. I am not shuddering. I lost my legs in a carriage accident. Did I say chariot? I meant car. I was in a car when it happened. My horse was dead and crushed my leg. The wheels split into my back and my spine cut in half. But someone saved me, and granted me warrior strength.

The technology is real… It is civilization. Burial rites, rituals, and agriculture. Our minds do not change. We are subservient to that which sustains us, society, and nothing is more powerful in the universe than the civilized being.

Orange fruit and the color feast – you have caught me waiting. I have waited too long. I resume my wait.

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