Samsara

IMG_1245

The boy is sitting in a café.  A cold breeze is blowing through the blue-shuttered windows.  A Nepalese girl with black braids serves him his cup of chai, and he accepts it in both hands.  He thinks about opening her shirt and sucking on her nipples.  What would they taste like?  Would they be brown?  Black?  He blows on the chai and steam rises up, forming tiny drops of condensation on his lip.  He looks out the window at the high peaks, the shifting clouds.  Yellow sunlight is warming the tops of the high, green foothills, turning those forests into mythical dreams, places only hawks and eagles can go.  He wants to fly there.

He thinks about the American man he met yesterday, the one with the spiky grey hair and the Enfield motorcycle.  That man lives on a farm in the rural United States, taking his bike over the mountains once a year to spend the summers in the city.  He has a condo in a high rise overlooking the sea.  The boy wonders what the man would look like with his shirt off.  He wonders how rough the man’s hands would be, how they would feel on his body.  He takes a deep breath, releases it, and sips the chai.

Walking down the cobbled road, he sees wild red roses growing over an iron gate.  He stops and pulls a flower close, inhaling its fragrance.  He is a sensualist, he doesn’t care that he’s acting like a woman.  What does every rose on earth smell like, he wonders.  The pink ones, the yellow ones, the white ones… they all smell different.  I want to know every perfume, I want to imbibe them into my essence.  Roses are like women- they are beautiful, they flower differently, and every one has its own unique fragrance.  He thinks about the Indian women he has known, the Brazilians, the corn-fed Americans, the Croatians.  How could you ever have every woman in the world?  How could you not?

Later, with the breeze on his face, and a joint in his hand, he floats high, high away, and realizes he needs to go to Peru, into the jungle with a Shaman, to take ayauaska.  Only then will he find his true path.  Angels, demons, tunnels of light… he must confront them all, understand what the world is about.  Maybe he’ll grow dreadlocks first.  Maybe he won’t.  The point is, he needs to experience everything, and time is running out.  Go, go, go.  Smoke, smoke, smoke.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Travel the whole goddamned world.  Sleep with every woman you meet.  Then do you touch the sky?  Then are you God?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: