Alway looking for the light, he fell to the pavement, reached for a hand and closed his fist. The gutter loomed higher as he tried to lift his heart, his mind, his memories to a lofty spot high on a desert hill that he had been climbing toward as long as he could remember.
A voice of unreason smacked the top of his head and snapped him on the butt with a towel in playful aggression. This got his attention long enough for him to forget pain and want and desire and he fell into a deep hole the appeared to be a manhole cover, yet was actually a doorway to heaven. The dark, damp interior was paved in honey and he slid toward an arrangement of dead roses that stood on a mirrored table in the center of the long pathway.
He stopped and the roses began to bloom before his eyes.
One day. One hour. One second. He wasn’t happy to be there. Yet it dawned on him that the flowers were pleasant and the dim light rather comforting and the liquid light that lined the walls of the tunnel gave him a pleasant comfortable feeling. So he grabbed a rose and it blossomed into an opening that was very similar to a fire yet wet and cool, very close to being his own heart and yet had a ghostly quality of someone else that he had known at some other time. This fire was a dark spark of hope that resonated from deep within him and also from far away. Once he stopped thinking, he realized all was right. Not what he wanted or where he wanted to be, but interesting and sensual, nevertheless.
All was nothing and the blue fire of NOW pitched a tent in his soul and he collapsed into an effortless journey to nowhere that was really the trip to everywhere he had been seeking for centuries.