Buddhism, Dreams and Intimations of Mortality…
The Burmese came for me that night. I don’t know what I’d done wrong, but I wasn’t waiting around to find out, either. They did not look too happy, any of them, waving arms and guns, and shouting orders, and calling out rude names. So I split, left, took a hike, and quickly, out the back door and down dark alleys, hiding in shadows and avoiding all lights, for fear of being ‘outed’, me and my white skin, ripe for plucking, and easy to bruise and abuse…
So I headed for the river, since they were no hills, and I didn’t know where else to go. I needed a path out, and that’s what a river represents—a path out. Mountains represent something else—maybe infinity—and that’s my preference, but a river will have to do. They have to lead somewhere: that’s a law of nature. If I ever get out, then I’ll decide what to do next, and where to go… (More …)
Dave Kingsbury 3:23 pm on February 5, 2018 Permalink |
I really like the way story and philosophy blend here, with blurred edges … A wry little smile of provisional victory should suffice. Nice line, in a very inclusive and compelling piece.
hardie karges 6:39 pm on February 5, 2018 Permalink |
Thx, Dave, wish I could make true life stories into a paradigm, but that requires a life of non-stop drama, hmmm…
Dave Kingsbury 3:52 am on February 6, 2018 Permalink
Never mind, imagination serves you very well!