Journey Home by Paul Burke

Excerpt from
Journey Home

CHAPTERS

THE MALLARD FLOATS

THANKS

RUM AND PINEAPPLE

THE CULPRIT

EVENING, THE START OF THE DAY

TWO HIPPIES

ESCAPE FROM OBLIVION

WELL ADJUSTED MANIACS

SHADOWS FROM LIGHT

THERE’S NO MOOSE IN LOUISIANA

HOW QUIET THEY SHOULD BE

ACCELERATED, ACCELERATION

THE BAIT

THE GREAT SPIRIT

A MOMENT’S GLANCE

SEARCHING FOR PURGATOIRE

LIVING THE DREAM

EPILOGUE

THE MALLARD FLOATS

It was a relief the rain came. He was searching quietly, being driven by some unknown force. Hunger, greed, hatred, fear, hopelessness, passion, faith, curiosity, dreams and love where did they come from? And why were they here in our minds? It seems simple enough. The Earth is brilliant in its spinning of night and day, in its terra firma cradle and water soul. The Earth, the planet, spinning, floating, spectacularly mundane with forces beyond vision with billions of manifested souls. God like in our consciousness, a step below angels, we curse and hate each other with jealousy, envy and gripping hopelessness. Life and death much the same, understood only for its horrible truth missing the mark of our better natures and its better reality. The blue planet spins on.

People crowd each other’s dreams with mock sincerity wishing it were them still realizing we are the same but only for our surroundings. And that’s the starting point, the challenge, the goal of life itself. Within yourself and not in response to others overcome whatever ails you and grow a thousand lifetimes in a year. Every moment is an opportunity to create or destroy. The Earth quakes, shakes, rattles and rolls in every fiber in every essence and in every stone unturned. Life is going through its transformations and the people too by the billions. How is your truth appropriate for all? Does it matter if it is or isn’t? Is it like a shirt that looks better on you than on your sister? The answers you have found are for you alone. The person sitting next to you will find their own answers. Force your answers on him and he will fight you to the death. Because inherently we know this is our journey. Our roads are not all the same. Each of us is looking for our own golden fleece. Get out of each other’s way.

The light shines just as understanding passes. The muddy waters of despair overflow and we drown. The dragon flies, with impeccable timing alight on our consciousness. The feeling that feels so complete an elation thundering with motion while you are so still. Your eyes widen, your head turns, you point or gasp or merely your back straightens and wonder can burst through just like anger.

A screeching halt of automobile tires burns out on the street as a young woman is thrown out of a stopping car. She rolls to the curb in one toss and rises. A voice calls from the car, "here have a beer," as a bottle of Coors comes at her brow and smashes against a wall. The voice from inside the car reeks with sarcasm and insightful abuse, "trash," it bellows and without pause heads off. Ducking, a sigh of relief, and a bottle of republican brew smashes into tiny shards of discontent. It shatters its political campaign donations into public hazards. Glass lay all over the street. A cut foot and more blood shed in the road. Human nature I suppose.

The girl picks herself up and steps back onto the sidewalk. A bloody footed boy groans. He looks at his toes and feels the wet blood cool against his foot. His one sandal is soggy. He raises his head, the choice being made, the dice rolling and speaks to the girl. "Are you alright?" No reply. She made her choice. But the problem with choices is that they keep coming. "... look I just sliced my foot open. Do you mind acknowledging my existence?" She didn't care but she did turn her head slowly and stared in disbelief. Eyes smoldering she said nothing. He bent over to reexamine his foot. The cars filing by didn't care one bit about them. They didn't care about each other and they might not even care about themselves. In fact no one cared about anything at all anymore.

It was a busy night in this little Florida town outside of Fort Lauderdale. The tourists had found their way inland. They had converted this two gas station and a post office strip into a trap. A cheap trap filled with gimmicks and one liners that would surely bring you down in your pursuit of happiness. The cars at night cruised the boulevard with the locals hanging on the side streets. It once was this out of the way Victorian sea town. The old fashioned kind built far enough away from shore to withstand the hurricanes and the thunder showers that blasted in from the north. Each storm seemed to howl and bring a warning of furious redemption for those who forgot about the forces of nature. The beach was a wonderful place to live honestly and in the face of such force. Man shaken to his knees reminded with window shaking fury that he is merely a part of nature, a small part at that, and not apart from nature. Batten down the hatches and watch the waves boys. There’s a blow a comin’!

Now a days the inland waterways were jammed up but good with Bertrams and Chris Crafts. There was more to business than the price of a bushel of clams. They showed off gold plated foreign cars that cost too much to fix and stereos too loud to hear. But that still didn’t stop the rain. It just keeps coming down faster and faster. It makes one long sustained rush of noise as the wind sets its pace. It pours down in sheets and pounds a driving continuous beat that makes you forget everything else. A romantic mood gains hold for the lucky few as a loud smack of lightning sends the posers and the wannabes, the phonies and the freaks, the juice and the grifters, running for cover. Everyone gets wet and those inside hide their heads. The darkness and the gale force winds blow fear down the street chased by a salty cold rain. Too scared or smart to drive over the bridge the ghetto mobiles are no better than the suburban rides and everyone goes slower. Bodies tremble with soaked chill and evil rears its head. Always there, just over your shoulder and in your shadow, fear opens the door and you wish you were dead. So powerful it exceeds anyone’s intended involvement or supposed self. No matter what you believe or how you perceive it Mother Nature has just served notice.

They have lost their respect for each other and nature does what she has always done so well. The rain falls, the thunder slashes, and the mallard floats. The driving rain buries its head. The darkness shrouds it from view. The veil of water drums the sea around in which it sits. Bobbing alone it rides the storm out. Land, water and sea spinning, endlessly alone in space. We float along with the storm...

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