Chewing The Cud

There is nothing (compares to you) quite like that moment when you’re walking through the park and happen upon a spot where a group of goats are chewing the cud in a nearby field. If the one o’clock sun is shining down in all its glory to help mitigate the factor of a frigid March temperature, well, all the better still.

And, by God (along with every minor deity currently weaving magic through the cosmos), if you happen to be slowly savoring the day’s first cigarette right then and there, well, dadgum, shoot, and gee willikers, you done just gone and felt a little slice of heaven sliver with a shiver up and down your spine. We call that the real deal Holyfield around these parts.

It’s holy trifecta gold when the kundalini buzz triangulates inside a brain. Fractal patterns shift their shape, manifesting kaleidoscopic prisms out of thin air. Fractions of quantum mechanical blueprints temporarily become apparent, only to drift away like dust in the wind as ideas get flighty and mathematical equations disperse with an exponential quickness.

This is all just a way of saying something without really saying anything at all. Other than the fact that two hawks are circling in the sky above as countless cars drive beneath them, single file, along a straight road to nowhere. Nature is wiggly.

But traffic rules and regulations are hard as a rock. Just like some of the stoned heads that banged themselves together to come up with this red tape, bureaucratic, penalty system pyramid scam. Trying to turn earth into a purgatory prison.

Bread and water for the inmates. Vaccine cocktails for the soldiers. Methods of transaction need to fundamentally shift. No one is satisfied with eating cake forever. Where’s the blood? Where’s the wine? Where’s the rose? Where’s the sign? Where’s the sweet tooth junkie going to run? Where’s the raw vegan guru going to hide? Where’s the GMO? Where’s the healthcare scare? Where are the doctors going to sleep? Where are the homeless going to freeze? Where’re the birds? Where’re the bees? Where’s the honey? Where’s the sting? Where’s the bandage for this wound? Where’s the future full of toxic plumes? Where’s the poison? Where’s the doom? Where’s the virus? Where’s the gloom?

Good Lord! Sweet Jesus! Where were you raised, boy? In a barn? Didn’t you ever learn not to leave the door of your psyche wide open? Weren’t you ever taught the power of snake medicine? Didn’t the shaman slam down all his wu wu, voodoo knowledge on your head at birth? Didn’t you get the source download when you were snatched from star sleep and spit out the mortal womb? Didn’t you suck a thumb soaked in vodka while cutting your incisors? Didn’t you decide to dance to the sound of madness before you ever even crawled? Didn’t you scrawl hieroglyphics on cave walls back when you were just yay tall? Didn’t you scowl in the face of lions and hunt your way to the top of the heap? Didn’t you take the hit of garden evolution from the jungle plant? Didn’t you leap with faith from one plateau to another? Didn’t you grow from seed? Won’t you return to soil? Aren’t you just like all the rest? Isn’t this whole illusion cut from the same cloth? Didn’t we divide from the original Oneness when the dualistic ego got the bright idea to trip the light fantastic?

Now the Milky Way is melted cotton candy paradise floating along the river of Tao

. Now it’s time to switch off the power, cut the chords, close the blinds, pull the curtains, and fall silent. Now it’s time to scream once more before completely shutting up.

Now it’s time to burn just so we can rise again. Now it’s time for an electric encore. Now it’s time for a thrilling sequel. Now it’s time for absolution through enlightenment.

Now it’s time to slay all dragons. Now it’s time to reawaken. Now it’s time to cast off dark shadows, shun the wickedness of evil in this world, and reclaim the sovereign birthright of humanity’s unlimited spiritual potential.

Now it’s time for a new epoch of true freedom!

So get after it, kids. I’ll just be over here staring at some goats near the pearly gates of Valhalla.

Author:Thomas Outlar

Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, live events, radio podcasts, and books can be found. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Selections of his poetry have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Dutch, Italian, French, Persian, and Serbian. He has been a weekly contributor for the Dissident Voice newsletter since 2014. His sixth book, Of Sand and Sugar, is forthcoming in 2019 through Cyberwit.

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Extinction Is The Genesis Of Evolution

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