I’d like to move far, far away to a distant projected reality within universal consciousness free from the tyranny of style. I’d like to find some new electrons with whom to collide. Know what? Fuck electrons. They’re too negative.
Protons and electrons always cause explosions.
You can see how this is frustrating.
I want to travel to Peru. I want to take a commercial flight to Lima, then jaunt to the Amazon on some puddle jumper operated by a seedy individual with whom I cannot communicate due to the language barrier and engine noise. The plane will groan and jostle aberrantly. I will gaze out the window at the trees below. My brain will perceive this sight as beautiful but I will be unable to appreciate the beauty due to fear of death. I will wonder what people in New Jersey will say about my untimely demise in a prop plane accident over the Peruvian jungle and I will momentarily rue my wanderlust. We will land safely, all things considered. An internal dialogue will ensue in which I call myself a mollycoddle and I will feel stupid for being so frightened. From there, I will board a canoe. There will be a semi-awkward period of silence between myself and the guide paddling the canoe. I will point out a group of large, variegated parrots. He will feign interest and I will question my decision to verbally acknowledge the birds, likening the scenario to a hypothetical tourist’s hypothetical enthusiastic reaction to seeing a McDonald’s on a U.S. highway. It will jive at the time. Later, I will disparage this allegory and regret ever thinking it. When I arrive at the village, I will be given a makeshift mattress and a mosquito net. I will engage in spiritual ceremonies with shamans and drink Ayahuasca. We will speak (through a translator) about opening my third eye. I’m not sure how long I stay. As long as it takes, I suppose.
The next time you see me, I will tell you something like: The universe is an ocean and we are all waves in the ocean. You can’t separate the waves from the ocean; they are the same. We are all one consciousness. It will make total sense to me. You will interpret my words as deep and profound, or so I will believe, but it will not really matter since, at this point, I have transcended the self. I will no longer have any interest in baseball whatsoever, but my eyes will be like mirrors and when you look into my peepers, they will reflect your ego, your attachments and all of your deep-seated fears.
If you tell people this, they will think you are as mad as a March hare. And not just your banal brother-in-law who’s obsessed with status quo, a large percentage of baby boomers, and/or wild-eyed, god-fearing Christians, but people you genuinely trust. So I keep it secret from everyone other than the three or so people whom I already told and received reactions of flabbergast in return. I will research this on the Internet and discover that this shamanistic tourism is big business in South America and there are balls-out websites dedicated to commercializing such an experience with banner ads and everything. I will feel disheartened and commoditized. Instead, I will eat mushrooms and stand at the abdomen of the shopping district with a sign that reads Jesus Saves, but Gretzky Scores on the Rebound. Some people might get pissed, some might laugh, and all parents with small children will most likely clutch their sapling’s hand a little bit tighter as they pass, but I won’t really care since I expect to have transcended the self by this juncture.