Back From Paradise.
Like some crazed refugee from
Pilgrims Progress I languished
through valleys of despair,
knee high snows and bitter
travails carrying the burdens
on my back from daily life.
Then a bright light
appeared on the horizon,
and my path led to greener pastures
as I escaped from life's relentless journey
to 17 days in paradise.
It was like a full body orgasm
as I shrugged off the
weight of my years
and took a detour to
the shores of a heavenly place.
I have often believed
that an orgasm is a
tiny taste of what heaven is like
granted to us by a gracious God
who knows how stressed out we become.
But a vacation of one's senses.....
a fleeing to someplace unfamiliar
to simply relax and bask
in natures finest nectar's,
is a close second to the
orgasmic gifts we were all granted.
So I wound up on a tiny private beach
to spend my days just playing guitar,
surfing, and eating like some
gluttonous wild boar
at all of the best restaurants.
Fishing of course was another joy,
deep sea and shore fishing
as well as river casting
in a salt water world.
but it was the peace
I pursued most.
Much ado about
nothing to do,
except do nothing.
A lovely little setting,
where one could run almost bare,
and savor the natural
elements that all men
have cherished since
caves were our dwelling.
for I was on a coast
not yet tarballed by greed,
or slick with oiled palms.
The only BP I faced was
a jar of honey for my toast.
But who knows what next year will bring
to this lovely place as the decomposed rot
of plant and animal matter slinks its way
around the bottom of the U.S. killing all
sea creatures in its path.
But even that I set aside
for a short while
in a sling back canvas chair
with a three mile stare
out across the restless,
ocean of blue that was my fondest
companion for over two weeks.
No alarms, no schedules,
no bedtimes per say
just long walks on a beach
morning and night
breathing the salted tang
of that vast ocean,
while my lips suckled
the salted tang of a margarita
and a neon lime to
highlight my surroundings
with even sharper accuity.
Time is warped when one is away,
it starts off with endless days
that seem to go on forever and ever
and then snowballs you with reality.
It sandbags you with the
luggage of an impending departure.
Then suddenly you
are packing all the
neccessities from home
because it has become neccesary
to go home once more.
One last night with toes in the sand
and that ever blowing sea breeze
parting my now bleached locks
and setting me free till next year.
I can still hear those waves
when I run the disposal,
or the rain that greeted me
as it hammers my roof at home.
But it can't wash away the memories,
they will be boxed in neat photos
and placed with others years
of paradise lost in a closet
for some cold winter day when i need
to simply look back through digital frames
and revisit what i so enjoyed.
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