a short story about the weekend

3pm, Friday

i sat trying to keep my eyes closed in a room full of people trying to keep their eyes closed, so i retreated the retreat to lounge poolside and drift into the Interzone. i wake to voice, lovely, unknown, singing me Gayatri and i walk inside, falling further and further in, watching expectation rise and fall.

i project the Fear onto people i love and watch it pass; a blessing falls from a pen writing in two different voices. first the samskara, the same scarred Romantic with his back turned to the woman he loves, but then comes the setting sun over the rooftops through the chain link fence and with it comes the truth: this is not that, and every word i write is false.

can my back be turned to anyone when i see my Self all around me?

9:30pm, Friday

a parking lot goodbye, one breath and then the long exhale home to find my roommate with the sofa pulled out watching TV loudly. it there anything out of place in your apartment?

my roommate sleeps in the living room with the television on and a pint of Ben & Jerry's, six Diet Cokes, one cherry pie, and an open package of stevia over the sink. it has been there 6 months, i have been there 18.

la nuit, Saturday

i wake at 1:50am, i wake at 3:20am, i wake at 4:40am and do not go to sleep. i do not eat. i have lost 5lbs this week - i'm not sure where it came from or where they went.

6am, Saturday

a poem by Hafiz falls into my lap and it is beautiful. one breath, and then the long exhale on the walk to the beach. when i open my eyes everyone is gone, everything looks strange. i have heard the Satchidananda bile story many times before. the Satchidananda bile story was one of the thoughts in my head before everything disappeared, before i heard the wave crashing behind me, leaving only a shirt and towel behind.

i make myself eat a second bowl of breakfast, thinking how i was told to eat more...

oatmeal is delicious.