Walking with Tobacco

A lonely crowing is heard from the barnyard, calling forth a dreamed-of dawn..

The student keeps to his path, winding between swamps and storms. The peaks demand sweat and blood from anyone who would lord over them on the way.

At times lifting his feet becomes a struggle. Grandfather Tobacco raises an earthquake over everything that has been, is, and will be known upon the Earth. The pallor freezes his gaze beneath the full, waning moon, leaving our hero dizzy with stupor and weariness.

Unable to focus, he tries with his last breath of sobriety, and turns with eyes closed toward the grayish firmament. As he does, his weakened body surrenders to the urgent need for rest. His feet buckle under the shock of how intense it is to be alive.

The touch of the grass in his hands does not give him the level ground his balance longs for, but the night dew exhales a fresh perfume that recalls a child's excitement at opening a gift on a feast day. Hope appears before him, piercing through his psyche to the very depths of his diaphragm.

Then the wanderer comes to want to overcome what torments him. He wants to rise out of the stupor into the light. He had done it before, changing the channel on his tuner. The shadows would then dry up in oblivion and disdain.

But the weeping of the moon, close to dying on the horizon, does not let him leap. It is as if the moon, while lulling him, commits the worst possible offense against a human being: lying.

The discomfort of his exhaustion then gathers in his emotional belly. The stress of his anguish goes into tightening to the limit the muscles that were already tight.

Surrendered, he turns toward the Earth with eyes closed, and silently releases the contents of his pain. He forgets the moon's indirect glow and gives himself body and soul to his earthly mother.

Meanwhile, instead of climbing out of his darkness, he dives into it. It is a heroic suicide, not one of resignation. Screaming inwardly the ecstasy of life's total intensity, he melts from head to toe, bringing the darkness to a boil from within.

A lonely crowing rings out nearby, welcoming the new sun, which little by little returns the green to the once-dark mountain. The wanderer breathes renewed, empty, relieved. When there is no one breathing, the air inside and the air outside are one.

As if waking from a nightmare, he looks around, amazed at how alive life is. The design of destiny and the will of the land befriend each other in a welcoming climate. The dew has begun to bloom.

A mysterious force fills his chest, and it can only empty itself through gratitude. He does not give thanks by saying thank you; he gives thanks by experiencing life at its full intensity.

A new sun dawns on the green heights of steadfastness. Above our beloved warrior the most majestic peaks show off their elegance, and beneath him, surprisingly tamed, the old worlds of sweat and blood, the swamps overcome and the storms gone by, sing beauty.

With eyes closed he focuses on his heart, and continues his journey toward the Truth the Sun prays.