…And you’re up to your eyeballs in it.
There was that time.
Color you deep.
Started reading Camus.
Started quoting Siddartha.
Started wearing a sport coat.
Tried growing a beard.
Had these thoughts.
“We’re all gonna to die”.
“Life is an illusion”.
“It’s inevitable and you can’t stop it”.
And your friends looked at you.
They reacted.
They said “wow” – they said ”that’s heavy”.
You were a chick magnet.
The girls who wore Patchouli and strung beads called you their Soul Mate.
You were on to something.
In Junior High she was Jennifer – in high school she was Lakshmi.
She gave you a copy of Bhagavad Gita.
You could feel love eyes two blocks away.
She invited you to the Sunday Feast.
You would have food together.
You would meditate – you would be engulfed in wall-to-wall incense.
You had plans – you had dreams – you had prasadum.
By the handful.
You and three hundred other people.
When it was over you made your move in the parking lot.
Wrong move. You had to wait – like years maybe. Paging Angst.
Krishna said so. Smiled. Shook her head. No was no.
Walked home empty handed.
Wondered about her. Wondered about life.
Wondered about your stomach.
Strange, eerie sensation. Bubbling.
Left a trail of backed-up rice and vegetables all the way to your house.
Threw up everything you ate since you were five.
Explosive diarrhea.
In short: food poisoning.
Mom. Aspirin. Blankets. Tea.
Head spinning – wandering around death’s door. Sweating shakes. Shaking sweats.
Three hours later – coma – emptied – drained – can’t raise an eyelid. Never want to look at food again for the rest of your life.
Radio on. Music filling the holes.
Live and learn.
Growth opportunities. You’ll remember that.
And to help you, here’s an hour’s worth of Russ O’Hara at KRLA from February 1969.
