Stream -- A gentle yet persistent breeze...

Note: This is a stream of consciousness piece written in one session and printed with minimal revisions.

A gentle yet persistent breeze journeyed down the street. It made its way over, under, around, even occasionally through, each house on the block. The block, the cozy and peaceful, friendly, lovely neighborhood was quiet in the warmth of late afternoon sun.

It was almost evening time. He was lying on his bed, staring up at the red ceiling. It was dark red, but not quite maroon. The ceiling was decorated with humbly stained, wooden crown moldings and a chandelier in the center. It was a small, interesting room.

On that ceiling appeared five small shafts of sunlight. A sixth bit of light, less vibrant, was aloof from the others. It was similar, but cut off. He saw himself. The lonely shaft of light was connected to the chandelier, its five lightbulbs were dark. He was trying to relax.

It had been a long day, long week, a long month, and an unbelievably long start to the new year. He didn't know what to do. A siesta with a little music sounded about right. The tones of the folky, jazzy, bluesy, always ethereal pop-rock took him away. It was one of those songs where you knew it was your favorite... not because you knew every note of music or every bit of lyric or that you were even listening that closely... it's your favorite song because your mind wanders and you find yourself fading into your own thoughts. It's your favorite song because eventually you return to a renewed sense of consciousness and you think, "Wow, that song is really relaxing. Really relaxing."

That's what he felt, or at least what he told himself he felt. He was at that point where he could not simply let things happen. He could not hesitate and be lost. And despite the relatively suburban environment, that really was what was at stake. When you've been through hell, sometimes it calls to you. There is an allure and a temptation to tell the world, "Fuck off." It is the pessimistic, cynical inverse of spiritual surrender. Both involve the ironically willing forfeiture of free will, or at least an illusory forfeit. He knew that the negative version was how warlords and sociopaths justified their brutality to themselves. The world gives up on you, you give up on the world, and you can start slitting throats without shame.

He also thought that the positive version was much more difficult. In a movie, they called it choiceless awareness. He had some idea, but mostly he relied on his own thoughts. Perhaps you simply surrender to life and the inevitable bad, and choose to focus on the good. He hoped there was some sort of philosophical circle of logic that allowed both spiritual surrender and free will to exist. The brief little break with that great little song allowed him hear the calls from the earth instead. He would soon return to life, but he hoped it would be as a changed man.